Metafiction: 'These Ancient Ruins'
As I've sure you've realised by now if you've been checking the dates and times of these posts, I'm currently dumping a great deal of existing fiction onto this blog; some of it from a previous blog which I eventually abandoned, with a similar aim, and a lot of it from the hard-drive of my laptop. The laptop heralded an unprecedented jump in creativity for me, possibly because I can now blow off work to write no matter where I am.
This story in particular represents a few firsts for me. It's the first short story I wrote on the laptop. It's the first story of any substantial length I've felt comfortable with (approximately five thousand words; maybe twenty three pages worth in a standard novel). It's also the first short story to really have a conclusion, and the first that I've written in one setting no less. Finally its the first that I've really shown to anybody else; the brunette first, who made substantial grammar and spelling corrections, and to David Ashford, the post-grad supervising me for my dissertation this year. Over the course of our supervisions we got to talking about writing, and he expressed a desire to read something I'd written, particularly as a fellow brummie writing about home. I think he's envisaging some form of Mercian revival in fiction, and is looking to gather a movement. Below is an extract from the email I sent him, which places 'These Ancient Ruins' in some context:
"I wrote it a few days ago, and as of the moment it probably comprises the longest and most cohesive part of my short fiction explicitly concerned with the West Midlands. I'd be very happy to hear any criticism about it, or suggestions for improvements. I'm currently reading a lot of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, along with some post-Lovecraftian horror (Ramsey Campbell, and inparticular Poppy Z. Brite) both of which I would say were quite strong influences on my overall writing style. Another strong influence is Angela Carter, whom I encountered at A-level and really enjoyed. The short story itself is part of a collection of semi-narrative short stories still in progress which will feature Brown and probably Rex again later on, and in which Renaissance Drama is a leit-motiff."
In a reversal of our usual roles, Ashford is now avoiding me; he has yet to reply to my email. He has a deal for a novel himself apparently (or an agent at least), and mentioned showing this short story around to guage interest, so I'm quite eager for a reply from him. If only to confirm he's not now passing it off as his own....
The request for creative criticism goes for anyone else who might be reading this too.
Tune of the moment: I'm Only Happy When It Rains - Garbage
Jac
This story in particular represents a few firsts for me. It's the first short story I wrote on the laptop. It's the first story of any substantial length I've felt comfortable with (approximately five thousand words; maybe twenty three pages worth in a standard novel). It's also the first short story to really have a conclusion, and the first that I've written in one setting no less. Finally its the first that I've really shown to anybody else; the brunette first, who made substantial grammar and spelling corrections, and to David Ashford, the post-grad supervising me for my dissertation this year. Over the course of our supervisions we got to talking about writing, and he expressed a desire to read something I'd written, particularly as a fellow brummie writing about home. I think he's envisaging some form of Mercian revival in fiction, and is looking to gather a movement. Below is an extract from the email I sent him, which places 'These Ancient Ruins' in some context:
"I wrote it a few days ago, and as of the moment it probably comprises the longest and most cohesive part of my short fiction explicitly concerned with the West Midlands. I'd be very happy to hear any criticism about it, or suggestions for improvements. I'm currently reading a lot of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, along with some post-Lovecraftian horror (Ramsey Campbell, and inparticular Poppy Z. Brite) both of which I would say were quite strong influences on my overall writing style. Another strong influence is Angela Carter, whom I encountered at A-level and really enjoyed. The short story itself is part of a collection of semi-narrative short stories still in progress which will feature Brown and probably Rex again later on, and in which Renaissance Drama is a leit-motiff."
In a reversal of our usual roles, Ashford is now avoiding me; he has yet to reply to my email. He has a deal for a novel himself apparently (or an agent at least), and mentioned showing this short story around to guage interest, so I'm quite eager for a reply from him. If only to confirm he's not now passing it off as his own....
The request for creative criticism goes for anyone else who might be reading this too.
Tune of the moment: I'm Only Happy When It Rains - Garbage
Jac
Labels: magikal realism, Metafiction