And so we've come to the end of another year. It seems like only last week that I started writing this blog, but considering that I started in June this isn't such a dramatic opening to a post. With New Year's Eve upon us and the inevitable revelries about to start, I've decided to take some time out and reflect upon the year just gone. To try and sum it up in full is a task for someone better qualified than me, so I'll give my own perspective on what has made 2014 a truly eventful year.
The first big event this year was this blog being created. Anyone who's read my first post will know that I decided to start a blog due to being on a creative writing course at university, and that it seemed quite appropriate. You may also know that I was originally called something else, but that I had to change my name when I discovered that somebody else had taken it. I chose my current name due to a lot of my poetry having a recurring theme involving tigers. I know I haven't discussed this theme in detail this year, so expect more tiger poetry in the New Year, as well as more stuff to start arriving on the YouTube channel.
Two other big events I saw this year as the Tiger Poet were the centenary of Dylan Thomas and my trip to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. Seeing a poet as famous as Dylan Thomas being celebrated for his poetry gave me an extra boost to get my own work out there. Despite the fact that the only thing I have in common with Thomas is being Welsh, the discussion of his poetry inspired me to increase my own output and to further my understanding of poetry.
Then there was the Edinburgh Fringe, where I was astounded by the sheer volume of creativity on display, and where I first saw performance poetry somewhere other than university. Aside from the music and theatre I also saw, it was Kevin P. Gilday is the Man Who Loved Beer which gave me first-hand experience of how spoken word is performed in a live setting. I have always noted how performance poets always seem to perform their work at the same pitch and with the same tone. In Gilday's case however, his delivery was entirely suitable to the subject matter, and now I realise that this point can be modified if the poet has a strong individual voice. Gilday certainly had that and I look forward to seeing some more spoken word in the future.
The big event in Wales this year was of course the NATO summit held at the Celtic Manor in Newport. It was perhaps the single biggest event to be held in Newport in living memory, and the arrival of Barack Obama caused more than a stir in South Wales. The first US president to visit Wales left the Welsh people somewhat star-struck, and he brought a three thousand strong entourage with him. The most important outcome of the summit was the ceasefire in Ukraine, which was announced by President Poroshenko on the Celtic Manor's lawn. However my main memory of the summit will be the Osprey V22 which flew over my house. Never before had Frynwys seen anything like it, and I doubt we'll be seeing much like it again.
For me personally, starting my third and final year at university has been a defining event of 2014. Soon my studies will be at an end, and I face the daunting prospect of graduating and going off into the big wide world of work. Quite what I intend to do beyond that is a mystery to me at the moment, but I intend to carry on with this blog and to bring you content on a regular basis. This year my output has been on and off at the best of times, but going forward I will make it my New Year's resolution to bring you new posts at least every week. In the last few months I've tried to keep a consistent schedule, but with the new year will come more new and exciting things.
So, that's it. The year is done and dusted. All I can say now is goodbye to 2014. It's been a fun year, but all eyes are now turning towards the clock for the countdown to the New Year. Hope you all enjoy the fireworks and I'll see you all in 2015.
Happy New Year everyone!
Wednesday 31 December 2014
Monday 29 December 2014
Half a Glass
I can't remember the last time
it was as sunny as this.
Whenever a roasting summer beckons
the downpour beats it
to the front of the queue.
The lush green fields have a slight
black tinge to them.
Even the sheep and cows look drab.
A group of strangers pass and smile.
Everyone seems happy today.
< They say that food feeds the mind.
as well as the stomach.
I'd beg to differ.
Thousands of sausage rolls cannot
fuel the hyperactive engine
behind my eyes.
Still people smile in my direction.
Maybe the sunshine has
brightened everyone up a bit.
Maybe the scent of summer
has made them cheerful.
A glance at a window reveals to me
the cause for their incessant jubilance.
The right lens of my glasses
is no longer there.
now the world is half bright, half dark.
Oh well.
