Category Archives: Literary London

Is everything copy? Women in Journalism discuss.

photo-1455904254851-58c6069237f7.jpegThere’s one comfort that keeps writers going when everything is going to hell and there’s no handcart in sight. ‘I’ll write about this one day,’ we mutter, surveying the wreckage of our lives.

But should we? Is everything really copy, or are there limits that we can and should set to protect ourselves or other people? Women In Journalism staged a debate on Tuesday in the St Bride’s Institute off Fleet Street, featuring four doyennes of personal journalism: Louise Chunn, Bryony Gordon, Kathryn Flett and Rebecca Armstrong. These women have regaled the world with tales of infidelity, marriage breakdown, mental health problems, serious illness and funny things kids say – whether from their own experience or as editors, encouraging others to ‘spill their guts’.

Louise Chunn, who as Guardian women’s page editor published the story of Jilly Cooper’s husband’s lover’s account of their affair (as well as an article I wrote on smear tests that I still get emails about), says that she’s changed her views over the years, not least because ‘everything lives forever online’. ‘I have had times when it’s really blown up in my face,’ she says. ‘Telling stories really does help other people, but sometimes people doing the writing are not as careful with themselves as they might be,’ she said.

Kathryn Flett talked of how a travel piece, to Bruges on Valentine’s Day, became her first ‘confessional’ piece when her husband announced he was leaving her, the day before they went. The resulting piece, which she wrote in one  draft and entitled “By Waterloo Station I sat down and wept,” made her name. She went on to write a blow-by-blow account of the end of the marriage, and says she felt no need to protect her husband: ‘You married a writer: deal with it’. Spouses of writers, beware.

Bryony Gordon, the daughter of a journalist who wrote about her kids, now ‘gets her own back’ on her mum Jayne in a two-part column they write for the Telegraph. She shared memories of posing for a photoshoot at her mother’s request as a teenager, only for it to appear under the strapline: “Is this the worst teenager in Britain?” Now a mother herself, she says she’s conscious that ‘I don’t want it to hurt anyone else.’ She defends personal journalism (she hates the ‘confessional’ tag), saying it takes bravery and strength to share your life honestly. ‘Men do it, and it’s art.’

The last panellist, Rebecca Armstrong, began writing about her life with her husband Nick after a terrible accident left him in a coma. She said she talked to his parents and his ex-wife before deciding to start writing about him, as she couldn’t ask Nick himself – although she spoke to him all the time. He’s now out of the coma and, she says, is thrilled that she writes a column, and sometimes contributes a few words to it. However, she said, she does hold back on some details, to protect his dignity.

The evening was thought-provoking, raising questions of where to draw the line to protect oneself, while sharing experiences that might just help someone else. It’s tempting to put it all out there – but do you want any future children or employers to read all about it?

Image: Tran Mau Tri Tam, via Unsplash.

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Hero tips from inspiring publishers

zero-to-heroWhat do you get when you take 11 publishing pioneers and put them in a room full of people who want to know how they did it? The Literary Platform‘s event From Zero To Hero was packed full of hard-won insights, tales of bravery and belief, and innovative ideas.

Held in the hip Rich Mix cultural centre in Shoreditch, the day featured three panel sessions with Q&As afterwards. The first focused on print start-ups, with Miranda West of Do Books, Martin Usborne of Hoxton Mini Press, Kirsty Allison of zine Cold Lips and Valerie Brandes of Jacaranda Books. They represent four completely different businesses, united by masses of passion from their start-up founders.These were my take-home tips:

  • Write (and publish) with one person in mind (MW)
  • It’s about building a community, via social media, events, festivals…(MW)
  • If you’re not sure who your audience is, know yourself – what you enjoy, what you want to read or buy – and have faith that others will love it too (MU)
  • Offer something unique to an under-served audience (VB, KA)
  • Get the production values right for your audience/price point – a punk DIY look is spot on for zines , but high production values establish you as a publisher to be reckoned with.(VB, KA)
  • It’s not cheap and finance is hard to come by. You may need to self-fund or crowd-source funding. Print costs for 3000 copies can be £4000 – and then you have 3000 copies to sell or store. (MU, MW)
  • Cover and title are what sells, so don’t skimp on those.(MU)
  • If you believe in your idea, go for it! (MU)

Finding the right model is crucial, and the “commission book, print 3000 copies, sell book” model is no longer the only game in town. Michael Bhaskar of Canelo talked us through how to “do digital publishing properly,” with lots of love for the mid-list authors so apparently unpopular with the traditional publishers. Anna Jean Hughes of The Pigeonhole talked about moving from publishing new content to providing a service to existing publishers, via their “fitbit for your book” app; and David Cadji-Newby of Lost My Name explained the appeal of the print-on-demand personalised book (stressing that you have to ‘do personalisation properly’).

The final post-lunch session was a dizzying whirl through the world beyond words, with sessions from Anna Gerber and Britt Iversen of Visual Editions, whose work stretches from books in boxes to radio stories; Dorothea Martin from oolipo giving us tantalising glimpses of their yet-to-be-published smartphone projects, and Crystal Mahey-Morgan of Own It! stretching the boundaries of what a story can be – a teeshirt message, animated film, song, a book packaged with all of the above. After all that, it was a relief to hear her tell us: “Don’t let the tech get in the way of the story”.

Stories are the one thing guaranteed to take us all from zeros to heroes, after all.

Image: Charlotte Aston, @cjmaston.

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Lawyers, literature and Grays Inn Court

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Paul Croft as Egeon in Antic Disposition’s A Comedy of Errors at Gray’s Inn

London: noisy, crowded, constantly swept along with the tide of history. Except for a few pockets of tranquility that can take you back in time to the childhood of Charles Dickens, or even further back, to the first productions of Shakespeare’s plays.

The Inns of Court still function today as professional barristers’ associations, and all barristers in England and Wales must belong to one of them. Lincoln’s Inn, Middle Temple, Inner Temple and Gray’s Inn, however, are more than dry institutions. Step through their gates (if you can find them – you’ll need to know the hidden gateways in their walls) and you find yourself in quiet squares of historical buildings from the 16th to the 19th century, mere feet away from bustling Holburn or Fleet Street.

The 13th century Gray’s Inn has a strong literary pedigree. Slip through a passageway next to the Cittie of Yorke pub, and you’re in Grays’ Inn’s South Square, opposite the Elizabethan Gray’s Inn Hall. The hall was the venue for the first recorded performance of Shakespeare’s early comedy, The Comedy of Errors, at Christmas 1594.

Last week I was in the audience for a brilliant new production of the play, by Antic Disposition, in the same elegantly-panelled hall. I think Shakespeare would have enjoyed the frenetic, slapstick pace that the performers gave this tricky play, not to mention the accomplished live jazz band. The portrait of Elizabeth I’s spymaster Francis Walsingham, looking down with unamused disapproval from the wall, was a reminder that not all members of the Inn appreciated the ‘base and common fellows’ who made up the itinerant acting companies of the day.

Outside, across South Square, is the window of the office where the 15-year-old Charles Dickens sat, his sharp eyes no doubt picking up everything and noting it down, for later use in the many depictions of lawyers in his novels.

The Inn has a wonderful garden with lawns and roses, which you can glimpse if you take the other entrance, off Jockey Fields. The Inn has been unfortunate in the loss of several buildings to fire and bombing, including the 13th century chapel and the 16th century library. However, it retains an atmosphere of secluded antiquity which makes it well worth a visit.

Grays’ Inn is taking part in Open House London on September 18, with tours including the Hall and Library.

Photo: Scott Rylander

 

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Flaneurserie at the London Review Bookshop

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Flaneuse in Cecil Court. Does it count if you’re playing Pokemon Go?

I’ve yet to meet a writer who doesn’t appreciate the pleasures of a leisurely stroll through a city. Overheard snatches of conversation, relationships being negotiated, the press of a rush hour crowd, hidden courtyards and quiet parks, provide rich fodder for the imagination.

I’ve long aspired to the status of flâneur, the observer who sets himself (usually) aside from the crowd to take pleasure in watching. Exploring cities on foot is a favourite pasttime, from the Manchester of my student years, to Paris, New York, Florence, Madrid – and of course my home town, London. So I was intrigued to find out more about the female experience, from Lauren Elkin, author of Flâneuse: Women Walk the City, in conversation with Brian Dillon at the London Review Bookshop in Bloomsbury.

