Time for a Republic

Half the country appears to be obsessed with watching a pair of rich, privileged people get married at our expense.

I am not a fan of the royalty and fail to comprehend the fascination with their wedding. I also fail to understand why I am contributing to the wedding of a multi-millionaire.

We hear all the nonsense about bringing revenue into the country, but I don't expect a cheque in the post as a return on my involuntary investment in this rubbish.

The royal family is an anachronism in the 21st century - why should someone be given such wealth and position just for being born? The behaviour of various family members over the last few decades demonstrate they do not truly deserve such admiration and privilege.

The Prince of Wales will inherit the title of Head of the Church when he becomes King, despite standing in Westminster Abbey and taking vows he had no intention of keeping. Is this someone who deserves to be given the throne? Should anyone sit on a throne in a modern democracy?

The royals have demonstrated a strong and broad streak of self interest - not the social conscience a modern regent should be expected to show.

When Windsor castle burnt down we were presented with a bill that would have kept a hospital ward open. No-one would ever expect the taxpayer to cover your uninsured losses - except a royal!

It's time to send them on their way - either sell them to the Americans who love them, or stop the civil list and other incomes and let them earn a living like the rest of the country. If they are such a income generator for the UK they can be employed by the tourist industry.

For myself, I would welcome the removal of the throne and all it's benefits.

Today has just reminded me how much I dislike this privileged, undeserving family.

Adventures of a traffic cone...

My novel is struggling for life at present – both in terms of 'coming to life' and in awaiting my decision whether to continue with it.

I am loathe to throw it on the unfinished, unloved and unwanted pile, but I can't get past the giant roadblock I seem to have thrown up.

As a result, I've decided to concentrate some of my energies on a character I invented whilst stuck in a jam on the motorway.

As we sat in the traffic, I made up a short story which took life as I told it. Colin the Cone was born.

Returning home I drew some (fairly crude) cartoons to illustrate parts of the tale and, before I knew it, he had his own website. www.colinthecone.co.uk

The site and the stories are still being developed, but I'm quite pleased with it so far. The illustrations are possible going to transfer onto some t-shirts - with the hope of sales – and I'm looking at a possible short book of stories/illustrations. Some of the images/jokes are quite adult although there is a more family friendly set as well.

Please feel free to visit the site and leave any comments, either via the site e-mail or this blog.

Writing for therapy?

Some years ago I was having a very difficult time in my life.

I was, quite honestly, falling apart. I was drinking to excess, experiencing panic attacks and severe mood swings. Friends and family begged me to seek help, but I refused to do so.

Like many men, I considered mental health issues to be a sign of weakness. I didn't need help, I could cope...

Until one day, I finally admitted to myself I was in trouble.

I was at university at the time and, after a number of false starts, went to see the counselling services. The counsellor was exactly what I needed – she listened, made suggestions and provided a 'safe' place. My six sessions became several months as she assessed me as suffering severe depression.

Along the way, she convinced me to seek medical assistance and I visited my GP. Unfortunately, not all GPs regard depression as worthy of their time. My GP prescribed a course of Seroxat and sent me on my way. The drugs left me numb and served only to cut me off from the world even more. Eventually I chose to stop taking them and experienced a few weeks of side effects.

After the best part of a year I felt much better – able to deal with life again.

What nobody told me is the fact depression can return.

Last year I was diagnosed as suffering from moderate depression after an extended period of high stress. My GP is a far more understanding person than the previous one, which meant he listened to my concerns and prescribed a suitable medication. He also informed me I may need a very long term prescription to help me remained 'balanced' chemically. This was not exactly good news, but the truth is I am much more relaxed than I've been in years.

Which brings me to...

I have written since childhood but lost the habit a few years ago. Since I have had time on my hands I have returned to writing on a daily basis (although as we all know, that's not always easy!), even if it's only this blog.

I have read that writing can be therapeutic and I must agree. I had forgotten how good it feels to complete some work and read it back with the satisfied feeling of having created something. My wife encourages my writing as she can see the therapeutic value, as well as the (extremely optimistic) hope it may develop into something more.

Many blog writers seem to have personal difficulties - or just stressful lives – and I believe many of us gain great benefits from our daily outputs. I know I certainly enjoy both the reading of other blogs and the writing of this one.

Perhaps the GPs should add this to their list of therapies?

What a great week...

...it's been.

The weather has been amazing – especially considering we've had a Bank Holiday!