(In case anyone was wondering, this poem was inspired by an incident at university where I walked round campus not knowing that one of my shades' lenses had popped out.)
it was as sunny as this.
Whenever a roasting summer beckons
the downpour beats it
to the front of the queue.
The lush green fields have a slight
black tinge to them.
Even the sheep and cows look drab.
A group of strangers pass and smile.
Everyone seems happy today.
< They say that food feeds the mind.
as well as the stomach.
I'd beg to differ.
Thousands of sausage rolls cannot
fuel the hyperactive engine
behind my eyes.
Still people smile in my direction.
Maybe the sunshine has
brightened everyone up a bit.
Maybe the scent of summer
has made them cheerful.
A glance at a window reveals to me
the cause for their incessant jubilance.
The right lens of my glasses
is no longer there.
now the world is half bright, half dark.
Oh well.
(In case anyone was wondering, this poem was inspired by an incident at university where I walked round campus not knowing that one of my shades' lenses had popped out.)
Sunday 28 December 2014
The Tiger Poet vs. Dark Souls
During my time at university, I've become more and more aware of the increasing quality of video games. Of the various titles I've been exposed to, none is as imaginative or as mind-bendingly difficult as Dark Souls. This From Software and Namco Bandai developed game adds a new definition to the world difficulty, as the player encounters formidable foes and challenges on their journey through the mythical world of Lordran. Since the finer technicalities of gaming are lost on me, I'll spend this post talking about how the narrative techniques of Dark Souls are some of the most accomplished I've ever seen in any medium.
The game opens with a prologue, rather like the prologues seen in Peter Jackson's adaptions of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. However, unlike those prologues, the prologue of Dark Souls relies on much less exposition. We learn of how the world was originally dominated by Everlasting Dragons, or the lighting of the First Flame, and of how four beings with powerful souls destroyed the dragons in an epic war. After this, the player is told of how the First Flame is in danger of going out and that the Age of Dark will soon begin.
The prologue immediately establishes the minimalist approach to storytelling employed by the game-makers. It's the game's most prominent cut scene, and gives us the small but necessary backstory. It also tells us that the player is cursed the Darksign, a condition which turns humans into un-dead zombies of sorts. The player's first mission is to escape from the Undead Asylum they were imprisoned in, and from there the player begins an adventure across a vast and hazardous world. The only way to discover the story is to deduce it from elusive clues scattered throughout the game.
What I find particularly inspired about this is the lack of explanation. Extraordinary things are encountered by the player throughout the game, but are even more awe-inspiring due to belonging in the unknown. Some would argue that the fear of the unknown is one of the oldest, most primal fears known to man, and they wouldn't be wrong. Several great adventure stories have played on this, including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's 1912 novel The Lost World and the great adventure classic King Kong. Combine this with the human urge to explore and such stories are as thrilling as they are unnerving.
The creatures in Dark Souls are one of the game's main strengths. The imagination of some of the bosses is terrific, especially with regards to Queelag, Ornstein and Smough, and Gravelord Nito. Each creature is designed with such precision and flair that the boss fights are immensely entertaining. Ornstein and Smough are probably the most difficult opponents gamers are ever going to encounter, while the final boss fight against Lord Gwyn is one that I would seriously consider wearing heavy armour for. Bosses aside, there are many creatures which would give you nightmares if they were real. I'm paying particular attention to the frog-like Basilisks, whose surreal appearance is terrifying when meeting them in dark places. Other creatures of note include the cackling Mimics, Harpies and giant cats which attack using forward rolls.
All of these things combined make Dark Souls one of the most immersive games I've ever seen. Although I've been watching others play it, I have played some of it myself and it's just as difficult as it looks. It's a game that forces you to use ingenuity and to learn from your mistakes. In my case, I made several mistakes of varying degrees of inanity, but in the end I learned enough from those mistakes to make it to the boss fight at the end of the section. I lost that fight, but I was more than pleased when a colleague of mine managed to defeat the final boss.
