“Gies a Job”

Well, it’s been a while since I wrote on here. In fact, last couple of times the auto renew came up, I was like yeah I forgot I had a blog, but I have done the technological equivalent of dusting down my old diary (resetting passwords) and thought I would do a bit of a catch up blog.

When I was growing up there was a programme on the telly that personified the unemployment of the thatcher years. boys from the blackstuff. This was a great but ultimately tragic story of a group of ex-coal miners from the north east of England struggling to find gainful employment in the wake of the pit closures. One of the stand out characters was Yosser Hughes played with impeccable poignancy by Bernard Hill he of Lord of the Rings fame.  Yosser quite literally walked to the beat of his own drum.  There’s something about the  desperation of Yosser that I clearly channel when it comes to getting a writing gig and I’ll tell you for why.

I nearly got my first writing gig. Nearly being the operative word. Alas, close but no cigar. I would like to tell you that I was headhunted by someone who read this blog and fell in love with my writing , but the truth is an ad flashed up on facebook- blog about game of thrones . I saw it and thought, I like game of thrones, in fact, I had written a blog about it once, so why not? So, I applied and I actually got a reply back. The editor seemed nice, asked me for a link to my blog, seemed to like what he saw here, agreed with some of the points I made but informed me that they do list based blogs, not content driven and asked me what my rates would be!

This is where it all got a bit tricky, as having never been this far in the process, I didn’t want to appear the amateur I clearly am. I have a friend from uni who spent sometime editing a blog about Liverpool football club. I’d link it here but he no longer does it. So he was the go to man to ask about rates. His advice was for a good site, which this was, rates could be anywhere up to £200. So, thinking this was the opening of some sort of negotiation I suggested this.

That was nearly a month ago, and the e-mail chain went deadly quiet after that. Initially, I thought that perhaps it was to do with the weekend, but the week drew in and I still heard nothing back. Eventually I thought perhaps I needed to lower my rate and give him an idea of what sort of stuff I was thinking of writing. So, like a crazy tinder date who went on one date and cant take no for an answer, I sent him another e-mail saying I was new to this, how about £100 and here are some things I have been thinking on about the blog. Still nothing.

And that’s that. I’d love to say that he got back to me and now I am going to be paid for doing what I love. But this the real world and rejection is the norm not the exception. Us writers need a tough hide to carry on doing what they are doing. We have to suck it up and move on rather than lingering at the door of a would be publisher with a pathetic bunch of flowers to catch a glimpse of them just to ask why? At the moment I am 76 thousand words into a novel. I spend a lot of time writing that, which is partly why this went by the wayside.

At the moment I can feel a bit of a fire being lit under my butt. I have been in the same job for over ten years, and while it pays the bills (just about) and is relatively secure, it really isn’t what I ever wanted to do. I took it to act as a stop gap when I left university and ended up staying in it while children grew up. I had gone to uni with one kid and ended up coming out with a degree and a baby. Local Government taxation was never in my ambitions. Is it anyone’s?

So, I have today dusted down my CV, and with the near miss under my belt, decided to try and get a job which not only  pays the bills, but also fulfils what I have wanted to do all my life.

So if you are a prospective employer, whose appetite was whetted enough to be browsing here. Give me a chance. Unlike Yosser, I promise I won’t headbutt anyone.



Tai Chi on the Beach

Tai Chi on the Beach

News of your passing first quivers and beeps

in my pocket with initial innocuousness early

in 07. I read the generic notice of your death with disbelieve, punched

in to me by Sarah, in the short, sharp words of text speak.

Later I would learn the disease you harboured claimed

your last breath far quicker than you or your kin

would ever expect,  even though the prognosis

on diagnosis just a few weeks before was never good.

I pour a few too many Jack Ds and cokes, toast

your memory. The drink all too quickly becoming the muse

for our fleeting moments of  acquaintance evolving

into the nostalgic recollection of a drunken best friend.

My first memory of you was you tossing

an orange around a circle of bewildered students

-an icebreaker to learn each other’s names.

(Your IQ was high but your memory for names was never good.)

