The launch of the North Bristol Writers’ newest anthology, Tales From The Graveyard, is from 5pm until 7pm on Saturday 2nd March at Arnos Vale Cemetery, Bristol.
There will be readings, signed copies up for grabs, and a chance to discover how we stitched together the pages of frights, desires, nightmares and tragedy into a monster!
The event page is on Facebook.
Hope to see you all there.
I attended a workshop on climate change yesterday held by the Bristol Climate Writers as part of the Bristol Festival of Literature.
As part of the course the group was asked to write two short pieces, one dystopian, one utopian. Afterward, it was generally agreed that dystopia was a lot easier to portray. Not surprising as we are surrounded daily by suffering and injustices.
Member of Bristol Climate Writers, Emma Turnbull, argued that “when we feel threatened with no perceived possibility of escape, we are at risk of experiencing trauma and developing PTSD”. With this in mind, maybe a prevalence of dystopian themes can be damaging.
If we begin to imagine utopias more, bring them into debate and discuss the possibilities, is that not positive thinking? And might that not bring about change? It’s hard to imagine in a race so scared living on a world so depleted, but it’s worth a shot. Start a conversation today.
My two workshop pieces:
Dystopia
Outside my window the last tree stands. The July sky is dappled by crisp dead leaves.
I am the only one who still comes to the office on Narrow Quay.
I am the only one.
I do no work as there is no work to be done.
Sweat replaces the tears that used to moisten the brittle rubber seal of my oxygen mask. They continued to manufacture rubber and plastics until the end because the masses continued to buy them; only the rich could afford the sustainable alternatives and they were the ones who made the plastic.
The cylinder by my legs is finally empty. A voice doesn’t need breath, just somebody to hear it.
Utopia
Their fingers pressed those buttons years back and dystopia died along with the many.
I may not have mastered utopias yet, but I’m going to keep trying.
Nash
Another collaboration discussed this week was a series of short stories exploring tunnels and familiar strangers, with the exuberant master of tales, Joffre White, author of the Frog Series and Earthland. I’m looking forward to unearthing some mysteries for your entertainment with this collection.
I read in The Guardian on Friday that print sales for literary fiction have remained low since they plummeted in 2010. This ‘crisis’, highlighted in a report commissioned by the Arts Council England (ACE), has the same Council considering to fund this publishing genre.
It would be a mistake, I think, to assume that other genres only reflect society rather than examine it, or do not have anything worthwhile to say, and therefore don’t merit support.
Should we not question ACE’s literature director’s reported comment, “… we are saying that there is something so unique and important and necessary and fundamental about literary fiction in particular, that we need to focus on it and support it.”?
Shouldn’t ACE concentrate on promoting literacy in schools, or reading in adulthood, with the aim to allow the reader, not ACE, to support the authors of literary fiction or any other genre?
I have just received a rough recording of my story, We Are Gathered. It was recorded live in the Anglican chapel at Arnos Vale Cemetery on a stormy October evening, … Continue reading We Are Gathered – audio version
As Ophelia waved her tail in farewell and our very own Brian approached with all the stormy power its name suggests, our Tales From The Graveyard, the proposed tour of Arnos Vale with accompanying fiction, was limited to the Anglican chapel that crowns the cemetery’s hill.
The austerity of the building combined with candlelight shadows was the perfect gothic setting for our readings of the macabre and the horrible. And with an added soundman, Rich Jeffery, there maybe an audio book of the event in the future.
Among the North Bristol Writers that took part were:
Pete Sutton, Maria Herring who was reading a story by Kevlin Henney, Chrissey Harrison, Justin Newland, Clare Dornan, Jay Millington, Ian Millsted, and Piotr Sweitlik,
With the poet B Adriaens reading my contribution this ghoulish evening was concluded.
With thanks to the Arnos Vale staff – great coffee, by the way – and, of course, our audience – I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did!
Look out for the Tales From The Graveyard print anthology in 2018
Come along to Arnos Vale Cemetery in Bristol on October 19th, when my story, We Are Gathered, will be read among the headstones. Other members of North Bristol Writers will also be reading their new work. Visit the event page on the AVC website for more details.
Come along to Arnos Vale Cemetery in Bristol on October 19th, when my story, We Are Gathered, will be read among the headstones. Other members of North Bristol Writers will also be reading their new work. Visit the event page on the AVC website for more details.
Took my son for a jolly in Arnos Vale Cemetery today – I know, he’s a lucky lad, right?
My work in progress, We Are Gathered, will hopefully be performed here in October, so I wanted to get a feel for the place. After an explore through the shadows and having collected over a hundred and twenty photos (ones featured salvaged from the mass of photobombings), I have enough to start on the second draft.
Arnos Vale is a forty-five acre Victorian Garden Cemetery alive with nature trails, a Forest school, guided tours, hidden symbols, underground tunnels and weddings, in the heart of the vibrant UK city of Bristol. For more info, visit www.arnosvale.org
A man is introduced to his long-lost family on a visit to a Neolithic longbarrow. Holding Hands features in Issue 3 of Mythic: A Quarterly Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine. … Continue reading Mythic (Issue 3, Summer 2017)
With Mythic, a new quarterly SF&F magazine publishing my piece of short fiction, Holding Hands, next month, I wanted to give you a little back story about this rather personal tale.
A while ago my son and I were having some difficulty getting on. After around six months of very little communication between us, either verbally or physically, we happened to be walking back from town, him trailing behind in silence like usual. As we did so, I felt his hand slip in mine. It was wonderful, brief, and a beginning.
It was that moment which I attempted to capture in writing, and from that, Holding Hands developed. I’m not proficient enough as a writer yet to have done that, but I’ve tried. I hope you enjoy the story.
Eric Nash 