Rarely do I mention video games on this blog. Video games are not my area of expertise, so I'll leave the critical analysis to the gamers. However, I feel that Dark Souls is a perfect example of minimalist storytelling at its best. I can report that I have seen Dark Souls 2 which came out earlier this year, and it continues the difficulty and enigma from the first game in true Dark Souls fashion. If anyone reading this post still doubts me, play it and see for yourself. Also, when selecting your weapons, choose a sturdy shield and maybe a spear. You're probably going to need it.
The game opens with a prologue, rather like the prologues seen in Peter Jackson's adaptions of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. However, unlike those prologues, the prologue of Dark Souls relies on much less exposition. We learn of how the world was originally dominated by Everlasting Dragons, or the lighting of the First Flame, and of how four beings with powerful souls destroyed the dragons in an epic war. After this, the player is told of how the First Flame is in danger of going out and that the Age of Dark will soon begin.
The prologue immediately establishes the minimalist approach to storytelling employed by the game-makers. It's the game's most prominent cut scene, and gives us the small but necessary backstory. It also tells us that the player is cursed the Darksign, a condition which turns humans into un-dead zombies of sorts. The player's first mission is to escape from the Undead Asylum they were imprisoned in, and from there the player begins an adventure across a vast and hazardous world. The only way to discover the story is to deduce it from elusive clues scattered throughout the game.
What I find particularly inspired about this is the lack of explanation. Extraordinary things are encountered by the player throughout the game, but are even more awe-inspiring due to belonging in the unknown. Some would argue that the fear of the unknown is one of the oldest, most primal fears known to man, and they wouldn't be wrong. Several great adventure stories have played on this, including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's 1912 novel The Lost World and the great adventure classic King Kong. Combine this with the human urge to explore and such stories are as thrilling as they are unnerving.
The creatures in Dark Souls are one of the game's main strengths. The imagination of some of the bosses is terrific, especially with regards to Queelag, Ornstein and Smough, and Gravelord Nito. Each creature is designed with such precision and flair that the boss fights are immensely entertaining. Ornstein and Smough are probably the most difficult opponents gamers are ever going to encounter, while the final boss fight against Lord Gwyn is one that I would seriously consider wearing heavy armour for. Bosses aside, there are many creatures which would give you nightmares if they were real. I'm paying particular attention to the frog-like Basilisks, whose surreal appearance is terrifying when meeting them in dark places. Other creatures of note include the cackling Mimics, Harpies and giant cats which attack using forward rolls.
All of these things combined make Dark Souls one of the most immersive games I've ever seen. Although I've been watching others play it, I have played some of it myself and it's just as difficult as it looks. It's a game that forces you to use ingenuity and to learn from your mistakes. In my case, I made several mistakes of varying degrees of inanity, but in the end I learned enough from those mistakes to make it to the boss fight at the end of the section. I lost that fight, but I was more than pleased when a colleague of mine managed to defeat the final boss.
Rarely do I mention video games on this blog. Video games are not my area of expertise, so I'll leave the critical analysis to the gamers. However, I feel that Dark Souls is a perfect example of minimalist storytelling at its best. I can report that I have seen Dark Souls 2 which came out earlier this year, and it continues the difficulty and enigma from the first game in true Dark Souls fashion. If anyone reading this post still doubts me, play it and see for yourself. Also, when selecting your weapons, choose a sturdy shield and maybe a spear. You're probably going to need it.
Friday 26 December 2014
The Town I Forgot
There's a place that I keep forgetting,
a town in the hills from which iron and steel
ran down to the ports on rivers of coal.
Blaenavon they call it.
It clings to the walls of the valley,
a shadow of the glory days
when fumes rose from the steelworks
and the wheel of Big Pit kept turning.
Nan ruled the café on the high street.
Some say she ruled the whole town.
Certainly the best Welsh cakes
came from her kitchen.
Half my ancestry lived in this town,
in the shadow of the old mines,
the furnaces and the hills.
Some of them still do.
When it snows in Blaenavon
the streets are impassable.
A snowball to the eye never hurt anyone,
not with a cup of tea to look forward to.
