Owl Woman

Interzone has become a TTA (The Third Alternative) Press magazine.

This is not good news. Interzone was the establishment, as it were, of the science fiction/fantasy press in this country. TTA is the big cheese of the 'independent' or small press in this country. Now TTA seems to have control of all the sf etc press. Which is fine and dandy if you get on with its editor. If you don't - and I and others have annoyed Andy for no reason that we can think of - then you don't have a chance, frankly, of getting published. Or getting your stuff reviewed in The Fix, the mag that reviews just about everything in the small press (but only if you buy subs to all of Andy's magazines - yes, it's owned and run by TTA). Anyone for monopoly?

I've had a story published in TTA, and republished in one of its anthologies. The editor has described my work as 'outstanding'. But now I can't seem to do anything right - my submissions don't get answers, my last email got a rude response when I explained that, as I had absolutely no money coming in, I couldn't afford to subscribe to every mag he produced.

The Fayre turned out to be a disaster.

This morning began well enough, with us getting to the Guildhall just before 10 o'clock. On the stage, a bunch of the stall holders had rounded up most of the drums in the hall and were going for it. Someone stuck a drum in my hand and said to join in. Naturally I went all English and cringed. But then I had a go.

And I enjoyed it. Just like a hippie. Don't tell anyone, will you?

It made us all feel positive and energised. A good start. But then the fayre opened and a few folk came in, then it all slowed down again. My friend M came along and said she wanted a photo enlarged for her house, which was good of her, but apart from that...

I went to the bathroom and returned to find some bloke slagging off my rune stones, telling me they 'should all be oblong, so you know which way up they are'. Excuse me, I don't want to know which way up they are from the back. I thought the whole point was for them to be randomly placed, to be interpreted in the way one turns them over.

He spoke to me like I was a five year old. Already in a bad mood, I just looked up at him and said calmly, "Fuck off."

Well, okay, that's what I wanted to do. Instead I said nothing, because I would have told him to fuck off, or I would have cried, and I didn't want to do either of those things. Afterwards, my mood slumped and I knew I was wasting my time. So I packed up and left, and stole some boxes from the local supermarket for my packing.

So what I have I learned from all this? Not much, actually. Either my art is rubbish, which is always a possibility (although the photos are very accessible) or it was the wrong kind of market, or it was the right kind and the organisers didn't advertise it well enough. Perhaps it was a bit of everything. However, no one else appeared to have done much more than break even at best, so everyone I spoke to was pissed off.

On a happier note, Diva have accepted my submission to their collection of erotica, Va Va Voom (stupid title, eh?). I don't know how it got in, but it's there. I need the money, but I'm very happy about it, too.

I'm more tired than I have a right to be, after 7 hours doing nothing at the Fair.

Gf and me spent the time chatting, drinking coffee and playing I Spy. We weren't disturbed by customers or anything like that - maybe 50 people turned up all day. Cue lots of bored, and rather pissed off stallholders. What feedback I did get on my stall was good, but no money changed hands, although one woman was very interested in the cloth I used to cover the table with.

Back again tomorrow. It's Saturday, so hopefully there'll be more folk around. If not, we're planning a game of Hide and Seek.

Oh, and thanks to my sister, I'm now driving around with The Ramones blasting from the car stereo. Yay!

About time there was another picture/some light relief (for me anyway) on here, so here's a picture of me:

It's a long story, but basically it's a joke, but the wonderful design was done by Queer Granny. I've wanted to be a superhero since I was a kid; the Fantastic Four were probably my favourites, along with Daredevil, so being immortalised as a Hulk-type figure was one of the biggest compliments I've ever had.

Last night I had an anxiety attack - all the things that are happening just seemed to be suffocating me, so, with help from the ever lovely gf, we broke them down in manageable bits. She's not going to the pre-Glastonbury shindig now, due to various stresses (the travel, the money) so will be around for the Mystic Fayre. She gets to sit down and read and eat pasties for lunch, so she's happy about it. All the stuff for the Fayre is packed and ready to go to the Guildhall later today. I dropped gf off at work this morning and then went on to the local council offices to give in our Housing Benefit claims. I was kept waiting for a total of one minute before being seen, and was out by 9.25, after the woman I saw went through both forms to check they were okay, and copied all the ID documents and stuff. Can you believe it? This is how it should be everywhere.

Wish me luck for tomorrow. I just don't have a clue how it's going to go. And I'm either going to be doped up to the eyeballs or suffering severe menstrual pain - or both - so it's not the best time.

