Omniscrit: A Writer's Workshop

I Did Not See Deer Today

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Tue, 24 Sep 2013 07:19:00 +0000

I see deer almost daily on my morning and evening walks.

Photo: Claire-Shauna Minett

There is something extraordinarily magical in the grace of deer movement, whether almost at rest or leaping at speed.

I have thought, for many years, that the typical representation of unicorns as resembling white horses with the addition of a spiralled horn does not do them justice and in my imagination unicorns are smaller than that, more deer-like in their bodies.

Photo: Claire-Shauna Minett

There is a dull placidity in the eyes of a horse (although I have offended some 'horsey' friends by saying it!)

In the eyes of a deer, there is a mixture of the alertness of the wild and the innocent wisdom of the ancient.

There is a particular pasture near here where they can often be seen grazing in small herds on the sweet herbs growing along the border of the woods.

With patience I can get very close.

Photo: Claire-Shauna Minett

Then there is sudden contact, eye-to-eye, the rhythm of breath, our body scents mingling in the same early morning air. They return peacefully to their grazing or turn and leap, laughing at the heavy notion of Newtonian gravity, transforming themselves, almost no longer corporeal, into flashes of green and golden light under the trees - then gone; the spell broken, the encounter only a memory.

Photo: Claire-Shauna Minett

I Did Not See Deer Today

I did not see deer today.
When I turned into the pasture
they'd gone already.

I walked to where their heat
still lingered, a warm memory
in the damp morning air.

They left me a poem
imprinted in the soft earth
at the edge of the wood.

A poem illustrated by
scent, punctuated by scat,
in a secret language

not only deer can understand.

Many thanks to Claire for permission to use her lovely photographs.

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Remembering the Forest.

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Wed, 31 Jul 2013 11:39:00 +0000

Ancient Forest. Credit: Notneb82 Permission: CC BY-SA-2.0 via Wikimedia Commons

I plant these new trees,
remembering the forests
of their ancestors.

Newly planted trees.
Credit: A Maxwell. CC BY-SA-3.0
via Wikimedia Commons

With love I guard them,
With life and blood I tend them.
They are my sisters,

they are my brothers.
We are of one family
rooted in one Earth.

We reach to the sky.

Our members, our limbs,
of flesh or of wood

dance towards the sun.
From Earth we grow together,
in death remembered.

We are the forest.
From the same ancestral source
blood and sap both flow.

Who sharpens his axe
And lays the forest to waste,
he also hurts me.

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Casting the Runes.

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Wed, 10 Jul 2013 07:45:00 +0000

GNU Public License via Wikimedia Commons

Cast I this rune that futures tell?
That bright June in my heart shall dwell
With light of hope and fear combined,
And still read truth, though love be blind?

That this fair month in which love’s smile
Doth grace each moment free of guile
Shall last in thought 'til dark November
That sunlight, flowers and love remember?

Cast I this rune, that truth shall show
Her face unveiled and I shall know
How love in June shall fade or last
As summer’s hope to winter’s passed?

Oh, love’s a summer child, for sure
That may in autumn's age endure
Or fade and wither - a ragged leaf
And prove itself a feign belief.

Cast I this rune that futures tell?
That bright June in my heart shall dwell
With light of hope and fear combined,
And still read truth, though love be blind?

A Night in Tuscany

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Fri, 05 Jul 2013 08:11:00 +0000

Credit: Brett Jordan CC-BY-2.0
via Flickr

A summer night

in Tuscany; near the softly sloshing salt lagoons

north of La Buca delle Fate.

Fireflies – the glowing fairies of a billion years of evolution

– skit their crazy dance

to moon music; intense and bright,

vibrating melodic darkness in tune

with a percussion section one thousand crickets strong.

Ghiri flute their haunted, tooting songs

in perfect sintonia

and call me away

over prickling needled notes,

tumbled from the stave of la pineta,

to the still-hot sand of the pebbly beach.

Not a soul in sight here –

a different darkness, quiet and full -

where the unseen Soul

sings soft and sighs

in cool, sweet breaths from the sea.

I lift my hands, then;

pressing my fingers into darkness,

leaving my imprint among the ancient, uncreated stars;

forgetful of dawn and light and wakefulness:

forgetful, present

and at home in darkness.

In the hot, Tuscan night. With moonlight. Starlight.

And the music of the spheres.

Understanding Myths and Mythology

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Tue, 02 Jul 2013 14:03:00 +0000

As someone who reads and thinks about these things a good deal, I am aware that there are several different approaches to the understanding of myths and mythology.

Book of Myths. Image: Public
Domain. Via Wikimedia Commons

Sometimes these various ways of understanding and interpreting myths are complimentary; sometimes they seem to be contradictory.

What I would like to do here, is give an overview of the main schools of thought regarding the interpretation of myth.

The words mythical and mythology have been in currency in the English language since at least the 1600s.

However, the word myth is a much later introduction, not appearing in the language until nearly the middle of the nineteenth century.

So what is a myth? What is this object of study that we apparently had no need even to name until recently?

The OED gives us this:

"a purely fictitious narrative usually involving supernatural persons, actions or events, and embodying some popular idea concerning natural or historical phenomena"

This definition strikes me as insufficiently precise to be of any real use.

At the same time, I would not care to attempt a short-form definition of the meaning of the word myth that needed to encompass all of its possible breadth, depth and nuanced significance.

So, perhaps, this attempt to take an overview of the many approaches to the interpretation of myths - this study of mythology and meaning - will bring us closer to an understanding of what myth actually is.

Seven Schools of Thought

I have defined seven schools of thought amongst the literature of those who make attempt to understand and interpret the meaning of myth.

The first of these is perhaps less popular today than ever it was since it was first proposed.

This is the school of thought pioneered by the likes of Sir James Frazer. Fundamentally it sees myths as stories which are primitive and misguided attempts to explain natural phenomena or embody sociological changes. Myths are simply the poor forerunners of better science and better history.

This school seeks to interpret myths as simple factual errors in the early stages of human enquiry and they are now superseded by scientific understanding.

Professor Richard Dawkins is a contemporary exponent of this kind of interpretation of myth.

In the following video, you can hear Professor Dawkins, interviewed by Jeremy Paxman, explaining his understanding of myth. I apologise that the sound is not quite synchronised with the image but I trust it will not prove a barrier to understanding.

The second approach sees myths as a form of symbolic language - never intended in any sense as having literal meaning.

Ernst Cassirer. Image: Public Domain
via wikimedia commons.

This school sees myth as a way of thinking. As its primary proponent, Ernst Cassirer, wrote in The Logic of the Humanities (1961)

"mythical thinking is a mode of symbolically structuring the world."

This idea brings us closer to many of the more modern ways of interpreting the meaning of myth - indeed the idea that myth has any meaning at all - but it remains somewhat vague and one-dimensional, in my opinion, missing many of the other important facets of mythic reality.

The third school of thought is the psychoanalytic interpretation.

It agrees to some extent with Cassirer but views the symbolic system as directly analogous to the structures and complexes of the psychoanalytic theory of the subconscious and unconscious mind.

The earliest and most influential champions of this method of mythology were the likes of Sigmund Freud and his follower, Otto Rank.

Sigmund Freud. Image: Ceasar Blanco
CC BY-SA-2.0 via wikimedia commons

Carl Jung took these ideas and developed them into a whole school of psychology which viewed the human mind as structured on fundamentally mythic and ancestral lines.

Joseph Campbell - although his ideas about myth and meaning evolved during his life and study - certainly started out and remained at the end very much aligned to this school of thought.

Watch this video, in which Joseph Campbell outlines the psychoanalytic perspective.

There is much usefulness to be had from it, it seems to me - but I would caution against embracing this method with too much uncritical enthusiasm as it has a tendency to be essentially reductive and has led to some spurious attempts to squeeze myths into the somewhat confining pigeon-holes of psychoanalytic theory.

The fourth way of interpreting myth is very much the antithesis of the last.

It is most fully developed in the work of Emile Durkheim and takes a strictly sociological approach to the interpretation of myth.

In the following video, Dr. Dan Krier gives a good introduction to the ideas of Emile Durkheim in relation to myth and consciousness.

It is primarily mechanistic in viewing myths as serving the functional purpose of promoting and sustaining the integrity of social structures and hierarchies.

The anthropologist, Bronislaw Malinowski, also belongs here as he saw myths as being attempts to position the institutions necessary for social cohesion in a sacred realm outside the sphere of human invention and thus beyond question.

The fifth approach sees myth as being the formula of ritual - both religious and secular. It proposes that myths can only be interpreted in so far as they were intended to be enacted as rites.

Front Cover of Robert Graves'
'The White Goddess.'

Robert Graves favored this notion and wrote in The Greek Myths (1955)

"true myth may be defined as the reduction to narrative shorthand of ritual mime performed on public festivals."

Both Graves and the anthropologist Edmund Leach, also agree that these myths-as-rituals can also be understood to express significant societal changes in real historical time. For example, the marriage between a deity from one pantheon to the deity of another, or the conquering of one by the other, may reflect actual political events.

The sixth school of thought emphasises the essential structural similarity of many myths and sees them more as philosophical attempts to find answers to the collective experience of primitive peoples.

Perhaps Levi-Strauss is the most significant example of someone thinking along these lines.

And finally, the seventh way of understanding myths - and one which has had a curious and noticeable renaissance in the 21st century - is the literary interpretation of myth as poetic metaphor.

This is a highly romanticised view of myth that can take on the trappings of almost religious sensibility and seeks to apprehend meaning in myth without reference to the discoveries of modern science and academia.

There is a tendency here towards nostalgia - towards viewing myth as representative of any number of lost and more desirable times gone by; the yearning for a golden age.

There may be yet other ways of viewing the interpretation of myths and mythology but I think these more or less encapsulate the main trends that we have seen since the invention of the word.

What myths were before we named them so is part of the problem.

What myths mean to us now is another.

Personally, my approach is eclectic and largely compatibilist. I see these various approaches rather as the varying facets of a single diamond, to overuse a tired but apposite metaphor.

I think they may all be true.

It may be that myth - however elusive its meaning - is the one thing that is distinctively human about us and truly distinguishes us from the other primates in our phylogenetic group.

And it may not.

After all we once thought it was tool-making that set us apart and that proved not to be true; then we thought it was language and that proved false; recently the beginnings of religious responses to the numinous have been indicated in wild chimpanzees.

However, myth is clearly important to us and there are arguments to suggest that it is also a matter of real contemporary interest as we continue to create new myths and remold old ones; and that some of this mythography is intentional and deliberate and some is perhaps unconscious and organic.

It may prove hard, in the end, to 'nail down' a single, universal interpretation of myth - it would seem to be such a fundamental and therefore continually evolving and self-expressing - aspect of what we are.

If you are interested in reading more, have a look at some of the titles below:

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Dog Training

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Tue, 04 Jun 2013 08:03:00 +0000

This is a light-hearted rhyme about the way that a good dog can train his man to lead a better life, dragging him from his desk and away into the great outdoors.

Bobbi. (Austin Hackney, author)

Here is the video version, starring me and Bobbi, my dog.

The text is given below.

It was inspired by one of Terri Windling's posts in her The Dog's Tale series on her marvelous blog, Myth & Moor.

Bobbi and I both hope you enjoy it!

Dog Training

His back to the window, intent on the screen -

The most marvelous wildlife program he’s seen:

Lions and elephants, eagles and more;

Doesn’t notice the fox who steals by his door.

His back to the window, lost in his book –

He reads of his hero, the journeys he took:

Katmandu, Rajasthan, the Fjords and Svalbard;

Yet he never steps foot in his own backyard.

His back to the window, writing a letter –

Doing his bit to make the world better:

Petitions, campaigns, he makes his voice heard;

Deaf to the song of the garden bird.

His back to the window, his mind on the job –

He’s annoyed by a sudden yelp from his dog:

Scratching, fawning, eyes full of hope;

He heaves a sigh and grabs the dog’s rope.

The computer’s on standby; the book on the floor –

As the dog drags his man out through the door:

To the sights and the smells of the wood and the meadow;

To the sunlit glade and riverbank’s shadow.

So they ramble and roam, then rest on a rock –

And it comes to him then as a kind of a shock:

“I thought I should train you,” he pats the dog’s head;

“But I see that it’s you who should train me instead!”

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The Gilded Cage

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Sat, 18 May 2013 08:13:00 +0000

Credit: Tanakawho
Permission: CC-BY-2.0 via Flickr

"There was once a bright yellow canary preening herself before the mirror that dangled from a pretty chain in her gilded cage.

There came a little brown sparrow and perched on a branch outside the open window where the cage hung. "I am sorry to see you caged," said the sparrow. "I wish you could be free."

"Oh but I am free," said the canary.

"You are?" said the sparrow, eyeing the cage door suspiciously. "Then why do you stay?"

"Poor, ignorant sparrow!" said the canary, her feathers a little ruffled. "Don't you know they feed me and tell me how beautiful I am and praise me when I sing for them?"

Much saddened to hear this, the little sparrow flew away."

Naomi Wolfe on The Beauty Myth

"Beauty is no longer an aesthetic issue, it is a political issue."

"Taught from infancy that beauty is woman's sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison...Women are systematically degraded by receiving the trivial attentions which men think it manly to pay to the sex, when, in fact, men are insultingly supporting their own superiority."

- Mary Wollstonecraft, 1759 - 1797.

How long before we get this?

Amy Macdonald with one of her most popular songs ever, "This Pretty Face" live from The Royal Albert Hall

We are Stardust But Not Stars Alone

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Fri, 29 Mar 2013 10:47:00 +0000

We are stardust.

Let's go back to the beginning, to the Big Bang.

The Universe, matter, energy and time, began at the Big Bang.
Credit: garlandcannon CC-BY-SA 2.0 via Flickr

Most of the atoms that exploded into existence at the Big Bang were hydrogen and helium which are the earliest and simplest of all the elements.

Hydrogen and helium form fast in intense heat. The Universe started cooling down quickly and pretty much that's all there was time for in those first moments of existence.

So the very first stars were composed of about 75 % hydrogen and about 25 % helium.

EVERYTHING else was made within the stars themselves by the processes associated with nuclear fusion. The stars are the Great Mothers of the Universe. And they died giving birth.

When the stars died, their elements diffused through the Universe, tiny seeds of complex matter, that eventually combined and recombined to make everything there is and has ever been: more stars, planets, us.

We are stardust.

We are stardust. Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

But There is Something Missing...

Yes, we are stardust. But there is something more going on. And it's something pretty damn mysterious.

You see, the Big Bang can't account for most of the material that we know must exist in the Universe as it is today. In fact the Universe exists simultaneously at all time points it has ever existed at but let's not make things even more complicated than they are.

We've measured how fast the galaxies are travelling within cosmic clusters. It is fairly simple math to figure out how much matter there has to be in there to give enough gravitational energy to keep them all together. But the problem is...

...there isn't enough. Nope. No matter how many times you check and re-check the calculations (and the method of calculation is so simple we know the error doesn't lie there) there just isn't enough matter to give that much gravity.

The center of the Milky Way. Credit: Stefan Gillessen via Wikimedia Commons

The Universe is Impossible

Okay, clearly the Universe isn't impossible because...well, here we are.

So that can only mean that there is a gap in our knowledge.

Something we don't know. Something we don't understand. This is the thing that gives scientists the biggest buzz of all - ignorance. Scientists soon tire of what we know. Scientists are adventurers, lusting for the horizon and what lies beyond, courageously venturing into the uncharted waters of the impossible.

So if the Universe isn't impossible - what is going on? What are we missing?

Mysterious Matter - More Than Stars Alone.

Everything is energy. Matter is energy. The matter/energy model of reality (the scientific model) encompasses what are fundamentally two ways of looking at the same thing.

Supernova, a dying star explodes and dissipates into the Universe.
Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

One of the most useful forms of energy is light.

Light is great because (at least for our purposes) it is a Universal Constant which makes it super useful for measuring big, cosmic things.

We can measure the brightness of galaxies of distant stars and (because energy is matter) we can figure out how much stuff there is in the stars the light is coming from.

When you add it all up you get only half of the stuff that math tells us we need to account for the formation and movement of the matter we are observing.

We need 50 % more stuff.

What stuff? And where is it?

Dark Matter

It's about to get a bit freaky. Are you ready?

The only reasonable conclusion is that there is something else out there. Actually, it isn't just out there. It is everywhere.

It's in you, too.

Simulation of mathematically calculated Dark Matter clustering around our galaxy.
The blue stuff represents the CDM as if it was visible. Credit: ESO via Wikimedia Commons

Allowing for empty space and a very good estimate of how many atoms there are in the Expanding Universe, we can come up with a pretty good figure that of all the material in the Universe about 95 % of it is made up of this other stuff.

Not only that. The other stuff is weird.

The Other Side of Everything

Why is the other stuff weird?

Well, we know mathematically that it has to be there.

But we also know mathematically and from careful observations that this stuff is not made of atoms. And it doesn't give light.

So it's invisible and has no mass.

Which in other circumstances would make us think that it didn't exist. Except that it does. It has to for everything else to exist.