I went back to the town I forgot.
Everyone still knows everyone else,
and the winds are cold
down the perpetual high street.
Houses I knew and visited
belong to someone else.
All the old faces are gone.
The others all shelter in the valleys.
Someday I will go back
to that town in the coal hills,
and see what they left behind.
(This is a poem is a tribute to the town of Blaneavon, where many generations of my family lived.)
a town in the hills from which iron and steel
ran down to the ports on rivers of coal.
Blaenavon they call it.
It clings to the walls of the valley,
a shadow of the glory days
when fumes rose from the steelworks
and the wheel of Big Pit kept turning.
Nan ruled the café on the high street.
Some say she ruled the whole town.
Certainly the best Welsh cakes
came from her kitchen.
Half my ancestry lived in this town,
in the shadow of the old mines,
the furnaces and the hills.
Some of them still do.
When it snows in Blaenavon
the streets are impassable.
A snowball to the eye never hurt anyone,
not with a cup of tea to look forward to.
I went back to the town I forgot.
Everyone still knows everyone else,
and the winds are cold
down the perpetual high street.
Houses I knew and visited
belong to someone else.
All the old faces are gone.
The others all shelter in the valleys.
Someday I will go back
to that town in the coal hills,
and see what they left behind.
(This is a poem is a tribute to the town of Blaneavon, where many generations of my family lived.)
Thursday 25 December 2014
The Tiger Poet vs. Christmas
It’s that time of year again. In many ways it’s arrived sooner that I thought, but it’s always great when it does. Out of all the times to be at home, Christmas is perhaps the best. Having just returned home from university, I’m relishing not having to worry about conserving money, and the festivities are currently at the forefront of my schedule. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t take time out to write this post, as even poets have something to say about Christmas. The best I can do is to share a little bit of what Christmas is like in my home village.
I know some readers have been wondering where exactly I live in South Wales, and I’m pleased to finally provide the answer. I live in Frynwys, a small village to the south of the Valleys. It has a few central features; the village hall, a pub and a small shop all within a few hundred yards of each other. As a result everyone goes to the same place for their milk. The streets in Frynwys are quite close together, meaning that you can’t walk a short distance without encountering give different sets of Christmas lights. People who live here tend to be somewhat competitive with their lights, with some houses trying to outdo each other with the elaborate decorations. It makes for a Christmas that’s brightly illuminated if nothing else.
My house has now been decked with bells of holly and such. Actually it’s been decked with tinsel and baubles; there aren’t any bells of holly. But there are quite a lot of lights and a few Christmas trees about the place. Tinsel which didn’t end up on the trees is now decorating the bannisters, the kitchen and the living room. The presents started arriving last week and there’s a fair few of them already. How many there’ll be on Christmas Day is still down to guesses (when is it not?), but I suspect there’ll be at least twice or three times as many as there are now.
The last time Frynwys saw a white Christmas was ten years ago in 2004. I learned this week that for it to truly be a white Christmas, snowflakes must be falling on the day, as well as snow being on the ground. From what the weather forecast has been saying recently, the chances of this happening are slim to put it mildly. Instead we’re getting rain, and lots of it. It’s mostly light drizzle at the moment, but when it’s like this for days on end it feels like you’re trapped in a particularly gloomy painting. The most recent forecast is claiming that it will be a lot dryer on Christmas Eve, but the last time I trusted the weather forecast my hopes were dashed and I had to go to school that day.
Aside from the weather and the decorations, the things that most people look forward to on Christmas Day are the presents. When I was asked what I wanted this year, it took me a while to provide an answer. I don’t know why, but the same innate excitement at the prospect of dozens of presents under the tree has slowly evaporated. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re an adult, but it’s not great, and this year I’m going to great lengths not to see any presents being placed under the tree. It’s proven slightly harder this year because new presents are appearing all the time, but I think I’ve marginally succeeded in steering clear of the tree this year.