A flâneuse, Elkin tells us, is ‘a determined resourceful woman keenly attuned to the creative potential of the city, and the liberating possibilities of a good walk’. I’ll take that.

Paris spawned the notion of the flâneur. Self-consciously dressing up their wanderings in a frock-coat of literary intent, writers like Baudelaire and Walter Benjamin claimed the streets and cafès as their own. It’s always been harder for women. Writer Georges Sands famously borrowed her brother’s boots and breeches for her own perambulations through Paris, delighting in being able to disappear into the crowd.

The difficulty comes, as Elkin said, with the male gaze. Much as women might like to go unnoticed while walking alone in the city, ‘it’s the gaze of the flâneur that makes us so conspicuous.’ There’s an queasy connection between a woman walking the streets, and a street-walker. Why has this woman left her home to go gadding about the city, if not for business or pleasure, or the business of pleasure?

The problem has by no means disappeared. I was threatened with sexual violence as a student walking home through Manchester late at night. When I wanted to stroll in Madrid, where I lived in my early 30s, I’d choose a nondescript outfit that would not result in the hisses and shouts of ‘Rubia!’ (Blondie) that followed me if I dared to wear a short skirt. Now that I’m older, I can walk London with impunity. It’s a relief, but I feel sad that I had to look dull. Why shouldn’t the flâneuse adopt her own flamboyant, dandy style? It’s not about being invisible, I realise, just about being comfortable.

Bloomsbury seemed a good place to consider the flâneuse. It’s a fine place to wander, through the squares and gardens. Bloomsbury doyenne Virginia Woolf wrote one of the finest novels of walking the city, in Mrs Dalloway, whose footsteps you can trace around town. Clarissa Dalloway, of course, wasn’t merely wandering, but out to buy the flowers. Shopping is an acceptable excuse for women walking alone. Only Peter Walsh, her former admirer, is able to be ‘completely free’ in his wanderings, to the extent of following a woman through the streets, wondering whether she is ‘respectable’.

Respectability seems a great hindrance for a flâneuse. Some of my favourite writing comes in the novels of Sarah Waters, who gives us transgressive women – feminists, lesbians, cross-dressers, thieves – walking the streets for pleasure or profit, or simply for something to do. Her description in The Night Watch of walking the bombed streets of the city during the black-out has a particularly hallucinatory power.

I’m looking forward to learning more about artistic flâneuse through Elkin’s book, including the film-maker Agnes Varda and photographer Sophie Calle. Both did interesting things with the female gaze, not least turning it on men. Neither of them sound in the least bit respectable, and I’m delighted to make their acquaintance.

Flâneuse is published by Penguin.

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Summer love-in: Women In Journalism summer party

P1040192.JPGIt was a warm and sticky night… and my first Women In Journalism summer party. I recently joined this admirable association and have been struck by the friendliness and inclusivity of their gatherings. So I was looking forward to the party.

This is kind of unusual for me. My biggest failing as a journalist is a complete lack of brass neck; that ability to work a room and come out with three exclusive stories and a pocket full of useful contacts. Going to a party on my own, where I might not know anyone, is usually my idea of hell.

But when I wandered into the grand library of the Royal Geological Society on Piccadilly, a mini-bottle of fizz in my hand, I was quickly greeted by one of the WiJ team and introduced to a group of people. I was delighted to run into a former colleague and we had fun catching up. Before long I’d talked to half a dozen people, women from different branches of journalism and PR, freelancers, staffers, authors of books and editors of magazines.

And it wasn’t your usual networking nightmare. I never had the feeling that people were looking over my shoulder, trying to spot someone more important to talk to. (There were some Very Important Women in attendance, including Rebekah Brooks, WiJ chair Eleanor Mills and Yasmin Alibhai-Brown.) We discussed Brexit, journalism in Africa, how to develop a specialism, women’s rugby, deadlines, the joy of writing… all with a notable absence of political rancour. People chatted, moved on, joined and left groups, applauded Eleanor Mills’ rousing speech about the rise of women in public life and drank all the white wine. Thirsty work, socialising in the heat.

It was a lot of fun. And I went home with a splendid goody bag, stuffed with posh chocolates, gin cocktails, biscuits and more. Can’t wait for the Christmas do.

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