A couple of reviews came in for B & ST, and I’m immensely grateful to the reviewers and online journals (Everybody’s Reviewing and The High Window) for showcasing my work. Both of them were favourable, which helps! Like many poets out there with non-arts dayjobs, I can’t often get to readings and open mics unless they are very local or coinciding with time off. Therefore, every review is a valuable aid in the right direction. I have to admit that self promotion doesn’t suit me, although I’m paradoxically fine on stage and I love the interactions which come up.
The launch at Five Leaves Bookshop co-incided with storm Joscelyn, meaning I set off towards Nottingham in torrential rain and came back home in a howling wind. Other acoustic challenges included the Exchange clock – one of the loudest and deepest bonnggs in England – which boomed out the hours while I and co-reader Jenny Swann were being serious up there at the front. It was hard to keep a straight face, particularly when Mr. Clock bonngged during an apposite line, but on the whole it is better to have a good old traditional clock in a city centre rather than a silent one. Where would London be without Big Ben? I’m sure I wasn’t the only relieved listener when the Pugin-designed behemoth was back in its rightful place doing the 6 o’clock news after its years of restoration. It’s a bit like ravens leaving the Tower. (for anyone not in the UK: it’s thought the country will fall if the ravens leave their home in London).
I thought I’d get back in the game by leading part of a workshop at a local writers’ evening; the series is run by a very capable spoken word poet, so I contacted him about whether I could help with one of the sessions. I was all set to do this on the February half term, but with a few days still to go, something had happened with the dates and/or the booking/possibly the venue, and the whole thing was called off. Will I ever do a workshop again? I wailed (at first). But I reckon I can wait a while longer, particularly if I’m volunteering now. So much of the regional/non-mainstream arts life consists of fits and starts, ending up back at the beginning as soon as I take my foot off the gas. We’re now impacted by the public services cuts of course: across the midlands, libraries are falling like trees, projects are axed and major galleries are having their funding swept away. When I began working for community arts, bookings could be got from all kinds of local authority departments: in 2024, not one of these outlets exists.
Other artistic efforts included sending work in for the Apocalyptic Landscapes project run by Huddersfield Uni – this allowed me to finish a poem which had lain in my notebooks for a long time as a half-realised selection of images and ideas. At last I was able to get it done, although the remaining two probably won’t be finished in time for the closing date. The completed one arrived too late to make it into the Stripey Trousers, so I’ll use it as a sourdough starter for the next collection. I’m thinking it will be a while before a group of poems materialises to form the next book – this is because I’m having to put the dayjob first for another year. But I look forward to getting some artistic stimulus by reading others’ work and by keeping a notebook as usual.
in a few weeks’ time I will be doing the launch there [23rd January – ed]. Thanks as always to the press, the reliable typesetting team @BookTypesetters, and Imprint Digital (down in Exeter) who do such a grand job on regional press publishing; and to any prospective readers out there who might want a copy. This time it’s all about the workplace. The toxic workplace. Welcome to the circus…. If you are not yet convinced, there is a very nice promotional piece on the Creative Writing at Leicester site, dated December 17th 2023.
important, listen out for the thing you are looking for, and ignore the shrimp noise. So, the cool/well-connected person who always seems to grab the review space? Shrimp noise. The small mags who focus on a narrow range of mates for their contents? That poet who has the residencies you keep reading about even though you can’t recall anything they’ve ever done? Forget them, it’s shrimp noise. Does the constant babble of promotion make you worried about your arts ‘career’? It certainly does that to me, because I’ve been in the slow lane plenty of times. But it’s shrimpnoise all the same. In the world of the shrimp, be a lobster. Or a hermit crab. Whatever you like. Be yourself. Just focus on the real stuff as you see it, and stick to that.
were performing in the spoken-word-type events, which are similar to improv nights and theatre studio work. I found out a bit about the publishing scene, and a couple of people even talked to me, which is quite a breakthrough. And soon after, I went to the Newark on Trent Christmas Fair – but not for the whole day, because it was pitching it down and freezing again, with most people crammed into the Buttermarket building in an attempt to stay dry. I mean, those velvets and furnishing fabrics can ship in quite a lot of water, and you don’t want to be dragging a hundredweight of wet fabric around. Thankfully there’s another weekend in May 2024, and I hope it’s not so…. er…. inclement by then. Be Splendid! Yes, even when everyone else seems to be wearing custom-made gowns fit for the House of Worth, and you’re in a converted pinafore dress that cost £2.50 from a charity shop in Whitley Bay.
largely because the pages I sent in did not fit the intended book size, and several poems with longer-than-usual lines had to be retyped. This isn’t as simple as it sounds, because each line now ended on a different word, and where I had aligned these longer run-over lines to the right hand margin, the auto formatting at the ‘production end’ had re-set everything back to a standardised left hand margin. This affected how fast/slow a line could be read, images and transitions now appeared in places where they were not supposed to be, and the ‘music’ of the line was ruined. So I had to get everything to fit again; the way a line was seen plus the music of the words and how fast a poem would proceed down the page. Thankfully I found good compromises, and I hope that the future readers can’t tell that some of the poems were originally a different shape.