Speaking of presents, I’ve bought a few for my family while I was away at university. They took a while to find, but I’m just hoping they’ll like them. One thing I’ve discovered since being a student is that time management is of the utmost importance. Because I’m the most unpunctual student there’s ever been, I ended up buying my presents at the last minute. Then again, I suppose since many people are doing this when Christmas comes around, maybe I’m not as monumentally late as I think.
I hope this has given you some idea of how Christmas is going for me at the moment. As this post is going out on the day itself, I hope everyone is well and that you all have a brilliant time.
Merry Christmas Everybody!
I know some readers have been wondering where exactly I live in South Wales, and I’m pleased to finally provide the answer. I live in Frynwys, a small village to the south of the Valleys. It has a few central features; the village hall, a pub and a small shop all within a few hundred yards of each other. As a result everyone goes to the same place for their milk. The streets in Frynwys are quite close together, meaning that you can’t walk a short distance without encountering give different sets of Christmas lights. People who live here tend to be somewhat competitive with their lights, with some houses trying to outdo each other with the elaborate decorations. It makes for a Christmas that’s brightly illuminated if nothing else.
My house has now been decked with bells of holly and such. Actually it’s been decked with tinsel and baubles; there aren’t any bells of holly. But there are quite a lot of lights and a few Christmas trees about the place. Tinsel which didn’t end up on the trees is now decorating the bannisters, the kitchen and the living room. The presents started arriving last week and there’s a fair few of them already. How many there’ll be on Christmas Day is still down to guesses (when is it not?), but I suspect there’ll be at least twice or three times as many as there are now.
The last time Frynwys saw a white Christmas was ten years ago in 2004. I learned this week that for it to truly be a white Christmas, snowflakes must be falling on the day, as well as snow being on the ground. From what the weather forecast has been saying recently, the chances of this happening are slim to put it mildly. Instead we’re getting rain, and lots of it. It’s mostly light drizzle at the moment, but when it’s like this for days on end it feels like you’re trapped in a particularly gloomy painting. The most recent forecast is claiming that it will be a lot dryer on Christmas Eve, but the last time I trusted the weather forecast my hopes were dashed and I had to go to school that day.
Aside from the weather and the decorations, the things that most people look forward to on Christmas Day are the presents. When I was asked what I wanted this year, it took me a while to provide an answer. I don’t know why, but the same innate excitement at the prospect of dozens of presents under the tree has slowly evaporated. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re an adult, but it’s not great, and this year I’m going to great lengths not to see any presents being placed under the tree. It’s proven slightly harder this year because new presents are appearing all the time, but I think I’ve marginally succeeded in steering clear of the tree this year.
Speaking of presents, I’ve bought a few for my family while I was away at university. They took a while to find, but I’m just hoping they’ll like them. One thing I’ve discovered since being a student is that time management is of the utmost importance. Because I’m the most unpunctual student there’s ever been, I ended up buying my presents at the last minute. Then again, I suppose since many people are doing this when Christmas comes around, maybe I’m not as monumentally late as I think.
I hope this has given you some idea of how Christmas is going for me at the moment. As this post is going out on the day itself, I hope everyone is well and that you all have a brilliant time.
Merry Christmas Everybody!
Tuesday 23 December 2014
Trailer for 'Kalua'
Hi. Hope everyone's having a great Christmas. With just a day to go until Christmas Eve, I thought I'd share with you some good news. A trailer for the audio version of 'Kalua' has been posted to the YouTube channel.
The actual recording will hopefully be up at some point before New Year's Eve, but if not it will be in early January 2015.
In the meantime, feel free to check out the trailer here: http://youtu.be/rL_izsJCGNs.
See you on Christmas Day.
The actual recording will hopefully be up at some point before New Year's Eve, but if not it will be in early January 2015.
In the meantime, feel free to check out the trailer here: http://youtu.be/rL_izsJCGNs.
See you on Christmas Day.
Sunday 21 December 2014
Christmas and New Year Updates
Hi everyone, just checking in before Santa gets here. Obviously my posts have become slightly sparser of late due to the festivities taking up quite a bit of my time. With this in mind, let me fill you in on what's happening on this blog during Christmas and New Year, and some of my plans for 2015.
