This month, as with every November for the last thirteen years, I have taken on a writing project. The aim for me has always been to write 50,000 words in a month. Previously, I’ve associated that with a certain organisation but seeing how they’re falling apart at the seams, haven’t taken correct measures to safeguard their users and have made a series of derogatory comments, both in-house and in messages to their members, I no longer wish to be associated with them and will not use their name here.
In June this year, I started writing something new. The subject can remain just between us squirrel friends but it was grounds for my partner to ask why I kept having books delivered with swastikas on their cover. I get how that sounds but researching fascism sometimes means having books on your shelves that you wouldn’t necessarily read on public transport.
The more of it I wrote, the more it seemed to unravel. I knew that I would have to overwrite and then resolve a lot of that in the edit. What I wanted was a big old block of marble that I could later chip down into something around the size of a chess piece, hopefully my favourite, the knight.
I am pleased to report that at 144,036 words, across 313 pages, captured in 72 chapters based on seven siblings, with just one carefully placed use of the word fuck, the first draft of my manuscript for BYF is complete. 50,000 of those words were completed in November so I’m taking that as a win. I need to put it away in a drawer and probably not think about those awful people for a while. It has been an absolute labour of love but there are other things pending.
I’ve got a hard deadline of next Tuesday to get something very exciting together so there’s no time to stop. I’ll never stop. If you’re a creative person in any way, shape or form then you’ll understand. Even when you’re not doing the thing, it’s occupying some of that grey matter.
SpoooOOoooOOoooky greetings, friends. It’s my favourite season (Autumn) and one of my favourite celebrations (Halloween). In amongst the black nail varnish and re-watches of Scream and Hocus Pocus, I’ve been hard at work on two very exciting things. As before, I’ll be playing the cards a little close to my chest until I’m allowed to announce anything official.
The book was beautifully edited and we met the deadline needed in September. I am very grateful that I found Stuart and the work he did on the book was incredible. He recognised what I was trying to do and brought that through all the more.
Since my last update, I’ve had confirmation that the book will be published in another country. That brings us up to four in total. Sorry Pitbull, who is Mr Worldwide now? I’ve also got all the sexy international taxation documentation sorted so words like Advance and Royalties are producing € signs in my eyes.
I also had a really exciting meeting recently which has forced me back into the world of TCOA. I won’t say more now. It’s just a possibility but it’s really exciting.
For now, the big news is that my debut novel is likely to be available in January 2025. Thank you to everyone who has been a part of this and anyone else who has asked when they can get a copy. It’s happening.
Picture has no relation to topic but it’s there for the algorithm and my love of The Vaults toilets.
Last weekend I got the chance to go to an exhibition. What made it truly special was that it was the exhibition of someone that, a long time ago, I couldn’t help but look up to. From when I was brought home from the hospital until I was eleven years old, he was my cool older neighbour. It’s also worth highlighting that his parents were wonderful to us. I would turn up on their doorstep demanding chocolate biscuits and the audacity of such a request from a small child meant that I got them each time. This is the true root of me now being a Sweet Treat Boy.
I remember my neighbour playing bongos in his bedroom, while, through the seemingly paper-thin walls, I tried to sleep on the other side in a bunk bed I shared with my younger brother.
One Christmas, I got a book which had a series of sound effects buttons built into the back cover. It was Disney’s Peter Pan. The intention was to hit the sound effects in time with the reading of the book to add another sense to the act of reading. This was a long time before the brain rot experience I currently exist in of having TikTok up on my phone, Netflix on the tv and a book on my lap at the same time. The neighbour sat with me and read Peter Pan from cover to cover and then started messing around with the buttons. I’d never seen anything like it but it was a rudimentary form of sampling. He would smash buttons in turn on a beat, getting John Boy or Peter to stutter the start of their sound bite before hitting the sound of a tomahawk or the drums associated with Tiger Lily and the “Indian chief” (as described by Disney at the time). He was playing and it was joyous to watch. To me, he was a fully formed human, not just a kid, and he was having fun! It was a game and we were the only two people in the world who were in on it. I remember laughing a lot. There was something conspiratorial about it.
My dad swears that our neighbour used to practice his breakdancing in our lounge, like it’s some claim to fame. Last week he told me those days are beyond him but I like the idea of him popping and locking to the general bemusement of our parents.
