Rhyming Slang

Just finished reading a poetry anthology. Didn’t understand a SINGLE word of any of the poems. Are we just stupid or has the world been put into a blender and emerged as pink gloop where no ingredients are visible? Think we must be stupid. Why does no-one do rhyming poetry anymore? Is it considered low brow? Poets seem to shy away from it ‘cos they don’t want to be labelled simple. When we read poems we don’t know what the form is, it’s a poem. Where are the poetry rebels who laugh in the face of form, who refuse to conform to these dictatorial rules? Oh hang on, here we are. When we did the poetry reading we were worried everyone would do deep meaningful poems and there was us nervously clutching our funny rhyming couplets. We were right. Our concentration levels are poor at the best of times and we were left like Homer Simpson when his brain abandoned him and he just stood there staring blankly. The only poems we remembered were read by our mate Neil, who also did funny rhyming poems. What the f***? (He knows what we mean.) It was hard enough concentrating with a giant plasma screen showing the Murray match without deciphering poems at the same time. We’re poets, get us outa here. (Again, Neil knows what we mean.) Is it an unwritten rule that if you still don’t get the meaning after the third read through then it’s a brilliant poem? We don’t want to have to search for meaning in this confusing sensory overloaded world. After reading the anthology we had to have a can of Red Bull and sit in a darkened corner. Books are easy. If you can read, you can read a book. Why does it seem like you have to have a degree in poetry just to understand it? In the poetry world, there are complaints that poetry isn’t as popular as it was back in the 1800s – that’s because it hasn’t moved on. Ok, so maybe no-one’s using ne’er, o’er, woe and why is me? But they’re still using flowery language that isn’t in everyday existence. We don’t want to have to read a poem and dictionary at the same time. Our eyesight’s failing as it is. Oscar Wilde’s The Ballard of Reading Gaol, Alfred Noyes’ The Highwayman and Stevie Smith’s Not Waving but Drowning are bloody brilliant and easy to remember ‘cos they rhyme and you get them after one read. Why don’t limericks get published? They’re brilliant. Take note:-

There once was twins who were raving,

They spent their days misbehaving,

Although they was dense,

Their poetry made sense,

Simple rhymes is what they was craving.

Poets seem to be like wine connoisseurs. They ramble on about form, flavours, texture, unstressed this, slanting that. Maybe by not gargling the poem then spitting it into a bucket we might be missing some underlying fruity whatsits but we’re not connnoisseurs. We don’t want to sniff the poem, we want to get drunk.

Raising the Dead in the Soul Asylum

Just emailed two of our novels, Soul Asylum and Raising the Dead to Brit Writers Award. They wanted 3 chapters so we redrafted the 1st 3 of Soul Asylum and random 3 of Raising the Dead and plan to redraft the rest before the awards ceremony in June. We’ve always left things to the last minute and probably will never change the habit of a lifetime. Just ask the teachers that gave us detention or comments in our homework diaries for not doing our homework. It’s not our fault – writing novels was just more fun than school. Plus it meant we could enact our revenge on our fellow pupils in a bloody, violent and completely legal way.

The rest of our day was spent cleaning out our African snails, bathing our iguana, protecting our ducks from any wandering dogs and watching Ospreys v Connacht. We’re going to the Wales U20 v France U20 on Friday, but as K.O. is 3:30pm, nobody could come with us. We’ll be the Billy no Mates in the stands wearing vests we designed ourselves. They say ‘Scrum and get me’. It was a line from one of our poems. We also went trawling around the Bay again. Well, near the Bay. Atlantic Wharf really, looking for gyms that one of the characters in Missed Call uses. Don’t think we were on CCTV this time so we left our Mr. Happy masks in the boot. Signing off now to watch the rest of Being Human.

Flat hunting

In our latest novel we have two of the characters living in Cardiff Bay so last night we decided to do a recce to find the best place. Cruising Cardiff Bay in our mum’s hot orange Mini is probably not very inconspicuous but we don’t have any plain cars that would fit in. Our hot pink Smart Car would definitely get noticed, especially as it’s already been clocked for speeding once. Freakin’ nanny state. Anyway, so we got out and explored the expensive looking apartments, probably looking dead sus in our black clothing. We were peering into the underground car parks then noticed the CCTV cameras around us. Thinking we already look a bit suspicious, we made sure to approach the cameras from behind and stood beneath them where they couldn’t see us. In hindsight, this just made us look worse, especially as it was ten o’ clock at night. Think the George W Bush masks were a bad idea. We then spotted someone in the apartments opposite watching us from their window so we made a swift exit. If there are any reports of prowlers in the Cardiff Bay area last night, we confess, it was us. Why does everything we do make us look like wanton criminals? We plan to return in the daytime with our camera. Maybe we should’ve done this first. We blame our mum. She was driving (we’d get lost in a phonebox) and she’s the responsible adult in our relationship.