For Christmas Day, I will devote a post to discussing Christmas itself. I know I've never talked in depth about my home village before, and in this post I'll describe how it looks at Christmas time, so this should be fun. There will also be a couple of poems, one on Boxing Day and another before the New Year.
Also, I intend to have the audio version of my poem 'Kalua' available on YouTube within the next week or two. I know I've kept saying it, but this time I mean it, and it will arrive when it arrives.
As for 2015, there's a lot happening there. I'm going to keep the poetry arriving at a fairly decent pace. Hopefully my posting won't be as infrequent as it has been this year, and I'll be writing some more articles about various topics, including the First World War, Ted Hughes and J. R. R. Tolkien. And there is still my Dark Souls article waiting in the wings.
So, that's a lot of stuff to take in, but stick around for my post on Christmas Day and we'll work from there.
Wishing you all a Merry Christmas!
For Christmas Day, I will devote a post to discussing Christmas itself. I know I've never talked in depth about my home village before, and in this post I'll describe how it looks at Christmas time, so this should be fun. There will also be a couple of poems, one on Boxing Day and another before the New Year.
Also, I intend to have the audio version of my poem 'Kalua' available on YouTube within the next week or two. I know I've kept saying it, but this time I mean it, and it will arrive when it arrives.
As for 2015, there's a lot happening there. I'm going to keep the poetry arriving at a fairly decent pace. Hopefully my posting won't be as infrequent as it has been this year, and I'll be writing some more articles about various topics, including the First World War, Ted Hughes and J. R. R. Tolkien. And there is still my Dark Souls article waiting in the wings.
So, that's a lot of stuff to take in, but stick around for my post on Christmas Day and we'll work from there.
Wishing you all a Merry Christmas!
Friday 12 December 2014
Their Last Bough
Trees don't make great hiding places.
Nobody seemed to have told us.
Perched on branches thick with leaves,
invisible to the mortal eye.
Nobody seemed to have told us
the teacher was on her way.
Invisible to the mortal eye,
we could be heard all the way to Bettws.
The teacher was on her way,
we knew the protocol for this.
We could be heard all the way to Bettws,
no wonder she caught us so easily.
We knew the protocol for this,
falling out of the branches one by one.
No wonder she caught us so easily
but our last man was still hidden.
Falling out of the branches one by one,
we were certainly going to die.
But our last man was still hidden,
before the bough gave way.
We were certainly going to die,
perched on branches thick with leaves
before the bough gave way.
Trees don't make great hiding places.
(This pantoum was inspired by a tree-climbing escapade I was involved in while at school.)
Nobody seemed to have told us.
Perched on branches thick with leaves,
invisible to the mortal eye.
Nobody seemed to have told us
the teacher was on her way.
Invisible to the mortal eye,
we could be heard all the way to Bettws.
The teacher was on her way,
we knew the protocol for this.
We could be heard all the way to Bettws,
no wonder she caught us so easily.
We knew the protocol for this,
falling out of the branches one by one.
No wonder she caught us so easily
but our last man was still hidden.
Falling out of the branches one by one,
we were certainly going to die.
But our last man was still hidden,
before the bough gave way.
We were certainly going to die,
perched on branches thick with leaves
before the bough gave way.
Trees don't make great hiding places.
(This pantoum was inspired by a tree-climbing escapade I was involved in while at school.)
Tuesday 9 December 2014
The Tiger Poet vs. Ghostwriters
Okay, so I admit this post has arrived somewhat quicker than usual, but it's on a subject I would like to address. The recent news that YouTube star Zoe Sugg's debut novel, Girl Online, may have been written by a ghostwriter has sparked debate about the practice of ghosting and the level of deception involved. I'm not going to talk much about Zoe Sugg's case in this post, but instead about the idea of ghosting in general and its place in the wider world of writing.
