THE RECIPE AND OTHER DELIGHTS
Here are some creative responses from students to the experience of coming on a Dark Angels course.
1. Dark Angels: What I learned in Scotland by Neil Baker
I’ve earned a living as a business writer for over twenty years and written fiction for almost eight. But throughout that time, a dividing wall has kept my “corporate” writing separate from my “creative” work. The former pays the bills, the latter nourishes the soul, and never the twain shall meet. That used to be my attitude.
Two years ago an event in my life put a crack in that wall. A depressed friend took his own life. His action was a reminder that life is precious and must not be wasted. It made me reflect on my own trajectory. Was I being true to myself, leading an authentic life, making choices that I was proud of? Or was I denying an important part of who I wanted to be – not just a writer for money but a creative artist, a phrase I still type with trepidation?
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2. Seventeen-and-a-half reminders about writing fiction by Nick Parker
1. Just get the bloody words down. Then we'll worry what to do with them all.
2. Make your choice: are you a writer-down, or a thinker-up?
3. Keep a lightness of touch: you are a mayfly.
4. Be annoying: you are a gadfly.
5. Trust yourself: you'll know the mass of it.
6. Forget the reader. What do they know, anyway? Write the book you want to read.
7. Nobody ever 'identified' with a character. We want to be in the story. We want to be Harry Potter's friend, we want him to like us. A good story let's you into this space.
8. And then and then and then. Like history, a good yarn is just one damn thing after another. As readers, we'll take forward momentum over almost anything else.
9. The splitting is the thing. Lyra and Pan, Jesus and Christ. If you can find a way to get your characters talking to themselves, you've cracked it.
10. Seeing the shape of a novel isn't really a creative skill. it has more to do with architecture.
11. Calvino said he'd never be able to better this story by Augusto Monterosso: 'When he woke up, the dinosaur was still there.'
12. And don't forget Hemingway's six words: 'For sale, baby shoes. Never worn.'
13. Emily Dickinson said: Tell the truth, but come at it slant.
14. Elizabeth Luard pinned this note above her desk: 'Remember: You're not writing the Bible, you know.'
15. Roger Horberry said: The answer, as so often in life, lies with Scooby Doo.
16. Somerset Maugham said: 'There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, nobody knows what they are.'
17. Dr Seuss said: You have brains in your head/you have feet in your shoes/you can steer yourself/in any direction you choose...
So, what are you waiting for? Just get the bloody words down. Because tomorrow, my boy, there's worrying to do.
Written after hearing Philip Pullman talk about his experiences of writing, on the Dark Angels Masterclass at Merton College, April fool's day 2011.
3. The Recipe by Mark Stevens
INGREDIENTS
Rare, though most of the ingredients are available from UK if you search hard enough. You will need:
Half a dozen writers
Lots of red wine
1 poet
1 ceilidh performer
1 Steve (a centre director)
1 Ted Hughes (a cat)
DIFFICULTY
High. This recipe requires two full-time professionals to make it come together properly.
COOKING TIME
Allow plenty of time for preparation: It takes 5-6 days to prepare this dish.
METHOD
Day 1
Be ready with a large, stoneware mixing bowl. It must be old, cold and remote. Introduce the Steve now. Add Ted Hughes.
Soak the ingredients in rainwater. Then freeze half the writers to several degrees below zero overnight. At 4 am reduce the temperature still further. Keep the other half of the writers at room temperature.
Day 2
Lightly mix the ingredients together. You need them to relax and begin to open up.
Examine each closely.
Start to remove them from their shells. Be warned, these shells can be quite tough. If they don’t crack, marinade in red wine overnight. When the writers finally emerge, dispose of the shells immediately or they may try to crawl back in.
Worry the mixture during the day. Then leave to stew. Then chill overnight.
Day 3
Bring to the boil. Then roast.
Add your poet now. Don’t skimp here; only the finest poet will do. Allow the poetic aromas to add zest and zing the mixture. Then remove the poet and discard.
Now leave the writers to simmer overnight at a gentle heat.
Day 4
Keep the mixture moving. Don’t let them settle. It’s best to do this to music, so add the ceilidh performer now.
Listen.
If you’re hearing syncopated beats in 4:4, 2:2 and 6:8 time, you’ll know that it’s binding together. If not, add more red wine (or beer, if you can find it).
Then let the ingredients stew in their own juices overnight.
Day 5
See how the mixture presents. Satisfied? OK now form into 10 individual shapes. Make sure that each one is completely unique.
Ok, now leave them alone to rise to the occasion.
Then bake by an open fire.
Is your mouth watering? OK, have a nibble. Slowly now, this is rich food. Close your eyes. How do they taste? Spicy? Fruity? Succulent? Tangy? All this and more? As you delight in the flavours, don’t forget to savour the name - what else but Dark Angel Cakes?
Day 6
Don’t add any more wine at this stage.
4. What Every Dark Angel Should Carry by Tom Scott
One notebook (open)
One mind (open)
One pencil (sharpened)
Five senses (sharpened)
5. I Found My Voice This Week by Andy Milligan
I found my voice this week.
Quite by chance,
Hidden in a hum,
Covered by chants of time and custom
On a shelf, tucked behind a tin.
I must have put it there years ago, for safe keeping,
Worried I would lose it if I took it out,
Scared it would be laughed at, hurt, exposed.
My voice. My dearest, deepest, darling voice ... I found my voice this week,
And when I reached for it I found
All the other voices I had used began to move.
Comic. Mimic. Critic. Academic.
Laugher. Liar. Luster. Lover.
Connected by spider-fine lines,
Cat-cradling around my hands;
Contending voices uniting in the
Parliament of my soul. My voice: Prime Minister.
I found my voice this week,
And lost two others.
Sloughed off,
Their worthless purpose served.
The mulish, frightened cynic,
Gnawing at my neck and shoulders, pretending it protected.
The corporate automaton.
Passionless. Politic. Pointless.
Macerated management messages, dry and dusty in my mouth.
I lost those voices
But I found my voice this week.
I heard it hum in the humming of others, chant in the chanting of others,
Rhyme in the rhythm of others.
My voice. My dearest, deepest, darling voice.
Found again.
I found my voice this week
Because others taught me not to try so hard to find it.
Bless those dark angels of Moniack Mhor.
6. The Good Book by Sarah Burnett
A church in Lisbon.
With tombs and effigies, long anonymous.
Propped on their chests are books,
Stone books
Carved by a kindly mason
Concerned they'd be bored in heaven.
What do you read
When you're dead and defunct?
Paradise Lost? Or Paradise Regained?
As I Lay Dying? Or Great Expectations?
A self-help book?
Or the day's obituaries from The Times?
There's a weekly delivery, perhaps,
Good writing for heaven
Bad writing for hell.
Satan and his demons
Forever condemned to read IT manuals
And the works of Jeffrey Archer.