My wife and I have been out and about every day since last Thursday. When was the last unbroken run of sunshine we've seen on a Bank Holiday weekend? I found myself say on a crowded beach on Thursday in temperatures warmer than the Med. The weather is truly crazy!

It has been wonderful to see the number of families out and about this weekend. I have spent a couple of days in my role as giant toy for my nephew and niece and, as someone who rarely steps into the world of children, it has been interesting to see the large amount of families playing together over the holiday weekend. It's very different from my memories of childhood where we seemed to spend most of our time amusing ourselves.

Yesterday we walked to the Barbican for a late afternoon drink (we earned it by walking a couple of miles of the Plym Valley trail in the early afternoon) and sat by the harbour with a cold beer on a hot afternoon. The perfect end to a long weekend that has felt like a holiday abroad. Sun and beautiful surroundings shared with family and friends – can it get better?

On the downside, all this sunshine means I've neglected my writing. I managed a few hundred words when we were preparing to go out, but I need to force myself to sit and work. Unfortunately, I love the good weather and need to learn some self discipline...

Why can’t I write?

I seem to have run into a brick wall this week.

My novel is at a standstill, a couple of short stories I've been working on are just sitting there and daring me to try to move them and I've even struggled to blog this week.

What's happened to all my momentum???

I'd like to blame my cold, but that's never stopped me before. I usually find it useful to take my mind off of things by writing, so I can't blame distractions.

The beautiful weather is not a particularly good incentive to stay indoors, but I have a laptop I can use in the garden. So no use blaming the sunshine...

Last week I had the news about my piece being published which should have been a boost to my writing but wasn't.

I have suffered from depression on and off for some years and have always found writing to be quite therapeutic. Perhaps that is my problem. I'm fairly at peace with myself at present (which is quite surprising, to be honest) and maybe my mind is holding on to all the 'good' writing until I need it again?

Whatever the reason, it has provided an opportunity to catch up on my reading (those who can, etc...) and revisit one or two old favourites. I just wish I was producing my own stories, rather than reading someone else's.

Perhaps I'll try a few flash fiction stories – they might be written before inspiration deserts me...

Published at last!

It's been a bit of a strange week.

After months of applying for jobs, two interviews came along together. I had one yesterday and I've just come back from a second. What's going on? Why have I gone from famine to feast? I'm uncertain about wanting one of the jobs – I'm not sure I would fit in – but, it's still good to actually get a chance at last.

Speaking of which, I am going to be published!

I recently wrote a piece for the WB coursework which my tutor felt was unlikely to find a market. I disagreed as I believed it was relevant to many people, so I sent it to a photography magazine (ostensibly for the letters page, although it was a little long). This Wednesday I received a phone call from the editor asking if he could use it as part of a feature. I was delighted and readily agreed.

He came back and asked for a photo of me to go with the piece. This was harder than writing the item. I am a photographer; I take the pictures and hide behind the camera. I don't like having my picture taken and, in my opinion, always look like Shrek's uglier brother.

Still, I set up my gear and took a handful of self portraits in the hope of finding an acceptable image. The Editor seemed pleased with the picture I sent, but I still await the mockery from everyone I know.

Perhaps next time, I'll tell them I'm a vampire and don't show up on film...

Stuck firmly in the bog of self doubt...

Well, it's been more than a week since I last wrote a single word of my novel.

I was feeling pretty happy about it until I had a wander around Waterstones; I suddenly found myself faced with the truth – my story has no originality, nor is it what I wanted to write. I seem to have lost my way somewhere along the road.

Result? I keep staring at the screen and wondering what went wrong. The story excited me when I came up with it, I had confidence it would be a good read (I'm honest enough to know it wasn't ever going to be a classic) and feedback I received was positive.

Then I walked into a shop full of books and realised I could find versions of my story all over the place.

I've been writing my blog and mentally writing a short ghost story while the rest of my mind is left to its own devices in the hope it will come up with a solution (I like to leave my mind to do the work!), but at present the novel is firmly bogged down.

I suspect I have two options; either throw it in the 'never mind pile' and forget it or keep writing and see where it takes me. As I have committed all my energy to this project I should probably keep going and see whether it improves. If not, at least I'm writing and learning.

Of course, this might just be a case of self doubt undermining me. Perhaps I'm writing the next big thing (if only...).

Wasted generation?

I haven't actually decided what this post will be about today.

I had a few thoughts, but they seem to have blown away before I could grab hold. So, please excuse me if this seems to be a ramble (although that is the subtitle of this blog...).