Breaking news – just emailed a short story, Parliament of Monsters to Shock Totem magazine in America. Think supernatural beings crossed with Jerry Springer. We’re keeping our talons crossed X

It’s our birthday & we’ll blog if we want to

Yay, it’s our birthday! Boo, we’ve turned 27. Do we look any older? Are our photos aging while we still look under eighteen. We could be the new Dorian Grays. Had wicked presents off our mum, sister, dad and each other. Even the animals bought us stuff. Don’t know where they got the money from. Hang on, there’s a couple of twenties missing from our wallets. Never should’ve trusted those cats…we’ll be going out for lunch as soon as our baby niece wakes up and we’ve got a superhero themed party planned for this evening. We’ll be phantom girls, our mum & sister are cat women and our future brother in law is superman. We’ve made a 3D city cake, which would’ve been better with minature superheroes standing on the buildings, but we couldn’t find any. There are never any superheroes around when you want them. We need a hero and we’ll be holding out for a hero til the end of the night. We’ll have to figure out how to use our new MP3 players – we’ve finally upgraded from our cassette walkmans. Don’t laugh. Our mum bought us a new complete works of Shakespeare ‘cos we’re always nicking hers from college. It’s huge and really heavy, so if any burglars come calling, we’ve got our weapon. We promise to only use reasonable force. Getting hungry now. C’mon Brooke, wake up!

How to be dead

At the moment we’re redrafting one of our novels, Missed Call. We wrote a 4K story version that The Pages published. We loved the characters and felt there was a novel waiting to break free from the story. Turns out, we were right. For once. We’ve done unusual reasearch for it, such as driving round town checking where the CCTV cameras are, walking St. Mary Street in town on Christmas Day photographing all the pubs and clubs. We were the only ones there. It was like being in a zombie film. Without the zombies. We even dragged our poor mum out to two different woods to see whether they’d be suitable for dumping bodies in. We had to check to see if it’d be possible to carry or transport a body to our chosen sites, where the best place would be to conceal it and would anyone be able to see? We’re having problems with the transportation bit. The paths aren’t wide enough for a quad bike, it would be difficult to carry a corpse the whole way and we’re not sure whether it’s possible to put a corpse on a trail bike. Bet we’re the only people in the world who spent their New Year’s Day trawling woods for body dumps. Maybe not. Just to make things clear – we aren’t serial killers. It’s research, we promise.

We’ve just entered the Brit Writers Awards. We submitted two short stories and a collection of five poems so fingers crossed. We’re unlikely to get anywhere, we don’t write the intelligent literary stuff that seems to win competitions, as you can probably guess by the whole body dump shenanigans we get up to. Signing off to watch the Under 20’s Six Nations match between Wales and Scotland. Last year the beautiful Jason Tovey and gorgeous Kristian Phillips played. Are they too young for us at 20 and 19 respectively? We’ll be 27 on the 17th. No? That’s alright then. Be still our beating hearts.

Hello world!

No, we’re not fresh out of the Rocky Horror Show (though we are going to see that). We’re writers. Here is our mission statement: to unseat Stephen King and replace him as the new mistresses of horror. Seeing our freaky faces first thing in the morning we’d have to love horror. So far, work record – ok, maybe not glowing. King is safe for now. We’ve had a short story published in Legend Press’ Eight Hours anthology. Ours is called End of Innocence. (Available from www.legendpress.co.uk. We also have blogs on their site – under Author’s Group website.) We’ve had 2 short stories published in The Pages anthology – Missed Call in Dec 2008 anthology and Gallery of Souls in June 2009 anthology. (Available from www.the-pages.blogspot.com) We’ve also had a poem, Wedded Bliss, published in Cardiff-based Square Magazine. (www.squaremag.net) One day we will win a horror award. Just hope we’re not dead by the time it happens.

We did our very first poetry reading on Jan 31st 2010 in The Poets Corner pub in Cardiff. It was organised by Square Magazine’s editor, Nick Fisk. We read Wedded Bliss, Penitence Ball (inspired by our favourite band, My Chemical Romance) and Dating By Numbers. We hope to do more readings, but whether we’re invited back is another matter.

We have an aim this year to get 12 pieces of work published – one for every month. So far we’ve achieved – nothing. But the year is young. We just got a rejection from Shock Totem magazine, but we’re keeping our fingers crossed for the other stories and poems out there.

We also plan to take over the world. But ssh! (It’s a secret.)