Just Like Old Times.

I did something last week I haven't done for a long time.  I sent a story out into the wilderness.

In the past few years, I haven't done much fiction writing. A number of reasons, including undertaking my Masters online and the whole Covid thing, meant I just didn't have the time. Or the desire. And then once you lose that momentum, it's hard to get back.

But I did a quick polish on a story and sent it off. I was also quite pleased to receive an acknowledgement within a few hours. A lovely one to boot.

I sent out a story about 11 years ago and never received anything at all. I queried a few times, and still nothing. Technically, I suppose it's still with them.  They did have a submission policy which stated I couldn't submit a piece to more than one place at a time, so please don't let them know I've since sold it. They might not be happy with me.

It was great to get another story out, and to have that anticipation.  Will they? Won't they?  You never know. I might even send out another one.

It's Just Like the Sixties to Me.

The Beatles and the Rolling Stones are in the charts. Last time I looked, Now and Then was number one on the singles charts, while Hackney Diamonds topped the album charts. Who would have ever believed that sixty years ago.

I've already written about how much I love the new Beatles single, and now I've had a chance to listen to the Stones. I like it, but I don't love it.

Remember when Voodoo Lounge was released, and everyone said it was the best thing since Some Girls? This is what they're saying here. And when was the last time Voodoo Lounge was mentioned? It's not hard to be "the best since" when everything else has been average.

The songs, for the most part, are fine. It's the album that is very overproduced, a wall of guitars. It's easy to get sucked in by the gospel infused Sweet Sounds of Heaven, but listen to it a couple of times and it's lyrically lightweight.  Their last great album was Some Girls, partly for the great songs, but also because it was just the band.  Space between the instruments, rough edges, and the guitars playng off each other.

I will listen to it from time to time, but I wish they had gone with an older sound. But we all have different tastes, and I know some will love it.

Enjoy.

Now and Then.

I was in Liverpool last week for a work-related conference when I heard the new Beatles' song for the first time. I sat in my hotel room with a glass of red wine, and listened to it, as did many other fans around the world. 

And I wept.

I first heard this song more than 20 years ago on a bootleg.  Just John banging away on a piano, singing an unfinished bridge, and the TV on in the background. But hearing it with George's guitar (recorded during the anthology sessions before they abandoned it), and with Paul and Ringo's contribution, I was hit emotionally. Likely the last time I would hear a brand new Beatles song.  It's not a masterpiece - it's not Strawberry Fields Forever, but I like it. And I like it a lot.

The next day, I watched the video and fell in love with it too. More tears, seeing the four of them together from different eras. I actually watched it just as it was released, standing outisde a train station, waiting for the minibus to take me to John and Paul's childhood homes for a tour. And so there was double triple meaning there for me.

But that's it. Let it be. Unless they find a reel of unreleased music from the 60s, we don't need anything new. This has been the bookend we needed.

Thanks Paul, Ringo, George and John.

Love to Hate?

Fandom is interesting, isn't it?  Fans turn on each other, hurl abuse, and even actively work to prevent others from enjoying something.

I've seen it in several forms of fandom. I recently left one of my favourite FaceBook groups, a football group, because of the negativity, the namecalling and general abuse. Ironically, it was a group set up with the intended aim of being a pleasant and safe place, different to the others.  The guidelines, paraphrased, were to not be too negative, criticise players, and to have a good time.  That was great for a number of years, and then it grew too large.  And when people pointed out the guidelines, they were attacked for their rose-tinted glasses, and reminded of the abuser's right to "free speech."

I'm only in one Science Fiction group, run by a friend, which is still small and where people are nice to each other. (I've only had to block one person who insisted I was wrong, and actually commented on my post "What he actually means is....", which is not what I meant.  But apart from him, it is a fun place to visit.  I stopped going to others when it was insinuated that we weren't allowed to enjoy certain films, or books, because they were rubbish. Like many of the Star Wars films, or series, or books.

I left a music one because people would go out of their way to declare their hatred of all things U2, a band I quite like. it was bizarre how these people were on a mission to let you know they didn't like them.

At the moment, there are a number of Beatles fans already declaring they don't like the new Beatles song, even though none of them have heard it. It's not the Beatles, it's not this, it's not that.

Negativity. I'm cutting it out of my life where I can. And my Facebook feed is a much happier place for it.

Disclosure?

I regularly watch a couple of UFO/paranormal podcasts. I never miss an episode of Sean Patrick Hazlett's Through A Glass Darkly, or Preston Dennett's UFO and the Paranormal episodes.