I am lucky to have nieces and nephews, godchildren and devil children in my life. My formatting for how I approach my relationship with them is based on what that neighbour did with me, how my older cousins would act like I was cool enough to hang with them or how my dad would introduce us to Star Wars or Deep Purple, waiting for our minds to be blown. At the time, I told him Darth Vader was boring, one of my few regrets in life.
When I went to introduce myself at the exhibition, waiting among a number of eager fans, something in his face changed. He immediately grabbed me in a hug. He asked after my family and had amazing recall of our shared history. There was so much kindness there. He spent more time chatting to me than necessary, sometimes breaking to sign merch or wave people off but he was the same cool older kid he had always been.
I guess what I’m saying is that the people you hold in the highest regard can surprise you. He was the first person I ever knew of who left our little suburb and went off to do something. He may never know, unless he reads this, that it was a BIG DEAL to me and my brothers. He showed that it was possible to take the things you enjoyed doing and turn them into a true passion. I’m on my own journey but I carry that ethos in my heart, doing the things I enjoy, seeing what works and what will stick.
The important note in all of this is not to forget where you come from.
With a song in our hearts (Chappell Roan’s Hot To Go) and a hangover in our heads, E and I went to watch the supertri London event yesterday. In the last six weeks, we have made triathlon our entire personality so this was a social event that was not to be missed. For those who haven’t suddenly pivoted everything about themselves to swimming, cycling and running, allow me to explain.
A supertri consists of three sets of 300-meter swim, 4-kilometre bike, and 1.6-kilometre run. These are elite-level athletes, returning from the Paris Olympics and at the top of their game. I cannot explain to you how in awe we are of incredible humans including Beth Potter, Alex Yee and Georgia Taylor-Brown.
The event, hosted right by the dirge on civilisation that is Canary Wharf, brought large crowds and we found a good spot between the water and the track so we could dip between the various sections. It was so exciting to be a part of and gave us a further spring in our own triathlon efforts. Towards the end of the womens’ event, I felt the hairs raise on the back of my neck. I have never really been one for sport but it was as if I had been blinkered and was suddenly seeing something that others have tried to explain to me.
It was an incredible day to be present for, even if any the very thought of what they were putting themselves through made my stomach flip. We got a great spot on the river for the men’s event, which meant we could enjoy the hair of the dog at the same time. There’s something particularly macabre about nursing a pint while watching such incredible feats of humankind.
What an amazing ability they all had and how impactful and inspirational it was to see it in the, not flesh, but lycra.
This might make me seem like a “DM me babes” kind of girl but at this stage, I’m not ready to share everything that’s going on. I do recognise that I’ve been dangling the debut for some time. People keep asking, and it’s lovely, but the publishing industry moves at its own pace. I have to trust the process.
Right now I am working with an editor to get my book into the best form possible for publication. That means he’s ensuring I’ve spelt schmechel and schmiel correctly each time they’re brought up. It’s with surprising frequency. I am very grateful to him and the graft he’s putting in to reach the various deadlines that are now on us.
I have been writing something else that I’m really excited about. It’s too soon to tell all, unless you ask, but it’s different… while still being in the same timeline. Put it this way, E keeps asking why I’ve ordered “more Nazi books”. They are very much for research and are donated when I’m done.
For now, I wanted to give a big shout out to my writing group, my partner, my family, Antony Fahy and my agent for the varied and various conversations we have had in recent weeks on this. It’s slowly getting there and I am very, very excited. Stay tuned.
Picture has no relation to topic but it’s there for the algorithm and my love of Mac & Cheese.
Bleary-eyed at 6am, I hustle multiple bags into the back of the car, ready to co-pilot to Bristol. This involves asking stupid questions, checking for traffic to the left and scanning for service stations offering a McMuffin.
Hours later, we are crouched around the car, now parked in a field, the electric pump connected the wrong way to a massive airbed so we are vacuum-packing that sucker instead of filling it with hot air.
Ddrinking warm cans of lager before the tents were up, we split the tent pegs between two little shells that we would call home for the next three nights. It was windy enough, my tent anchored by my bags. With the airbed inside, there was enough room for my stuff to sit down one side, against the wall, where it nobly absorbed rain, ensuring everything remained consistently damp.
I think the first band we saw were Aiming for Enrike, but I was entirely at my Joey’s whim for the weekend. I’d heard of maybe two bands before we arrived. I was very much the indie Cindy. ATG is a festival designed for black hearts and impressive beards. I was out of my depth, hoping that it wouldn’t go all NeverEnding Story in the process. You know the scene I mean. We remain traumatised.