The next couple of weeks are going to be hectic. The Mind, Body and Spirit Fair takes place on Friday and Saturday. I'm not looking forward to it, well, I am in a way, but so much hangs on it. If I sell nothing and get no interest from anyone, it'll be a huge kick in the guts, not just for my precious ego but for my hopes of making some money. Then again, it could go very well... it's incredibly hard to gauge what will happen.

Gf will be away, at a pre-Glastonbury staff briefing, for all of it. Bah! However, this means I can exaggerate whatever happens at the Fair.

And we're moving the weekend after - two days after a friend who I haven't seen for over a year makes a trip down here to see me. I want to spend time with her and not be distracted, so much organising is needed. But at least I've finished my short story, hopefully for inclusion in a Diva anthology at some future date, and sent it off. It's my first piece of erotica. What's the difference between porn and erotica? Is it the subtlety? Because my story has some nice fantastic elements, but isn't subtle in the least, just a basic fucktale. Whatever, it's out of my hands now.

I've just spoken to 'my' literary agent. Well, not my literary agent as it turns out. I asked him straight if it was worth me hassling him further, and he said no, it was 'best I went elsewhere' as he was inundated. Politespeak for not wanting to flog my book. At least I know now.

So - queer literary agents? Cornish ones? Horror/sf/fantasy ones? I have some research to do.

Well, things are a bit stressful as one of the references I came up with for the flat is a bit iffy as far as the agents are concerned, so I'm running around trying to get someone else to do one for me. Losing this flat is not an option, believe me. Added to this I'm trying to write a short story for an anthology of erotic fiction and I feel pmt-ish and stressed and very un-erotic but I need the money.

But at least this headline gave me some perspective. Jack Straw has been "reassuring" the CBI that Labour won't reverse any of Thatcher's dreadful anti-union laws. I'm not quite cynical enough to be unsurprised by what Labour come out with, just very very worried. As to the end of paid sick leave for the first three days, I just don't know where to start. I'm not sure there's a point in voting, but I haven't been registered for years due to various dodgy landlords and my transient lifestyle. I've dropped out of the rat race to a major extent, but that doesn't help anyone else.

The flat is gorgeous. It's in a huge, huge building that still looks very much like a hotel - great, big hall, fire doors on all the floors - including an extra one leading up to 'our' flat, which would make it extra quiet and private. The flat itself is right in the attic, which means there's wooden beams everywhere. It's not amazingly big, but it's very light and there's room for two with each of us having our own space when we need it. There's also loads of parking outside, and a parking permit for Brenda, all included with the flat (not like Brighton, eh??) I fell completely in love with it - it faces the sea and backs onto a neighbour's beautiful garden. So we're trying to sort out references and stuff as soon as possible. By christ I'm going to be poor again, but it'll be worth it.

So who's coming to visit first?

Meanwhile, I stayed home this afternoon to price up my 'art' for the fair. I put the cat on the bed to wander amongst my stuff and of course she sat on one of the canvases, tipped it off the side of the bed and reached out to grab the nearest thing with her claws... fortunately she didn't tear my painting to pieces and she only bumped her arse a bit. The rest of my family went off for a walk at Tehidy Park. The whole thing was a Disney experience: first, my sister spends ages sitting next to a snake that's outside her flat, then at the park there were baby voles, cygnets, squirrels, jays... fantastic stuff.

Not a big fan of portraits/self portraits, but I am a big fan of Frida Kahlo. Loads of stuff online if you don't know her work, but here's a sample:

Geek power, my friends.

The Yam Parlour likes my photographs. The owner is into having themed exhibitions. The one I'd come up with a few hours before sounded as woolly when I tried to explain it as I thought it would. However, he flicked through my photos and found a few he really liked. These, he said, would be really good.

He was talking about my milestone photos. My geeky milestone photos!

So I have a mission - go out and shoot a couple of films more of them, return to the cafe and then 10 or so will be chosen to exhibit. On top of all that, I got a soyaccino for free. What a day!

Looks like we're all growing up.

I got a letter this morning from my oldest friend. I've known him for well over half my lifetime. He started writing to me when I did a punk fanzine with my sister. His was the first order, and I nicked it before my sis could get out of bed. Even though we've never lived in the same city (or even the same country on occasions) we've gone through a lot together. He got married to a fantastic woman a few years back and I even went to the reception, a barn dance in Wiltshire.

And now they're going to have a baby. And Goddess help me, I feel all sniffy about it.

Later on, I found myself standing outside a Georgian house with gf, staring up at the top floor. We're going to see a flat there in the morning. It sounds like it might be quite small, but it's in Penzance, and looks out over Mount's Bay. It's also about 2 minutes' walk from the Promenade: sea! amusement arcade! And it appears quite 'unfashionable', so it's fairly quiet all year round.