So what is it?

This three-dimensional map offers a first look at the web-like large-scale
distribution of dark matter, an invisible form of matter that accounts
for most of the Universe's mass. Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

Anti-matter.

Welcome to the point where science fiction and reality jump into bed together and start really getting intimate.

This stuff is antimatter. Yep, that's what it is. Well, that's what we call it. Or to be more precise, CDM. Cold Dark Matter.

There are about 50 particles of anti-matter in every pint and a bit of everything.

That's assuming that the stuff is spread evenly through the Universe. It might not be but it's a reasonable hypothesis until we know better.

So this mysterious stuff, this dark matter, is infusing everything that exists. Including you. And me.

And this Cold Dark Matter is what accounts for the missing stuff that gives us enough gravity for things to hold together.

And it forms anti-partlces. And these 'drift' through the Universe, effecting and effected by gravitational forces. They're sticky. They can accumulate.

A planet such as ours is big enough to have enough gravitational energy to draw more antimatter particles to it. To us.

What does it all mean?

You know what?

We have no idea. Yet.

One thing we do know, however, is that it gives us an explanation for how the Universe came to exist out of nothing.

But that, as they say, is another story.

If you want to know more about that story, try reading some of the books below:

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When I Am Dead

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Tue, 12 Mar 2013 16:58:00 +0000

Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons
The Death card from the Visconti-Sforza Tarot deck.

When I am dead
My body will be made of glass.

My transparent skin will be smooth,
brittle and cold to your touch.

I will no longer blush when you smile
because my body will no longer have color;
It will reflect the world's colors, nothing more.

It will no longer breathe,
But if you come close enough
to kiss
it will condense your breath
into tiny diamonds and pearls.

The strong arms that held you
will be fragile, delicate, no longer safe.

When I am dead
My body will be made of glass.

If you try to hold me
It will shatter
And my shards will puncture your flesh
and your red blood will spill out
and you will cry.

When I am dead
My body will be made of glass.

You must not come close, when I am dead.
You must throw a silken sheet over my body
and walk away.

For I will have no heart.

Biography of Pirate Captain John Phillips

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Sun, 03 Mar 2013 15:41:00 +0000

A Pirate's Life and Times

"Ha ha, me hearties! Good to have you aboard. Hoist the main sail, swash yer buckles and let's to the oceans for adventures and ill-gotten swag on the High Seas!"

The odd thing is, that it seems quite a number of pirates really did talk something like that.

And there really was a Pirate Code and buried treasure and walking the plank, marooning, patches, peg-legs, hooks and all.

Pirate Captain

A typical image of a Pirate Captain. While the romantic notion of the pirate life is based on the evidence of many facts, the truth remains that a pirates life was generally dangerous, brutish and short.

Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

Even so, the true lives of real pirates were often bloodthirsty, dangerous and short. Most, if not ending their days in 'Davy Jones' Locker' would breathe their last as the hempen noose tightened around their necks, victims of a public hanging.

It was a very risky life and, as we have said, often a brutish and short one.

The Pirate Captain John Phillips, for example, had a career as a pirate that lasted only a matter of months before his his final doom befell him.

The interesting thing about him is that, unlike his much mythologized colleagues in crime, Blackbeard,Dread Roberts and the others - whose stories have become so mingled with legend that it is hard to discern where the fiction ends and the facts lie concealed - the life of Captain John Phillips is comparatively well documented.

Indeed, it is his famous drawing up of the 'code' and several other references to the management of his ship, The Revenge and its crew, that give us much of the history of the pirate life as we now know it.

Despite the brutish realities, there has always been something appealing to the popular imagination about the life and times of the pirates of the eighteenth century. So many famous pirates have gone down in the annals of history and indeed in the storytelling of the folkloric traditions, that even those with no or little knowledge of history are familiar with their names: Blackbeard, Capt. Roberts and now, thanks to Hollywood, the entirely fictional, Capt. Jack Sparrow.

What many people don't realize is that, in fact, the true history of the pirates of the Caribbean, whilst a little more sordid in its details, is no less exciting and interesting than the fancies of storytellers and film makers.

Captain John Phillips - A Pirate of the Caribbean

Pirate Captain John Phillips was renowned for forcing his prisoners to inebriate themselves with strong drink. It was more a means of keeping them compliant than any sign of hospitality. The Pirate Captain holds a man at gunpoint to drink the liquor
Source: Public Domain (US:PD) via Wikimedia Commons

Pirate Captain John Phillips

So in this examination of the life and times of the lesser known and perhaps less celebrated story of the infamous Captain John Phillips, be not surprised if you find that you come across facts more surprising than fiction, deeds more daring than any committed to celluloid by the likes of Errol Flynn or Johnny Depp and mysteries still to be discovered as the fog of unknowing sometimes clouds the uncharted waters of history.

So, if you've a little time on your hands and would seek to hear of fame and infamy and add to your secret store of wonder, sail with me as we venture out to learn the biography of the Pirate Captain John Phillips. But remember this, before we leave the harbor...no matter what marvels and mysteries now unfold, every word is true...

The Buccaneers: The Romantic View of The Pirate Life

The Early Life Of Captain John Phillips

Very little indeed is known of the life of John Phillips before he flashed briefly across the pages of history, known as a ruthless and much feared pirate captain.

There are, however, some indications that he may have branches of his family lineage alive today in New England and New Zealand.

Bristol, The Birth Place of Pirate Captain John Phillips

Bristol was one of the busiest ports in the world in the 18th century and was the birth place of the infamous Pirate Captain, John Phillips.

What we do know of his life before becoming a pirate, is that he was born and raised in Bristol, England.

By the 18th Century the City of Bristol had become the second largest city in England. Bristol harbor was the busiest in the country and famed throughout the world. Every day, consignments of tobacco, sugar cane, exotic animals, cocoa, rum and slaves were imported onto the stone port. The streets around about were a mess of new town houses erected by wealthy merchants and steaming hostelries and perhaps steamier brothels.

Bristol was the busiest and most famous port of the day and the young John would have been raised around seafaring folk and heard their colorful tales and salty songs in the taverns and bawdy houses of his youth.

He was apprenticed to a trade, becoming a working carpenter. This fact is interesting in the historical context and enables us to deduce something about his background and also his motives for going to sea. Let me explain.

An 18th Century Carpenter's Work

"The carpenter is employed in the wooden-work from the foundation to the top.... In brick-works he places bearers, where the chief weight of the building lies. He lays the joists, girders, and rafters in flooring, and when the outward case is built, he puts on the roof and prepares it for the slater... Strength is the chief of his study, and to dispose his work in such a manner as that what is designed for the support of a building may not, by its weight, overturn it. He is employed in making doors, laying floors, preparing the ceiling for the plaisterer to nail his laths on; in dividing the house with partitions, and wainscoting the several apartments. As a joiner's work requires a nicer hand, and a greater taste in ornament, his business requries that he should be acquainted with geometry and mensuration."

R. Campbell 1747

In the 17th Century, skilled carpenters had done very well for themselves, especially in London after the Great Fire, when the restoration and rebuilding of the capital city was taking place. At the same time the social status of carpentry as a trade took a hammer blow. The reason for this was that the new anti-fire regulations stipulated that all new buildings be constructed from bricks. While there was still a huge amount of woodwork and joinery involved, the bricklayer and the stone mason now took first position in the hierarchy and carpenters and joiners were relegated to a lower order.

By the 18th Century - which was a British society more preoccupied with class and social status even than today - the role of the carpenter had been reduced to little more than that of a manual laborer.

Nevertheless, there remained one place in which the role of carpenter was still highly regarded, commanding both respect and a good wage. That place was aboard ship. The importance of a carpenter and joiner aboard a wooden sailing vessel undertaking perilous and long voyages, often through uncharted seas, cannot be over-estimated.

As, in those times, the son would follow in the trade of the father, we can safely assume that John Phillips family had been carpenters for generations and so would have seen a decline in their fortunes during his father's lifetime.

A decline in the family's fortunes and the possibility to achieve higher social status (and better pay) aboard ship, may well have proved sufficient motivation for the young John Phillips to pack up the tools of his trade and head to the harbor to seek employment on an ocean-going vessel.

And that is precisely what he did.

An 18th Century Ship's Carpenter's Workshop

A typical 18th Century ship's carpenter's workshop such as the one that John Phillips would have worked in when he set sail from his native Bristol.

Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

John Phillips Captured By Pirate Captain Thomas Anstis

As a skilled and experienced carpenter, the young John Phillips would have had but little difficulty finding work and wage on board a worthy vessel and so it was that he set sail from Bristol in 1720 at the start of a new century and a new life for the young man.

A Brigantine

A typical Brigantine, much smaller and lighter than the Spanish Galleon and an ideal raiding ship for many pirates.

Source: Public Domain via Wikipedia Commons

Who can know what dreams he held in his heart as he watched the coast of his native land diminishing from view behind him and the vastness of the open seas, already bucking the ship on the tussling waves, open up before.

If he took pride in his trade then he will have been proud and pleased indeed with his fine workshop. Quite probably he would have been used to working from his leathern tool bag where and how he may. As ship's carpenter, he would have been graced with a spacious and fully equipped workshop.

Whatever his hopes and fears at that time, little in his past experience could have prepared him for the adventures soon to come. For the ship that he sailed with had been barely two years at sea before that one disaster befell them that all seafaring men of honest heart and proper loyalty feared in those days - now dubbed The Golden Age of Piracy. It was an event that would change and foreshorten his life beyond his own imagining...

A Pirate Ship

The brigantine was a popular vessel among pirates, prized for its speed and agility. It was ideal for coastal raids or moving between the islands of the Caribbean but did not fare so well on open and stormy seas.

Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

Pirate Captain Thomas Anstis

Pirate Captain Thomas Anstis was the commander of the brigantine, Good Fortune and one of the confederates of the fearsome and feared pirate, Dread Bartholomew Roberts.

Anstis was a heartless cut-throat and no stranger to ordering rape and murder as he pillaged and plundered any vessel he could take.

Tiring of being under the command of the equally gruesome Captain Roberts and wanting all gain for himself, Anstis made up his mind to take leave of his pirate lord and strike out on his own.

It was thus, one April night in 1721, under cover of darkness, that he turned course with his swift ship and crew and leaving Roberts heading for Africa, set his own course for the Caribbean.

The belabored cargo vessel aboard which John Phillips served was en route between England and Newfoundland when it was chased and captured by the swift brigantine of Pirate Captain Thomas Anstis.

By all accounts, Thomas Anstis was a ruthless villain and it was to John's good fortune that the crew had latterly lost its carpenter in a skirmish. He was offered the post and quickly and wisely acquiesced to the captain's wishes.

Little doubt that he had not planned to take up a career of piracy but equally, he was sufficiently cognizant of the kind of men these were not to risk his own life for the sake of an honor that no-one else would witness or acknowledge.

All the other crew members and his first former captain were killed, sold on as slaves or, if fit and willing, made pirates and taken on as crew.

Aboard SV Florette - The Last Wooden Brigantine In The World

Pirate John Phillips High Seas Adventures

Some sources say that John Phillips was "soon reconciled to life as a pirate" and, as we will see in his later life, may even have come to relish aspects of the piratical life.

In any case, he served aboard The Good Fortune for a year before suffering another change in his own fortunes.

Pirates Of The Caribbean

The Caribbean islands were the main haunts and hiding places, the center of operations, for many 18th century pirate gangs

During that year as a pirate under the command of Captain Thomas Anstis, John Phillips was involved in and witnessed many skirmishes, raids and looting. Some of this he must have found exciting and brought fire to his blood but some of his captain's more brutal acts, we know from the pirate code he drew up for his own crew, appalled and disgusted him.

When Anstis's gang took The Irwin off the coast of Jamaica, the captain ordered the crew to gang rape and then brutally murder a woman that they had found aboard. Whether John Phillips was forced to participate in such acts or only witnessed them we do not know. What we do know is that he loathed that side of his life and determined to escape when opportunity arose.

In 1722, King George of England made a determined effort to eradicate piracy from the spice routes and sent Admiral Sir John Flowers, in charge of two warships, the HMS Hector and the HMS Adventure, to round up the pirate ships and capture the captains and their crews. He was given orders to focus his efforts on Roberts and Anstis among others of the most notorious pirates of the day.

The HMS Hector: Sent To Pursue the Pirates

A contemporary caricature of the 18th Century Warship, The Hector, sent to pursue Pirate Roberts and Pirate Anstis.

Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

Meanwhile, The Good Fortune and The Morning Star, which were sailing together, had set a southward course towards the Cayman Islands. It was near Grand Cayman that The Morning Star ran aground on one of the many concealed sandbanks that litter the archipelago. It was as the one ship was grounded and the other was attempting to rescue it by dragging it free, that the pirates were sighted by Admiral Sir John Flowers and the HMS Hector and Adventure raced upon them.

On of Anstis's crew who had been looking out from the 'crow's nest' yelled the alarm as he sighted the warships cutting through the waves towards them. For a moment it seemed that his time had come, for his own vessel was tied by towing ropes to The Morning Star and had yet to give up the anchor. His second in command, seeing what his captain was likely now to do, managed to sling a grappling rope across into the rigging of The Good Fortune and swing across. As he did so, Anstis shouted the order to his men to cut the ropes and let the anchor chain run loose.

So it was, that he and those that remained aboard his vessel, were able, under a strong wind to turn the ship about and make good their escape just in the nick of time. The Admiral knew there would be no advantage gained in sending a heavy warship after a swift brigantine under a good wind and so all his efforts were turned upon the stranded Morning Star.

Forty pirates were taken that day in the Cayman Islands and, after due trial, danced their final jig dangling from the hangman's rope.

Pirates Awaiting Trial

Pirates awaiting summary trial before execution.

Source: Howard Pyle. Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

Pirate John Phillips Escapes Back To England

Anstis and his second in command, Fenn sailed with the wind as far as they could towards the Bay of Honduras. The wind dropped after they lost sight of the warships they still feared might have pursued them. Taking no chances, they went to oar with the remaining men they had aboard.

Even so depleted in crew, supplies and morale - or perhaps spurred on by that - they captured several vessels on their way, boosting the larder and the stock of treasures in the hold, not to mention man-power on deck.

Throughout all this, John Phillips continued to watch and learn and serve as quietly as he was able as the ship's carpenter.

John soon had has work cut out for him. On arriving in Tobago, the captain ordered that they put ashore on a small and uninhabited island just off the main island in order that they might careen the ship.

'Careening' meant taking the vessel at least half out of the water - usually anchoring her against the tide, so that she could easily be put afloat once more - and attending to any repairs that may have been required. The ships being made largely of wood - even employing wooden pegs rather than nails - the larger part of this task fell to the ship's carpenter.

This was in April 1723. But it had been a grave error of judgement on the part of Captain Anstis, as they had indeed, all be it at a slower pace, been pursued by the Admiral Sir John Flowers, now aboard the British warship, HMS Winchelsea.

Anstis ordered his crew to burn one of the ships, soaking brands in pitch and setting light to the boards and sails.

As the ship, a sloop captured on their recent travels, shot up in flames, he and his closest crew, stole back to The Good Fortune and set sail to flee.

The crew who remained on the Island, seeing themselves so cruelly abandoned had no choice but to attempt to flee themselves, albeit on foot. The only place of hiding available to them was the deep. forested interior of the island.

Most of them were easily found and captured by the HMS Winchelsea's marines, but Phillips and a few others remained in hiding until the warships had departed.

Tobago: Pirate John Phillips' Hiding Place

In the deep forested interior of Tobago, John Phillips hid from the Royal Navy until he was able to board a ship and work his passage back to England.

While Anstis had escaped once more with his swift brigantine The Good Fortune, his ill treatment of his crew and his wicked nature finally bore their just fruit. His crew, discouraged not only by their losses but by their punishments for his failures of judgement, murdered him one night while he slept in his hammock.

The mutineers then surrendered themselves to the authorities and were finally granted amnesty and permitted to return to civilian life.

The Burning Ship

Captain Thomas Anstis ordered the burning of the ship and then fled from the Navy in his brigantine.
Source: Howard Pyle: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

John Phillips remained in hiding with his shipmates, finally making it to the main island and thence working their passage back to Bristol.

It may well be that at first Phillips had hopes of gaining an amnesty himself and turning back to his old life on land. However, in this case the King was not inclined to mercy. Having witnessed many of his fellows captured by the naval militia and imprisoned - and fearing that someone might squeal in order to gain clemency from the authorities - he resigned himself to his fate.

From that point on he dedicated himself anew to the life of the pirate, But this time things would be different. This time he would be the Captain of his own ship and he would run things as he saw fit.

Pirate John Phillips Sails Back To Newfoundland

No longer wishing to live a life of secrecy and hiding in his home town, pirate John Phillips took passage back to Newfoundland with four of his closest mates.

Petty Harbour

Looking down over Petty Harbour as it is today. It has not changed significantly since Pirate John Phillips stole his schooner from the harbour.
Source: BihnX CC-BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

They settled in the tiny port town of Petty Harbour. They had a single purpose in mind. That purpose was to steal a ship.