I’m one of the many people scaling down their Twitter (X) presence and switching to the user-friendly Bluesky site, which has some of the familiarity of ‘old’ Twitter without the intrusive presence from corporate persons with their irrelevant ads and dubious politics. I was given a Bluesky entry code from an editor who has my work on his site, otherwise I would be waiting in the general queue for an invite. Already, I have followed (and been followed by) a number of people I’ve ‘met’ on Twitter, and the amusement continues – hopefully without any stupid ads and other unwanted impedimenta. These free social media platforms are essential for poets and small presses, because even when old-skool publishers like Shoestring don’t bother with an online presence, their poets are circulating event details and commenting on each others’ books. These word-of-mouth recommendations are invaluable, and it means the presses can spend more time doing what they enjoy, which is producing books and participating in real-life communication. The online world is a great help while I’m back to fulltime dayjobs, because I don’t feel out of the loop when it comes to artistic news; but I recall the pre-pandemic times when I attended lots of readings and got behind the booktables, and I know which world I prefer.
weeks. I will however, be sailing into the National Space Centre steampunk weekend in late November (at Leicester) wearing another home-made creation. It will be my third ‘proper’ steampunk outing, and this time ladies and gentlemen, I am wearing the Amazing Dirigible Hat – seen here residing in its hangar, a conveniently-sized Primark bag. I can’t tell you how many Sunday afternoons went into producing this thing; the design changed a little, to stay in place on my head and prove less hazardous in a venue with open display areas and fragile items worn by other people. I’ve ‘registered’ it to an airfield in South Lincs, so it’s the SK 001 model, named Hildegard (after Hildegard of Bingen). I’ll let you know how I get on.
There I was, expecting to wait much longer before the next collection went ahead. I sent a sample in, and a couple of weeks later, had a request for the rest of the typescript. I sent this off, and enjoyed a few days away in Hebden Bridge. A week or two later, the whole collection was back on my doormat when I returned home from the dayjob. Oh no, not more rejection, I thought. They don’t like it and it’s a no this time, with…. maybe an outside chance if the whole thing is revised? I didn’t want to open the envelope. However, the small independent presses work on different timescales to the ACE funded ones and the conglomerates, and I was delighted to find an acceptance letter instead, together with an approximate plan of what would happen next. At last, the collection is go! This one’s taken forever to drag across the finishing line, thanks to a combination of ‘life events’ and the cost of living crisis. On the latest information, Balloons and Stripey Trousers should be available from Shoestring Press in early 2024, and details will be published on here when the time is ready. It’s about the workplace. The toxic workplace. Welcome to the circus!
centimetre to park on anywhere during the day. Fortunately I stayed at a hostel with its own parking (next to the Birchcliffe Centre) and my initial panic soon dispersed. Nearly everywhere is at a 45 degree angle with narrow bends, so you have to appreciate hills if you want to get the best from this unique place. I attended a poetry reading at Heptonstall, and it’s quite something to hear the wind rushing through the trees beside a ruined churchyard, while people recite Hughes’ poems in the ancient museum next door. The work becomes more alive, in some ways, and several people in the audience had either met Hughes in person or corresponded with him. The museum venue had a beautiful black and white cat in residence, which is a definite plus.
made goggles on it. What I really should have worn, evidently, was a heap of items bought from the online retail giant while wielding an immense stage-prop weapon like an engine part from H.G Wells’ time machine. Perhaps I’m not cut out to be a Steampunk and I should give up now, before I make more outfits. I enjoyed the people-watching though; it was a fantastical and hilarious event, recommended if you happen to be in Lincoln over the late Bank Holiday.
