Warning Signs

It’s been a crunchy couple of weeks for me, personally – crappy health and competing deadlines and all that. But I’ve managed to carve some time out to work on Spectral, so you get an update! A few weeks ago, I received the first set of official changes and suggestions from wonder-editor Harriet Evans, and managed to get some time with über-busy poetry powerhouse Bridget Hart of Burning Eye to talk about creating a content warning system for the book, so the past ten days has involved working on those two things, between bouts of illness.

Content Warnings are a touchy subject, even now. I, personally, used to be very wary of them – downright sulky about having to provide them where asked, in the past, if I’m honest – and we still don’t mandate them for the events that I run, though I do quite vehemently suggest nowadays that stronger opening topics do need a decent heads-up. Some people decry them as spoilers, or pandering, or incomprehensible – how are you to know what someone’s specific triggers are?! – but the last few years have given me some interesting insight into the value of them, and my approach has changed due to a couple of different demonstrations of best practice, and how much that contrasts with at least one demonstration of bad practice…

Edinburgh Fringe Festival is a great way to up your game (or decide that live performance art isn’t your game after all…) – the combination of pressure, reliance on yourself and others, the lack of resources and the wealth of opportunities, plus lots and LOTS of practice at honing your performance and hosting (and marketing, and networking, and quick-change costume, and hill-walking, and managing rejection) skills can be a game-changer. On top of that, you’re also witnessing how other people do it – well and badly! – and this can be really pivotal for your own work. Peering at my own hosting process these days, I notice that I’ve appropriated quite a few standards from other people that I liked: phrases and ways of expressing enthusiasm during warming a crowd up, adjusting the mic stand for people before they get there, providing a music stand so that people who read from hard copy can go hands-free, and the adaptation of Allographic’s infamous #NoApologies philosophy from people who hosted while I was recovering my voice. (I’d like to think that I’ve influenced a few others in turn re: no-kicking-down policies and checking performers’ pronouns as standard, but that’s not the point of this!) And my attitude to giving people more space in which to breathe at my events was massively altered by one friendly open mic in Edinburgh that I very nearly didn’t go to.

To Be Frank’s Edinburgh Fringe run in 2018 was produced by a group of young people from Bath, and hosted in Edinburgh’s radical bookshop. I came to show support to the featured cast and do a bit of open mic, and was blown away when a couple of lovingly pragmatic statements by the host shifted my worldview more than he could possibly know. Because I’d been to places where content warnings were encouraged/ enforced, but I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone say something like: “If you’re getting overwhelmed, please feel free to wander out into the rest of the bookshop if you need to take a moment, and then come back whenever.” It was the corollary to “you might be triggered” that I’d been missing all that time – “if you’re triggered, or potentially triggered, you can go, take care of yourself, and return, with explicit permission.” Knowing that I could leave and come back if I needed to… meant that I didn’t need to. It was quite an extraordinary experience, and I have now worked it into all my hosting duties, whether online or in person. You can come back is a huge thing to hear; you don’t have to reach fever-pitch and run away for good/ dissociate frantically while stuck in the audience. You’re welcome to practise good self-care.

And of course there was an experience of seeing it done badly which resolved me to be even stronger in my defence of content warnings. Short version: A Certain Famous Musician had a gig in Cambridge a few months before lockdown which almost had me on my knees with rage and anxiety. I started feeling quite quickly like I was the only person not signed up to the personality cult, and I left with most of my upper body in tetany from clenching my fists so hard. She sauntered through the audience, touching hands like a revivalist preacher, reached the stage, and launched into an anecdote which had immediate and graphic themes of what probably many would describe as sexual coercion and dubious consent, let alone underage activities and deeply sketchy power and age dynamics, then trilled: “Trigger warning! Hahaha!” into the somewhat stunned silence. She then told the audience that they could call out for her to play a particular riff when they were feeling sad and overwhelmed, because there was a lot of heavy stuff in the show. The third time someone asked for it, she was already cursing them and showing every sign of aggressive reluctance to comply, all the while telling us at every other turn that she practised “radical compassion”. If actual and timely trigger warnings (and actual pragmatic care) had been offered for the a) heavy, b) rambling, c) viciously self-aggrandising and seemingly endless show, I might have engaged better with the subject matter/ not binned the artist from my list of icons.