Petty Harbour, which nestles deep in the heart of Motion Bay on the eastern tip of the Avalon Peninsula,is still a tiny place today and the focus of tourism - but back then there were fewer than fifty inhabitants and all of them fishermen. A more remote and secluded place it would have been hard to find.

Nevertheless, John Phillips must have known that from time to time, larger ships would use the port to rest, careen and restock on long northern voyages.

John Phillips Becomes A Pirate Captain

After a long wait, Phillips and his gang finally saw their chance, when a reasonably sizeable schooner came in to harbour. She was not a very large vessel but was in good condition and could be handled by the tiny crew of just five men.

A Schooner

A typical schooner moored at harbour for loading. While clearly a recent image, the design of the schooner has not changed since Phillips' day.

Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

While the owner, a certain William Minott, and crew were all onshore one evening - August 29th 1723 - Phillips and his associates smuggled themselves aboard the ship, raised the anchor, loosed the ropes and sailed away into the night.

She was not a large vessel but she was fast and agile and had a deep hold that could be used to store a considerable swag.

Phillips renamed her The Revenge and announced himself to be her Captain.

Under him he had four crew. These men were John Nutt - the sailing master, James Sparks - the gunner, Thomas Fern - the ship's carpenter and William White - tailor and private crewman.

John Phillips' first act as Captain of his ship and crew, was to draw up a Pirate Code, to which each man had to swear fealty on pain of death. Typically, the oath would have been made on a copy of The Bible but as none of them possessed such a book, they swore to honor the Code on the head of an axe.

John Phillips Pirate Articles

I Every Man Shall obey civil Command ; the Captain shall have one full Share and a half of all Prizes ; the Master, Carpenter, Boatswain and Gunner shall have one Share and quarter.

II If any Man shall offer to run away, or keep any Secret from the Company, he shall be marroon’d with one Bottle of Powder, one Bottle of Water, one small Arm, and Shot.

III If any Man shall steal any Thing in the Company, or game, to the Value of a Piece of Eight, he shall be marroon’d or shot.

IV If any time we shall meet another Marroner that Man shall sign his Articles without the Consent of our Company, shall suffer such Punishment as the Captain and Company shall think fit.

V That Man that shall strike another whilst these Articles are in force, shall receive Moses’s Law (that is, 40 Stripes lacking one) on the bare Back.

VI That Man that shall snap his Arms, or smoak Tobacco in the Hold, without a Cap to his Pipe, or carry a Candle lighted without a Lanthorn, shall suffer the same Punishment as in the former Article.

VII That Man shall not keep his Arms clean, fit for an Engagement, or neglect his Business, shall be cut off from his Share, and suffer such other Punishment as the Captain and the Company shall think fit.

VIII If any Man shall lose a Joint in time of an Engagement, shall have 400 Pieces of Eight ; if a Limb, 800.

IX If at any time you meet with a prudent Woman, that Man that offers to meddle with her, without her Consent, shall suffer present Death.

The Pirate Code

The articles described division of loot, punishments for transgressions and compensation for those who lost a limb while in service.

It is worth noting that John Phillips articles, or pirate code, expressly forbade rape on pain of death.

The pirate code of John Phillips is of considerable scholarly importance as they are the only complete set of piratical articles that survive from the period.

They were preserved by being reprinted in Charles Johnson's General History of the Pyrates.

Other than these there are only three other extant sets of articles referred to in secondary literature.

It is John Phillips' Pirate Code that gives us much of the insight that we have into life aboard a pirate ship in the so called Golden Age.

The Articles, or the Pirate Code, constituted a very important agreement made between the captain and the crew of any pirate ship.

They stated the several terms and conditions under which the crew were permitted to sail with the pirate captain. Aside from the code, most pirate vessels were run on fairly democratic grounds and the division of spoils was undertaken with great fairness.

The other great primary source of historical information is an invaluable document.

It is a hand written account by John Fillmore, who was captured by Phillips and forced to join his crew.

The document gives considerable detail about life aboard Phillips' schooner, The Revenge and also an insight into the fearsome nature of the man that Pirate Captain John Phillips had by then become.

The Spoils of Piracy

According to the Pirate Code, all spoils and loot had to be fairly divided to each man according to his station.
Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

John Fillmore's Account of Life Aboard The Revenge

John Fillmore's account of life aboard Pirate Captain John Phillips' schooner, The Revenge, is the source not only of much that we know about John Phillips but also about pirate life generally in the 18th century.

The front page of the 1837 edition of John Filmore's original account, written by hand in the late 1700s.
Source: Public Domain via Internet Archive

Prisoner Of The Pirates

In the spring of 1723, John Fillmore, an orphan who has himself been apprenticed as a ship's carpenter, was taken on as crew on a fishing voyage under a certain Captain Haskell.

All went peaceably until the following August, when their fishing vessel was attacked by Pirate Captain John Phillips' schooner, which according to Fillmore's account, seemed to appear out of nowhere and was upon them before they had any chance of escape.

Bloodthirsty Pirates

The Pirates board and capture a ship.
Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

It so happened that one of Fillmore's former acquaintances by the name of White, whom he had known to be a tailor's apprentice, was among the pirates who boarded the fishing vessel.

This fellow, White, put in a word for Fillmore with Pirate Captain John Phillips, saying that he would make a worthy addition to the crew on account of his fine personal qualities and his manual and technical skills.

The pirate Captain Phillips then sent out a boat to the captured ship, with a message to Captain Haskell that if he would hand over Fillmore and Fillmore would be wiling to join the pirates, everyone else aboard would be spared and the ship go free.

Fillmore bluntly refused to comply with this request.

Phillips flew into a rage and sent some of his crew to bring Fillmore back by force. He then constrained Fillmore to serve him as a pirate for two months and promised him his liberty at the end of that time if he served well.

The pirate crew by now consisted of ten stout and fearless rogues against whom Fillmore knew he would make no match. He was also aware of the danger his resistance posed to his comrades aboard Captain Haskell's vessel. Thus persuaded, he gave himself over to the pirates.

However, he refused to sign the articles and so actually become a pirate himself. He was consigned to the helm of the schooner. The two months stipulated in the verbal agreement passed uneventfully and Filmore demanded his freedom.

Signing The Pirate Code

Pirate's prisoners were often forced to sign the articles of the pirate code, thus becoming pirates themselves.

Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

But Phillips had other ideas. He said that as nothing had occurred of any note and in consequence Filmore had not provided service, the agreement was void. rather than grant him liberty, the Pirate captain constrained the poor fellow to a further three months in his service, swearing on his honor that after the allotted span of time had passed, he would most certainly set him free. It was not, however, to be.

The months that followed were not without event and a number of ships were captured and plundered and additional crew members added to the number of pirates aboard The Revenge.

Again the time passed and this time none could claim that Fillmore had not fulfilled his part of the bargain. Yet when he asked once more for his freedom, Pirate captain John Phillips, according to Fillmore's account, flew into a demonic rage and swore "That he should have his liberty when he himself was damned, and not before."

Fillmore tells us that at that point he realized that he had been enslaved aboard the ship. Secretly, he determined to look for the earliest opportunity to escape, even if he should risk his life in doing so, as he found the pirate life a loathsome one.

The psychology of a Pirate

It is interesting to speculate at this point about the psychology of Captain John Phillips.

From Fillmore's account we understand that there is a gradual degeneration of Philips' character as he becomes ever more quick to anger and more unpredictably dangerous in his moods and actions.

Fillmore also points out that the Captain begins to drink alcohol more. Drunkenness was common enough in 18th century society and well-known among pirates but it is also true that mood changes can be a consequence of physical alcohol addiction.
We must also remember that he had never intended, when he first set to sea, to live the dangerous life of a pirate. He was originally coerced into it and later, when he wanted to return to civilian life, the Crown had not granted him amnesty. There must have been a strong sense of resentment in his mind and possibly a deal of anger at his powerlessness to control his own fate.

Despite his increasing cruelty, he remained steadfast on one issue. That was conduct towards women. His Pirate Code forbade any man to so much as touch a woman without her consent or to suffer the penalty of execution.

He had, of course, witnessed the horrific gang rapes ordered by his former master, Thomas Anstis and may even have been forced to participate against his will. This section of the Code suggests a deep revulsion to what he had seen and done.

It is also interesting to recall that he was an orphan and so never knew his mother and as a seafarer, and especially an outlaw, he would have had no chance of romance in his own life. It is, perhaps, not uncommon in such circumstances, for a man to idolize womankind, elevating her to the status almost of a goddess. This would certainly account for his strict moral prohibition in the midst of a culture in which knavery and lustfulness of every kind were commonplace.

One final point to consider is that he was yet a very young man when he took the post as ship's carpenter. perhaps still very impressionable and, as an orphan, in need of role models for his future manhood.
What he actually got was a twisted parody of fatherhood in the cruel captaincy of the wicked pirates, Anstis and Roberts.

One of the crew's next conquests was a sloop with the curious name ofSquirrel of Cape Ann. She was captured by Phillips n April of 1724 and the ships master, Andrew Harridon, was imprisoned. he also refused to sign the Code.

At that point, notes Fillmore in his memoir, every man aboard had signed up apart from himself, Harridon, a fellow called Cheeseman who was also a ship's carpenter by trade, a Spanish Indian and a young American gentleman. Having refused obstinately to sign the Code, they remained non-pirate prisoners aboard the ship.

Fillmore relates how much Pirate Captain John Phillips drank and how he would force others to drink at gun point. he tells of how the Captain became increasingly feared by the crew - even those closest to him - and of his sudden swings in mood and savage acts of barbarity. And yet, he forbade the ill-treatment of any woman and never took a female as a captive on his ship.

It was one of these men that had been ordered aboard the sloop taken from Harridon. It seems that as the crew's disliking for Phillips grew, so did his own fear and paranoia. He got it into his head that others were conspiring against him and once, in a sudden and unaccountable rage, accosted this man, accusing him of falling in league with Fillmore to organize a mutiny.

The man begged for mercy, vehemently denying the charge but Phillips swore he would send the man to hell and promptly ran him through with his sword, so hard that the tip of the blade broke off in his spine.

He then shot the dead man through the head and shouted, "I have sent one of the devils to hell; and where is Fillmore? He shall go next."

Fillmore recounts how he was then brought before the captain. Death seemed inevitable. What followed was a bizarre encounter that further exemplifies the growing madness of Pirate Captain John Phillips.

Phillips charged Fillmore with conspiracy to mutiny and promptly pulled his pistol on him, pressing the barrel to the man's breast. he pulled the trigger but the gunpowder had become damp and the pistol did not fire. Phillips stepped back, drew his broken blade and took a swipe at Fillmore, who dodged the attack.

Captain Phillips then laughed, sheathed his sword and ordered Fillmore back to his duties, proclaiming that all was well with him and he had only wanted to test his mettle.

Mutiny & Escape

Fillmore recounts many further startling and disturbing adventures amongst the pirates that are too numerous to relate here. the story of his eventual escape is one that would be worthy of any novelist, were it not for the fact that it is true.

After nine months of servitude aboard The Revenge, Fillmore and his non-pirate confederates did indeed conspire to make good their escape from the slavery that they had so long endured.

At last, the opportunity presented itself. Pirate captain John Phillips was in one of his uncommonly genial moods and one night ordered that they should weigh anchor and spend the night in jollity and carousal. Food and rum aplenty was brought on deck and the festivities began.

Cheeseman, Fillmore, and the Indian set out their plan. By all accounts,Captain Harridon was too much in fear of Phillips to take an active role.

Cheeseman, as the ship's carpenter and under pretence of making preparations for some work he intended to fulfil the following day, brought tools up on deck, including and axe and a large hammer. These tools were destined to be used as weapons.

The conspirators were careful to only feign their part in the orgy of drunkenness which ensued. And so they bid their time until the pirates all retired in an inebriated stupor.

Pirate Fight

The time for action had come.

Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

Realizing that they were but three men against a whole crew, they sought first to disable some of the pirates during the night.

White and Archer had fallen asleep by the fire in the ship's galley. Fillmore crept by them and, seeing they would not easily be roused, tipped hot coals onto their naked feet causing them serious burns. So drunk with rum were the two men that they barely stirred even as their feet burned.

Others were bound as they slept but the captain and his main crew could not be accessed as the door to the cabin in which they all slept had been firmly locked and bolted.

The pirates slept late the next morning and at last Fillmore went and hammered on the cabin door, calling to the inmates that the sun was nigh at noon. Swearing and cursing, the captain and his henchmen soon emerged on deck.

The moment for action had come.

Three desperate men against a crew of ruthless pirates. They made their attack at midday.

Cheeseman took up the hammer as if he was to busy himself about some work. Fillmore stood not far off, and a little behind the captain and boatswain, who were in conversation standing just by the main mast. he had concealed under his jerking the sharpened axe.

The Indian stood by the cabin door. The quartermaster was busy within the cabin.

The time had come.

Cheeseman seized the master and in that moment of sudden confusion, Fillmore swung out with the axe and split the boatswain's head in two. Before Pirate Captain John Phillips could make a move in his own defence, both Cheeseman and Fillmore were upon him and dealt him such a round of blows with hammer and axe, that he crumpled immediately and died on the deck in a pool of his own spilled blood.

The master was thrown overboard. The quarter-master, having heard the commotion, came running out from the cabin wielding a hammer above his head but the Indian caught hold of him as he emerged. Fillmore took the man's own sword and severed his head from his body with a single, clean blow to the back of the neck.

Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

Having slaughtered all the pirates except those that they had disabled during the night, Filmore and his companions took command of the ship and sailed her to Boston.

She put in to Boston on a bright spring morning, May 3d, 1724.

On the 12th day of the same month at a Court of Admiralty, with Lieutenant Governor Dummer presiding the pirates William White, William Phillips, and John Rose Archer were proclaimed guilty and on 2nd June were executed at Bird Island.

The three other pirates, also condemned by the same court, were dispatched to England in the schooner and hanged by the neck at Execution Dock. Edward Cheeseman and the Indian accompanied them and were subsequently honored by the British Government for their services.

The Court of The Admiralty later presented John Fillmore with the
pistol, the silver-hilted sword and a curiously carved tobacco box which had belonged
to Pirate Captain John Phillips along with the silver shoe buckles and two
gold rings that the infamous Pirate Captain used to wear.

Great Pirate Ships Documentary

The Historical Significance Of Pirate Captain John Phillips

When compared to pirates such as his first master, Bartholomew Roberts, Pirate captain John Phillips was clearly little more than a small-time bandit on the water. he never graduated from the fishing schooner that he stole form Petty Harbour and at the end of his brief captaincy had a crew of only eleven men at his commend.

As we have seen, John Phillips made a habit of coercing prisoners into service and reneged on his promises of release to captives such as John Fillmore. he also became known for his savagery and brutal treatment of anyone attempting to leave his service.

Captain John Phillips was also last in a lineage of pirates that had been captured and coerced at first into piracy, then finding themselves outside the law, taken their own ships and made pirate captains of themselves.

Phillips' first master,Thomas Anstis, had been captured by Dread Pirate, Bartholomew Roberts. Roberts by Captain Howell Davis. Davis by Edward and so on. This lineage of piracy originated in the pirate den of the Bahamas.

But John Phillips' death signalled the end of the line and the drawing to a close of the Golden Age of Piracy.

The biography of Pirate Captain John Phillips is largely a tragic one but leaves us with a legacy of documentation without which our knowledge of the life and times of the pirates of the 18th century would be greatly impoverished.

The Jolly Roger - A Pirate Flag

The pirate flag was commonly known as The Jolly Roger.
Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

Learn more about Pirates here...

The Grammar of Trees and Other Living Things

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Tue, 26 Feb 2013 16:41:00 +0000

grammar is the set of structural rules that governs the composition of clauses, phrases, and words in any given natural language.

Soul and ear of the hound unbound
by brook or fence or wall of stone,
halt to hear the storied sound;
Salival syntax, grammar’d bone…

Morphology, syntax, phonology;
phonetics, semantics and style

Scratched in lines of light and shadow,
Whispered in wind-words, phonetics of flies;
The tale the tree tells to the meadow,
Thorn-thistle truth and honeybee lies…

Morphology, syntax, phonology;
phonetics, semantics and style

Writer and dog roam through the heather,
The season’s semantics structure the skies;
Constructing precarious language together,
Gentle and worldly and wilding and wise…

Morphology, syntax, phonology;
phonetics, semantics and style

with thanks to Terri and Tilly for the inspiration - again!

Desiring Dragons: On Facts and FairyTales, Science and Myth

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Wed, 13 Feb 2013 16:44:00 +0000

This short essay is my second offering at the table of Terri Windling's (Myth & Moor) 'Moveable Feast' with the topic Desiring Dragons, asking why it is we value and work with myth and fairy tales...

The scientific method, with its wonderfully precise mathematical measurements; its rigorous reasoning; the superb elegance, simplicity and sheer humility of its effort to falsify its own hypotheses; its acceptance of the limitations of any human conception of ‘truth’ as being wholly provisional; and its spirit, I think unique among human endeavors, of boundary-defying internationalism (there is no purpose or language so blind to race, nationality, gender or politics as science) is to me the finest achievement of human consciousness.