The above is the closest I can find to a photograph of Cot Valley or Porth Nanven, where I spent much of yesterday, and it doesn't do the place justice. Cot Valley is reached via a long drive down a narrow road just outside St Just. The valley is wooded at the top before giving way to a rugged grassy landscape with a stream running through it. At the bottom, Porth Nanven itself is an incredible place, full of huge boulders, some bizarrely shaped: one looks like a giant tooth, smoothed away at the bottom by the sea, and, for our amusement, there are plenty of goddess' style arse shaped rocks. I got a massive feeling of time standing still there. I must go back there, alone probably, with my camera, and spend a few hours shooting film.

Meanwhile, today I've been sorting out photographs for my example album. Everyone else was out, so I played Smog's Rain on Lens and Liquid Skin by Gomez on the downstairs cd player (i.e. the one that doesn't skip) and had a fine time. I've also done the shitwork for the name plate commission - all the measuring up and guidelines are now on the slate, so hopefully I'll get that painted this week.

I finally got down to work and put my black and white enlargements in their mounts. It turned out to be miles easier than it looked, and very impressive they look too. Now all I have to do is sell them. Some brainstorming is needed for the Mystic Fair, just to make sure I'm prepared properly. Next Tuesday I'm going to see the owner of the Yam Parlour to try and get an exhibition, so I've got to organise my photos and appear to have a plan/theme of some kind by then. The next month could see me sinking or swimming as far as making some money out of art goes. It's vaguely stressful. I had an appointment with my psychologist yesterday and more or less walked out halfway through. I do wish he'd stop yakking and giving me his theories and let me just talk a bit more. But yesterday was weird - I was fairly incoherent and spent ages trying to string a sentence together, or do anything other than staring into space. He was glad to see the back of me, I think. But I met gf afterwards and we spent some time in the glorious Minack Theatre and the cliffs and the sea calmed me down and made me remember what's important.

This morning I was listening to the radio and they played Lost In Music by Sister Sledge. For the first time, I heard the lyrics: "We're lost in music/feel so alive/I quit/My nine to five..." Great when pop songs advocate stuff like this. Ironic, though, that when it came out I refused to listen to it, as it wasn't 'punk' enough for me. Afterwards I heard A Good Heart by Fergal Sharkey. Good grief, I'd forgotten just how the mighty can fall.

So, apparently Morrissey is 'curating' (pretentious? Moi?) this year's Meltdown at the Royal Festival Hall. On the bill, along with evenings of Oscar Wilde and Alan Bennett's work, is a gig or two from Morrissey himself. Not surprising, until I was told one of the support bands - 1980s skinhead/Oi band the Cockney Rejects. I was a big fan of this band, being able, as one does as a youngster, to convince myself that they were good lads really. Some of the Rejects' early stuff was great - Ramones inspired riffs and choruses, but their dodgy side was too much and I gave up on them after one nearly ended up in gaol for hitting someone with an iron bar.

With this in mind, Morrissey's fanbase - a lot of rather androgynous folk with quiffs and specs, a lot of out and out queers and various skinny wimpy types, are going to have a wonderful time sitting next to extremely heterosexual thirty-something union flag tattooed ex-skinheads.

Queue nicely for the ambulances, people.

My memory's even worse than I thought (or: I'd forgotten just how bad my memory is. Ho ho) - it's taken a prompt from a friend for me to remember that today I was going to ring the owner of the Yam Parlour in Penzance (my favourite cafe at the moment) to ask about a photography exhibition. I wanted to write a few notes about the Earth, Health and Mystic Fayre I went to on Saturday - some of the stuff looked interesting, but it was badly organized. There were a lot of people doing readings, a couple doing massage and reflexology and a few selling drums and incence, but they were all in a big hall, with the only ventilation being a door open at the entrance/exit. As a result it was noisy and hot - not the vibe, I would have thought, for that kind of thing. I certainly would not have wanted a reading done or have done one myself. As for arty stuff, I saw only one other painter, and her style was completely different to mine, so it definately feels worth doing the fair in St Ives. As someone said, "It'll either go well, or it won't." At least one of the stalls I wanted to have a longer look at - a couple photographing auras. Now, I think I'm fairly open minded and certainly want to learn about spiritual stuff, but I really don't think a polaroid camera in a stuffy hall is going to get me very much further along the road to knowledge. I would have liked to have grilled the folk offering this 'service' if it had been a bit more quiet there. It also occurred to me (not for the first time) that a lot of the folk involved in this kind of thing appear to have a fair bit of money. Are the middle classes more open to this stuff? Or do they just have too much time and money to play with?? There's much more to it than this, of course, but I must make that 'phone call...