Once I sat tensely in your office, amidst

the hotchpotch clatter of precariously stacked  books

and boxes – no wonder you lost one of my essays-

while you critiqued one of my first pieces, with the dab hand

of a poetic ambassador, never actually saying the words this is crap.

Your eyes would light up at the sound of a great poem, with correct

stanza and iambic pentameter that scanned in all the right places.

and I knew then that you taught for the love of the art and not just

to fund your own habit, although you would remain a poetry junkie to

your final day. And once I even seen your eyes gleam a little

when I read a few lines, and I knew then that I had made an impression

and from then you remembered my name.

Then there was the moment I stumble on you stood

on a Welsh beach somewhere

with far too many consonants for me to remember. I raise my camera

zoom in till you fill the viewfinder, ready to take a shot

catch you for posterity, the poignancy now not lost to me.

The wind was tossing your kelp-like hair, billowing

your wax cotton jacket like the cape of one of the ancients

you studied and revered, spray dappled horn-rimmed spectacles,

giving you a Monet vision of where clouds merge with brackish sea.

You’re twisting your arms into graceful poses, lifting your legs

wax on wax off, facing the waves like King Canute, trying in vain

to stop the waves from advancing. I lower my camera

the moment fades and I walk away, but here now

in the cold light of day, I wish I had snapped you

and maybe then, in the picture at least, I would see

that you had stopped the tide coming your way.

Paul Campbell

Why I changed the title of my blog.

Keener readers may have noticed that I have changed the title of my blog. I’ve done this for a couple of reasons. The first is I have two sites and I couldn’t always tell which one I could edit my blog on. This is because when I set up my blog it kept asking me to create several different profiles and being new I called them all the same thing, which now leads to a bit of confusion when I am editing my blogs. Even now I click on one site that says I have no blog posts even though I have written about 8 or 9. The second is probably more in line with the last few paragraphs- Oneandhisblogblog.com was quirkily title, but hardly original as I had throw the extra blog in. While Between the Lines isn’t a phrase I can claim original use of,  at least it is more accurate as to what this blog represents. At heart I am plugging away at my writing, both my novels and my screenplays, and this is literally between those lines.

I could tell you that this solely to make connections with other writers, and while that is true, it isn’t the entire truth. I have a stable job, I work from home, have flexi-time, good holidays, the pay covers the bills, I am relatively good at my job, but I don’t feel this is the job that I was born to do. So really, in a rather cynical move, but hey I’m being upfront about it, it’s to look more professional to any would-be employers. To show them my wares so to speak.

It’s a funny old game…writing.

I am a writer. That is a fact. Okay, I haven’t been able to make a living out of it as yet. Nor, if I look at my stats on here, have I made a huge impact in the blogging stratosphere. Nevertheless, I write and I am, by that rudimentary definition, a writer.

Us writers are a strange  breed of people. It takes a certain degree of arrogance to think anyone is going to be remotely interested in what we have to say. And yet, constantly fighting (heck, let’s throw a  hefty word in as I’ve always wanted to use the strike-through button) in juxtaposition to this is the self-awareness of that arrogance. This inevitably leads us to huge swathes of self doubt and inadequacy.  We swing wildly between thinking we are working on the greatest masterpiece ever written, to deleting it all in a flurry of  frustration (Even now I am looking back on that last passage and wondering if the juxtaposition was way too much!)

I have a friend from university who edits a fansite for a premiership football team. He has had articles published on the daily mail online. Football is an emotive subject and stirs up a lot of passion and opposing views depending on which team you follow. However, he once told me that it doesn’t bother him if someone tells him his analysis of the game is completely up the creek, as soon as they start to question his grammar, his heart sinks. This is the mark of a writer. He isn’t really concerned on how his readers view his take on the beautiful game as he knows that is subjective, but to question his writing ability, that’s a different matter entirely.

The etiquite of the internet


I have been meaning to write  about this subject pretty much since I started blogging, but the fact I have held off has given me some more thought for pause.

Since the day SIr Tim-Berners Lee invented or, more accurately, discovered the internet and launched it into the ether like a tiny sparkling firefly, it has set the world ablaze with the exchange of ideas and knowledge. It is no cliche to argue that it has become one of the greatest revolutions mankind has ever seen, certainly the greatest I have seen and will probably see in my lifetime. His subsequent plaudits and knighthood would be no surprise to us sitting smack bang within this digital revolution, but could he have ever envisaged the huge impact this free gift would have on  mankind and ,moreover,  just what the world would do with it?