The Way Through The Woods - Austin Hackney (author)

There is no other approach yet devised to model the nature of objective reality with any degree of accuracy. I would even venture to say that science is the only reliable doorway we have to enter safely into an understanding of that which lies beyond our own imaginings, the elusive outer world. Science alone it is that has brought light into the darkness, healed the sick, fed the hungry and furthered peace between nations. *

But what of the journey in the other direction? What of the journey inward, backward and down into the deep archaeology of the lawless, shape-shifting, riddle-ridden landscapes of the inner world of imagination? Can science guide us there or are there other maps, less reliable perhaps but more suitable, to show us the way and bring us safely there and back again?

Can you see the fairies? Austin Hackney (author)

Well, science can certainly tell us a great deal about why we have an inner world and even list its reducible components reasonably precisely. But most scientists and philosophers of science reasonably concur that once these components are assembled as an operative system and set to work, the emergent property of emotionally charged, imaginative experienceis only knowable to the knower, can only be realized from the inside.

But wait. Does subjectivitymean that we are all, in some solipsistic sense, isolated and alone, locked inside our own heads? I can happily say that it does not. Because while we are each the only ones with direct access to our inner lives, science shows us clearly that the structures of our mortal souls (and hence the experiences they generate) are all an elegant flowering from the same, common stem that is Nature herself; she is that other, mysterious, outer world. We are Natures's children, an evolved part of her, inseparable and the same; our inner world is a subset of the outer world.

Betwixt earth and sky the path doth lie. Austin Hackney (author)

And so our experience of being is, after all, a common one, a shared experience. And shared not only with others of our own species but, at varying degrees of emergence along the hereditary pathway of our ancestry, with all living things past and present, known and unknown, from the greatest artist to the least bacterium.

Science shows beyond reasonable doubt that we are part of Nature and share ancestry with all living things - including brother hedgehog here, who took up temporary residence in our compost heap.

Austin hackney (author)

So the inner world of humans and the outer world of wider Nature are intimate with one another – lovers, if you like - by whose sexual alchemy the raw material of Nature gives birth to conscious experience and becomes wonder; becomes mystery, delight and dread.

If mathematics is the language of the outer world of Nature and science the best guide on missions of exploration therein, so fairytale and mythic arts are the language of our mortal souls; the expression of our individual and collective experience of natural subjectivity over untold millennia; the best guidebooks and interpreters of the landscapes and language of imagination and, most important of all – note well – the strange, shadowy lands between this world and the other; between something as it is in itself and as we experience it to be.

Over the arc of passing time, we have collectively written, drawn, danced and sung our guides to these other realms…in myths and in fairy tales.

It has always been between the worlds that the fairy folk have found their dwelling place; always intimately associated with both the outer world of Nature and the inner world of experience, communicating, albeit mostly in unfathomable riddles, between the two.

But beware, the inward path into fairy is a dangerous one and leads to a land in which the usual laws of nature do not seem to hold any power. As we know from many tales and the sorrow of our own experience, to fall entirely under the fairy spell, to eat fairy fruit, is to court the pain and confusion of irredeemable madness; to horde a treasure of fool’s gold; to be lost forever to one’s proper time, place and people; to never return or, once returned, to find yourself a stranger and alone in your very own house.

On the other hand, the necessary danger of the intellectual stepping-stone of nineteenth century science was to view the world in exclusively reductive terms and so to risk blindness to the wonders of the multi-dimensionality of the systematic, holistic nature of reality.

Fortunately, science has, for the larger part, steered a steady course (by the very rigor of its own methodology and honesty) into the wider and deeper waters of a mature, holistic, systems based understanding of how reality is best modeled. No matter the wonders already revealed, I do not doubt the best is yet to come.

Taking part in a biodiversity census for Durrell Wildlife in Jersey. Ecology is one example of the importance and maturity of modern, holistic, systems biology. Without science, the time may come when there are no more fairy glades or shady toadstools for the 'good neighbours' to enjoy.

The fate of those who live by mythic guides may, however, be less secure. Certainly, the dangers of dogmatic religion, with its life-negating illusion of spiritual certainty; the lie of individual immortality and absurd claim to exclusive moral authority; its tendency to patriarchy, conformity, oppression and bigotry; well, it is still a present danger. Although there are many healthy signs that dogmatic religions are but the squabbling children of our spiritual adolescence – simply 'a phase’ some of us are going through, which our spiritually adult selves will look back on with no small embarrassment.

The urban pagans, the country folk, the weavers of tales, the dreamers of dreams, the mythic artists, on the other hand; the writers, the painters, musicians, dancers, crafts people and others, unfettered by the bonds of religion, intelligently embracing the friendship of science and delighting in the fairy dance between inner and outer reality, have access to a greater abundance of knowledge and wonder than would be seemly in the ordinary view.

But we who dance naked under the moon (some literally, some metaphorically) what care we for the ordinary view?

There is nothing more misleading than common sense, no view more distorted and wholly unsatisfactory than the ordinary view. It is with a common purpose that both science myth here unite; to provide the security of a structure that enables us to disturb complacency, to question certainty, to doubt and to adapt, to quest for the unknown quantity, to venture and adventure into the realms of what is not yet known.

The treasures we bring back from these great quests furnish us with potent outer and inner technologies that we can use to reshape, to heal, to transform ourselves and our world.

And that is why, as an ornithologist, conservationist and student of Nature, I respect and practice science – as a matter of urgency.

And that is why, as a writer, a storyteller, a cultural being; as a drop in the flowing river of ancestral life, as one among many, as a mortal soul alone with you in a world beyond measure… I still desire dragons.

The critically endangered Komodo Dragon of Indonseia.

It's the largest lizard on earth, growing up to 3 metres long.

Photo: Adhai Rachdian Permission: CC-BY-SA 2.0 via Flickr.

*Yes, I agree, that the motivation to achieve these things is not ‘scientific’ but I point out that in a hundred thousand years of totally ineffectual sacrifices, prayers, incantations and yearning, it has only been in the last one hundred and fifty years of the technological application of scientific discovery that we have been able to actually do these things.

Our modern communications lead us to a greater awareness of hunger, war and violence in our times; but all the studies show that quantitatively, there have never been smaller percentages of people hungry, at war or the risk of violence in the history of our kind. In part, we can thank the technologies of global intercommunication – radio, television, satellites – for the potent awareness-raising and ability to inform, educate and organize that has led to this happy state of affairs. Psychic transference and wishful thinking, sadly, just wasn’t ever any good (but it’s okay, we can still enjoy stories in which they are!)

And if you want to say that we also have the nuclear bomb and lethal pesticides, I say: yes, we do.

A long time ago, almost in prehistory, science gave us steel. Science gave us neither the sword nor the ploughshare. It gave us steel. It was then, and is now, up to us what we do with it.

Gift for a Dragon

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 23:29:00 +0000

This wee poem about dragons - or rather, my quest to find some suitable gift to bring with me to a Dragon's feast - was inspired by Terri Windling's Moveable Feast topic on her splendid and enchanting blog Myth and Moor

Credit: Jeroan Hanson Permission: CC-BY-SA 2.0 via Flickr

It is given here as it first came to me, unedited and un-revised. I may come back and change it, tweek it and otherwise play with it from time to time.

Here is the video of me (still figuring it out even in the telling) giving it the chance to breathe some air and see what it is like to be alive. The written text - or some version of it - is found below.

It is not a very serious piece and is played out in the simple rhyme of the nursery or market-place chanter.

I quite like it. It's odd and fun and comfortable. I hope you can enjoy it, too.

A Gift for a Dragon

"Come to my feast," said the Dragon.

"And be sure to bring a gift."

By tooth, by claw, by scale, by wing,

What to the Dragon’s feast shall I bring?

A maiden in chains, all dressed in white?

Or the charred remains of a Christian knight?

A horde of treasure from the farthest shore?

Or the healthiest measure that ever she saw

of mead, or ale or the flesh of some beast?

Oh what shall I bring to the Dragon’s feast?

By tooth, by claw, by scale, by wing,

What to the Dragon’s feast shall I bring?

Shall I take her a dream that I stole from a child?

Or a sleeping princess by magic beguiled?

A chambered tower from my book of tales?

Or the witching hour as the night-ghast wails

and ghosts and ghouls from their tombs are released?

Oh what shall I bring to the Dragon’s feast?

By tooth, by claw, by scale, by wing,

What to the Dragon’s feast shall I bring?

The hilt and the blade of Beowulf’s sword?

Or a seafaring longship with Vikings aboard?

Or the breath of a king sleeping under a hill

Awaiting the day when the horn blows shrill

and calls him to rise with the sun in the east?

Oh what shall I take to the Dragon’s feast?

By tooth, by claw, by scale, by wing,

What to the Dragon’s feast shall I bring?

For what could a Dragon truly desire

more than the flame of her inner fire?

By tooth, by claw, by scale, by wing,

I know not what to the feast shall I bring.

Amazon.com Widgets

Dreaming Awake

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 19:53:00 +0000

Credit: Austin Hackney (author)

I am dreaming awake.
Both awake
and dreaming.

Between fantasy and reality there is
a boundary.
In the boundary there is
a gate.

I can open the gate
with my thoughts

or with my heart
with my pen
my brush
my voice
or my mandolin;

or by meeting your eye
or by touching you
or by walking away
or by lying alone in the dark
on the moss
under the moon;

by speaking sometimes,
sometimes by listening;

Credit: Austin Hackney (author)

or by as many other
simple magics as
there are moments
and stars.

Either way,
a boundary once traversed
is no longer a boundary.

The gate swings both ways
in the endless wind.

There is no lock.

So awake.
And dream.

An Oak Tree

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 18:04:00 +0000

An oak in winter. Photo: Amanda Slater. Permission: CC-BY-SA 2.0
via Wikimedia Commons.

An oak;

Mother of a million acorns,
Broad as the snow filled heaven,
Deep-rooted as the dreaming Dartmoor rock.

She stands, seeming still, asleep, to our small sense of time.

In her own time, oak-time, each cell pulses life,
Hot sap warms her heartwood,
cracking fibrous thoughts twist and twine,
tracing tales
uttered in snowsoft breaths, invisible;

untold seasons' stories scratched by lettered lines
of unblind branches
across the snow white page of sky.

Snowy Oak. Photo: Amanda Slater. Permission: CC-BY-SA 2.0
vis Wikimedia Commons

In Search of The Goddess - on Friday Night.

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 20:23:00 +0000

Ares: God of savagery and war. Dionysus: God of wine.

Dionysus, God of Wine.
Credit: Zuritopia. Permission: CC-BY-SA 2.0

They’re out together on Friday night, looking for skirt.

The bar is underground, dark and smoky.

Persephone, Goddess of the Dead.
Credit: Lissa Lou. Permission: CC-BY-ND 2.0

Their eyes hunt like hounds: they find Persephone, Mistress of the Underworld. But Ares says he never got into the Goth scene. They finish their drinks and look elsewhere.

Dionysus catches the tired eye of Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, pulling on a reefer. Hippy is dead, says Ares and moves away.

They are drawn by the vision of Selene, Goddess of the Moon. They follow her into the next bar, but she’s eclipsed by the crowd.

Hebes, Goddess of Youth
Credit: Clinton Steeds Permission: CC-BY-SA 2.0

Lights flash, bass beats. Communication is strictly non-verbal.

They drink. Ares goes to piss. He gets back and finds Dionysus eying up Hebes, Goddess of Youth. Cradle snatcher. Let’s get out of here.

On the corner there’s a trendy wine bar with seats outside, continental style. They drink cocktails and are momentarily seduced by Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt. But they feel threatened, mumble excuses and stagger on.

Bar after bar. Drink after drink. Until, inflamed by unrealizable passions, they go to The Club.

Aphrodite, Goddess of Sex and Love
Credit: Carole Madge Permission: CC-BY-SA 2.0

The stripper is Aphrodite, Goddess of Beauty and Sex. Ares wants to touch and gets in a brawl with the bouncers.

Thrown onto the street they are mocked by Eos, Goddess of the Dawn.

Hecate Dedication Stone.
Credit: RuTemple. Permission: CC-BY-SA 2.0

A taxi to Hestia then, Goddess of Hearth and Home. They joke bravely, calling her Hecate, Goddess of the Witches.

But each knows, when he wakes up stinking on the sofa, with a dry mouth, a crick in the neck and a sore head, looking like Hades, God of the Dead, it’s going to be Athena he has to deal with.

Athena: Goddess of Wisdom, Warfare & Domestic Arts
Credit: Alisha Rusher Permission: CC-BY-SA 2.0

Athena: Goddess of Wisdom and the Domestic Arts.

Athena: Goddess of War.

Who Was John Barleycorn? A folk song and its hidden history.

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Sun, 20 Jan 2013 12:56:00 +0000

It begins with a song...or does it?

You may have come across the old English folk song that tells the mysterious tale of John Barleycorn.

You may have come across his name as a euphemism for intoxicating liquor.

You may have encountered him mentioned in discussions of the pagan past.

Or you may have stumbled here led by mere chance or idle curiosity.

A Corn Dolly

A 'Glory Corn' or 'Corn Dolly'. The practice of making these figures dates back to ancient pagan times. Note the blood-red ribbon: a key to interpreting the meaning of John Barleycorn.

Source: public domain

In any case, I am delighted to share with you the curious and disturbing facts I uncovered whilst digging into the fertile soils of history, myth, folklore and custom in an attempt to find a long-buried secret: an answer to the question, who was John Barleycorn?

Before we go further, let’s hear the song with its alluring, ancient melody and its evocative and disturbing lyrics.

The song is sung here by The Watersons, one of the most famous families of traditional British singers in recent times.

Listen very carefully, because many clues to our past and heritage - indeed, the true identity of our eponymous hero - are hidden within these words.

Play the video to hear the song

So it begins with a song. Or it ends with a song. What does it mean? Was there ever a real person behind the folkloric image of the life-cycle of the corn personified? If so, what evidence is there to support that idea and, more importantly, who was he?

Come with me on a strange and surprising journey that starts with a 16^th Century manuscript and ends deep in the human psyche…

Fact, Fiction or Folkloric Truth?

Clearly, my first task had to be to distinguish fact from fiction – a clue to deeper meaning from a red-herring of pure and fanciful invention. At the same time, my previous studies of folklore and myth had led me to understand that even in the absence of hard facts, many images and customs surviving from the ancient past can illuminate our understanding of the human mind and its historical and even prehistoric, evolution. This kind of insight I have called ‘folkloric truth’ because whilst it may not be fact it is not pure fiction either as it communicates something true about us, our heritage and our consciousness.

How then can we make these distinctions in the quest for John Barleycorn?

The Bannatyne Manuscript

A page of the Bannatyne Document, held in the National Library of Scotland, in which the first written account of the life and death of John Barleycorn appears.

Source: public domain

Theory, evidence and speculation.

Let us start with the clear facts and then attempt to fill the gaps with logical theories which can be tested against available evidence. Then, perhaps, we might also allow ourselves a little intelligent speculation.

The song (or the many versions of the song to be more accurate) that relates the life and death of John Barleycorn, is the necessary starting point - as it is in the words of the song that the secret of the story is held.

The first known written copy appears in a 16^th Century Manuscript penned by George Bannatyne in 1568. He was a wealthy merchant from the Scottish city of Edinburgh and included the song of John Barleycorn in a collection of several poems, songs and other writings that he seems to have committed to paper as a simple amusement. The manuscript was subsequently passed down through several generations and is now held in The National Library of Scotland.

Sheet Music For John Barleycorn

A simple arrangement of the song that tells the story of John Barleycorn

Source: traditional (public domain)

Of ancient origin or simply old?

It is worth pointing out at this stage how we know that the song did not originate in this manuscript. There are several reasons. First and foremost, Bannatyne clearly states that it is a collection of pre-existent works, either already transcribed or circulating in the oral tradition. Further, other versions appear in writing during the following centuries that can have had no direct lineage from this manuscript. They must have derived from common or multiple sources. Finally, the content of the song itself, as we will soon examine in detail, is rich in traditional elements, motifs, folk memories and significance that can only indicate an older source.

Whilst there are some who will grant the song no greater age than the Middle Ages in Europe, others see it as having a heritage that goes back into our earliest roots as cultural beings. For my argument - and what I believe I have discovered in answer to the question of who was John Barleycorn - I don’t think it matters whether the song is part of an unbroken tradition reaching back into antiquity or a revival created from a knowledge of other sources. Even a revival, by definition, has to be a revival of something and there is no argument to prove that the origins do not spring from an historical fact or series of events.

So, let's take a careful and analytic look at the words of the song.Just to remind you of those words, listen again. This time to a more contemporary version by the rock band 'Traffic' - the music is different but the words remain unchanged.

Play the video to hear this version

John Barleycorn Performed Live by 'Traffic'

There are clearly several ways to interpret the meaning of these lyrics (bearing in mind the antiquity of their origins).