I've recently been looking for employment as the photography business is pretty quiet at present (I live in a city filled with photography students, which doesn't help) and I'm finding it extremely difficult.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I am an experienced administrator. Unfortunately, this is my problem as well as my selling point. Employers don't seem to want to employ someone at my level – the agencies inform me I am well qualified and the perfect candidate. Apparently that makes me too expensive for some and too much of a threat to others. Result? I can't get a job.

Now for the flipside of the coin. I know a nineteen year old who left college last year with a National diploma. His school exams were good and he is a bright, honest person. He has been looking for work for over a year without success. Apart from a short stint in an office as a temp and a holiday job last summer he has been turned down for everything he applies for. The reason given? Not enough experience! Somewhere between us we must have exactly the right amount of experience for these people?

All around the country it is getting harder to find work. I am in my late forties and have decided to go back to university and start a new degree. This will at least keep me from giving up hope, but what about all these young people with no work? The government suggests training programmes and further education. Fine if you're academically minded, but what will you do after the education? There are no jobs now – by the time you return to the job market there will probably be even fewer jobs and more applicants. And you'll probably be told you're over-qualified!

Raising the age of school leavers solves nothing. It will cause overcrowding in schools, resentment by students who don't want to be there and more problems for overstretched teaching staff. It is merely a way of reducing the unemployment figures.

Those on training programmes will be replaced with new trainees as soon as the course ends. It enables companies to enjoy a constant stream of cheap employees; it doesn't offer long term solutions to the unemployed. Some years ago I worked as a Work Placement Officer and I saw this happen constantly.

Is it any wonder the numbers of supporters for any of the less mainstream political parties is increasing? When young people see more and more immigrants being pushed in front of them for housing, jobs, etc they are bound to feel resentful. Resent can easily lead to anger, which leads to violence. They can feel as though they are less valued by their own countrymen than a newcomer is. This caused race riots in the seventies and eighties – this is not something we wish to see again.

I'm not offering solutions to these issues – I don't have the answers – but I do believe we must look at ways to help rescue the people trapped at either end of the job seeking market. We have many social problems, a number of which involve young unemployed people; we need to understand that these will continue as long as they feel unwanted and that their lives are wasted.

Well, it seems I did have something to say after all.

I think I'll end here, but I welcome any comments or views you may have on this post.

A Writer? No, not me!

I've just read a blog which discussed the type of person who claims to be a writer. The blog stated there are two types; the person who tells everyone they are a writer in order to impress people and the person who just gets on and writes.

I must admit I am definitely not in the first category. I never tell anyone that I write (most people are aware I am a photographer) – in fact I find it a little embarrassing when someone finds out. I'm quick to point out I've never been published and am unlikely to ever be so.

However, I might have less choice in the matter this September, as I've been offered a place in the second year of a BA in Creative Writing. I can hardly deny being a writer whist undertaking this programme, can I?

This leads me to my next question. At what point do you say you are a writer and actually have credibility?

In my opinion, anyone who writes for the sake of writing, good or bad, is a writer. In the same way as anyone else who pursues an interest can call themselves a painter, footballer, etc, if you write you are a writer.

The difference for some of us is a desire to send our babies out into the world to see if they can survive on their own. The reality is not good. For every one successful writer there are thousands of recipients of reject slips.

The truth of the matter is simple – we write because we love it and we dream that others will love our work as much as we do. I believe anyone who writes because they have no choice in the matter (from desire, not coercion) can, and must, call themselves a writer.

When I join the BA in September I will be surrounded by much younger students who will undoubtedly be more than prepared to use the 'W' word to describe themselves. Hopefully, by then, I will have the courage to do the same.

A lovely day in Devon

As I sit here with my door open onto the back garden I realise how lucky I am to live in Devon.

I grew up in North London and only saw the countryside, or the sea, on daytrips with the family. It is an amazing privilege to be able to enjoy the amazing scenery of Devon on a daily basis. I can see the hills of Dartmoor in the distance whenever I look out of the kitchen window. On a walk into the city I have a view of Plymouth Sound in the distance. More than once I have stopped dead as I walk around a corner and find myself faced with a beautiful view.

Not long after I moved to Plymouth I was sat outside a bar having a drink as the sun went down. Suddenly it struck me – this was my daily life if I wished it to be. I could enjoy the sunset across the Hoe (slight poetic licence here as it sets to the west of the Hoe!), or walk on the moors at any time I wished. It is like visiting a beautiful holiday location and never leaving.

The Barbican is one of my favourite places for a drink and something to eat. How can you not enjoy it when you have such beautiful and historic surroundings?