Ghosting has been in practice for the last century, and ghostwriters are still in demand to write books for politicians, celebrities and musicians. Most often a ghostwriter is used when the celebrity in question has an idea for a book but can't write it down, or because they are so busy that they have no time to write anything. In every bookstore is at least one celebrity autobiography which you can tell has been ghost-written on first reading. For writers who take the time and effort to research, write and assemble books, the fact that ghostwriters hardly receive any credit for their work can sometimes be contentious.
Publishers also have a hand in the ghosting trade at a managerial level. It may well be the case that some publishes choose ghostwriters to write books for marketable authors. Many of Tom Clancy's later works were written by other writers, no doubt to keep the brand going, even while Tom Clancy himself was still alive and mostly still at work. Therefore, ghostwriters have an active hand in whether or not a franchise will continue to be successful, even if the original author is still capable of continuing it themselves.
As someone who has written several manuscripts with fairly high word counts, I can attest to the fact that writing a book is no easy feat. It requires research, commitment, attention to detail, discipline, and above all else a lot of hard work. There is nothing inherently wrong about lacking these things; indeed, I myself can hardly talk about discipline when I have a tendency to be thoroughly careless. Therefore, ghostwriters can be incredibly helpful for someone who has fantastic ideas but has difficulty writing them down. However, the question of how much credit is awarded to ghostwriters is still an important issue.
It may appear to some that ghostwriters are completely deprived of any credit. I'd imagine that it can't be great to have written a hundred thousand word book and see it sold with someone else's name emblazoned on it. Still, it's all part of the job. Ghostwriters must go into a contract to write a book for somebody in the knowledge that they are unlikely to gain much credit for it unless they are revealed by the supposed author or the publisher. They also enter into it knowing that they will probably be paid a far lesser sum than the profits the 'author' will make from the sales. Whether or not the ghostwriters themselves will be satisfied by the deal is entirely up to them, but it certainly can't be easy to have written so much and be relatively unnoticed.
The issue of whether ghosting deceives readers is one that crops up from time to time. It's one thing if the ghostwriter is acknowledged in some form by the publishers, maybe at the beginning or the end of the book, but it's another when a publisher sticks just the supposed author's name on it to further the illusion of sole authorship. A total lack of acknowledgement is something which most people would not put up with unless they expressed an explicit desire not to be credited. In that sense, it is a form of deception on the publishers' part, but not on the part of the supposed author and the ghostwriter.
So, what does the acknowledgement of ghostwriters mean for the people like Zoe Sugg? This latest incident should make ghosting the main topic of debate for the next few days at least, and it has at the least inspired discussion. Ghostwriters are so often unnoticed in the literary world, so it's nice that their work is being talked about in the public sphere. If nothing else results from this, then that in itself makes the whole thing worthwhile.
Ghosting has been in practice for the last century, and ghostwriters are still in demand to write books for politicians, celebrities and musicians. Most often a ghostwriter is used when the celebrity in question has an idea for a book but can't write it down, or because they are so busy that they have no time to write anything. In every bookstore is at least one celebrity autobiography which you can tell has been ghost-written on first reading. For writers who take the time and effort to research, write and assemble books, the fact that ghostwriters hardly receive any credit for their work can sometimes be contentious.
Publishers also have a hand in the ghosting trade at a managerial level. It may well be the case that some publishes choose ghostwriters to write books for marketable authors. Many of Tom Clancy's later works were written by other writers, no doubt to keep the brand going, even while Tom Clancy himself was still alive and mostly still at work. Therefore, ghostwriters have an active hand in whether or not a franchise will continue to be successful, even if the original author is still capable of continuing it themselves.
As someone who has written several manuscripts with fairly high word counts, I can attest to the fact that writing a book is no easy feat. It requires research, commitment, attention to detail, discipline, and above all else a lot of hard work. There is nothing inherently wrong about lacking these things; indeed, I myself can hardly talk about discipline when I have a tendency to be thoroughly careless. Therefore, ghostwriters can be incredibly helpful for someone who has fantastic ideas but has difficulty writing them down. However, the question of how much credit is awarded to ghostwriters is still an important issue.
