Welcome to the first ‘Bite My Truant Pen Bulletin’.
I wanted to create a space for a regular-ish update alongside the creative work that I publish here, and so this it, número uno.
Just a chance to share news, the odd cultural recommendation, a reflection or two, perhaps ask you a question from time to time.
In the words of Douglas Adams, DON’T PANIC. With respect to your inbox, I’ll keep these fairly limited.
Name change
Firstly, you may have noticed the new title. I’ve been wanting to call this something other than MY NAME for a while now. I like the idea of it feeling a bit more like a ‘publication’, rather than a ‘blog’. I’m keen to maybe even have some guest posts, that kind of thing. I didn’t want to force it though. I’ve spent too long trying to think up band names over the years, and don’t much enjoy the process. Better for something to just appear of its own accord.
Well, I was reading some 16th century poetry the other day (as you do)… Sir Philip Sidney as it happens, and I came across this line:
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite, ‘Fool,’ said my Muse to me, ‘look in thy heart, and write.’
It’s from his sonnet sequence Astrophel and Stella, and I was drawn to the image of the ‘truant pen’, and the need to bite it, suggesting a moment of compositional reflection, the possibility it offers, but also the need to arrest it… so a kind of dual movement, a push and pull, which I think characterises much my own writing practice.
Anyway, so I’ve decided to call it that, ‘Bite My Truant Pen’.
Spanish dreams
The picture up above is of some palm trees in Granada. I visited the city for five days following my recent stay in Barcelona. If I’d have known, I’d have gone there sooner and stayed longer. Not that Barcelona wasn’t great. It was. But Granada. Well that’s a whole different kettle of boquerones.
I can’t do it justice here, but suffice to say it possesses a kind of resonant hum that plucks the strings of the soul in a way I’ve not experienced before. It’s insanely beautiful. This may sound sentimental, but that first day, looking across at the Alhambra from the Mirador de San Nicolás, I couldn’t staunch the tears… I’ve never seen the world so perfectly put together.
But I had to return. You can imagine my feelings a week or so later as the ferry pulled into Portsmouth. It felt strange to have to pick up with a life I hadn’t really left behind. My mind keeps spinning back to the Albaicin and Sacromonte. To the sweet clams at Rincón de Rodri. I keep wanting to have a nap at two o’clock in the afternoon. I often do.
I did write while I was there. About 10,000 words. There are some passages I like, but most of it feels like a diary in all the wrong ways. Perhaps, I’ll work at it. Here’s a taste:
Dreams emerge like magma coughed up by the earth, stirred for aeons within the strange liquid depths below the surface. In my hands, I hold as series of hieroglyphs, small, detailed drawings that have the look of death about them. My efforts to decipher are complicated by folds in the air and across the land, something astray in the Spanish night, the sound of cicadas like chainsaws, and moths banging up against the headlights of my car, which stands idle by the side of the road. There is nothing but the listening wind, the dusty lamplit ground, and the suggestion of the Sierras far away in the distance. The only thing I could really understand after pouring over the paper for hours was the instruction to head south, which is what I did… a long drive on the wrong side of the road. But nothing really makes sense here, or has any definition. The heat is like a shroud, wrapped around my body. My breathing is shallow. My blood is up. From behind, somewhere in the darkness, I can hear voices…
100 Word Pubs
I’ve started a new regular strand on here called 100 Word Pubs. These are short prose pieces about some of my favourite pubs, limited to exactly 100 words. If you love Great British boozers, then hopefully you’ll love this. You can find out more here and also enjoy the first instalment, which is all about one of Brighton’s finest ale-dispensing establishments, The Basketmakers Arms.
Stack Snack
Finally, a quick recommendation for another Substack I’ve been enjoying recently: Laura Marling’s Patterns in Repeat. She writes wonderfully on music, songwriting and all sorts of other interesting things. I won’t say any more, just check it out.
So that’s it for now. Please do share if you know anyone else who might like ‘Bite My Truant Pen’. And please do keep an eye out for the next instalment of 100 Word Pubs, which should be with you next Tuesday.
Big love,
Ben