The first and most obvious interpretation is that John Barleycorn is not and never was seen as a real person of any kind.

He is, rather, a symbolic figure, a poetic personification of the barley, the corn itself. Taken at this level, the song simply describes the process of preparing the ground, sowing the seeds, watering and waiting for the crop to grow, followed by harvesting, threshing and milling. Finally, the products of beer and bread made from barley are extolled for their virtues as staples of the diet of early agrarian peoples and upon which laborers, craftsmen and lords alike depended for their sustenance.

If this is a satisfying conclusion then we already have the answer to the question, who was John Barleycorn?

He was a poetic metaphor personifying the barley, a staple crop for the peoples of olden times.

My argument, however, is that this is not a satisfactory conclusion. To stop at this point would be to rest our eyes on the window glass and fail to look through at the vista that very window reveals.

The Celtic Triad

The Celtic Triad. The number three has been given magical significance throughout the world and at all times. It is one clue to the identity of John Barleycorn.

Source: public domain

Subtle signs and symbols

There is strong reason to believe that the song has deeper, richer and more disturbing levels of meaning which can only be brought to light when seen through a broader window of research than that encapsulated solely in the song itself.

But what are those elements in the song that suggest there is more to understand, even that the figure of John Barleycorn may have roots in some historical person? Let’s look at those more mysterious indications one by one. As we do so, bear in mind that each in and of itself may not be sufficient grounds upon which to build an argument for the historical identity of John Barleycorn but the cumulative effect is overwhelmingly in favor of my case.

"There were three men come out of the west,

Their fortunes for to try,

And these three men made a solemn vow,

John Barleycorn should die."

This very first verse is highly suggestive, when properly understood. These are the first indications that the story in the song has its origins in a religious or magical ritual actually enacted in the pagan past. If such is the case, then it would be a reasonable assumption that the role of John Barleycorn would have been played out by a real person. So what are these indications?

The first fact that we should notice is that there are three men and that they come out of the west. Why three? Why from the west? These are very specific statements unlikely to have been derived from chance invention.

So if not chance invention, what is the significance of these things?

The number three has been clearly demonstrated to have religious or magical significance in most human cultures across the globe.

John Barleycorn

A typical image of John Barleycorn on a traditional English pub sign.

Source: Keith Edkins CC-BY-2.0 via Wikimedia Commons

The song originates in a Celtic land and the number three expressed in the symbol of the Celtic Triad is central to ancient Celtic belief and mythology. The art and writing of the Celtic peoples is full of references to the sacred number three. The image of the Triad was adopted in later centuries by the Christian Church as a symbol of its Holy Trinity but was originally ascribed to worship of the Earth Goddess, who was represented in three aspects as a young maiden, a life-bearing mother and a wise old crone.

It is also worth noting that in the earliest Celtic writings and myths, the male heroes frequently set out in groups of three to undertake their sacred quests in the name of their Goddess.

Equally, in Celtic myth, 'The West' was a euphemism for the 'otherworld' or 'faerieland' - the mystic isle across the western sea where wonders and magic were commonplace, where pleasure and immortality could be found in the dwelling place of the gods.

Thus it seems reasonable that these words of the song are a remnant, a memory, of an earlier myth surrounding the figure of John Barleycorn. Three magical heroes, in service to their Goddess, coming from the mystic 'otherworld' to bring about his death.

Why they would come to kill him will become clear as we delve deeper into these myths. It is the key to the true identity of the original John Barleycorn.

Neolithic Triple Spiral Symbol

This triple spiral symbol is found engraved on the neolithic tomb at Newgrange, Ireland and demonstrates the antiquity of threefold earth goddess worship.

Source: public domain

The next verse that I noticed as having some importance on this quest is the following one.

"They let him stand till midsummer
Till he looked both pale and wan,
And little Sir John he growed a long beard
And so became a man."

This is slightly more esoteric in its meanings but very significant. They let him stand until the midsummer day. He grew a beard and became a man. In the ancient pagan cultures, midsummer was the most important festival of the year, celebrated as the longest day, the victory of light before the long descent into winter darkness.

This was not only a fact (and we in the modern West with our central heating and electric light must excercise some imagination to appreciate the very real significance of the seasonal changes to our ancestors) but also of considerable symbolic significance. It was the time when the Sun god, at the peak of his power, gave himself up to death, sinking into the tomb of darkness that was understood equally to be the womb of Mother Earth from which he would be reborn in the spring.

This cycle of death and rebirth was of tremendous and practical importance to our agrarian ancestors, who depended entirely on the health and productivity of their crops for survival. The relationship between the Sun god and the Earth Goddess was absolute in ancient Celtic culture.

The Temple Tomb at Newgrange

The entrance to the temple tomb at Newgrange showing the Triple Spiral of the Earth Goddess and the opening through which the midwinter sunrise shines with mathematical precision to illuminate the inner chamber.

Source: public domain

The Sun God and the Earth Goddess

This essential relationship between the god and goddess was an element of ancient pagan practice dating right back into prehistory. But the myths were not merely stories to tell, they were the basis of ritual enactments that were thought to link the fate of the humans who performed them with the divine powers that they invoked.

Many are familiar with the ancient stone temples (of which Stonehenge in Wiltshire is probably the most famous example) but this distinct myth showing the relationship between the sun and the earth and expressed in the seasonal cycle of the dying and rising sun god is nowhere made more explicit than at the temple tomb at Newgrange.

It is commonly accepted that this extraordinary Neolithic site was not only a place of burial but also of religious ritual practice. The domed, earth covered tomb of stone was also a temple, possibly used for rites of initiation and sacrifice. Once a year, the midwinter sunrise (the time of resurrection, when the sun passes its lowest point and the days grow longer) casts a shaft of light directly and with mathematical precision into the entrance, penetrating deep into the heart of the building and illuminating the inner chambers of the tomb.

The god is himself the sacrifice that, descending into darkness, rises again to renew the fertile earth. This is the central motif of all occidental mythology and many mythologies of the middle and near east.

So, the fact that John Barleycorn is left until the Midsummer Day is also rich in possible ritualistic, pagan associations from the deep past.

How To Get To The Newgrange Temple

Newgrange is one of the most important neolithic burial chambers and temple in the world.

This extraordinary temple and tomb is a mound of earth-covered stone construction dating back to neolithic times but in constant ritual use until the Roman invasion. The mound, with the Goddess's Triple Spiral carved at the entrance, was used as a tomb for sacrificial victims in the pagan rites and is also symbolic of the womb of the Goddess from whence these heroes would emerge reborn.

But it is not only a shrine to the Goddess. Every year, without fail, the midwinter sunrise casts a shaft of light with mathematical precision, through the entrance and deep into the heart of the mound, illuminating the inner chamber.

The essential myth of the dying and rising Sun God, sacrificed to darkness with the changing seasons and whose tomb is also the womb of the Mother Goddess, from whom he is reborn, is a key motif common to all occidental mythology and indeed the myths of the middle and near east. We must remember that for our ancestors, these myths were not merely stories to be retold but truths to be believed and enacted ritually. It was considered that by personifying and enacting these mythic rites the fate of the people would be linked to the power of the divinities that those rites invoked.

So, the fact that our John Barleycorn is left to the midsummer day is highly indicative of his role as personifying a deity, and, as we will soon see, an actual human sacrifice.

Stonehenge - Ancient Sacrificial Temple

The ancient Temple of Stonehenge

Source: public domain

The fact that he grows a long beard is certainly in part a simple reference to the 'bearded barley' which has long hair-like strands coming off the ear of corn when it is ripe for harvest.

However, in the Anglo-Saxon tradition, the 'wyrd' or life-force (comparable to the Chinese 'chi' energy) was considered to be channelled through the bodily extremities. It was for this reason that the Celtic shamans and later the Druid Priests - who worshipped at sites such as Stonehenge and Newgrange - let their nails, hair and beards grow long. This is further evidence to be stored up of the sacred identity of our folk-hero, John Barleycorn.

Tollund Man - Sacrificial Victim

Tollund Man is one of several well-preserved corpses that show evidence of ritual killing by The Triple Death. Human sacrifice was common in the ancient world and was only made illegal in India as recently as the 19th century.

Source: public domain

The Triple Death

We are beginning to establish, purely on the basis of the lyrics of the song, an accumulating body of suggestions that behind the simple agrarian metaphor, lies a tale of pagan religious ritual and human sacrifice dating back into deep antiquity. The following verse, seen in this light, only serves to further confirm this notion.

"They hired men with the scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee,
They rolled him and tied him by the waist,
And served him most barbarously.
They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
Who pricked him to the heart"

This is strongly suggestive of the Celtic sacrificial practice of The Triple Death (undoubtedly with its roots even further back in prehistory) in which, again following the principle of the sacred number three and in honor of their Earth Goddess, the sacrificial victim was 'killed thrice'. Given what has gone before and what comes next, all the more reason to believe that the deeper layer of metaphor in this song disguises and reveals a story of pagan sacrifice in honor of the Earth Goddess of the ancient peoples.

There is a traditional practice in England which continues to this day in some parts of rural England which involves the making of 'Glory Corn' or 'Corn Dollies' - little figures woven of corn in various shapes broadly suggestive of human bodies and tied with red ribbons. These are then hung in the doorways of the home after harvest until the following spring ploughing, when they are buried under the first earth to be turned.

It is commonly accepted amongst anthropologists and folklorists alike that this practice harks back to the long ago days when an actual human sacrifice would have been offered - the red ribbon being symbolic of the blood spilled, and the body buried as an offering to the earth and to guarantee continued fertility of the land.

Barleycorn Harvested in the Traditional Way

Traditional Barleycorn harvest.

Source: public domain

Ritual Regicide and The Corn King

The practice of ritual regicide (sacrificing the king) has been well attested to in such famous and authoritative works as The Golden Bough by Sir James Frazer and Primitive and Occidental Mythology by Prof. Joseph Campbell.

It is highly likely that the figure of John Barleycorn is a folk-memory of 'The Corn King' or the god of the fields.

In his seminal work (no pun intended) "The Golden Bough", Sir James Frazer has demonstrated that this deity, the Corn King was personified in ancient ritual practice by a real man, often selected by lots (effectively, chosen by the gods). This man was honored as a King and for the whole yearly cycle, and sometimes a seven year cycle, was treated with every respect and indulged with every luxury.

When his term of office as King was come to an end, he was sacrificed and dismembered, his broken body being dragged through the fields to ensure a fertile harvest. His blood was considered to have sacred powers. There is some evidence, that the King's body and blood would then be eaten by the people to unite them with his supernatural identity and power.

In the light of this information, the following line from the song becomes clear in its meaning:

"They wheeled him round and round the field"

This happens after he has suffered a triple death at the hands of the the three mysterious characters from the west. Why, if this tale only represents a metaphor of the natural cycle, would they wheel him round and round the field? Yet, if this song is truly the tale of ancient pagan sacrificial practices as I maintain, that line makes perfect and logical sense.

Conclusions

In the body of anthropological and folkloric study that has been undertaken over the last hundred years or so there is a wealth of information and evidence to support the theory I here propose for the interpretation of this song - and for its roots in antiquity. From the common symbology of the Sacrificial King, the tomb/womb of death and rebirth and the residual folk customs (such as Corn Dollies and Soul Cakes) that are so redolent of the more terrible offerings of the pagan past to the rites and rituals of modern pagan revival movements and interpretations in popular media (Stephen King's 'Children of The Corn' and the original 'Wicker Man' for example).

But for me there is an argument a little less scientific yet personally compelling: the simple enduring power and emotional impact of the story and of the song. It has survived a long time and still makes the hair on the back of one's neck stand on end. That speaks to me of ancient roots that stir deep memories in the psyche.

Extra bits of interesting and related stuff...

Soul Cakes

The folk custom of 'soaling' or 'soul-caking' dates back to the time of John Barleycorn. Special barley cakes were made and distributed to children who went form door to door on Hallow's Eve or Samhain, the new year in the old Celtic calandar.

Some of these cakes would be eaten (reminiscent of eating the body of the sacrified Corn King) but one or two would be kept back to lay under the first sod of earth turned at the spring ploughing. Further folkloric evidence for the ancient practice of human sacrifice and the cult of the Sacred King being the origins of this song.

Soaling had its own traditional song sung here by Peter, Paul and Mary.

Soailn' Sung by Peter, Paul and Mary

John Barleycorn and The Wicker Man

Roman historians and others have attested to the practice of human sacrifice by the Druids in early Britain. Amongst the most famous traditions is that of the 'Wicker Man'. This was a huge construction of interwoven hazel and willow branches, effectively a piece of giant-size basket work, in the shape of a human figure.

In the interior of this extraordinary construction were several compartments into which were placed the sacrificial offerings. These might include corn, fruits and vegetables, livestock and, in central place, a human sacrifice. By the time the Romans gave their account of these things (or were their accounts merely influenced by their political need to give the Druids a bad press?) it would seem that these victims were no longer the willing Sacred Kings of earlier times but persons chosen as offerings quite against their will - even, including children.

The 'Wicker Man' was then set alight and the blaze of fire consumed the offerings, releasing their spirits to the gods. A grim business, it would seem to us today.

The 'Wicker Man' is clearly a close cousin of old John Barleycorn and certainly belongs to the same pagan lineage.

This image is one that inspired the 70's cult classic movie entitled 'The Wicker Man' (there was a remake recently but it missed the point of the original movie and entirely failed to reproduce the macabre and mystic atmosphere). This story recounts the ill-starred fate of a devout christian policeman, lured under false pretences to a remote Scottish Island in which old time paganism is still practiced. His fate is to be the sacrificial victim that will satisfy the gods of the sun and the fields and renew their apple harvest.

Interestingly, the film mentions John Barleycorn by name. Whilst the police officer is searching for a missing girl, a baker shows him a huge loaf in the shape of a man. When he asks who it is, the baker replies, "John Barleycorn, god of the fields". Whilst on one level it's a simple tale of mystery and suspense, it was clearly very well researched and is full of genuine allusions to real pagan thought and practice.

Performances by Edward Woodwood as the ill-fated cop and Christopher Lee as the charming and deadly Lord Summerisle carry the whole thing off to superb effect.

Theatrical Trailer For The Wicker Man

This is the original theatrical trailer for the cult classic movie, The Wicker Man which, as well as being a suspenseful and chilling horror film is a beautifully crafted and researched exploration of real pagan beliefs.

Corn Rigs and Barley Rigs Are Bonny

This is the original title track based on the Robert Burns ballad ‘Rigs O’ Barley’ and performed by Paul Giovanni. Not only is it one of the most beautiful folk songs ever penned in recent times but it makes quite explicit the links between John Barleycorn, The Wicker Man and ancient fertility rites.

Listen One Last Time

I hope you've enjoyed this journey into myth, folklore and our ancient past. I welcome any comments and discussion or further insights.

If you are interested in exploring further any of the issues or subjects raised in this hub, please check out my list of recommended reads at the end. These are all books you can get via Amazon and they are also volumes that I have read, studied and found invaluable - each one has an honored place on my own bookshelves.

Thanks for journeying with me this far. Before you go, just listen once more to the song of John Barleycorn, interpreted here by Kevin Tyler, a modern bard. I'd encourage you to check out his YouTube channel for other great songs and a link to his own website.

Enjoy and thanks again for your company - merry meet, merry part and merry meet again, as the pagans do say!

John Barleycorn Sung by Kevin Tyler

John Barleycorn And The Brewer's Trade

It may be worth mentioning at this point, the association between the character of John Barleycorn and the Brewing Industry. Needless to say, since farming first began, barley has been used in the production not only of bread and cookies but also beer, wine and whisky. In England, he is often seen on pub signs and indeed many pubs and inns are named after him. In the US his name is used as a synonym for strong liquor.

There is some evidence that back in the days of the Sacrificial Kings, the victim was given powerful drink made from the barley in a ritual context, to induce an intoxicated stupor so that he would not struggle or recant at the last minute, being by then oblivious to what was going on.

John Barleycorn And Strong Liquor

As we have seen and understood, the figure of John Barleycorn, whatever his origins in the sacrificial customs of the pagan past, became the mysterious figure sung about in a traditional ballad, carolled throughout rural England at least as early as the 15th century and possibly earlier. The song clearly relates the hidden history of a ritual in which the blood of the sacrificed Sacred King and folk-figure, John Barleycorn, blesses (from the Old English bloedessan, meaning 'to sprinkle with blood') the fields of wheat and barley and gives strength and succour to all those who eat his flesh - later symbolized by the barley cakes. He will also return to life from the fallen seed at the following spring.

John Barleycorn became associated with strong drink.

Source: Unknown CC-BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia commons

But from where exactly comes the link with strong liquor? Partly, as we have noted, the simple fact that beer is brewed from barley but in fact there is more to it than that.

The famous and highly revered Scottish poet, Robert Burns, wrote a version of the ballad in 1782. In the form of a poem, with the following lines added at the conclusion of the story:

"Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland."

It was probably by the addition of those words that Sir John barleycorn - one time pagan god and sacred king - became the personification of alcoholic beverage and drunkenness.

Indeed, in the nineteenth century, the figure was taken up as a personification of all that was wicked and immoral about 'the demon drink' and many preachers who supported the growing temperance movement gave powerful sermons that predicted John Barleycorn's final death and that would be the herald a new age of social order and universal prosperity.

In 1913 Jack London, Call of The Wild author, Jack London, wrote and published his anti alcohol novel entitled John Barleycorn. Needless to say, the prohibitionist movement warmly embraced and promoted the work and the true mean of Sir John was yet further obscured.

However, the temperance movement might have rejoiced at the graveside of our corn king for some years but 'little Sir John popped up his head and so amazed them all' once more when the prohibition laws were repealed in 1933.

Tollund Man Poem

Seamus Heaney, a great contemporary Celtic poet, reads his own tribute and meditation on the Tollund Man. The links with the rituals of sacrifice and the hidden history of John Barleycorn are very evident.

John Barleycorn: the complete lyrics (trad.)

There were three men came out of the west,

Their fortunes for to try,

And these three men made a solemn vow,

John Barleycorn must die.

They've ploughed, they've sowed, they've harrowed him in,

Throwed clods upon his head,

And these three man made a solemn vow,

John Barleycorn is dead.

They've let him lie for a long, long time

Till the rain from heaven did fall,

Then little Sir John popped up his head,

And soon amazed them all.

They've let him stand till midsummer day

when he looked both pale and wan,

And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard

And so become a man.

They've hired men with the scythes so sharp

To cut him off at the knee,

They rolled him and tied him by the waist,

And served him most barbarously.

They've hired men with the sharp pitchforks

Who pricked him to the heart,

And the loader he served him worse than that,

For he bound him to the cart.

They've wheeled him round and round the field

Till they came unto a barn,

And there they've made a solemn mow

of poor John Barleycorn.

They've hired men with the crab-tree sticks

To cut him skin from bone,

And the miller he's served him worse than that,

For he's ground him between two stones.

Now, here's little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl,

And brandy in a glass;

And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl

Proves the strongest man at last.

For the huntsman he can't hunt the fox,

Nor so loudly blow his horn,

And the tinker he can't mend kettles nor pots

Without a little Barleycorn.

John Barleycorn: Robert Burns Version

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,

And cut him by the knee;

Then tied him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,

And cudgell'd him full sore;

They hung him up before the storm,

And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

They laid him out upon the floor,

To work him further woe;

And still, as signs of life appear'd,

They toss'd him to and fro.

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,

The marrow of his bones;

But a miller us'd him worst of all,

For he crush'd him between two stones.

And they hae taen his very heart's blood,

And drank it round and round;

And still the more and more they drank,

Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,

Of noble enterprise;

For if you do but taste his blood,

'Twill make your courage rise.

'Twill make a man forget his woe;

'Twill heighten all his joy;

'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,

Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,

Each man a glass in hand;

And may his great posterity

Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

Great John Barleycorn Music:

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Essential Reading:

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Mysteries of Mitford Castle: Poor Rosie

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Wed, 09 Jan 2013 10:59:00 +0000

In summer, the Castle sits in crumbling contentment above wild-flower meadows. It’s a haven for picnics, lovers and children’s games. The warm sandstone walls embrace and echo laughter and conversation buzzing with lazy bees among the grass and flowers.

In summer, it’s a happy place.

Mitford Castle

But no one ventures down there in winter, when the meadow is a rank bog of mud and fog; the castle lowering on its sludgy hump of rock, resenting ravens hunched beneath empty window arches.

To go on a day dark with winter and walk among the dripping thorns clawing through the fog, you must be brave. You must be brave and keep your wits about you. For the castle is haunted.

The old boys at The Plough, their eyes bright, cheeks flushed with ale and firelight, will tell you the tale, especially if they see the chance of a free pint in your story-hungry eyes.

They will tell of a lord of the castle. The date is a matter of debate. In any case, it was in the olden days. He was a drunkard and given to making free with maidens in his employ. One such sorry creature was Rosie Armitage, a house maid.

His Lordship ill-used her to satisfy his lust and left her carrying his unborn child. She couldn’t bear the shame and hanged herself from an oak tree in the castle grounds. The tree is still there. It’s known as ‘Poor Rosie’ to this day.

If you come across Poor Rosie on a foggy winter’s evening, she appears through the damp half-light, her branches twisted by an ancient anguish now no more than the habit of despondency.

There’s a rope hanging there, tied to a branch and swinging disconsolately in the chill air. But don’t be afraid. I said you must be brave and keep your wits about you. It’s no hanging rope, just a swing put up for the children’s summer games and never taken down.

That rope sums up the strangeness of this place, for me.

It’s a symbol equally of the pains of the past and the pleasures of the present. It hangs from the oak that once witnessed the worst of human tragedies and now stretches benignly over laughing children and their summer games.

It’s right that the castle should crumble to ruins, its master forgotten for all but his wickedness; just as it is right that poor, ruined Rosie, should be remembered in the local folklore.

If no-one ventures to the castle on these slate-sullen winter days, perhaps that’s right, too. As ivy grows thick over the walls, healing the wounds of the past, so it’s right to forget and let the laughter of summer afternoons heal the dark memories that might still linger in the air.

But if you dogo down to the castle towards nightfall, be brave and have your wits about you. No phantom will appear but there are ghosts in every corner of that dank place.

Oh yes, there are ghosts.

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Conspiracy Theory: Why People Believe There Are Monsters Under The Bed

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Wed, 02 Jan 2013 19:09:00 +0000

An artist's impression of the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand by the reactionary, Gavrilo Princip.

Source: Public Domain: Wiki Commons

Conspiracy Theory: Cause and Effect

June 28th, 1914.

A warm, sunny day, sometime late morning. Let's say around 11 o'clock.

A chauffeur driven car is cruising steadily down the street in the center of Sarajevo. The two passengers in the back are well-dressed, tanned, confident. They are clearly people used to power and privilege. They are chatting amiably to each other.

All of Europe is in a state of relative if uneasy peace, despite eruptions of conflict in the Balkans - and has been for a hundred years.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the car swerves off the main highway. Perhaps a mild flicker of concern crosses the passengers' faces as the vehicle comes to a halt in a narrow, dead-ended alley. The engine is still running hot as the side door swings open.

There is a youth that neither of the passengers recognizes. He's smiling. He raises his hand, a small black object clenched in his fist. The crack of a gunshot echoes from the narrow walls. Then another. Two shots in all. Point blank range. Both passengers are dead.

The chauffeur is nowhere to be seen. The young man walks away.

Conspiracy Theory: There Has To Be An Explanation...

Gavrilo Princip, the Bosnian-Serb assassin of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and member of The Black Hand.

Source: Public Domain: Wiki Commons

The young man was a Bosnian student. 19 years old, earnest and intent on a powerful political cause.

His name was Gavrilo Princip, a member of The Black Hand - a Serbian revolutionary and terrorist faction. By now you may know who the passengers in the car were.

They were Archduke Franz Ferdinand and Sophie, his beloved wife.

And that assassination was the start of the First World War.

Or was it?

Masonic Illuminati Symbol

The Illuminati: one of the many favorites amongst conspiracy theorists as the secret guides of human history,Source: ZeroEnergyVN: Permission: CC-BY-SA 3.0

After one hundred years of relative peace, a simple wrong turn led to outbreak of a universal conflict in the first world war.

Now you may be thinking that the chauffeur was 'in on it'. That Princip was waiting for the car and its royal passengers. That it was all part of a plot. A conspiracy.

But you'd be wrong. All the information and evidence that has been gathered suggests that the chauffeur simply turned off too soon by accident and that the young terrorist had been as surprised to see the car pull up in front of him as the Archduke and his wife had been to see him pull the gun.

But that doesn't make sense, that's too chaotic and upsetting an idea to accept. One hundred years of peace in Europe doesn't get blown out of the water by a simple, unpredictable error on the part of a state servant. It makes us nervous to think that things are not more predictable, more logical, more rational. We feel as insecure in the face of such randomness as our early ancestors did in the face of earthquake, fire and flood. We want an explanation to make sense of the consequences.

Actually, The Aliens Are Running The Show

Conspiracies and cover-ups from the Roswell crash to Jesus was a spaceman theories - our planet is being run secretly by biologically improbable little guys from far, far away.

Source: Public Domain: Wiki Commons

Our primitive ancestors invented gods and religion - invisible forces behind terrifying events that could bring us good or ill - and ritual formulas that give us the comforting feeling that we can influence events beyond our control, even overcoming death. Religion served (and still serves many) to impose a sense of order and purpose on a meaningless and irrational universe. The universe is not rational. We are, but the universe isn't.

In modern times, when for many people the religious propositions no longer hold water, the supernatural gods and demons have often been replaced by other invisible forces that conspire to do us good or ill but are not of supernatural origin: aliens, the Bilderberg Group, the Illuminati, The Secret World Government and so on.

We are so desperate to discover that someone is in control of the seeming absurdities of our universe that we will prefer a malign power to no power at all. God or the Devil or a Secret Society, take your pick: someone is in control, right?

I don't think so.

Let's just go back to the beginning of the first world war. To that accidental turning up the wrong side street. What were the consequences of that small, innocent error of judgement?

World War One

10 million people died in World War I. Was the war started by a secret conspiracy? Probably not.

Source: Public Domain: Wiki Commons

A war in Europe that raged for five years and left ten million people dead.

And then an uneasy peace of sorts that finally broke and erupted into the second world war and the death of thirty million more people.

All because of an accident?

Not all historians think so - although no serious historian thinks there was an intentional conspiracy. Most point the finger at one faction or another, stating previous grievances in the case of Austria or a predisposed ambition for imperialist expansion in the case of Germany. The rest, in which Europe was divided and took sides, was based on typical economic interests.

The truth is that there are almost as many theories as to why the war started as there are historians to invent them.

But they all agree on one thing: it was opportunism based on a tragic accident.

Conspiracy Theory: Hindsight is An Inexact Science

All of this theorizing (and it continues unabated, with a new book out almost every couple of months) is of course undertaken with the benefit of hindsight. If hindsight was, as the saying goes, an exact science, then we would most likely have bashed out a common narrative by now. But it is not.

All these explanatory narratives, including the idea of conspiracy, are at the theoretical level, plausible. They are also mutually contradictory. And they have all been invented after the fact.

History is not science. Or if it is, it is a very inexact one.

What does this mean for us? Is history really anything more than fiction, or like a Hollywood movie so loosely 'based on a true story' that the people who had been involved in the real events would no longer recognize even themselves?

The implications are powerful and, for many, very frightening.

If we cannot understand the past, then we cannot predict the future.

A scarey thought. But is it true?

History Cannot Predict Future Events

History cannot reliably be used to predict future events. Contrary to popular belief, it does not always repeat itself.

Source: Public Domain: Wiki Commons

Conspiracy Theory: There Is No Crystal Ball

Historians of all ages have thought themselves able to see clear and reasonable patterns emerging in the course of human history and thus to confidently predict future trends and events. And historians of all ages have been proved wrong time and time again.

Historians must continue to create narratives of the past. It's good for us. It gives us some sense of solid ground on which we might stand. It is enough that we acknowledge that history is a form of cultural story-telling more akin to mythology than to scientific, descriptive writing. It reflects back to us how we variously think and feel about the past, rather than explaining why those events occurred.

In certain fields, although by no means all, science has proven itself capable of reliably predicting specific kinds of events (how one chemical will react with another, for example). But not everything is amenable to scientific methods of prediction. However, what can't be predicted scientifically, can't be predicted at all.

Future history is in that latter category. You can't do history forwards. The past does not provide us with a crystal ball in which to see the future.

The Monsters Under The Bed

The future of human history is largely unpredictable, capricious and unfathomable.

Not because we are blind navigators. We do have a ship to sail - humanity. And we have a sea to sail it on - the forward tide of time. We can set a course. We can choose the direction in which we wish to travel and the destination to which that direction might lead us.

But we cannot say with certainty that we will survive the journey or arrive at our destination. It is probable that time and again we will be blown off course by sudden gusts and unexpected storms, by shifting tides and volcanic eruptions. Our attempts to navigate the ocean of the future will be shipwrecked again and again because of the chaos and uncertainty inherent in a meaningless and absurd universe.

If I throw a solid object of known mass into the air on a certain trajectory and I know what forces are acting on that object, I can use the laws of Newtonian Physics to predict very accurately the path the object will take, how long it will travel, at what speed and where it will land. Any schoolboy could do it.

But we cannot reasonably define similar laws to determine the future course of history.

Our human future depends on the complex and unpredictable nature of humans in a complex and unpredictable world.

" I can see only one safe rule for the historian: that he should recognize in the development of human destinies the play of the contingent and the unforeseen. The ground gained by one generation may be lost by the next "

H.A.L. Fisher, in Richard Evans, In Defense of History, Granta, 1997.

How many times a week, or even a day, does one person or another surprise you with an unexpected action? Take that individual unpredictability and multiply it several billion times.

It's an uncomfortable bed to lay on, this deep uncertainty and under it is nothing but darkness. Little wonder then, that we are so quick to imagine that there are monsters under the bed. That there is some hidden power, with a secret plan, silently and mysteriously guiding this seeming (and actual) chaos. Conspiracy theories human and divine abound. They seek to impose sense (but a sense that we cannot understand, that is ultimately mysterious) on a world insensible to our need for order and predictability.

But there are no invisible minds guiding the course of human history. If there are no monsters under the bed, then there are no angels watching over you, either. Things are just as they seem.

We live in beautiful but chaotic and uncertain world.

There are three main ways to respond to this fact:

· Stay awake all night worrying about the monsters (conspiracy theory)

· Imagine smiling angels to comfort you (religion)

· Sleep soundly, not afraid of the dark, at peace with reality as it is (reasoned acceptance)

The third option seems the most sensible to me but I do fully understand anyone who opts in to either of the other two. I know from personal experience what they are all like.

Have no fear as darkness falls. After all, whilst you cannot know that the sun will rise tomorrow, there is a reasonable hope that it will.

An Online Story For Kids -The Alchemist's Last Chance

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Sat, 15 Dec 2012 22:37:00 +0000

The Alchemist's Last Chance

Source: Public Domain. Artist unknown.

“It all looks frightfully dangerous to me,” said the Chancellor, gesturing at the complex alchemical apparatus set up on the laboratory table.

“Of course it’s not dangerous,” said the Alchemist, turning towards the King who frowned beneath his golden crown. “It’s perfectly calibrated. All I have to do now is turn this small crystal tap. Just so…causing a drop of elixir to fall onto the base metal held in the chamber below. Thus. Transforming it into purest…”

The explosion that followed smashed the laboratory windows. The rafters were blackened and smouldering. The King and the Chancellor spluttered in a cloud of purple dust. As the cloud cleared, the King wiped soot from his eyes.

“This is an outrage!” cried the Chancellor.

“If this happens one more time…” growled the King, his eyes searching the room. But the Alchemist and his boy were nowhere to be seen.

A Bright Idea

Tom, the Alchemist’s boy, was anxious about his master. Since the recent explosive and sadly unsuccessful demonstration of his abilities to transform base metals into gold, the Alchemist had not been at all his usual self. Tom had never seen him so agitated.

“What are we to do, Tom?” asked the old man, pacing up and down, flicking the point of his long and slightly singed, white beard between finger and thumb. “I know the formula is right. I don’t understand what went wrong! I have only one last chance to prove to the King that I can transform base metals into gold or I’ll be banished from the Court and from the Kingdom forever. I've checked and rechecked my calculations and everything is in order. The quantities are precise. What can I do?”

Tom thought a while.

“Are you sure all the quantities are right?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Look for yourself.”

Tom unrolled the scroll that the Alchemist had practically thrown at him. His quick eye scanned the marks and sigils inscribed therein.

“Then could it be the temperature?”

The Alchemist stopped dead in his tracks. He laughed. He snapped his fingers.

“Of course!” he cried, “That’s it! Tom my boy, you may look like a scrawny guttersnipe with the wit of a dried pea – but underneath that scraggly mess of unkempt hair, I do believe there lurks the mind of a genius!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Give me that scroll! Yes, that’s it. When we adjusted the quantities last time, we didn't allow for the recalibration of relative heat. Bring me my instruments! We don’t have much time left until tomorrow’s demonstration.”

Tom jumped up, pleased to see his master in such renewed good spirits. He was turning to fetch the philosophical instruments when the old Alchemist called him back. He laid his hand on Tom’s shoulder and his voice became very grave. “This has to work, Tom my lad, or you’ll not only look like a guttersnipe – you’ll be one.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, mimicking his master’s grave looks. “And so will you, sir.”

“Indeed, you cheeky rascal. Now, the instruments!”

That's Blown It

The Chancellor peered out from behind a protective barrier of three nervous servants. The King stood, despite the blast of heat from the Alchemical furnace, in full plate armour, the helmet’s visor lowered over his face.

They were clearly not intending to take any chances.

In front of the furnace, the table was arrayed with the Alchemical paraphernalia: iambics, conical flasks, distillation tubes and glass orbs in which swirled multi-coloured liquids. The Alchemist was reading instructions aloud from the scroll that he held between his bony fingers. Tom listened to the instructions and carefully adjusted the instruments accordingly.

“How many more times must you check?” said the Chancellor, popping up momentarily between the shoulders of two of the servants.

“One more time, if you please. To be certain.”

“No!” came the King’s voice, a muffled boom from within the armour, like a distant rumble of thunder. “You've checked it all a dozen times already and I’m roasting in my own juices in here. Make me some gold now!”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the Alchemist. He turned to Tom. “The temperature?”

“Just right,” said Tom, smiling encouragement.

“You make it sound like we’re baking a cake.”

“Get on with it!” raged the King.

The Alchemist sighed, licked his dry lips and reached out his bony hand to turn the crystal tap…

Banished On The Briny

The Merry Dipper, driving now through the cold waves of the Northern Ocean, was an ex merchant vessel with a leaky hull and tattered sails. It certainly didn't afford luxury accommodation for its few passengers.

In a damp, salty corner of the hold, the Alchemist sat with his chin on his knees looking thoroughly out of sorts. His robes were soggy and he was beginning to feel slightly seasick.

Next to him was an old barrel. He leaned his head against it unhappily and sighed. “Banished!” he said to himself. “Banished and alone.”

“Cheer up!” said the barrel. “It’s not that bad.”

The Alchemist gave a start, staring at the wooden container, alarmed. “And now I’m going mad,” he said.

“No you’re not going mad,” said the cheeky voice. “You always were! But at least you’re not alone.” At that moment, Tom’s grinning head popped up from inside the barrel. “I’m here, too!”

“But what are you doing here, Tom my lad?” said the Alchemist, not knowing whether to be angry, concerned or relieved. “How did you get here?”

“I found out what ship you were on and I stowed away. I thought I should be in on it.”

“In on it? I've been banished. Oh what are we going to do?”

As Good As...

Tom clambered out of the barrel and sat down next to his master. “Make our fortune,” he said.

“And how, pray, are we to do that?”

“I brought the scroll,” said Tom. “Soon as we get there, wherever we’re going, we’ll set up a new laboratory.”

“Tom, dear boy, I admire your optimism but it’s impossible! I don’t have my instruments so even if the calculations in that scroll were correct – and it seems clear they’re not – we couldn't do anything about it. Alchemical instruments cost a lot of money. What would we buy them with?”

“After the explosion,” said Tom, “they sent me in to clean up the mess.” Tom dug into his satchel. “I was picking up the pieces of the Orb of Transformation where we’d put the lead…and I found this.” Tom lifted an object from the satchel and laid it with a thud on the floor.

The Alchemist’s eyes widened. He let out a low whistle. A broad smile spread across his face. “Tom, my boy,” he whispered, but seemed to have nothing else to say.

There, gleaming dully but unmistakable even in the poor light, was an ingot of purest gold.

And above it, Tom’s cheeky face smiled back.

“We did it,” he said.

Thank you for reading this short story. If you liked it (or if you didn't!) I warmly invite you to leave a comment below, as brief or as expansive as you wish. I relish your feedback and read all comments very carefully.

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"The Illusionist" Film Review

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Tue, 11 Dec 2012 22:46:00 +0000

The Illusionist Official Trailer

The Illusionist

The Illusionist is director Sylvain Chomet’s exquisitely melancholy story of a man lost at the border between two worlds, between the past and the present.

It is equally a beautifully observed and charmingly illustrated homage to Scotland’s capital city, Edinburgh.

Indeed, the city of Edinburgh is not merely a backdrop to the events that play out in the movie but a character and a commentator. It is a tangible presence throughout.

Anyone who knows the city well will delight in the little thrills of recognition as all the exquisitely crafted details of the timeless streets, the light, weather and pace of the city’s life, unfold in the delightful hand-drawn animation.

Sylvain Chomet

Chomet previously achieved renown with a darkly surreal story of kidnapping and redemption in his other animated movie, Belleville Rendezvous, released in 2003.

That movie achieved cult status, for as much as it shocked as well as delighted its audience.

In The Illusionist he offers altogether different fare. This is more sentimental than surreal and more a gentle, understated meditation on change and loss than a grotesque drama.

That said, it has its darker moments, with scenes representing alcoholic destitution and an aborted suicide. Certainly, the fact that it is an animated movie doesn't by any means make it one to watch with the kids.

A Plaque Commemorating Jacques Tati

The plaque reads: "Jaques Tati 1907 - 1982 lived in this house until 1958.

It was here that he wrote his first feature film 'Feast Day.'

Source: Mu CC-BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

The Illusionist: A Homage To Jacques Tati

Chomet based this animation on an unproduced screenplay by Jaqcues Tati, whose name may be unfamiliar in North America but is considered a national treasure in France.

Chomet changes the original location of the city as Tati wrote it from Prague to Edinburgh and gives an interpretation of the screenplay that makes concessions to the animated medium, while remaining an affectionate homage to the great man’s work.

The eponymous anti-hero of the title is named Tatischeff which was indeed Jacque Tati’s full name. His figure is much that of Tati’s famed characterization of Monsiuer Hulot. As with Tati’s work, The Illusionist portrays a world in which silent gesture speaks louder than words and conveys a social fabric woven from subtle layers of hidden meaning. At times the homage is more overt. At one point, for example, the Illusionist wanders into a picture house showing a screening of Tati's film, Mon Oncle.

The Story Of The Illusionist

The story is set in the 1950s in a world as yet not fully cognizant of the revolutionary technological and social changes about to take place.

In an early scene, the Illusionist is waiting in the wings while a rock'n'roll band play to an audience of screaming teens. The curtain falls. They leave and he takes to the stage. When the curtain rises again, there is only an old lady and a child left in the auditorium.

The Illusionist’s stage act, with its flowers-from-a-handkerchief and rabbit-from-a-hat routines belongs to a bygone age. The music halls and small theatres are being usurped by the movies, new forms of entertainment and the advent of television.

As he performs, practically ignored, at a wedding reception, a chance encounter with an inebriated Scotsman takes him to a tiny hamlet in the Western Isles - a place itself somewhat out of time where the illumination of an electric light bulb is met with applause.

It is in his lodgings there that he encounters the poor chamber maid, Alice, a teenage girl on the cusp of womanhood. She is enchanted by his magic, believing it to be real.

Seeing that she has no proper footwear and moved by her kind innocence, Tatischeff uses some of his fee to buy her a beautiful pair of new shoes which he presents to her as 'magic.'

When he leaves, she sneaks away too, turning up on the train with him. They travel together to Edinburgh and share lodgings. The relationship is entirely innocent and paternal, Tatischeff giving her the one bedroom and electing to sleep on the sofa.

The evolving relationship between these two and its trajectory of doom is one of the most charming and heart-rending aspects of the movie.

In the end, the illusion of magic cannot be sustained. Society growing up out of the age of innocence in the pre-war years into the post-war era is reflected in Alice's growing up, too.

But the Illusionist is stuck in his own time and place and cannot adapt to the rate of change.

The Charm of Hand Drawn Animation

There is a whole generation growing up knowing only the hyper realism and pixel-precise 'digimation' of 3D CGI (computer generated imagery) but Chomet elects to use the more painstaking and labor-intensive process of hand drawn, frame by frame animation that was used by the early Disney studios.

"CGI is good for robots and toys, less for humans. I want to see the work of an artist on the screen, not a machine whose visuals are too neat, shiny and clean."

- Sylvain Chomet

It's the right treatment for this movie.

The graphic design has a quality of subtlety and depth that even the best computer imagery could never achieve.

The line and ink drawings and watercolour washes bring a visual richness which is both charming and deep without the brash brightness and 'special effects' feel of digimation.

It works perfectly with the pace and subject matter of this delightful movie.

The Illusionist: A Homage To The Silent Era

There is practically no spoken dialogue in this movie, apart from a few barely comprehensible mutterings and exclamations.

Everything is communicated in gesture, posture, movement. But this is more than mere pantomime - it is a real language in itself and so effective and convincing that you barely notice that nothing has been said for the full 90 minutes that the movie runs.

The Illusionist: An Elegy To Innocence

At the last, the Illusionist realizes that his day is over, his era passed and a new age in which he no longer has a home has dawned.

The last scenes in the movie communicate this moment beautifully and with great poignancy

The camera swings away from the city of Edinburgh, rising up to give us a bird's -eye view as one by one the lights begin to wink out. Finally, we swing back down to see the old music hall theatre at street level. For a moment, the brilliance of the incandescent bulbs shine around the doorway. Then, finally, they too go out and the theatre is lost in the gray of evening.

The final shot is of the Illusionist, having sold all his magic props, sitting on the train, in third class, destined we know not where, looking out at a darkening sky.

And yet, while it would be a heart of stone that didn't feel a twang of pain at the seeming tragedy of this ending we are also called upon to recognize its inevitability and hope, as our own time passes, to reach a degree of acceptance which goes beyond mere resignation.

The train of time hurtles on into the darkness of an unknown future. Back in the theatre the lights fade, the curtain falls - and where then has the magic gone?

Buy The Illusionist

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Self-Publishing a Book with Amazon Kindle: Is It Worth It?

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Tue, 04 Dec 2012 11:12:00 +0000

Self-publish your book
Source: Public Domain

What does self-publishing really mean to you?

So self-publishing is all the rage. You are reading this on what qualifies, to all intents and purposes, as a self-publishing platform. Among bloggers, there are plenty of folks who have published entire novels in chapter-by-chapter post formats or series of excellent shorts and built up quite a readership.

Those who are prolific how-to publishers have also turned out between them the equivalent of thousands of DIY manuals! The blogging community, over time, weeds out the dross and leaves the gold to shine. You get paid a cut of advertising and you keep your copyright. For some it has led to mainstream publishing.

But what about if you want to self-publish your novel or non-fiction book that you have painstakingly written and lovingly crafted into a state of perfection and readiness for the world to read? You don’t want to serialize it and take a pittance in ad revenue. You want to see print copies in the hands of strangers or watch the Kindle download stats go through the roof – can it be done? It certainly can be done.

Is it worth it? It could be.

Will it lead to mainstream publishing success? It might.

Famous self-published authors

Self-published authors of the past include such honorable names as Marcel Proust, James Joyce, Beatrix Potter, Deepak Chopra, Gertrude Stein, Zane Grey, Ezra Pound, Mark Twain, Edgar Rice-Burroughs, Bernard Shaw, Anais Nin, Thomas Paine, Virginia Wolfe, Edgar Allen Poe, Rudyard Kipling, Alexandre Dumas and many more.

Mainstream publishers also have a habit of rejecting some of the best work. Jack London, for example, was rejected over 600 times before he got his first story in print. Heller's 'Catch 22' was rejected 22 times before it found a home. Mary Higgins Clarke submitted her first story 40 times before it was published.

It takes years to achieve overnight success!

Jack London had his work rejected over 600 times before

he published. It can take years to achieve overnight success!

Source: Creative Commons: public domain

Self-publishing and overnight success

If the work is good and you have at least some resources (and resourcefulness) there's no reason per se that your self-published work shouldn't be a success. If it is and you have the figures to prove it, then there is a good chance that you'll get a mainstream contract if you want one as you'll no longer be considered 'a risk'.

Whether you self-publish or publish through a publishing house, in either case your success or failure will depend on the quality of your work and finding your audience. 'Moby Dick', one of the best selling works of all time, only sold 3,715 copies during Melville's lifetime.

If you self-publish these days, the wisdom seems to be to try and build an audience for your work first, support the book with a blog, press releases, giving it away to get the word out and so on. You have to get your head around some serious marketing or have buckets of money to throw at promotion. Patience is a great help, wit and the ability to smile in the face of adversity and take risks is no bad thing and a lust for trying the unusual can only be to your advantage. There is more than one blogger, for example, who has built a dedicated readership of thousands on the blog and then self-published a book that has sold to a ready-made and eager audience. That requires either plain good luck or a very sharp, honest, long-term strategy.

Being sharp-witted and having a long-term strategy is always a good thing if you are – or want to be – a published writer in any medium. You’ve heard of 'overnight successes' but I can promise you on the blood of my grandmothers that the overnight success you’ve heard of only came after years of hard work. That’s true in every case, if only because you can’t write a decent book ‘overnight’.

Meet Amanda Hocking, eBook Millionaire. This could be YOU.

Why did Amanda Hocking succeed?

Well, Amanda succeeded not by mere good luck but by hard work and persistence, clever marketing and above all she did what professional writers do: she wrote and wrote and wrote.

Did you pick that up in the video? She did a full day's work and then she went home wrote for between 8 to 12 hours. No TV. No flunking about. Writing.

She didn't do anything that you couldn't do.

What's the difference? She did it. :)

With the popularity of eReaders, self-publishing is the future.

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Self-publishing is the future

I’m not going to go into the bitty-gritty technical details here of the various species of self-publishing beasties you might want to hunt down. There’s plenty written about that already and by those far more qualified than I am. Do a an internet search. You’ll be spoiled for choice.

My purpose is just to help you get an overview of the situation with self-publishing and decide if it is a risk you want to take – risk-taking is a fine way to succeed, by the way. Check out the biographies of the famous and successful and you’ll find not one amongst that esteemed company who was playing it safe.

I’d say go for it. It’s where the future lies.

The self-publishing debate

At the moment it is a phantasmagorical mess, but I personally think that electronic self-publishing is the future whether one likes the idea or not. So do the mainstream publishers.

Some folk out there are of the opinion that there is a kind of ‘people’s revolution’ going on in the industry and that the glut of self-published eBooks, for example, is going to bring the mainstream publishing houses tumbling to their corporate knees.

Mark Coker, the founder of Smashwords (one of the most popular and successful self-publishing platforms) has said, “There’s a revolution afoot.” He really thinks that the big boy’s time is up – or at least that there’s a time-bomb ticking away in the background.

On the other hand, David Marshall of Berrett-Koehler (one of the most powerful publishing houses and market-dominator) thinks that the current trend in self-publishing will lead nowhere and that the mainstream houses will simply improve their strategies and outlive the ‘fad’.

It seems to me most likely that what will happen is that the current frenzy will settle itself down as things become more regulated – after all somewhere along the line a more precise form of quality control has to be introduced other than simple open-market forces - as there are already signs that the readership don’t want to have to fish ever more randomly in ever-wider, ever-deeper waters without guidance of any kind. I also suspect that – and there are clear indications of this in the current policies of the big players – the main houses will develop their own branches of self-publishing and certainly electronic media. Essentially, they’ll absorb and adapt the revolutionary trend and bring it into the mainstream.

More of Amanda's Success

Facts and Figures from a 2011 Survey

Self-publishing can be profitable. Source: Austin Hackney (author)

The current arguments about whether or not you should self-publish tend to revolve around discussions of the comparative merits of one form of publishing and another. I would suggest that you should look at self-publishing and all that it involves entirely for what it is, without making comparisons with mainstream publishing.

Self-publishing and responsibility

Just think it through and let your decision rest on whether self-publishing is something that you seriously think you could have a good chance of succeeding with. Do you have the right skills and knowledge? If not, do you have the time and the ability to fill in the gaps in what you know or develop the skills that you don’t currently have?

I think that the days when self-publishers were regarded as the poor cousins of ‘proper’ publishers are passing. They are not passed but they are passing.

What self-publishing becomes in the future – and especially electronic publishing – depends largely on the people who do it and how they go about it. If you want a people’s revolution in publishing then you need to make sure that the people realize the responsibility that they take on. Talking about such responsibility, I am primarily talking about the responsibility to the reader.

You see, when push comes to shove, it is the readers who decide what goes and what stays.

Amanda is not alone...

"...when 25 publishers passed on buying his thriller Riptide, Prescott thought the gig was up. Then, on a whim, he decided to self-publish it as an e-book.

Today, the soft-spoken Prescott, 51, is living his dream. He is one of 15 self-published authors whose e-books, often selling for just 99 cents, have cracked the top 150 on USA TODAY's Best-Selling Books list this year, threatening to change the face of publishing.

For Prescott and a handful of others, the numbers add up. Prescott says he has earned more than $300,000 before taxes this year by selling more than 800,000 copies of his self-published e-books."

quotation from article by Dierdre Donahue, USA Today

Self-publishing and quality control

Too many people in these still early days of self-publishing and electronic formats are disingenuously self-seeking and aim to sell a few copies of a lot of rubbish just to turn a coin, rather than producing, packaging and marketing their best work to maximize the value to the reader. Of course, the sharks actually don’t get to feed; the reading-fish just learn to avoid them.

One way to ensure that self-publishing is worth it is to ensure that you personally take on the responsibility to your readers that a mainstream house would do and then do everything in your power to deliver.

If you do that – attending to every detail of your writing and editing, the layout and design of your work and your pricing and marketing strategy, then you have every chance of making a go of it and being able to reflect that it was indeed worth it for you to take the self-publishing route.

I'm currently preparing a manuscript for self-publishing on the Kindle platform and I'll be posting in the future to let you know how it goes, what mistakes I make, what successes I enjoy and what I learn from the experience. Make sure you follow the blog or join me on Google+ or Twitter to be kept up to date.

Do you want to read what is making millionaires through self-publishing at Kindle? Here follow some of the books that do just that. Read a few (some of them are free) and just ask yourself, 'could I do better than that?'

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How To Write Like A Pro: A Guide to Professional Writing

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Sat, 01 Dec 2012 21:22:00 +0000

How To Be A Writer

The rules of how to write like a pro apply to all writing genres.
Becoming a professional writer isn't about what you write, it's about why and how you write.
Source: Onomatomedia. Permission: CC-BY-SA 3.0

Writing for love and writing for money: what's the difference?

Welcome!

I'm going to show you everything you need to know to write like a pro. That's right - everything.

By the time you've finished reading this post you will know what is required of you if you want to write like a pro. Then all you need do is get on with it.

All the ideas that I'm going to explain to you here apply to your writing regardless of the kind of writing you do. It doesn't matter if you write journalism, technical how-tos, short stories, novels, inspirational articles, poetry or web content. These rules apply.

To be fair to you, I'd better tell you what I won't be dealing with here. I'm sure you have plenty to do and I don't want to waste your time. I won't be explaining anything about style, grammar, plot structure, how to choose a title, character development, where to get ideas or any of the creative stuff. I won't be dealing with how to find an agent, publisher or market for your work.

Advice from Professional Writers 1: Neil Gaiman

I'm starting from the assumption that you are a creative person with good basic language skills and a passion for writing, who knows where to get a copy of The Writer's Market and The Writer's & Artist's Yearbook. You probably have a head spinning with ideas for things to write about, too. What you're not sure about is how to write like a professional, rather than simply write. You want to be productive, get things finished andsell your work. You probably dream of making a living as a writer.

If that's you, then this post will tell you everything you need to know. Anything it doesn't tell you, to do with the creative and marketing side, you will be more than capable of finding out for yourself.

You see, whether you are writing for love or writing for money (or, ideally, writing for love and money) the creative side is the same. But if you are writing for love alone, then the pressure is off. You just write what you like, when you like and no discipline or structure or program is required of you. If you want to write for money - if you want to get paidand paid consistently for your writing, different rules apply. That's what I will show you here.

Advice From Professional Writers 2: Suzy Welch

An amateur writer can be a better writer creatively than a professional writer. The definition has nothing to do with the what of writing - it's all in the why and how.

An amateur (the word is simply the French amateur meaning 'lover') is someone who does what they do purely for the love of it, the personal pleasure and satisfaction it brings. Consequently, how they go about it doesn't matter. Just so long as they enjoy it, job done.

A professional (the word goes back to the 18th Century and meant someone who has a skilled or learned trade) means, by modern definition 'following an occupation as a means of livlihood or for gain' A pro writer is someone who writes to make money.

I'm going to show you everything you need to know to work hard at writing as a job, as a way of making a living. It's up to you to learn the art and the craft and all the creative stuff.

Okay, still with me? Great, a quick word from another professional writer and then let's get on with it:

Advice From Professional Writers 3: Ian McEwan

How To Be A Writer - The Things You Need To Know

To write professionally, there are quite a few things you need to know. Fortunately, once you know what they are, they are easy to understand. I'll keep it simple and to the point:

· Know Yourself: to cut it as a professional writer, you are going to need to know yourself. I don't mean that you need to do a course of therapy or spend hours in meditation. What I mean is that you need to know what your strengths are as a person and as a writer. You also need to be aware of your weaknesses. Then you need to maintain and expand on your strengths whilst managing your weaknesses so that they don't hinder your progress. Do you work better in the morning or at night? Are you more productive working in several short bursts throughout the day or in one, intensive effort? Are you self-disciplined or do you need to set parameters that will force you to get your work done? Those are the sorts of questions you need to have the answers to.

· Know Your Motives: you need to be clear in your own mind about what motivates you to write. Money must be one of the motives if you want to write professionally. The rest are up to you. But always remember if you want to sustain a career as a professional writer, wanting to pay the bills, the mortgage or get the kids through college are far better motives than creative fulfilment, expressing yourself or living out some kind of fantasy lifestyle. I'm not saying that these other things can't be or shouldn't be among your motives. On the contrary, the greater the range and depth of motives you have to write, the better. It's only that to write like a pro, the burning desire or need to make money must be one of them. That will be the fuel in your engine even when inspiration and pleasure have deserted you for a while.

Advice From Professional Writers 4: Regan Hoffman

· Know The Limits Of Your Professional Ambition: you need to know how much money you need to earn in order to know how much and what kind of writing you need to do and over what time scale. Do you need to make a full-time living? If so, what does that mean to you? Does that mean a one bedroom apartment on the edge of town, staying in and enjoying the simple things of life? Or does that mean a multi-room mansion, swimming pool, fast car and jet-set lifestyle? Maybe you just want to earn enough from writing to get some good pocket money or have a foreign vacation once in a while. Only you can know but know you must. You will have to tailor your professional discipline, output and expectations to the limits of your professional ambition as a writer.

· Know Your Market: if you want to sell your writing you need to write stuff that people not only want to read but also want to buy. Knowing what people want to buy is about knowing your markets or potential markets. Owning a copy of The Writer's Market and learning how to use that invaluable tool is probably the simplest and most comprehensive way of getting that information. After all, the publishers of that hefty tome of gold-dust inside information have done the work for you. There is no point wasting valuable writing time re-inventing the wheel. You can either write speculatively for a market you know exists or you can get a commission from the market and then write to it. Most professional writers will end up doing a bit of both. The great thing about writing for a clearly identified market is not only that you have vastly increased your chances of getting paid but it really helps you focus and gain clarity in knowing what to write and who you are writing it for.

Now you know what you need to know. Let's move on to the essential things that professional writers DO. The how-to bit. The practical stuff. The difference between a successful professional writer and an amateur is all about how you DO your writing. It's an active case. Ready? Let's not waste time, here's the beef:

How To Be A Writer: What Professionals Do

Professionalism comes from taking your writing seriously as a job of work that has to be done. Just the same as a brick-layer or a chef or a law enforcement officer or a nurse or a school teacher or a store keeper or a truck driver or anyone else who does what they do to make a living.

You get up in the morning and you go to work. Whether you feel like it or not. Even if you're not feeling one hundred percent. Even if you don't want to.

Up you get and off you go.

Because it's your job. It's what you have to do.

· Think Like A Writer

You need that precise same mindset to make it as a professional writer. Make it your job. Think like a writer. Be a writer. Commit yourself.

When people ask you at parties. "Hey what do you do?" look'em in the eye and say with confidence, "I'm a writer." Then, when they ask you what you write, tell them what you're working on right now. It doesnt matter if it's your first ever piece. You're a writer and you are working on a piece of writing. To write is a verb. It's a thing you do. You are only a writer when you are writing. The day that you say, "I'm not working on anything right now" is the day you cease to be a writer. Or at least, a professional one.

· Write What You Write Best

If you have highly developed skills as a technical writer, write technical articles and manuals. Put the novel aside. If you can write gripping adventure stories, write gripping adventure stories. Don't waste time trying to write a DIY manual. If you understand politics and love to debate, write a column or journalism. Don't waste time trying to write an erotic romance. Write what you write best.

That doesn't mean that you shouldn't or couldn't work to expand your writing horizons - but that is something seperate to your professional career as a writer.

Your working day should be spent writing what you are already good at writing, tailored to a specific market. You need to keep on message and crank up your productivity to maximum without sacrificing quality. Writing about what you know, in a style that comes naturally to you, is going to make that already difficult task a whole lot easier.

Advice From Professional Writers 5: Mary Higgins-Clark

· Set Yourself Achievable Goals and Achieve Them

Realistic goal-setting is crucial to your success. You need to work to deadlines and you need to meet those deadlines without having to panic. If you get commissions then your deadlines will be set for you and your reputation will be made or smashed to nothing on the basis of whether or not you keep the deadlines. To go pro you need to be able to turn in quality, perfect copy on time, every time.

If you are working on spec then you need to set yourself the deadlines and work to them with an iron-clad discipline.

So learn how to set realistic goals that you can achieve, both in professional negotiations with a publisher and with yourself.

By the way, if words like 'deadline' 'discipline' 'structure' and so on scare the wits out of you, you may be in the wrong business. As a professional writer, it is the possession or absence of such qualties that will make or break you.

On the other hand, if those words excite you, challenge you positively and fire you up to prove yourself, there is nothing bar death that will stop you getting exactly where you want to go.

· Do Research - But Not Too Much

If you want to learn how to write like a pro then you will also at some point need to learn how to do effective research. Good research - be that into possible markets for your writing or the details of victorian gentleman's couture for your historical novel - should save you time and increase the quality of your work.

A little research can go a long way. A lot of research can stop you writing.

Seperate your research time from your writing time. Most high-level professionals are expected to keep up with the latest developments within their professions, to keep educating themselves and developing new skills. But they are not expected to do that in their working time. They do that in their own time because they are dedicated professionals. Similarly, you must use your dedicated writing time for writing, for putting one word down after the other.

Keep your research time and your writing time seperate.

NB: randomly 'Googling' stuff and watching videos on YouTube that are only vaguely related to your subject is not research. Keep an eye open for the thousand and one ways that you might like to fool yourself and don't be taken in!

Professional Writers Don't Get Writer's Block - Because They Know It's A Lie.

“Writer's block…a lot of howling nonsense would be avoided if, in every sentence containing the word WRITER, that word was taken out and the word PLUMBER substituted; and the result examined for the sense it makes. Do plumbers get plumber's block? What would you think of a plumber who used that as an excuse not to do any work that day? Writer's block is a condition that affects amateurs and people who aren't serious about writing. So is the opposite, namely inspiration, which amateurs are also very fond of. Putting it another way: a professional writer is someone who writes just as well when they're not inspired as when they are.” ― Philip Pullman

I know this is a controversial statement but I'm not here to avoid controversy, just to lay the facts down on the table. It's up to you what you do with that. Take it or leave it.

I don't get writer's block and frankly there are no professional writers who do. Some may say they do, but they don't. Writer's block is a myth, a fiction, a lie. Let me explain:

Writer's block is described variously as a complete lack of inspiration or some state of internal anguish that disables you from writing or a kind of malady of the soul etc.

Nonsense. Writer's block is simply an excuse for laziness. It is nothing but a lack of professionalism. Think about it. As Philip Pullman (a prolific and successful professional writer) has pointed out: builders don't get builder's block, plumbers don't get plumber's block, doctors don't get doctor's block, teachers don't get teacher's block. It would be absurd to suggest such a thing.

The truth is there are days when writing is easy and fun and there are days when it is hard and difficult. There are days when your writing is good and there are days when your writing is bad. On the bad days, when writing is hard, when you're not happy with it, you just keep on writing anyway - if you are a pro. You don't swoon on the sofa and claim to have writer's block. Writer's block is not part of a professional writing life.

Not convinced? Look at it rationally: writing is an action. It is the act of putting one word down after another. That's all it is. Unless you have a crippling neurological disorder that physically stops you writing then as a professional writer, you have no excuse. And even then, you may not. Stephen Hawking seems to manage anyway.

Writer's block just means that it is not easy and fun any more. Period. But no one keeps their job long if they start randomly not showing up for work because they didn't feel inspired that morning.

Why should it be be different for a professional writer? If you want to get paid, you get up and you go to work, however you feel about it that day. No excuses.

How To Write Like A Pro: Just Do It!

I told you at the beginning of this post that I would explain everything you need to know in order to write like a pro. I believe I've kept my promise. If there's anything essential that you think I've missed, or there's something you disagree with or anything else you'd like to say (maybe you found it useful?) then I'd be delighted if you want to leave me a comment below. I always answer comments.

There are other things a writer needs to learn, of course. Such things as style, plotting, grammar, structure, research skills, marketing and so on.

I've listed below my picks of what I consider to be the most useful books ever written for writers. There aren't that many but they are the ones that sit, dog-eared through endless use, within arm's reach of my own desk. There may be others but these are the ones I know and can recommend. The're all available for home delivery via Amazon.

In case you're wondering, I make a valuable contribution to my income through professional writing and have had work published (and paid for) frequently in print and online for several years.

Thanks for reading. Now get to it - work hard, enjoy it and get paid!

Essential Books for Writers

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How To Find Time To Write: Even If You Haven't Got Time To Write!

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Tue, 27 Nov 2012 15:05:00 +0000

How Can I Find Time To Write?

We can feel so overwhelmed by the daily routines

that we imagine there is no time to write.

Source: Public Domain

The question of how to find time to write is a good one and deserves a good answer.

If finding writing time matters to you, I’ll guess that you are aiming at writing professionally. Of course, once you achieve that goal – the goal of being a professional writer – then you’ll have all the time you need, the time you put into the day job right now, because that is how you’ll be earning your living.

But how do you find the time to write – and write every day – when you still have to hold down a tiring day job, deal with the domestic routine, cook, shop, clean, spend time with the kids and all the other business of a regular life?

I’m going to answer that and I’m going to give you my best answer. Before I do, just let me say that I am sure, even without knowing you or your circumstances, that you can find the time to write. I’m not sure it will be easy, but I’m sure it can be done. Don’t take my word for it. Listen to the testimony of some professional writers who have done just that:

How To Find Time To Write: J K Rowling

Multi-million bestselling author J K Rowling

was a single, working mom who wrote

her first book in any snatches of time that

she could find.

Source: US Federal Government: Public Domain

This lady has become the best-selling author of all time. But she started writing the book that would sky-rocket her career when she was still a struggling single mom, working from pay check to pay check as an office secretary. She didn’t have the luxury of a dedicated place to write – she couldn’t even choose the times of day that she wrote. But she wrote one word after another, even if that was just a sentence or two scribbled furiously in ten minutes she could snatch here and there.

“Whenever Jessica fell asleep in her pushchair I would dash to the nearest cafe and write like mad. I wrote nearly every evening. Then I had to type the whole thing out myself. Sometimes I actually hated the book, even while I loved it.”

How To Find Time To Write: Christina Baker-Kline

Christina is a highly successful novelist who works

hard to find time to write despite a busy family life and

professional schedule. Source:

http://www.sealpress.com/books.php?author=54

Christina is a hardworking novelist published by HarperCollins who talks eloquently on her blog (Christina's blog) about the difficulties of finding time to write amongst all the multitude of daily tasks that she can only just manage in any case by multi-tasking like crazy. Still, she did it. And if she can do it, so can you.

“In almost every other aspect of my life, my ability to multitask is a good thing. Doing several things at once is how I’ve learned to juggle my various responsibilities: mother, wife, editor, teacher, volunteer. It’s the only way to keep all the balls in the air. But writing is not about keeping the balls in the air. It’s about letting them drop… You have to stop worrying about the fact that you’re wasting time. Of course you are. That’s what writers do.”

How To Find Time To Write: Stephen King

Stephen King is one of the world's most prolifc writers.

He started writing while working in a commercial laundry.

Source: Public Domain

Love him or loathe him even his critics admire his gutsy dedication to his craft and the sheer quantity of writing that he has been capable of. Well, now he has a big house and plenty of time. But it wasn’t always like that by any means.

There was a time, as he explains in his book On Writing, when his wife Tabitha was working long shifts in a branch of Dunkin Donuts and he was slaving in a commercial laundry. At the same time they had two young children to raise. But he somehow found the time to write short stories and little by little he made his way.

Finding Time To Write: The Secret Revealed!

You don't need to sit and write everything

in one go. A sentence here and there

will all add up.

Source: US Federal Gov. Public Domain

One of the first things to realize is that those writers who made it to a professional level whilst still dealing with all the daily demands that you’re dealing with, had two special qualities in common: They all had a burning desire to write and a determination to succeed.

What’s more, they turned that desire and determination into an iron-clad discipline. They probably made some sacrifices along the way, too. But to them it was worth it and for them it certainly paid off. If you have the same qualities, there is nothing to stop you repeating their success.

Writing professionally is damned hard work. And finding the time to write takes wit, wisdom, discipline and sacrifice. Still interested? Okay, here’s my three step method for working out a program of writing work around all your current commitments, no matter what they are:

Top Tip #1

For now, forget the dream of a private place with hours of undisturbed creativity ahead of you. Learn that all writing is done one word at a time. If you can write a single sentence in a stolen moment whilst you’re waiting in line or hanging outside school to pick up the kids or first thing before you get out of bed, that really counts. Every word counts.

A short novel of 60,000 words can be written in a year if you can manage just 160 words a day. That’s equivalent to the previous three paragraphs of this post. Do you think you could manage that?

I bet you could.

Top Tip #2

I heard a writer once telling the story of how he found time to write. He was telling us about the writing group he used to attend every Wednesday and Friday evening for two hours. One day he was sitting there listening to the conversation that had turned to one of the usual topics: how none of them ever could find enough time to write. He experienced a small epiphany. He got up, never said a word, went home and started writing. He never went back to the writers group. He spent every Wednesday and Friday night writing for two hours instead. He’s now a successful professional author.

Have you really not got time to write? What about the time you spend watching TV? Turn that into writing time. