Tuesday

I will be enjoying this:

More on the Menu

After a good size order on the MP3 Readings Service, I'm pleased to say that the menu there has now increased rather substantially, with all the Scruffians stories now available for purchase, read by yer very own Gobfabbler Halyard-Dunkling, Esquire. Here's the revised menu:

***

XS works (around five minutes long, excluding intro/outro)

• "The Toymaker's Grief" @ GBP £1 or USD $1.65
  

S works (around ten minutes long, excluding intro/outro)

• "How a Scruffian Starts Their Story" @ GBP £2 or USD $3.20
  

M works (around fifteen minutes long, excluding intro/outro)

• "An Alfabetcha of Scruffian Names" @ GBP £3 or USD $4.75
  
• "A Scruffian Christmas" @ GBP £3 or USD $4.75 ** Scruffians Project donors only
  
• "A Scruffian Christmas" MP3 & PDF set @ £5 / $7 .90
  
• "Scruffians Stamp" @ GBP £3 or USD $4.75

XL works (over thirty minutes long, excluding intro/outro)

• "Jack Scallywag" @ GBP £7 or USD $11
  

The Scruffians Package (donors) @ GBP £15 or USD $23.70 ** Scruffians Project donors only

• "A Scruffian Christmas"
• "An Alfabetcha of Scruffian Names"
• "How a Scruffian Starts Their Story"
• "Jack Scallywag"
• "Scruffians Stamp"

The Scruffians Package (standard) @ £19 / $30

• "A Scruffian Christmas"
  
• "A Scruffian Christmas" PDF
• "An Alfabetcha of Scruffian Names"
• "How a Scruffian Starts Their Story"
• "Jack Scallywag"
• "Scruffians Stamp"

[** No, sorry, even if you don't want the PDF, you can't get "A Scruffian Christmas" in MP3 without being or becoming a project donor. The added charge for the PDF -- in the set or the package -- will however count as a donation to the Scruffians story fund, making you eligible for any future offers.]

***

Anyways, if that whets yer appetite, to make an order for any of the MP3s, head over to the Gigging for Groats post itself, for instructions on how to make an order.

Whatever the Fuck You Want

So, yeah, a while back I had a couple of posts on some teen movies that I really dug -- 1) The Curiosity of Chance, and 2) Were the World Mine. Both are kinda awesome, far as I'm concerned. I'm not going to repeat what I said there about why, or even bother linking to the posts, cause they're easy enough to find, it seems, simply by Googling the string "gay kid" together with the string "high school movie". (Go on! Try it, kids!) That little fact turned up when I was writing a response to a commenter who was kinda "meh" about the whole teen musical idiom of Were the World Mine, expecting basically the Gay High School Musical. Last thing we need is trite pabulum, says he, to paraphrase wildly. We need quality stuff, like The History Boys.

My response was along the lines of "No, that's exactly what we need!" Cause it's all fine and dandy for teh Gayz to get to be centre-stage in Big Serious Movies, but Brokeback Mountain, say, is Johnny Come Lately here. My Beautiful Launderette came out fucking decades ago. And The History Boys is great, but it's not aimed at the heart of the most mainstream of mainstream audiences. And it's certainly not aimed at popcorn-munching teens who might well be good people to try and render offay with teh gay by giving em fun stuff that just happens to have big dollops of that in it. Isn't it time to take another step forward rather than repeat the same one over and over agian.

No, we can make Serious Cinema about Teh Serious Gayz. The ones that have all the misery and heartache and human condition malarky. But having gay protags in a good ole popcorn flick? Like a teen movie firmly in the John Hughes idiom or a teen musical aiming to give the homokidz something to sing along to? Something that a gay teen might rather prefer to see than some miserabilist tale aimed at middle-class post-college hipsters and chin-strokers? Something fucking fun? The two movies I posted about are both fucking important because they exist in a vacuum. They're also pretty damn cool as movies, with TCoC being, I reckon, just plain outstanding, but that's not the point here. Point is, there's virtually nothing else out there like them, far as I know.

Course, "far as I know" is the operative term, so I decided to do some fact-checking. Maybe I was just ignorant of all the non-token gay characters. Maybe there were movies out there that I'd just forgotten about. Certainly there'd be plenty with at least subsidiary gay characters to be judged as to token status versus actual narrative import. Hence the Google search. Which brought up my own post on TCoC as the top hit. I logged out of Google in case it was doing some personalising jiggery pokery. Same result. Still seems to be true today, except the post on WtWM has taken the lead. Woot! (Not.) On all the interwebs, there's no movie with a high enough profile, with a crucial enough gay character that it gets reviews or IMDB entries or whatevers which use the phrases "gay kid" and "high school movie," none with such interweb commentary that has a higher profile than my blog.

Sorry. That's fucking pathetic.

Anyways, that's why I decided to write one. A proper bona fide high school movie, montages and all. I kinda looked at that Google search result and thought, well, if it ain't there someone has to do something about it, and I seem to have nominated myself. Besides, all my focus on high school movies had already fired off other connections - 10 Things I Hate About You, Luhrman's Romeo & Juliet, Shakespeare in Love -- and having studied As You Like It in uni, I couldn't help thinking if that might not be a perfect candidate. There's a queer subtext wide enough to drive a Mardi Gras float through in that play. Seriously. Go read it. And bear in mind that Rosalind would have been played by a boy on the Elizabethan stage. Hell, I'm almost convinced Shakespeare wrote it for the gays, maybe for the gays in the audience, but maybe even more for the gays on the stage. I can quite imagine some queer actor treading the boards, a boy pretending to be a girl pretending to be a boy, in the midst of all the declarations of love, saying that line, "And I for no woman," with a whole nother meaning in his heart.

So, yeah, the notion was planted, I re-read the play, pretty much saw the whole story unfold immediately and battered out some notes, a synopsis. Gave it a while then went back to it over the last week and found myself completely sucked into it. Proper 24 hr writing marathons and such. But now tis done. I have no fucking idea what to do with it, of course, coming from the entirely separate domain of written fiction with its whole separate sphere of agents and such. Still, I'm going to give meself the weekend to chill and think about that on Monday. In the meantime, I thought I'd give yez a wee taster, seeing as this has kept me too busy to do much content-wise other than the mp3 readings post. To that end, here's the opening few scenes from my latest madcap project:

WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT

FADE IN:

BLACK

ORLANDO (V.O.)

There are some questions you can’t answer with a date, a time. What answer do I give?

EXT. A SWING-PARK - DAY (1997)

Five-year-old Orlando is shoved off a ride by another kid. He runs crying to the swing where his nine-year-old brother Oliver sits. He points at the bully and Oliver punches him in the arm.

ORLANDO (V.O.)

June 12th, 1997, when I was five, and found out that boys weren’t supposed to cry?

EXT. A GRAVESIDE - DAY (2004)

Twelve-year-old Orlando stands with his elder brother at the grave of their parents, the names Roland and Sarah DeBoyes on the stone. Tears stream down Orlando's face.

ORLANDO (V.O.)

April 23rd, 2004, when I was twelve, and found out that was bullshit?

INT. ORLANDO'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY - LATE AFTERNOON

A textbook on intelligent design is slammed shut. A book on evolution is slapped down on top of it.

ORLANDO (V.O.)

September 3rd, 2009, when I was seventeen, and found out bullshit was all I’d been learning for the last five years?

ORLANDO sits at a kitchen table, books spread in front of him, studying. Orlando is seventeen and handsome, but dressed in plain white tee and jeans that have seen better days. The kitchen itself is small and functional, that of a low income household.

OLIVER reaches over his shoulder to grab the book from his hand. At twenty-one, Oliver looks like a rougher, hardened version of his brother. He's dressed in mechanic’s coveralls, the screen door behind him ajar.

OLIVER

Dang it, Orlando. That evolution garbage again? Where d'you get this?

ORLANDO

It's called a library. And that garbage is science, Oliver. And this?

(holds up the intelligent design textbook)

This is Bible studies. This is the garbage. Home-schooling’s meant to involve learning, not bedtime stories.

Oliver rifles through the other books on the desk, picks up one, flicks through it.

OLIVER

Walt Whitman, Allen Ginsberg... Shoot, what is this? Poetry?!

ORLANDO

It’s literature. English literature. You know, like they teach in school.

OLIVER

This is bullshine. You’re meant to be studying... maths... and chemistry. And... stuff like that. Not pretty words for the pretty ladies. You’re taking this garbage back tomorrow, you hear?

(picks up another book)

Basic Anatomy. See, this is useful.

ORLANDO

(rising from his seat)

I’ve studied that. I know it inside out and back to front. But half of it is...

(throwing the intelligent design book away)

... like this crap. You give me a whole load of nothing, Ollie, and what little I've got you want to take away. Jesus -

OLIVER

Don't you take the Lord's name -

ORLANDO

- you keep your car better than me... engine tuned, body polished. Me, I’m less important than... some wreck sitting up on the blocks while you suck your gums and tell the customer it’s gonna cost them.

OLIVER

I’m working my tail off to keep a roof over our heads. You mind who you’re talking to, brat!

ORLANDO

Here it comes -

OLIVER

I’m the man of this house now.

ORLANDO

- the dead dad card again. Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean you fill his shoes.

Oliver checks his fury for a second, then loses it and goes for Orlando. They struggle. Orlando grabs him by the throat, shoves him back against the fridge.

ORLANDO

I swear to God, if you weren’t my brother I’d rip your tongue out, cause every time you say “I’m the man of this house,” it’s an insult to his memory.

Orlando slams Oliver back against the fridge, storms out.

OLIVER

Some memory.

EXT. ORLANDO'S HOUSE - DAY - LATE AFTERNOON

Orlando stalks round from the back door to the driveway of the house, a two-storey family home in disrepair. The road it sits on is lined by similar houses, a blue-collar neighbourhood. The density and type of trees separating the houses suggests the edge of a small town in rural/suburban North Carolina.

Oliver comes after him.

OLIVER

Where do you think you’re going?

ORLANDO

I’m going to get a goddamn education.

OLIVER

Go on then, you ungrateful SOB! Go on, and don’t come back! You do whatever the... eff you see kay you want!

ORLANDO

"Fuck," Oliver! As in, "Fuck you, you fucking fucker of a fuck!" It's "whatever the fuck you want!"

He turns and strides away.

ORLANDO (V.O.)

Yeah, September 3rd, 2009, is probably a good place to start.

EXT. ARDEN HIGH SCHOOL - DAY

Orlando walks through the front gates of a typical small-town high school, into its grounds, which include a parking lot and an area with picnic tables. A sign reads "Arden High." He approaches the front doors.

ORLANDO (V.O.)

The day I decided to enroll in high school.

INT. ARDEN HIGH SCHOOL - DAY (DREAM SEQUENCE)

Orlando walks in the doors, which swing shut, then open again as ROSS walks in, a high school junior in a pink tux jacket, with paint-guns. The doors swing shut behind him.

Ross tosses a gun to CELIA and a gun to TOUCHSTONE. Celia is the same age as Ross, his rebel sister with dyed hair and appropriately punk togs. Touchstone is their joker friend, also a junior, dressed with a similarly alternative look, but slicker in an indie/emo/hipster way.

The three walk down the corridors, shooting the place up in slo-mo to appropriate MUSIC (e.g. Pretty in Pink.) Students and teachers freeze, dive for cover, run away, or stand there to get splatted with pink paint.

Ross approaches Orlando, who stands at the door to a class. Orlando turns, looking straight to camera.

CUT TO:

INT. MS. DUKE’S CLASSROOM - DAY

At the sound of a KNOCK, Ross, sat at a desk towards the back of the class, snaps out of his daydream. Rather than the pink tux jacket of his reverie he wears a tight red vintage tee faded to pink, with designer jeans and fashionable accessories, clearly someone who styles himself.

Orlando stands at the door, gazing round the room but not noticing Ross.

MS. DUKE, at the blackboard, beckons him in. In her full-length flowing dress and equally flowing hair, she looks very much the free-spirited hippy / New Ager.

MS. DUKE

Come in. Come in.

Orlando enters, hands her a note. She reads it, gives him a textbook, and points him to a vacant seat near the front of the class.

MS. DUKE

Orlando DeBoyes? That's a terribly romantic name. Well, take this and have a seat.

Orlando glances round but doesn’t notice Ross, who slouches down in his seat.

MS. DUKE

Today it’s Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Act II, Scene 1. What say we hear how our new arrival reads? Mr DeBoyes? Just the opening speech, please.

ORLANDO

(with sensitivity)

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, hath not old custom made this life more sweet than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods more free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, the seasons' difference, as the icy fang and churlish chiding of the winter's wind, which, when it bites and blows upon my body, even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say this is no flattery: these are counsellors that feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity, which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head; and this our life exempt from public haunt finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones and good in every thing. I would not change it.

MS. DUKE

"And good in every thing." Not least your reading, young man. A most sensitive performance. Now, who can tell me what Duke Senior is saying here?

A student puts their hand up. Ross's attention is on Orlando though, studying him. The student's response and subsequent discussion is MUTED, Ross fixated on Orlando through a series of shots of the class dissolving into one another until...

The bell RINGS, breaking Ross's reverie. Orlando rises to leave with the other students.

MS. DUKE

Mr DeBoyes. Orlando. Your reading really was quite proficient. If you feel inclined to unleash that inner actor, I run the drama club - every Monday after school. You'd be a most welcome addition.

ORLANDO

I... don't know. Thanks, but... I kinda signed up for the football tryouts already.

MS. DUKE

Really? Well, if you have a change of heart... Just keep an open mind about it. An open mind gives the soul air to breath.

ORLANDO

Sure. I will, Ms. Duke.

He leaves. Ross is one of the last students to exit the class. As he reaches the door, Ms. Duke calls him.

MS. DUKE

Pumpkin! Ross, sweety, are we still expecting the two of you over this weekend?

ROSS

(pained)

Mom, please. Not...

He waves his hand to encompass the other pupils she’s embarassing him in front of. She smiles blithely.

MS. DUKE

Oh, Ross, I didn’t raise you to fuss about the leaden chains of convention and how other people see us.

ROSS

Yes, we’ll be over. Why? The sisterhood of the tree spirits aren’t all making their monthly libation to the moon-god, are they? You know how I feel about the mass menstru-ewwwww!

MS. DUKE

"Menstruation," Ross. It’s a blessed thing.

ROSS

Menstru-ewww. Menstru… ewwww. Nope, can’t get past the “ewwww”. Oh, and I won’t make the drama club today. Sorry. Celia and I have a project.

MS. DUKE

Oh, that's fine. You know I believe in projects.

Ross leaves.

INT. SCHOOL RECEPTION/ADMIN AREA - DAY - LUNCHTIME

A wide hallway or open area sits just inside the front doors of the school. To one side there is a notice-board for students and, beyond it, a door into the cafeteria. To the other are reception and administration offices and, slightly further up, the office of the school counsellor, which has a wide picture window looking out onto the hallway. Students pass in and out of the entrance, the cafeteria, etc..

CHUCK and WILL, two football jocks in their letter jackets, stand at the notice-board, with AUDREY, a cheerleader. On the notice-board a poster for the school "Talent Show and Gala Dance" is visible. Chuck, who is built like a tank, scans a sign-up sheet for the football team tryouts while Will and Audrey stand there looking pretty and proud of it.

In the background, Ross greets Celia and Touchstone, and their mutual friends CORY, a stoner in baggy clothes, and SYLVIA, a grungy dyke who sports dreads and an army shirt. As the five go off together, Touchstone rubbernecks to eye up Audrey just before they go out of frame.

CHUCK

Orlando Deboyes? Doesn't Denny work with a DeBoyes?

WILL

Yeah -- Ollie. He's got a kid brother, I think.

CHUCK

Hope they're not close, cause I'm looking forward to some noobie smackdown.

WILL

Chuck the Truck! Mashin em up!

The two jump and slam their chests together. Audrey scowls.

AUDREY

Will!

Will looks chastened.

WILL

Mind you, I think they could be kinda tight. Ollie's been looking after the guy since their folks kicked it, so... ah, shoot. Lemme check if it's him. Hold on.

Will takes a cellphone from his pocket and calls.

CUT TO:

INT. A GARAGE - DAY

Oliver and DENNIS are working on a car when the phone, which hangs on one wall beside a fridge, starts RINGING. Dennis, a twenty-something mechanic dressed in the same greasy coveralls as Oliver, answers it.

DENNIS

Yeah, hey, bro. What’s up? He’s here. Yo, Ollie! Did your kid brother sign up for high school?

OLIVER

Yeah, why?

DENNIS

(to Will)

Yeah. And?

(to Oliver)

Seems he’s trying out for the football team. Chuck the Truck wants to know if he should go easy on him, not break too many bones?

OLIVER

Tell him he can break his neck for all I care. That ungrateful SOB don’t know he’s born.

DENNIS

Yeah, you heard? From the horse's mouth. Sure, see ya.

He hangs up the phone, goes back to the car. Oliver works at something, using a rag to get a better grip. He pulls his hand away suddenly, shakes it in pain, and throws the rag down.

OLIVER

Go-

(he cuts off the "God")

Dang it!

Dennis shakes his head. Oliver picks the rag back up, goes back to the job.

DENNIS

You know, it can’t have been too easy on the boy either. No, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m just saying, he doesn’t seem like such a bad kid to me. Can't have been easy on him either, what happened.

OLIVER

He was twelve. He wasn't old enough to even know what it meant. Didn't have to sit and listen as everyone talked about "those poor boys" and "what a terrible tragedy," and all the while whispering how their dear daddy shouldn't have been driving.

He goes to the fridge, takes out a beer and cracks it open, swigs.

OLIVER

Shoot, I don’t know why he gets me so dang riled. But I will not have him disrespect my authority. You know he don't go to church? I put myself on the straight and narrow to raise him right and he... he's one pig-headed...

DENNIS

He ain't the only one.

Gigging for Groats

What's It All About?

You've read the words; now hear me read them to you. Prose or poetry, short story or sonnet sequence, if you've heard me in action at a public reading then you know I can deliver a pretty decent performance, even if I do say so meself. Hell, take a listen to the Sonnets for Orpheus audio downloads and make your own mind up, or catch me in the flesh, at a con or a Word Dogs event. You'd like to, but you can't? Cause you won't make that convention, and you don't stay in Glasgow? Well, OK, why don't I bring the gig to you -- by the power of the mighty mp3? Just tell me what you want to hear me read. Or pick it out from the menu.

What Can I Get?

Well, here's the existing menu:

XS works (around five minutes long, excluding intro/outro)

• "The Toymaker's Grief" @ GBP £1 or USD $1.65
  

S works (around ten minutes long, excluding intro/outro)

• "How a Scruffian Starts Their Story" @ GBP £2 or USD $3.20
  

M works (around fifteen minutes long, excluding intro/outro)

• "An Alfabetcha of Scruffian Names" @ GBP £3 or USD $4.75
  
• "A Scruffian Christmas" @ GBP £3 or USD $4.75 ** Scruffians Project donors only
  
• "A Scruffian Christmas" MP3 & PDF set @ £5 / $7 .90
  
• "Scruffians Stamp" @ GBP £3 or USD $4.75

XL works (over thirty minutes long, excluding intro/outro)

• "Jack Scallywag" @ GBP £7 or USD $11
  

The Scruffians Package (donors) @ GBP £15 or USD $23.70 ** Scruffians Project donors only

• "A Scruffian Christmas"
• "An Alfabetcha of Scruffian Names"
• "How a Scruffian Starts Their Story"
• "Jack Scallywag"
• "Scruffians Stamp"

The Scruffians Package (standard) @ £19 / $30

• "A Scruffian Christmas"
  
• "A Scruffian Christmas" PDF
• "An Alfabetcha of Scruffian Names"
• "How a Scruffian Starts Their Story"
• "Jack Scallywag"
• "Scruffians Stamp"

[** No, sorry, even if you don't want the PDF, you can't get "A Scruffian Christmas" in MP3 without being or becoming a project donor. The added charge for the PDF -- in the set or the package -- will however count as a donation to the Scruffians story fund, making you eligible for any future offers.]

If you fancy any of what's on the list, to make your order, see "How Does It Work?" If what you're looking for isn't on the menu yet just skip to "What If the Work I want Isn't Listed?"or keep reading and you'll understand how this should populate over time.

Where the Fuck Is Hal?

Hal is in Glasgow right now, and should be ready to take your orders and requests. Bring em on. (If you're wondering why this is at the top, by the way, it's in case I'm not in Glasgow at some point. Keep reading.)

How Does It Work?

Take a look at the "What Can I Get?" section above. If there's a work already listed, that means it's laid down. (Cause if works get laid down, I'll slap em in that section, so the menu builds as we go. Until then... well, again, keep reading.)

If the recording is available, all you have to do is check the price, punt that amount into my Paypal account via the Donate button, and let me know the title of the work you want. To do that email me at: performances AT halduncan DOT com. Orders should be made from the address linked to your own Paypal account, (or include a note of it so I know it's you,) and include the title in the subject line or in the body of the email -- either way is fine for me.

Piece of piss, right? In return, I'll send you either the mp3 of the reading itself, or a link to the fileshare site you can download it from, together with any necessary password. And I'll try and do this in a reasonable timescale -- a day or two, say.

What If the Work I Want Isn't Listed?

No worries! Take a look at the links under Online Fiction and Online Poetry for just a sample of what I'll happily do a reading of. Or are there any Scruffians stories you fancy, cause those play quite well as spoken word? Anything of mine you've read in a magazine or anthology? Check out the bibliography link; I'm happy to take requests. Just email them to me at the same address: performances AT halduncan DOT com. Tell me the title of the work you'd like to hear me read, and I'll give it a run-through to check the timing, (if I don't already know this,) and send you back a quote on the price with an estimate of when I can have it done by. If that's good for you, just place your order as above.

How Much Will It Cost?

However much I price it at, in the "What Can I Get?" menuf section or in a direct quote in response to a request.

If you want a rough idea before making a request, the pricing scheme I'm reckoning on is simple, but not set in stone. I'm working on the basis that a story ain't that far from a song -- where 3-5 minutes is $0.99 on iTunes. For a spoken word performance, something in that region doesn't seem unfair to me. How much would you pay for an alcoholic beverage of your choice, and how long would it take you to drink it on average? A half an hour for a short or a half, forty-five minutes to an hour for a full pint, three or four hours for a proper session? At maybe 2-3 groats for a pint? Well, since the service I'm offering is the quenching of your thirst for narrative, the experience of a story performed for you to savour, I'm going with a similarly stepped scale according to how long the performance lasts.

An initial rule-of-thumb pricing then:

• XS -- 5 minute work (give or take) = £1-£1.50


• S -- 10 minute word (give or take) = £1.50-£2.50


• M -- 15 minute work (give or take) = £2.50-£3.50

Generally speaking a full sonnet sequence comes in at about fifteen minutes. When I've performed redux versions by cutting three of the sonnets to meet time constraints, that usually comes in about ten minutes. A 3000 word short story like "Scruffians Stamp" clocks in about fifteen minutes too, depending. Anything longer and you're going to start pushing twenty/thirty minutes and into "Are you sure you really want this?" territory. At the moment it's hard for me to estimate a reading of something like "The Chiaroscurist" (9000 words) or even "The Behold of The Eye" (11,000 words,) but we could well be talking forty-five minutes to an hour here, if not longer.

Still if you fancy these, ask for a quote; I'll give it a crack and get back to you. Obviously book-length (e.g. Escape from Hell! at 40,000 words) would just be silly, (and audiobook rights would be an issue with published novels anyway,) but if it's practical in terms of running time and file sizes, I'm up for it -- bearing in mind that if it basically lasts as long as a CD, we might be looking at new release CD prices. Anyway, at the end of the day, the above is only a rough rule-of-thumb; ultimately the price is going to be what's set for orders or what's quoted for requests. If there are intros/outros for amything, that won't figure into the time-banding.

What If I Can't Pay By Paypal?

I don't know, but I'm open to suggestions. There's not much point in sending a cheque from somewhere outside the UK that'll cost you more to post and me more to convert than it's actually worth. But if the "What Can I Get?" menu builds up to a sufficient level that you can order a bunch of stuff and have it total to a decent sum -- assuming you'd want to order that much -- feel free to punt any ideas of how to get that to me.

What If Something Goes Wrong?

Shit happens.

There might be times when I'm away somewhere with no access to my email. So before ordering, you should probably check the "Where the Fuck Is Hal?" section, which I'll try and update any time I'm off playing international jetsetter and liable to be offline, or if there's any calamities with my internet connection at home. Feel free to put an order in while I'm away, (unless I say "DON'T ORDER NOW!") but give me a day or two after the return date to catch up.

There might conceivably be fuck-ups or emergencies that delay things. Emails can disappear into the aether. Wastrel wordsmiths can think they've dealt with something when they haven't. International jetsetters can come down with exotic diseases. Hopefully this'll never happen, but if 3 days pass after the estimated dispatch date, and the goods still aren't there, email me and/or post a comment on this post to ask what the fuck is happening. Sweariness is optional. Clarity on what you ordered and when is definitely recommended.

There might be problems with the fileshare site or your ability to access it, or with servers and attachment sizes, or with wastrel writers making cock-ups. If you get a response that says there's an mp3 attached and there isn't; or if you get an mp3 through but it doesn't work; or if you get a response with a link and a password, but you can't get it working: email me as soon as is convenient, and I'll sort it out. If we just can't get it working, a refund or replacement is clearly in order -- your choice. Hell, if you accidentally delete it and have lost the link and password, let me know and I'll provide you with a replacement gratis.

What If I Just Don't Like It?

I will cry. I will sob myself to sleep at night in my abject sorrow that you hated my reading. Still, I always liked the "Suck It And See" policy of my local indie music temple -- I mean record-shop -- Fopp. So, what the fuck; let's do that here. If you really don't like it for whatever reason, well, you can't actually return it like a CD, but I'm going to take you on your word that you deleted it from your hard drive in utter disdain, and allow you to ask for a replacement of equal value. No refunds on the basis of taste, I'm afraid, and it's a one-time only deal per order, but send me an email saying what you want to exchange it for, and I'll sort you out. I don't foresee myself having to stop taking orders from someone taking the piss, but let's face it, gaming the system is going to be a bit bleeding obvious here.

What Else Do I Need to Know?

You tell me. If you have any questions, fire them into the comments and I'll answer them there, and update this if it seems sensible. Other than that, all I can think of that's left is... well, you don't really have to read this, but in case you're interested...

What Am I Paying For?

What you're paying for is not a product. I know, I know -- you're getting this file, this thingy, even if it's a pattern of bits rather than a physical object. You're thinking of this as the purchase of an artifact that you will subsequently own, right? Like you would own any mp3, like you would own a copy of the story if you bought it in a magazine? It's kind of a natural way to think in the (post-)industrial era of mass-manufactured goods, but as far as I'm concerned it's dead wrong.

You are essentially buying an artifact, albeit a digital one, but the artefact itself is only a ticket to a service. A set of symbols stamped on a medium that's worthless in and of itself, no matter its production costs, its value resting in the fact that it allows you entry to an event, an event I provide to you as a service for the cost of the ticket, dig? Does it cost me anything to print an extra ticket? No. But you're not paying for me to print the thing; you're paying for me to give you this pass to the service I have on offer. Is there a thing that you get as a product to own, an artifact you're buying? Yes. But that thing is a ticket. Like with any ticket, it's really the service you're paying for.

That service is the experience of narrative; it's the reading as a process, not a product; it's what happens in your ears and, more importantly, in your mind, as you listen. Think about it this way: that mp3 is worth sod all if you never play it, just as a ticket is worth sod all if you never use it. When you hit the play button, that's you using your ticket; it's the gig kicking off. You can use that ticket as many times as you want, make use of the service over and over again. If you lose your ticket, that's why I'm happy to replace it: because if I know you paid for it, I know you paid to use it as many times as you want. Like a physical ticket, if you weren't actually going to use it after all, hey, I don't mind you selling it on to someone else -- or even just giving it to them. Sure, it would be nicer if they bought their own ticket direct from me, but maybe they'll buy a ticket for another gig on the strength of this one. I'll trust that you passing on that ticket entails deleting it from your hard drive because you're never going to use it again.

Why am I casting it in these terms? Largely because the narrative-as-product paradigm carries all sorts of sneaky connotations that warp our sense of the artist-audience contract. I don't think that way about this, and I don't want you to. The contract is not that I extrude X units-worth of product in medium Y, for Z groats per unit. George R.R. Martin did not contract with his readers to extrude X units-worth of product in medium Y, for Z groats per unit, at a rate of N units per day; and that he has not made this contract with them is why he is, as Neil Gaiman points out, not their bitch for having failed to meet that rate. Similarly, the contract here is not that I blather out X minutes-worth of recording in mp3, for Z groats per minute. It's certainly not that I do so at a rate of N minutes per day. Fuck that.

(It doesn't matter here, but throwing a publisher into the mix doesn't change things. Even with a publisher, the contract is not that I extrude X units-worth of product in medium Y, for a company to multiply N times over, allowing it to offer X units-worth of replicated product, at Z groats per unit. In stark contrast to such work-for-hire arrangements, the contract made with such a company would be a licensing agreement, granting them a limited right to produce as many tickets as they see fit, and to charge however many groats per ticket they consider prudent, where said tickets provide the purchaser access to the service I have to offer. That contract -- granted in exchange for financial compensation and developmental resources, with a limited openness to negotiations regarding the details of the service -- would be entirely distinct from the artist-audience contract; in such situations, that company is essentially a ticketing agency that exists to facilitate the artist-audience contract.)

The key point? The narrative-as-product paradigm is one which obscures the true nature of the contracts involved, predisposes us to think in terms of production-line employment, and thereby represents exploitative and unwarranted demands on artists as obligations.

Fuck that shit.

In the narrative-as-service paradigm, in contrast, the real relationship becomes quite apparent. The artist-audience contract, as represented by the ticket, is that for Z groats you have free access to the service I have developed in medium Y, to use it within the practical limits of the medium itself, except in so far as copyright legislation defines that use as abuse. The two basic forms of abuse are a) unauthorised reuse, beyond what is automatically permitted, and b) unauthorised provision of access to others, beyond what is automatically permitted. The automatic permissions are granted because certain degrees/types of sampling/quotation or lending/resale are the legitimate right of the audience.

And that's exactly what you've got here: with the contract articulated as clearly as I can, with the mp3 as the ticket you're purchasing, for Z groats you have free access to this audio-form narrative-as-service I've developed in the medium of mp3, to use it within the practical limits of the medium itself, except in so far as copyright legislation defines that as abuse. If you're not sure what's automatically permitted, you can probably track it down. But frankly, if you have some crazy scheme for reusing aspects of the service (sampling) or making it available to others, drop me a line; I might well be happy to authorise it. I'm very amenable.

See part of what I hate is the way the notion of intellectual property has become such an obfuscating and incendiary shibboleth. Where the malicious nature of abusive acts is confused in the narrative-as-object paradigm by the notion of intellectual property, in the narrative-as-service paradigm it becomes obvious. It is not that "intellectual property" is "stolen" -- like a plagiarised sentence is somehow removed from the original work when it's spliced into the plagiarising text -- but that the terms of use have been breached. Access to the service is provided on the basis of a guarantee that these types of act will not take place; if they do take place, that means the guarantee was misleading, and access to the service has been acquired under false pretences. These abuses are not "theft", but rather fraud, whether by intent or negligence.

This paradigm is, I think, a vastly more equitable paradigm for an artist, because it underlines the right of a service-provider to provide a service only under terms they have consented to, and only on the basis that such terms are legally binding. The first is a basic liberty required by, well, the prohibition of slavery; the second is just equality under the law; and together they constitute droit d'auteur. And I'm sorry, American Legal System, but I believe in droit d'auteur. But, yeah, the point is, if you pass on your ticket to a passing acquaintance and they mercilessly plagiarise the fiction or stick the mp3 up on the interwebs for anyone to download, it's not that my "intellectual property" has been "stolen" (or "liberated," for that matter); it's just an abuse of the service, a breach of the artist-audience contract.

It makes the lending thing a little gnarly, because lending is cool, one of those automatic permissions. When you share a physical ticket, you're passing it back and forth, so only one person can use the service at a time, and that limitation means there's only ever one ticket-user at a time. Not only am I down with you lending someone a copy of Vellum or Escape from Hell!, I positively encourage you to do so. Hopefully they'll like it enough to buy their own when they give you yours back, or they'll hang on to it for so long you'll go out and buy another. Score! But when you share this sort of digital ticket these days, that almost certainly means creating a copy for a friend and holding on to your own. Which basically means forging a perfect copy that isn't a valid ticket but which works just as well.

Mind you, this is not so much of a dealio on a "mix CD for a mate" level -- so again, go for it, if you think this close friend or that would actually appreciate it, (especially if they don't already know my stuff.) This is not, as far as I understand, one of those automatic permissions, but frankly I'm a firm believer in the mix-CD ethos. Like I would ever have got into The Stooges if a mate hadn't recorded a couple of cassettes full of them, The Sonics, Radio Birdman, and so on. Breaching the artist-audience contract like this is only out-of-order here, far as I'm concerned, if you're making a limitless amount of perfect forgeries freely available to anyone and everyone. Cause that would be sorta like going to a local band's gig in a small venue, tickets on the door, paying once to get that black ink mark on the back of your hand that says you've paid, then standing just outside the venue with your own pen, marking anyone who's vaguely interested, so they don't have to pay to get in. When the band is performing for the door money, you can see the active malice in that, right?

Anyway, I hope that all makes sense to you as it does to me, because the whole narrative-as-service paradigm just seems infinitely preferable to me. You probably didn't really need to have it explicated here like this when I could have waffled on about it in a blog entry, but I suppose this last section is, in essence, an informal "Terms and Conditions," an outlining of the artist-audience contract I'm offering here as regards the spoken word performances. So, yeah, if this all sounds fair, and those spoken word performances pique your interest, start sending in your requests.

I'm at your service, as they say.

Upcoming Events

Got a couple of gigs lined up next week, so if yer interested, come along. First off, there's a wee "meet the author" thing at a lovely indie bookshop in West Kilbride. If there's buyings, there'll be signings, and if there's questions there'll be answers, but I'm basically going to take a grab-bag of assorted reading material, reckon on 30-45 minutes worth of short pieces, but be ready to do an extended set if it seems called for. I always feel more performing and less pontificating is good. Anyways, the details:

Tuesday 23rd February from 7.00 pm
Books in the West
89 Main Street
West Kilbride
Ayrshire
KA23 9AP
www.booksinthewest.com/

And then, the very next night, there's the latest Word Dogs. Which should have been happening this week, but alas, the venue we were settling into suddenly changed ownership, and is currently closed. Never fear! The valiant junta managed to sort out an alternative venue, so the anti-Valentines Word Dogs will be going ahead, and chockful of readings it'll be, so I hear. Since the theme is "Weird Love," if all goes to plan I'll be doing some sonnets I like to introduce as inspired by two of my greatest loves -- the classical mythology of ancient Greece and the gay pornography of the Czech Republic. They're filthy. And yet erudite. The details:

Wednesday 24th Feb, from... 8.00 pm? I think.
Weird Love
Art Bar Glasgow (formerly known as Art De Caf)
The Old Sheriff Court Building,
Brunswick Street,
Glasgow G1 1TF
www.artbarglasgow.co.uk

So, yeah, that's the schedule for next week. Hope to see you there if you can make it.

Thoughts on Direct Distribution Experiments

So, I've been doing some updating of the links down the left-hand side, trying to spruce the place up a bit. In utter laziness, I decided to cheat and just send people to wikipedia for my bio, but the bibliography is now up to date, if you're intent on tracking down all my sundry scribblings. The main thing I decided to do is to bring the downloads sections up, in order to highlight the giveaways a bit more and so the donate button isn't just sitting there looking needy on its own. There's now a direct link to the Scruffians Project too, natch. Basically I'm trying to set that area out as a space for my experiments in direct distribution, partly cause I'm looking at a new scheme I want to try out -- Experiment #3. Course, the other two are still going.

Experiment #1 was/is the Creative Commons release "Die! Vampire! Die!" which went up for free download and distribution under a Creative Commons license back in 2008. Rather than pimp it in every available venue, I sorta released it into the wild and stood back to see what happened. The PDF itself has a small note at the end, along with the CC licensing statement thingy, inviting readers to donate via the blog in return -- assuming they appreciated it. Did it have any promotional benefits? Hard to say. There's some links and reviews out there, but it's largely, I think, just another drop of free fiction in the ocean. It might have won me some new readers, cause the reviews are generally appreciative, but there's no real way of knowing. What I do know is that any appreciation didn't translate into donations above single figures (both in terms of donors and toal tippage.)