It may appear to some that ghostwriters are completely deprived of any credit. I'd imagine that it can't be great to have written a hundred thousand word book and see it sold with someone else's name emblazoned on it. Still, it's all part of the job. Ghostwriters must go into a contract to write a book for somebody in the knowledge that they are unlikely to gain much credit for it unless they are revealed by the supposed author or the publisher. They also enter into it knowing that they will probably be paid a far lesser sum than the profits the 'author' will make from the sales. Whether or not the ghostwriters themselves will be satisfied by the deal is entirely up to them, but it certainly can't be easy to have written so much and be relatively unnoticed.
The issue of whether ghosting deceives readers is one that crops up from time to time. It's one thing if the ghostwriter is acknowledged in some form by the publishers, maybe at the beginning or the end of the book, but it's another when a publisher sticks just the supposed author's name on it to further the illusion of sole authorship. A total lack of acknowledgement is something which most people would not put up with unless they expressed an explicit desire not to be credited. In that sense, it is a form of deception on the publishers' part, but not on the part of the supposed author and the ghostwriter.
So, what does the acknowledgement of ghostwriters mean for the people like Zoe Sugg? This latest incident should make ghosting the main topic of debate for the next few days at least, and it has at the least inspired discussion. Ghostwriters are so often unnoticed in the literary world, so it's nice that their work is being talked about in the public sphere. If nothing else results from this, then that in itself makes the whole thing worthwhile.
Sunday 7 December 2014
A Mink in Somerset
The old mink escaped the farm on Thursday
not knowing why he was there at all.
He wandered over grass and through hay
until he reached the river and without a glance
dived in, a black slither on azure glass.
Not one to go hungry he looked to eat,
and found none, confined with no way to pass.
The mallard did not see death till she was meat.
The daggers severed her thoughts from her heat.
Not to worry, her unused dreams would feed
another's, and fuel their endless hunger.
A once green bank becomes cloaked in seeds.
The predator once a prisoner sleeps,
hoards and fattens on bones of voles and geese.
(This sonnet was written earlier this year.)
not knowing why he was there at all.
He wandered over grass and through hay
until he reached the river and without a glance
dived in, a black slither on azure glass.
Not one to go hungry he looked to eat,
and found none, confined with no way to pass.
The mallard did not see death till she was meat.
The daggers severed her thoughts from her heat.
Not to worry, her unused dreams would feed
another's, and fuel their endless hunger.
A once green bank becomes cloaked in seeds.
The predator once a prisoner sleeps,
hoards and fattens on bones of voles and geese.
(This sonnet was written earlier this year.)
Monday 1 December 2014
March of the Jelly Babies
I wish I did not share this yellow bag
with all these other smiling moulds
of all the colours of the rainbow.
There's no elbow room
and I'm only small.
We sit here in our yellow prison,
waiting for the hand to find us,
snatch us from our homes and
tear our torso in two.
Then one clever baby in the bunch,
a red one with a smiley face, tells us
"I think I have an idea.
We shall rise up out of the yellow prison.
We shall abseil down the shelves and march
right up to the front counter
and seize the till with strength of numbers.
Next we shall march to the door and open it
and we shall march down the pavement
and the road, towards the supermarkets
and beyond."
(This is the sequel to 'Jelly Babies Have Ears'.)
with all these other smiling moulds
of all the colours of the rainbow.
There's no elbow room
and I'm only small.
We sit here in our yellow prison,
waiting for the hand to find us,
snatch us from our homes and
tear our torso in two.
Then one clever baby in the bunch,
a red one with a smiley face, tells us
"I think I have an idea.
We shall rise up out of the yellow prison.
We shall abseil down the shelves and march
right up to the front counter
and seize the till with strength of numbers.
Next we shall march to the door and open it
and we shall march down the pavement
and the road, towards the supermarkets
and beyond."
(This is the sequel to 'Jelly Babies Have Ears'.)
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