Continuous discussions of which strange sounding band we were in for, my head going like a nodding dog as if I had any scope of what I was in for. Sustenance only came from the rain water soaking the shoulders of my denim jacket and the loop of cans of lager, pulled from the depths of our tent. We caught Cats & Cats & Cats, Baroness, Kalandra, Tokky Horror, Spiritualized.
It was with Explosions In The Sky that I truly understand where I was and what the festival was about. Dry ice filled my lungs as layers of roving electric guitars took my soul. There was nothing like standing in a giant tent, in a field, surrounded by those who not only loved music but were all in agreement that we were all having a lovely time.
For the price of a train ticket to London, we picked up headphones for the Silent Disco and caught Karin Park’s set before collapsing into bed, rain still trying to dampen our raging spirits.
It was early when I awoke. I tried to read a damp copy of A Gentleman In Moscow before Joey opened his tent to the world of ArcTanGent. Not the right circumstances for such a venture, we opened cans of cider, colder than we deserved after a night in the tent and ventured to the arena.
Ihaxa were followed by Modern Technology. Maruja surprised me and Night Verses were all anyone could talk about. The stand out was Show Me The Body, a Brooklyn-based three piece with a banjo drawing the most intense distorted chords and the rhythm section killing any pain in my lower back. Plini and Meshuggah were mentioned. I heard but did not see them, lost in conversation back at the tent.
The silent disco on Friday night was illuminating. I was wrapped in the warm sense that I was in the right place at the right time. Filled with love for everyone around in me in those bizarre circumstances, Joey and I danced like idiots until three in the morning.
Everyone was talking about Mogwai. I discovered a little too late and with a little shame that every time they were mentioned, I was thinking of Fugazi for some reason. We sat in the blazing sun outside a tent where Stuart Braithwaite talked about his book, Spaceships Over Glasgow.
Mac & Cheese, the second best portion of my life and my Dream Side Dish, was followed by Quade, Sunnata, Silver Moth, Scaler, And So I Watch You From Afar, Brontide and Caspian. If I wasn’t mistaken, I was getting into this. The trick was to partially disassociate. People were dancing like the Gen Xers do in that Simpsons episode where Homer joins Hullabalooza (Season 7; Episode 24).
Finishing off a final frosty one in the VIP area, we took our places at the front of the main stage. The heat of the lights caught me off-guard and then Mogwai knocked me on my arse. An incredible show that left my ears ringing for a week after, lost in the drive and control that they had. So tight as a band, an understanding built across three decades. It was everything that everyone who knew promised me it would be. I grooved on the spot, aware of the general awe that they created. Each time a song reached a maximum, it would only be ramped up further. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing or hearing. This was a different world to anything I’d known before.
Nothing would top that. I went to bed with my ears screaming and my legs kicking out. That was it. ArcTanGent was done. I have no doubt that I will be back next year, maybe with a little more research and expectation under my arm. Thank you for a lovely time, especially to my soul guide, dance partner and tent mate, JH.
Last week, we took my dad for a day out in London for his birthday.
It wasn’t an especially important number (next year however is a mucky treat) but he deserves to feel important. Without telling him where we were going, my brother and I picked him up, rushed him onto a train and took him out for the day. The last time we did anything like this was his memorable stag to Amsterdam. By memorable, I couldn’t tell you much.
This time around, I was lucid and relatively sober. After a quick snack at Mercato, we went to the Imperial War Museum. Dad loves war. If unchallenged, the History Channel was always on at home. Black and white documentaries, usually about WWII, that we would groan about until Cartoon Network was rightfully restored. Little did I realise that those docs were wheedling away at my subconscious and I now almost exclusively write about the past-os.
To be honest, the IWM was a treat for me too. I could see Robb struggling though, tipping his head to the side as he stared at some monumental piece of history in the way a puppy might to new instructions. Adorable.
We then went to YORI for dinner. As a father of three, I thought dad would love the opportunity to man a tiny barbecue but Robb saved the day, chucking everything on the tabletop grill. We ate well and then rushed to the theatre.
It was Robb’s idea to take dad to see Fawlty Towers. It’s one of a string of comedies we watched in secret (from mum) when we were kids, along with Men Behaving Badly and Bottom, that became the touchstone of our senses of humour. Dad would let us stay up, eating bags of crisps and copious bowls of sugary cereal while BBC2 did its thing. Then, we would run for it when we heard mum’s car on the drive.