In a similar fashion, and with similar timing, I started interacting actively with fanfic in early 2018. Getting into the habit of reading – and writing – stories of sometimes graphically distressing topics turned out to be much easier to process/ avoid when feeling fragile due to the tagging system (which, to be fair, not everyone employs punctiliously). Knowing when/ how/ if to back out of something that tweaked my own personal “nope!”s didn’t lead to me having a more anodyne reading experience by any means, but it meant that (nearly) every engagement with the difficult stuff was done with informed consent, and the feeling of control I had over those situations helped me process topics that I did need to address, but which I might have just run away from entirely otherwise. It’s always jarring, by contrast, to find that book- and movie-buying is more fraught – I’m about to spend cash on this… am I going to end up chucking the thing across the room, having been ambushed for the sake of an author’s need to control my experience down to the jump-scare? or will I get my money’s worth?

Detractors of content notes and trigger warnings like to say that “life doesn’t provide trigger warnings!” Sure, but that’s wildly beside the point, in my opinion. Because, adequately informed about the potential dangers of a situation, we can choose to take precautions or avoid altogether. Besides, not only does nature provide plenty of safety warnings in the form of colouration, etc., we humans set up vast swathes of safety measures in actual, 3D life as well as art to give people that very choice: Low Bridge; Flood Warning; Falling Rocks; Oncoming Train; Construction Site; Wash Before Use; Wait For The Green Light; Contains Peanuts; Strobe Use; Foul Language; 18+; Danger: Quicksand; sirens and flashing lights; car horns and airbags; seatbelts; safety harnesses, goggles, and hard hats; lightning conductors; fire grates and tempered glass; gauntlets and sword guards; steam valves; antihistamines; steel toecaps; oxygen masks; lifeguards and buoys; red flags; Beware of the Dog; Here Be Dragons. A large part of the ongoing success of human society is its collaboration on preventing and mitigating danger – both physical and mental. Let’s face it: folklore and mythology is about 80% Don’t Talk To Strangers; Deep Waters Contain Scary Things; and Don’t Wander Off Into The Woods By Yourself, For Fuck’s Sake. (A lot of the rest of it appears to be about the dangers of jealous family members, which is interesting, but definitely a discussion for another time…)

Besides, if art is a conversation (and I strongly believe it is – or should be), then the power and control need to be equally shared between all participants, explicitly. And if art is a means to safely process the difficult things about life – a co-constructed virtual reality, if you like – it needs to practise compassion and informed consent in order for the messages artists want witnessed to be engaged with clearly. Anything else feels somewhat like bullying, to my mind.

So what’s that got to do with Spectral? you might be asking, if you’ve got this far and not been thoroughly derailed by my digressions (hi, nice to see you; thanks for persisting; please bear with me a little longer!). Well, I wanted to find a way to give common content warnings for the pieces without impinging on people’s reading experience – a way for those who wish to stay as safe as possible to do so, but also a way to not get “spoilers” if you’re feeling robust enough to handle any surprises. And, let’s face it, if you know anything about my work to date, you’ll be unsurprised to find themes of sexuality, gender, relationships, mythology, and the power that memory can hold over us popping up in the book. Talking to Bridget about it, she suggested a discreet colour code, which turned into me suggesting symbols (since internal colour was out), and together we worked out a suitable set of warnings (whittled down from a terrifyingly comprehensive 50-something to 27).

The, uh, fun thing about occasionally being so ill that you can’t sleep, is that you can find good distraction and productivity in small, low-stakes tasks. In this instance, having done a bit of research into standards for emblematic representation, and realising that I would have to draw the symbols myself where possible due to copyright restrictions/ lack of cohesive options elsewhere, I got stuck in and started ticking them off, starting with the quick wins. Having a drawing tablet and the recent practice in copying things has definitely borne fruit, as I seem to be much more able to transcribe my imagination than before. Using CorelDraw, I would scribble simple, sketchy versions, then play with the nodes to pose the figures. A lot of duplicating-and-mirroring gave some symmetry (better than relying on my current ability to draw something suitable twice reliably), and behold!

These are very much in first draft status, so I’m going to share a bunch that are either particularly common in the book, or about which I’m rather proud… or both.

In alphabetical order, the symbols above represent: bullying, childlessness, chronic pain and fatigue, conflict, death, depression, despair, implied sexual content, manipulation, mourning, regret, relationship breakup, toxic relationships, and transphobia.