Both of these take quite different approaches. Preston is a MUFON investigator, and provides details on a number of cases, usually in a themed episode. He is generally positive, believing the encounters and the intentions of ETs are benevolent.

Hazlett, on the other hand, covers a range of topics; everything from UFOs to geopolitics. He has really developed as an interviewer, and while he can get a little excitable on some subjects, he is very much a man after my own heart, seeking the truth and trying to be objective and balanced.  (As a point of interest, my original name for this website, in 2011 or so, was Through a Writer Darkly!)

I have had a few UFO sightings, and certainly experienced some things I simply cannot explain. If you read the literature, listen to the experts and scientists, and watch the documentaries, it's difficult to think anything other than they are here, and the governments are aware of this.

The testimony of David Grush should have been all over the media. A credible, knowledgeable whistleblower, and yet the stroy was hardly touched. I can't help but wonder if he is part of a gradual disclosure by the US government. There are a number of indicators that suggest we will be told in the nxt couple of years that we are not alone.  And that will change everything, which is why they have to control disclosure, build us up to it.

The truth is still out there, but it's getting closer.

Something Happened!

A few months ago I had a major birthday.  Lindsey took me away for the weekend to a lovely coastal town. We had a fabulous weekend on the beachfront. Scout, out terrier, certainly loved it. We ate well, I bought some fabulous books from a local indie bookshop, walked and scoured the charity shops in town.

For some reason, I had Rendlesham Forest on my mind. I don't know why, as I always thought it was well away from there. And so I googled it and was surprised to learn it was only 10 miles or so from where we were staying. I asked Lindsey if we could go, and playing he birthday boy card, she acquiesced.  Lindsey had never heard of it, and so I told her the story of the Rendlesham incident.

What?  You've never heard of it either? The UK's Roswell?  You have google. Go there, and go there now.  You can always return here.

Lindsey was amazed that she's never known about this incident. We went, and it was a lovely forest. We followed the UFO trail, which was well signposted and provided great information. It was, I must admit, quite eerie and moving. And then we arrived at the small clearing commemorating the actual incident took place.

There is a sculpture of the craft, a stylised model of the actual craft that was seen. Although it wasn't the actual landing site, it was still extremely powerful. It was amazing to be so close after having read about the incident for 30 plus years,

I've since watched a couple of fabulous documentaries about the incident. The witnesses are credible. They touched the craft. They made notes at the time. The base deputy commander (USAF) had a recorded and taped his observations. Something happened there, something unearthly - despite what the MOD and the USAF say. And we all know what that was.

Since then my niece has seen a show about Rendlesham and told my wife she planned to go there. She was amazed when Lindsey knew all about it, and told her we had been there.

Stay safe, and don't believe all you are told. Something is happening, and it's going to peak soon.

Remembered For A While.

I read a great deal. And widely.

There's something magical about reading old anthologies of short stories. Stories from a different world, a different time. Often written in a different style to modern writing, with language, situations and events that simply wouldn't fly today. They seem quirky, out of place, as though from an alternate history. But I love them for this reason. And there's a joy in discovering a particularly brilliant short story by an author I've never heard of before. I look them up, and sometimes there is no further information to be found.

And then I get to wondering. Did they write anything else, or were they prolific but only had one story published? Maybe they had other stories published in magazines not readily available? And what did they do outside their writing life?  Maybe they only live on through that one written piece.

Last week, this was on my mind when I was walking through a cemetery. This is local, and I often take a short cut through it. I see the names on the gravestones, some going back centuries and none of which I recognise, and continue on. But this time I wondered about them. Who were they? How did they live their lives? Were they happy?

The next day I saw a quote which seemed apt. "One day, someone will mention your name for the final time and then you'll be forgotten."

I've tried to find the source for this, but it appears to be a variation on a quote attributed to Banksy, "They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing, and a second time when somebody says your name for the last time."  And take that a step further, and it appears to be an articulation of an ancient Egyptian saying.  And who said it originally?  Ironically, we have no idea.

Will I be remembered? For a while, I guess. Not as long as others who have fame. Maybe in a hundred years or more someone will stumble across one of my publications, enjoy it, and jump on the then version of the internet to try and find out about me. With so much data out there now, it's possible they will know more about me than I do. They may even read this.

Hello, future reader!

But ultimately, does it matter if we're remembered? Does it change anything? We won't know.

All we can do is our best, and to try to leave the world a slightly better place.