                                      

I don't want to give the impression I see Plymouth through rose tinted glasses – there are plenty of unpleasant areas – but it offers an opportunity to enjoy the summer months in a way I never believed possible when I was younger. Even in the winter we enjoy some beautiful scenery and can walk on beaches, rock hopping and enjoying being outside.

The moors are beautiful all year round - from the colours of summer to the stark beauty of winter. I often travel around the moors area and love the feeling of peace it gives you.

 
A view like that is definitely worth the walk!


I could go on about living in Devon (and I may do so another day...), but for now I'm heading out to the garden to reacquaint myself with sunshine.

How much for a degree?

Last night I watched the Dispatches programme about UK universities ‘selling’ degrees.

As someone who worked in the International Admissions dept of a UK university for a number of years I didn’t feel it went far enough.

International students are seen as cash cows for many universities, so much so they are actively recruited even when they are not suited to study at university level. Their qualifications are either ignored or ‘reassessed’ to make them fit the entry criteria.

There are two recognised bodies used by most UK institutions. IELTS which carries out English language assessments around the world and is part of the British Council (there is also TOEFL, a US company) and NARIC who provides accurate comparisons between UK qualifications and those around the world.

These provide excellent information which should ensure all students are equally qualified to undertake Higher education, either at degree level or postgraduate study.

Unfortunately, there is no requirement for universities to adhere to these guidelines, therefore the admissions officer (or academic, etc) is free to disregard the evidence and make an offer of a place at university to anyone they please. 

This usually means poorly qualified, often unable to speak English, and low quality candidates. 

I have seen many international students given university places that would never have been offered to UK students with the same level of qualifications. Even UK natives are expected to have a GCSE in English, yet we offered places to people who have to contact us via an interpreter! 

I was once informed by a senior manager that I was to be quiet when I questioned an offer made to someone who was ill qualified for entry on a degree programme (they were actually offered a PhD candidacy) as I should remember they paid £10,000 a year to “come here and fail”. There is absolutely no interest in either the students, nor in the quality of the service offered – it’s entirely about the money they can bring.

This, in itself, is often an erroneous belief. Many students do not have the fees; they borrow them from a family friend in order to obtain the visa required to enter the UK. Some actually attend the university and attend lectures while promising the money (they can then return home and claim to have a UK qualification), but many others merely disappear upon arrival in the UK.

To give one example; a couple of years ago my department issued unconditional offers (needed to obtain a visa) to almost 100 Ghanaian applicants. Not one enrolled.

This is being tightened up now with the introduction of the new visa system, but I have heard many academics state they will not keep a record on students attendance, so who knows...

I know of academics who have been bullied (by senior members of the university) to accept unsuitable students, or academics who seem to be willing to offer a visa letter to anyone in sight. I am personally aware of one academic who ‘guaranteed’ offer letters in exchange for an arrangement fee. This was a few years ago and has hopefully been stopped.

The simple truth is UK universities see the international community as a source of large amounts of cash – most universities now regard this as a major part of their recruitment – and they are willing to overlook many aspects of the application - provided the student says they have the fees.

There are also those ‘students’ who are only interested in gaining entry into the UK. It is much simpler to apply to the UK as a student (false documents abound) and enter as a legal visitor than it is to attempt to come into the country illegally. It’s also cheaper as many universities issue the visa letter before asking for fees.

A number of terror suspects in recent years have been here on student visas. This alone should cause universities to think hard about their recruitment policies. My ex-colleagues and I have all commented on the possibility of seeing one of our ‘dubious’ applicants on the front page of the newspapers.

I can only hope this situation is repeatedly highlighted until the authorities address it. Many International students come here to gain a UK qualification as they feel it is respected worldwide. These students, along with UK students, deserve better than the service they receive. 

International students represent an important market for the UK and they should not be left feeling as though no-one cares. A good international student deserves a good university. Let’s remember they are probably equally horrified to find themselves in a lecture with students who were their inferior back home. They also are unlikely to appreciate the image given by these poor quality students who are seen by many to be typical internationals.

Why I want to write like...

At the end of last year, the Writers Bureau magazine Chapter & Verse asked readers to submit a piece entitled 'Why I want to write like...'. Time and other commitments meant I missed the deadline (I managed the next one and was included in the magazine!) and didn't submit my piece. So, I thought I'd share it with you today.

Why I want to write like – Stephen King...