Would love to hear if you can tell which is which, and what you think (bearing in mind these will probably need to be about a centimetre high each in the finished version!). They will, of course, be properly labelled in the final version!

Take Cover

It’s here! you asked how to pre-order Spectral, so I’ve set up a means to do so on the new Allographic Big Cartel shop. Which means I get to show off the beautiful art that Sa’adiah Khan created for the front cover of the book from Burning Eye.

I knew I wanted Sa’adiah’s art for this project well before I knew that Burning Eye were going to take it. As soon as the concept blossomed, I realised it needed her take on it to bring it further to life. You may know her as a community artist in Cambridge and nearby – she’s dedicated to bringing art to life in tiny, intricate, intimate pieces, and huge murals, broad and bountiful, and one of her most enduringly beautiful pieces is the collaborative mural which still adorns our local Co-op in Chesterton.

Sa’adiah had already provided the artwork for my show The Selkie a few years ago, somehow taking my rambling depictions and turning them into (sometimes eerily accurate in matching my mind’s vision) images to match the narrative, and I was thrilled to manage to book her for this project shortly after Burning Eye confirmed publication. 

With this being a much vaguer conceptualisation, she had to work in innovative ways to pull out what I needed, and, after various colour cut-ups (literally), kaleidoscopic animations, consultations, and very patiently tiffling about with hues and shadows until I was happy, she produced this absolute beauty:

Isn’t it lush?! I can’t wait to see what Clive does with the design, and am looking forward to making badges of it. In the meantime, please enjoy losing yourself in the layers (and, better, head over to Sa’adiah’s website to see more of the gorgeous colours and holistic visions she has to share; you might even find yourself joining in a drawing workshop!).

And, if you’re feeling as though, this close to Christmas, you’d like to support an independent publisher who does a great deal to make the work of performance artists come to life in print form, you could do a lot worse than donating to or buying some work from Burning Eye who, like a lot of artistic platforms, have been severely hit by the Pandemic.

Over on my poetry blog I’m also sharing sneak peeks into artwork I’m producing for certain pieces in the book, so do check those out – I’m hoping to bring new ones out every week from now until launch.

Applying Myself

 

Next year sees the tenth anniversary of publishing house Burning Eye Books, who’ve produced the collections of some of my favourite UK performance poets. Their focus has been consistently on platforming the work of word-wranglers who inhabit that interesting place between poetry, theatre, music, and stand-up. The sort of people who used to be traditionally, well, invisible to standard page publishers.

People like me, I suppose.

Imposter Syndrome is a funny thing – it can have you thinking you’re cheating and faking, especially when you do well, especially if it’s taken a while for other people who at least look like arbiters of success, to recognise your achievements and skills. Especially if you’ve ever been given grief for your endeavours. It makes it difficult to put yourself forward for opportunities because, well, they’d never pick me.

Last September someone told me that the next window for submissions to Burning Eye Books would give specific emphasis to welcoming artists inhabiting that interesting place between male and female. The sort of people who used to be traditionally, well, invisible to standard institutions.

People like me, in other words.

So I, high on the adrenalin of an excellent night of slam poetry, vowed (in front of witnesses) that this time, I’d actually apply. And in the new year, having moved into a different phase of my life on several fronts, persistently encouraged by a bunch of lovely people, I made a spreadsheet (obviously) for all the poems I felt folk would want to read, and started cataloguing them. And then I got ill. And then I hurled myself during the final 48 hours before the deadline into writing a proper submission for a grown-up version of the kind of stuff I’d been producing (a sample, a bio, and a proposal for the shape of the book; why will people buy this? who are you? what makes this – and you – special?). And, for once, I wrote that down and told them. (And got friends who know their stuff to check it, and they reminded me about other things I could say, so I said them too.)

Writing poetry is easy. Delineating your literary worth in an online form? Bit more of an ask.

Anyway, you may have seen this on social media already, in much pithier, more confident-seeming formats. But, in short: Clive and Bridget looked at the proposal, and in March, they said yes…

(Author image by Matt Widgery at the SHINDIG Storytelling Special.)

The book is currently called Spectral. It’s going to have a very specific concept underpinning its construction, and very beautiful cover art by local Cambridge artist Sa’adiah Khan, and I’ll be producing an audiobook version to match the current release date for the physical book in March 2022. You’ll be able to buy it in bookshops and online and did I mention that I’m still freaking out about this?