useful, so I have some work to do – however, I won’t pretend I am not disappointed. I see formula work after formula work occupying the shelves in bookshops, and nobody seems to mind; so I imagined that my take on the ‘new people move into town/family comedy plot’ would be just as valid as the next person’s. Evidently not. Now, I can save you all the expense of going on a writing course you don’t really need by stating the main must-do points as delivered to me. And the first one is: cut to the chase, don’t have an introductory episode, just get the characters and the reader into the action like NOW, whether you wanted it or not. Many starter-sentences from the longlisted/shortlisted authors were exactly that; so don’t try to be circumspect or clever, don’t give your readers an unfolding lead-in – simply yell right in their faces to get attention. It’s the only way. The second take-home point is: don’t insert back-story into your paragraphs using a past tense as you relate hinterland or attitude or atmosphere. Past tense signifies inertness and awkwardness to people who aren’t you, so don’t do what I did and get yourself chucked out after 4 readers. I’ll be revising my script because it was seen by professionals and the advice was both unanimous and well meant. However, it all proved that mainstream genre is more about formula than anything else. And I should have rewritten my first two pages before I sent my entry in.
Meanwhile, the next poetry collection inches/centimetres along to completion. I’m on what could be the last poem right now, after spending some time walking round an historic town which had seen better days. These towns are fabulous when it comes to writing the present with an eye on the past – the closed ‘attractions’, the shops with ever-shortening hours, and the half-finished building project which hasn’t got any further than the same time last year. Although I was away at half term, the coachloads and families were not in evidence, and on enquiring at a bakery for lunch, the only thing they could offer was a ‘plain ham sandwich’, like it was a fast-day from an alternative England set in the 1950’s. More shops stood boarded up on the high street, and the only place doing brisk business was Greggs, where I probably should have gone in the first place. Eventually I found a nice cafe by the waterfront, but alas, the river which might have been filled with trip-boats and people going fishing – it was silent, with waters unchurned. What had happened? Only another year of Brexit Britain, economic chaos and rising inflation. The extras are cut, and people are running on empty.
I was looking for Pete Green’s Sheffield Almanac for a while, and I didn’t realise it was out of print – when I was at the regional bookfairs, I often saw it on sale and thought ‘hmm, maybe next time’. Well, next time should have been back then, because it sold out and I’ve been almanac-free for 3 years. Not any more, for on the very weekend it came back on sale, I was ready with my order. I don’t normally go for ‘the long poem’, but Mr. Green can really handle the form and it’s a joy to read. As it’s a Longbarrow Press production, the jacket and typesetting are spot on, with nothing that gets in the way of the poem. Even better, it’s as relevant now as it was when it was first published – quite rare in the history of politicised work, where events can soon make a poem seem dated. I’ve seen datedness happen in my own work; there’s one in response to the landslide election result in 2019 which now looks distinctly passe even though I spent ages getting it right. In short, the Pete Green stands up to be counted in ’23 whereas I’m thinking twice about putting mine in the next collection. Until next time: have a great summer, folks!
I try to make it onto the longlists, I really do. However, when the judges are making their decisions, they unaccountably miss me off. At least I didn’t lose any entry fees on sending into the Indie Novella/Watson Little competition, and I’m sure they have found a terrific selection of work to bring forward into the next round. That’s how it goes, swings and roundabouts. At some point I can develop my entry as a self-publishing project if it isn’t picked up by one of the regional presses first. I’d like to see it get through the door of a ‘proper’ press (as opposed to me with a laptop and a local printer) but I am realistic about the outcome. Yes, I should get off my backside and do it myself, instead of waiting for that mythical response from elsewhere.
It was time I collected up those paintings from The Headrow Gallery in Leeds. The Bernard Parker watercolours were on display for around 18 months, but none of them had sold and I discovered others (sold during the 1970’s – 1990’s) had gone through local auction houses for a good deal less than a ‘new’ work. As the market for originals is every bit as bad as the market for selling poetry books just now, the best option was collecting them up and maybe selling one or two direct using my sales website at rennieparker.bigcartel.com. In the meantime I can save them nice and flat in a chest of drawers. I already have some smaller paintings on my walls…. the ones I collected from the gallery were intended for exhibitions in larger venues, and they would suit homes with more wallspace for a ‘feature’ piece. And until they go, I can keep them pristine and lovely. The Headrow had looked after them very well; each one had been properly backed and wrapped, so there’s no danger of dusty edges and dog-eared corners. Ars longa.