I'm not complaining, cause without any active attempt to promote it and/or pressure for payment, it might just be like... like a busker playing the wrong music on the wrong pitch. But I kinda suspect there's an issue with these sort of optional gratuity schemes, an element of... the audience being happy to listen to the busker, but not that likely to chuck money in a guitar case. It's like people need to have the hat held up in front of them personally, because gratitude alone won't overcome inertia. I think this is generally supported by Experiment #2 -- The Scruffian Project. Here it's been fairly obvious the way donations tail off after a work has met the primary target and been made available for free download, even with the promise of a new release when the secondary target is reached.

Other observations of how the Scruffians Project has panned out: The initial response was pretty damn good, partly because of the novelty, but also, I suspect, because of a "fund drive factor" where people were being supportive as much as they were being keen. I was fairly open about being short of dosh when I kicked it off, and some very generous donations came in for the first story. Others have paid smaller amounts but paid them for each story, and this is kinda what I was curious to see -- whether, as the "fund drive factor" peaked and tailed off, regulars would stabilie it into something steadier -- basically if it would achieve the critical mass of regular small-sum donors to keep the ball rolling at whatever rate. Largely though, the tail off in interest (a typical problem with serial fiction) has pretty much outweighed this, downloads decreasing for each story. With the later stories, reminder posts have proven necessary, to sustain interest and reach the targets.

I'm in two minds about pimpage to counteract that. I've tweeted new releases and encouraged links, but I'm wary of too many blog entries serving as simply sales pitches; pushiness and self-publishing can be... counter-productive, I think. There's a mailing list set up to notify the interested directly of new releases, and there was the Christmas giveaway for donors, but that begins to slide the system away from the basic setup by withholding works from those who don't pay. Might well be the way it goes, but for now? I reckon I'm going to just let this post serve as a reminder, and wait and see if the direct link has any effect in routing passing interest that converts to the donations required to spur the next release.

In the meantime, I'm thinking that another experiment on an entirely different model is worth a try. Since I've been honing my skills as a spoken word performer over the last few years, I'm curious to see if there's a market for mp3s of readings. I'll post details of that presently though.

Sonnets for Orpheus Audio Downloads

I'm doing a bit of tweaking of the blog template, thought I'd collate the links to these live readings so they don't take up so much space on the sidebar.

• Sonnets For Orpheus 01


• Sonnets For Orpheus 02


• Sonnets For Orpheus 03


• Sonnets For Orpheus 04


• Sonnets For Orpheus 05


• Sonnets For Orpheus 06


• Sonnets For Orpheus 07


• Sonnets For Orpheus 08


• Sonnets For Orpheus 09


• Sonnets For Orpheus 10


• Sonnets For Orpheus 11


• Sonnets For Orpheus 12

As you were.

Nowhere Town: Libretto and Soundtrack

In celebration of Beth, Tristan and all those involved in getting the proposal passed for the University of Chicago Theater Group to perform the musical later this year, I thought I'd post up a page with the complete soundtrack. The libretto is available here, while all the vocal tracks can be accessed for download through this shared folder.

Meanwhile...

I got an email in today from my college kid amigo, Beth, to let me know that the committee passed the proposal and so, yes, the University of Chicago Theater Group will be staging the world premiere of NOWHERE TOWN, my gay Orpheus musical. I knew from the emails we've been exchanging that Beth had really gotten a great team of people on board with this, people doing costume and lighting designs, and most crucially a musical director to translate the mp3s and GarageBand projects into something actually performable; but you don't count yer chickens before they're hatched, so I'm humungously stoked to know that they've been given the go-ahead.

Next stop: Broadway!

If I were only rich right now, I'd totally be booking a ticket to Chicago to be in the audience, you know.

New BSC Review Column

It was Friday night in the city of Writing when the shit hit the fan. I didn’t make it down to the SF Café myself till Saturday afternoon or so, having been off at a gig that Friday night; so when I finally stumbled in, somewhat worse for wear, to grab my daily brunch of coffee and a cigarette over the Twitter Gazette, the kerfuffle was already in full swing. It’s war! people were saying. War! The neighbouring states of Amazonia and Macmilland have gone to war!

Funny or Freaky?

Fellow GSFWCer Mike Cobley sends me this link to an article in The Independent. Like anything concerning the whole "ex-gay" thing, it's so crackpot that part of you wants to just mock the eedjits. With quacks asking questions like "Any Freemasonry in the family?" in their search for (spiritual) "causes" how else can you react but with derision?

(The Elders of Sodom are most miffed at what is clearly yet another attempt by International Freemasonry to steal credit for the good work of other Illuminati conspiracies, in this case the advancement of the Homosexual Agenda. The connection between the Elders of Sodom and that jumped-up faction of pretenders was severed with the Albigensians. OK, yeah, we had a few agents among the Templars, and there may still be some... projects going on through the Funny Handshake Brigade, but we have agents everywhere, dude!)

But when you see the name of Richard Cohen pop up in this sort of shit (again), it stops being funny and becomes freaky. And not in a weird-and-wacky way, but in a creepy, connected to the Ugandan Gay Extermination Bill way. Even without the NHS referral stuff.

(Damn it, we're going to have bump Project Lightbringer up the agenda. I must remember to bring it up at the next meeting. Surely we can all agree now that the memetic assassination of God is our top priority!)