Today the knowledge that this is actually happening sinks that bit further into my psyche, and I’m abruptly grateful that the process of publication takes a lot longer with big publishers than with my own platform. (Oddly enough, my label, Allographic Press, has seen other of our writers ’graduate’ to Burning Eye and… I guess I’m one too, now…?)

The tenth anniversary publications list for BE looks like a grand mixture between some of my favourite poets (including people I’ve acted with, which is an interesting bit of world-collision!), people I’ve only heard of, and others I’m really looking forward to getting to know:

So I’ll be keeping you up-to-date with progress as it goes, in between small bouts of freaking out and rushing to complete deadlines at the last minute because really… that’s not going to change any time soon, let’s face it… Expect to see at least hints of art and contents pages, and possibly the occasional flail about audiobook production and other such fun stuff. I’ll be posting on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and possibly Soundcloud about All This, but expect the longer rambles to turn up here. And yes, this may be the final impetus I need to actually update my website for the first time in… okay, I’m not going to work out how long it’s been, just crack my knuckles and get on with it!

To everyone who’s encouraged, proofread, witnessed vows, made space for me to write in, squeaked with glee, and/ or shown absolutely no surprise whatsoever when I’ve told them this news… thanks! And if you’ve read this far, thank you too!

See, it’s important to have good friends around you. Folk who’ll gently (or not-so-gently) nudge you toward the things that make your life brighter, remind you that there’s space in which you can make and grow and thrive. That there are chances for those who might have considered themselves invisible to standards they think unattainable.

People like you. And me.

Blimey…

Showcase Your Words at the #VFreeFringe

 Hi Folks,

I’m writing this with my PBH’s Free Fringe Spoken Word Artistic Director (try saying that seven times quickly!) hat on:

This year, we’ll be putting on a digital version of the Fringe. Yes, things may change for the better and there may well be possibilities of socially distanced shows in the actual city of Edinburgh, but we also want to broaden out what we do, making it more accessible and more innovative, while still remaining free to both performers and audience, emphasising the role of a creative community in supporting each other, especially in these still-weird times.

We realise that a fair number of people find the idea of running/ creating digital shows unfamiliar and disorienting/ disconcerting, but we will also be providing a plethora of advice, guidance, tips and tricks (to audience as well as creators!), and face-to-face (online) training, as well as putting together a catalogue of useful resources from equipment and venue hire to filmmakers and audio specialists to marketing and social media integration. And we want to emphasise that you don’t need fancy equipment to make digital shows – one of our experts has been waxing lyrical about the sheer amount of high-quality content you can create with a smartphone (and will be putting together mini how-to instruction videos with that in mind, among other things).

And the difference between this and the in-person Fringe is that the only limit is your imagination. You can give us 10-minute videos to platform or 24-hour recitation marathons. You can pre-record, do live Zoom shows, give us a Facebook Livestreaming link, or give us the means to platform your audio-only podcasts, interviews, etc. If it belongs online, we want to help you broaden your audiences during August. We’ll also help with social media tie-ins now we have experts on board to help with that.

And we’re looking at clever ways to include the social aspects of getting together during Fringe as much as possible. Not only by including open mics, slams, and other cabaret events, but also virtual social spaces for people to drop into and chat with each other.

If you’ve always wanted to give the Edinburgh Fringe a go and have been limited by budget, time, energy, etc., this could be your opportunity to not only get involved for the first time, but be part of the inaugural Digital Fringe. And if you’ve been missing the Fringe, we’ve been missing you too – it would be great to see you!

I’ll be running online discussion sessions on Zoom specifically for people who want to bring spoken word shows to the Free Fringe during April and May 2021 (every Saturday, 12:30-13:30 GMT) and want to talk about the possibilities in person, as well as running training sessions on running good Zoom performance events. If you’re interested in finding out more, there’s a Facebook group for all interested parties: https://www.facebook.com/groups/vswpbhff21 and you can sign up for discussions by going to https://discussvswpbhff21.eventbrite.co.uk to reserve a place. (You need to have an authenticated Zoom account to join.) Watch this space for news about the training sessions, coming soon.

In the meantime, any queries, please comment here or email pbhspokenword @ gmail dot com