Hartley’s in Ilkley, and Duggleby’s in Scarborough. Both of these are likely outlets for Parker watercolours where the descendants of the original buyers want to pass them on. You will be able to find a work for less than £30, one which could be a commission or an exhibition ‘red dot’…. although the mounts and frames will need replacing. Best scenes would be around Linton, Thorpe, Kettlewell and Appletreewick in Wharfedale; and several around Whitby, Filey, and Robin Hood’s Bay. These places were not so touristy when Mr. P painted them, so you’ll see Yorkshire ‘as it was’, before the major A roads and All Creatures Great & Small.
belong to, as I negotiated the early stages of being a poet and getting into bookings as a community arts worker. But it was much easier then, because adult education networks were still in each region and every county was peppered with touring-venue arts centres. Even though I ended up in largely rural Lincolnshire, I was still engaged on a merry round of places to go and people to see. The ‘best’ venue always felt like The Pearoom at Heckington – full of character and with a lovely wholefood cafe.
on Zoom right the way through 2022. So I signed up to their Newsletter and attended the very next one – pleased that some of the people in the group were ones I’d met when ‘going to things’ was regular and essential. So, hello world! I hope to be a little more back than I have been since 2019. Then – out of the blue in February – an offer came from the Shrewsbury Poetry organisers who booked me a couple of years ago. A fifteen minute readings slot as part of their zoom ‘Connected’ series. Thankyou, Jean Atkin and Liz Lefroy. It’s sudden opportunities like this which makes the long slog worthwhile. However, the reading itself didn’t go according to plan, as my internet failed spectacularly and it turned into an episode of Ms Bean Does Poetry/clunky vintage stop-frame animated cartoon. Fun for the onlookers, I hope, as I held up handwritten signs and walked backwards round my room carrying the laptop, trying to find the ‘four bars’.
It happened with a kind of inevitability to it. In a college filled with medically vulnerable and socially vulnerable teens, very few people are wearing a mask. Then one person comes into the office with a steaming ‘cold’, refusing to go home because they have ‘so much work to do’. That work included infecting other people in the office with the bugs they had, which turned out to be Covid 19. I spent a few days feeling truly awful – the Pfizer did its heavy lifting so I was soon back on my feet, but I don’t want a dose of this again. Be the friend in the office and the decent boss. Make that sneezing jobsworth go home; let your team do their admin from their own front rooms until there’s no double red lines on the antigen test. We would all love to believe that the pandemic is over, but please consider your local evidence and check the statistics.
Well hello there, already several weeks into 2023! New Year brought a couple of submissions opportunities, and I spent most of late December working towards those. At the moment, all my recent poems are out being looked at, and now the potential fiction projects are out there too. I used to put novellas and suchlike onto the Ama*** download programme, but the admin hassle wasn’t worth it and I made about £1.37 from this magnificent enterprise. I’ll win no accolade for business acumen at that rate – and besides, I prefer the real-life interactions of a small press bookfair. Maybe the downloads route is best for writers who also have the time to run professional marketing campaigns, or they’re in a niche non-fiction market where they are the only experts on the block. Anyways, at least I tried – and now I know it doesn’t work in my case unless a book is already there in hardcopy from an established press.
the ‘revising up’ method. My head says it is finished when in real life it patently isn’t, and the sequential movement from one thing to the next isn’t quite as workable and well written as I thought. These problems only come to light after about a year, when the continuity errors signal loud and clear. There is a good side to all this effort, such as – I have 3 or 4 novellas/novel drafts available at any one time, so when one of them grinds to a halt I can pick up another; and providing they are not out-of-date in concept, I have something available for the next advertised publishing scheme without burning the midnight oil.
semi-retired poets out there, your country needs you. Throw aside the writing circle and the book group and get back where you belong, associating with incompatible random folks who hate the arts and managers who won’t promote you. I strongly advise the following: ignore the propaganda machine and stay on that mythical ‘golf course’, otherwise this years’ school leavers won’t be able to get a job.
As none of us know what the future holds in terms of rising utility bills and the rest, I brought forward my spending plans then I don’t have to replace lots of goods during the winter when it’ll be The Rising Cost Of Living to the power of ten – plus train strikes and postal delays as well. But I now have a splendid pair of pillar-box red ankle boots (hooray!) and you can be sure I’ll be wearing them at readings.
looking storefront with the right connectivity; and I’m more than happy to include those personal touches which people enjoy when buying direct from artists’ sites. But still, I hesitate to do it even though there’s fewer opportunities for attending readings and events now that I’m 4 months into a fulltime job.
Steampunk for some super contraptions and wild wearables. My outfit was conservative by comparison, just a long dress and a suitable Edwardian hat, but I was reliably informed that I looked like a lady fern-collector, so I must have got the right vibe even with a pair of Tesco trainers underneath. Take care, everyone! And keep a grip on your artistic ideas, even if you are undergoing a long writers’ fallow period, like I am.
Rennie Parker's Bookstop 