Kranzberg’s First Law of Technology states: “Technology is neither good nor bad, but nor is it neutral.”  Therefore, the internet, being no exception to this is merely a conduit of whatever the user wants it to be. Since mankind can fall within a wide range of spectrums from magnanimous saints to dangerous psychopaths, inevitable then that with all the cute pictures of cats and babies and reams and reams of helpful information littering the net, a deeply more sinister side  has evolved within its digital walls.

I first heard of the darknet while reading about the phenomenon known as bitcoins. This untraceable crypto currency was first created for some long outmoded game. a news article had reported that someone had cashed in on a small holding they had bought years ago and had become a multi millionaire through their sale on the darknet and the fact that their value had inflated at an incomparable rate. It then went on to say that due to their untraceable nature, it was the favoured currency on the darknet for criminals, terrorists and paedophiles.

This was news to me, as while I knew there were dark corners of the net where illegal or taboo subjects were discussed or even encouraged, up to then I did not there was a specific area with its very own currency. The darknet though is a very guarded area of the net, with invite by invitation only websites of people who are aware their activity is at best immoral and more often than not completely criminal. It is by its very nature secretive, but you don’t need to delve into the dark reaches of the darknet to stumble upon the darker aspects of the net.

A lot of times the tone of the written word can be misinterpreted. Social media is certainly no exception this. The trouble is human beings don’t just communicate with  words; body language and tone of speech are also key factors in reading what someone actually means behind what they are actually saying. Sometimes that misinterpretation is just that- no offence intended, which goes back to the point that not everyone ticks the same way. But there are times when it is quite clear that offence is the sole intention intended- Trolling.

Simply put, trolling is the act of eliciting a negative emotion by searching the net or social media and saying or posting something so outrageous that it raises a negative response in the vast majority of reasonable people which the troll can then capitalise on for their own and other troll’s amusement. The troll will very often state that they are a bastion for free speech, but the troll will shift stances on any issue to the one that will cause the most outrage.   Most of you will have come across a troll somewhere on line. Trolling can amount to anything from stalking online, visiting grieving family websites and posting distasteful or offensive comments, or even setting up sites themselves. Queen of the trolls in the UK is Katie Hopkins, a woman who has forged a career in being a celebrity troll, but she deserves a whole blog post of her own and I wont delve too much on here.

Recently the phrase “It’s only banter!” has come into popular phraseology. This seems to be a blanket term for any comment or post designed to cause offence, but not enough offence to elicit some form of legal action again the source of the comment. But those that bandy it around very often are not the best judge of what banter actually is. As I write, there was news yesterday that 6 members of HSBC bank were sacked due to re-enacting an ISIS inspired execution on a team building course. Banter? Harmless fun? They clearly thought so at the time, even posting it online before getting cold feet and removing it, but not before someone who did not find it in the least bit funny, saw and it ended up on the front page of a national paper.

These guys were probably not terrorists and were probably not have even been terrorist sympathisers, but their  banter was a very cliquey one that not a lot of people would find funny. It’s like when you watch the apprentice around about week four and some of the business brains suddenly think they can make a comedy video or advertising reel that will rival the Farley brothers in terms of humour and originality. Swept along by each other, and their growing bond, they seem unable to take a step backwards to see that what they are making is usually drivel.  Very often the first they know is when they show it to the prospective clients who sit stony faced while the team sniggers.Even then sometimes its only in the boardroom when Sir Alan fires the wanabee filmmaker that they realise they’ve made a huge error in judgement.

Simply put, in the anniversary of 7/7 and a few weeks after a massacre in Tunisia it was never going to end well for these HSBC staff. Their biggest mistake was in thinking that something like that online would not cause a  backlash at the best of times let alone when emotions are running high and 30 british holidaymakers are coming home in coffins instead of return flights.  Sometimes, we all need to take a step back, look at the bigger picture and lay our banter down for the sake of not causing offence. Then maybe the internet, at least the non dark part, would be a nicer place for all.