The show was fantastic, even if it was a bastard amalgamation of three existing episodes. Also, the audience were a bit gammony but I had prepared for that. The cast were spot on and the pacing and gags hold after all this time.
Late train home and got dad to bed before one am. I love being able to spend that time with my old man. He’s the reason I am here as well as becoming the man I am today. He’s the best of all three of us. Kind, patient, the “hear me out” to many of my female friends. What a great man who deserved a little treat.
We were lucky enough to get tickets to see Arcade Fire play Brixton the other week.
For me, Arcade Fire are one of the greatest live bands of all time. I first saw them perform at Reading 2007 and the experience altered my brain chemistry. There were people speaking in tongues and writhing around to the sound of a hurdy-gurdy. It was anarchy.
I’ve seen Arcade Fire on every album tour since (bar We when we all agreed it was best to give them a bit of space).
This time around, it was the twentieth anniversary of Funeral, their debut. My favourite Funeral fact is that David Bowie bought copies of that album for everyone he knew for Christmas. That’s how highly he thought of it. Bowie and Arcade Fire performed together at Fashion Rocks and he provided backing on Reflektor too, if you’re paying attention to my AF facts.
What made this tour so special is hearing the whole album from start to finish before a short interval and a return for some bloody hits.
We had the best time and getting to see E get into it made my night.
It’s been three days. I have the full use of my legs now. It’s time to write about my experience.
On Sunday, I took part in the Southend Half Marathon. I want to start off by saying what a wonderful thing it is to have an event like this on my doorstep. It was really well organised and those involved are to be applauded. Like everyone else, I was brokenhearted to hear that someone passed away while taking part in the event. To put yourself forward to help others, and then to lose your life, is an awful thing. I hope their family are getting the support they deserve in the face of a tragic loss. It’s awful to lose someone suddenly and so unexpectedly on what should have been a winning day for them.
I signed up with a week to go before the race. I had been training but it hadn’t been without challenges. I’ve had issues with my knees for a long time and a visit to the osteopath, stretching exercises, gel insoles, new running shoes and a massage gun were helping me on the way.
It was on the day I setup my JustGiving page that the pain started in my ankle. I hobbled around the flat for a couple of days, in two minds about dropping out or pulling the fundraising page down. People gave very generously. At the time of writing I have raised over £250 for Havens Hospices. This is a charity close to my heart. I have friends who I know rely on their services and more have since contacted me to tell me of their connection to the charity. It’s a truly great cause.
By Sunday, my ankle was improved but not right. I wrapped it up and endeavored to carry on through the race as best I could. I would run for as long as I could, worried about doing further damage that wouldn’t benefit anyone in the long term.
On the day, my ankle held. I think the ankle support I bought, plus the support of the crowds, saw me through much of it. I am proud to say that I completed the Half in 1hr 48mins. It’s not a personal best but I didn’t think it would be given my injury and the crowded opening of the race. It wasn’t until I was halfway round that I started to feel the space open up a little and could give myself the pacing that I knew I was capable of.
As a personal challenge, this seemed like something I had to do. I’m really proud of the time I put into my training and the support that I had in doing so. I couldn’t have done it without E, who was there, not just through training and injuries, but on the day too. I got to see her and our Herb three times while running.
I’ve hit upon a new idea and have become obsessed with it.
I’ve been pretty candid around the details but as usual, I caught a bit of a story, and am doing what I can to learn as much as I possibly can about it. That means ordering a stack of history books, listening to podcasts and audiobooks on my morning runs and filling a notebook with my plans and intentions.
As with TCOA and DBC, this new story is set in the 30s/40s but with a heavy female focus. It’s also the first time I’ve turned my attention to England for the bulk of my story. Saying that, we see inside Pall Mall in DBC, and Eliza serves as a worthy female lead.
My plan is to start writing in June, potentially using the Camp NaNoWriMo page as a jumping off point and seeing how much I can get done in a short amount of time.
Before then, it all comes down to the planning. I am halfway through reading two books that I’d like to finish up before the end of the month so I have some idea on the arc, and there are two more in the post. I may well find myself continuing to research by the time I’ve started writing.
Either way, it’s an absolute pleasure to be heading back into a new project. I’m currently waiting on any updates for my latest manuscript (DBC) and on developments on TCOA, which by my estimates should be published early next year.
If anyone needs me, I’ll have my nose in a book.
Paul Schiernecker
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Paul Schiernecker 