White noise (About Tuesday)

Last thing I remember a shoe left the stage, hit the crowd. Might have been a boot actually. By crowd I mean huddle. Up there on the stage before there'd been a man, a hat, a man in a hat, a prophet of sorts, I swear. And a girl who talked tea leaves.

There was sign language. A poem, signed. And that was kind of wonderful (so thanks Richard and Fay). And, behind all the poems that night I heard a kind of white noise - white noise, the new pin drop. The silence in the poetry, the poetry in the silence.

The last Edge of Town night, the July one, the birthday one, was kind of raucous, we concede. And it's not that we don't like raucous* in its time and place. But Tuesday night was warm, spectacular, aglow. An autumn.

We had new tales from the great young Jade. Chants. Rhyme. Wit. Rhyme. Wit. Wit and rhyme.

I hope you people recognise yourselves. You know who you are.

Yep. Tuesday was how we dreamt poetry nights might somehow get to be. And I'd be curious to know how it was for you. You can click comment and tell us and the others, those who couldn't, those who didn't, what your eyes and ears saw.

And whatever it was, we hope you'll join us back there (at The Edge) next month - October 7th - 8pm. We'll fight off those early sunsets.

Amy

(*My, the word raucous looks funny when you look at it for a length of time... )

And as you read the sea is turning its dark pages, turning its dark pages

I am SO excited. I just mailed out a draft of our first review, a collection of seven pieces on the subject of paint and painting. The work we picked is evocative and thoughtful. The words came from Northampton, Kettering, Rugby and Scotland and they were beautiful, and passionate.

So this is something we want to do every month, on a different theme, with the same writers or different writers, or different and the same writers. This month will be The Sea. We would like your short stories and prose - no more than 1,000 words again, please - on the subject of the sea. Just because, really. Because, we're too far away from it. Please send your submissions, via our website submissions slot, or to rippingpages@hotmail.co.uk by September 30th.

"And as you read the sea is turning its dark pages, turning its dark pages."
Denise Levertov

Using and abusing the great and good

I've just dropped the now redundant sunflowers in a vase, from which they'll duly topple, poured a cup of tea, placated the howling cat and got the wax off the office saucers which I always borrow for Ripping Pages events. I can say always now, after two events, can't I? (That just reminded me of the temporary / permanent discussion we had, Jayne!)

It was another sweet candlelit night full of words, which I think is what we always wanted it to be, how we pictured it might be, could be, would be, should be. There were new faces, new eyes, new ears, new words. Words, yes.

I struggle with adjectives. I find it hard to say how much I like something. I use and abuse the great and good. The adjectives, that is, not the people. I know that this is not something terribly - here I go again - great to confess to, but I do. I struggle. I want to say that tonight was wonderful, brilliant and fantastic - but I'll just play it down and say it was good.

They all say show not tell anyway. What good would it be for me to tell you it was wonderful when we could show you? Literally, thanks to photographer Johanna, who spent a good part of the evening behind a tripod. Thank you.

So, what next, then? Other than September 4th at The Romany in Northampton. Well, hopefully, you'll guide us. Do we want a book club type thing? Do we want to go down the workshop route? Do we want neither of these but something else?

I think, for our part, we're happy to have more vitriol, more laughter and more tearjerkers, for a start, whether they are read out to us at events, or submitted to us online.

Amy

Paint, or our first submission theme

So, the conversation went something like this. Let's get some writing in now, let's do a submissions thingy, let's just make up a theme. What could the theme be? Silence as we look around respective rooms and views from upstairs windows. Er Chimneys. Erm. Not chimneys, no. Can anybody even spell chimneys? I think not. More silence. Er. Erm. Paint. The idea is inspired by a greeting card, a design by Chris Chun - 36 different colours, laid out like a paint palette but actually representing foods. Paint, yes. Paint. Let's say paint. What? Just paint? Well, we'll word it a bit better than that. OK, yes, paint. And that was that.

Amy