He may not be shortlisted for the big literary prizes, but Stephen King is my choice for one reason – he is extremely good at doing his job. I don’t pick up a Stephen King expecting important literature, I expect an enjoyable read. He has never let me down and I feel this is the single most important aspect of the writer and reader relationship. 

When you read a King book you know you will become immersed in the lives of his characters. He may not be the greatest living writer, but his books are truly absorbing, with real people that you care about. I would love to be able to create characters and places with such strong and believable histories. For me, a writer who can create such magic and provide entertainment for so many people around the world is surely a better writer (in terms of writing something people actually want to read and will enjoy) than any of the high brow literary greats whose work only appeals to the few.

Stephen King is a writer without a conscience. I don’t mean he’s an evil sociopath; just that he is willing to kill off anyone to improve the story. Most of us labour to create a believable, rounded character and then do our best to protect them through the story. Mr King breathes life into a character just to snuff it out again. This has the effect of always leaving you unsure how the story will come out – there’s no guarantee the hero will even survive the adventure. How many of us are brave enough to kill off strong, believable characters so casually?

I don’t wish to write horror; I would just like to write with even a portion of the talent of King when it comes to developing characters and situations that hold the readers interest until they turn the last page. I have often finished a King book with regret that I am leaving his world. I can think of no better compliment to a writer and can only dream of ever writing even one story with such power.

I enjoy reading a wide range of books in a number of genres, but I have rarely found any writer who can weave such a powerful spell around the reader. Stephen King, at his best, is the greatest example of a truly skilful storyteller. Any aspiring writer could certainly do far worse than aspire to reach such a level of writing (in my opinion...).

Books from my childhood

I thought I'd write something a little different today.

I've noticed a number of blogs discussing whether writing for children is 'proper' writing and I thought I might just list and discuss a few books from my childhood (when they were chiselled in slate!).

I don't think any list of favourite childhood books can be complete without:

1. The Paddington series by Michael Bond. A wonderful creation who subtly teaches children to be kind and polite - without being a walkover. Even today, in my house, we refer to "giving a Paddington hard stare" at anyone who upsets us. I must admit I was first in line when the new book, Paddington: Here and Now,  was released a couple of years ago. I still found myself laughing out loud with enjoyment. Can there be a greater definition of a writer than one who can generate such feelings with their writing?
2. The Jennings series by Anthony Buckeridge. I discovered these books when I was about eight or nine. I grew up in a council house in North London, so the world of boarding school and 'jolly japes' was an alien one to me. This series drew me in and showed me a different aspect of life. I loved these stories and desperately wished I could join Jennings, Darbishire and the gang. It offered a much happier life than I felt I had and provided me with an escape for a few hours. The books are undoubtedly outdated now, but I'd still like to see them being read. In fact, they are still sold on Amazon - perhaps they are still popular. I hope so.
3. Outdated, racist, elitist - perhaps. But Enid Blyton provided many of the books I worked through at home to improve my reading. I read all the Famous Five, Secret Seven, etc books and must admit to greatly enjoying them. At an age where sexual politics was unknown I never considered the tomboy, George, to be anything but that. I didn't see any of the subtext that we are now told makes her (Blyton) so bad - I just saw enjoyable adventures. I also enjoyed (at a younger age) the Wishing Chair and the Faraway Tree stories.    I do worry that academics and politically motivated readers will search for any opportunity to brand a writer. To my mind, Blyton was a product of her time. Her books deserve to be enjoyed by children, not torn apart by adults looking for a peg to hang their political hats. (Sorry, rant over).
4. Dr No by Ian Fleming. Not a children's book I know , but I read this aged eleven. Therefore I consider it a book from my childhood. I was given this by a wonderful English teacher who wanted to keep my love of reading alive. The set books were Shakespeare, A Man for all Seasons, Poetry and another book which has now passed from my mind. My teacher was aware this was not a set designed to appeal to the heart of an eleven year old boy (even one with an adult reading level) and provided the Bond book as an incentive. Like most adolescents I was hooked on Bond from page one. I devoured the entire series over the next few years. My father  was not a book person and would often throw my books away if he was in the mood, so these books were quite often my 'under the bed clothes with a torch' books. We must, of course, also remember that Fleming also wrote a book specifically for children that is loved by all ages as a film and stage show - Chitty Chitty Bang Bang! Who says proper writers don't do children's stories?

This seems to be turning into an epic blog. Perhaps I'll return to this theme another day. Please leave a comment if you would like to mention a favourite book from your childhood. It would be interesting to see other opinions.

Thanks

Neil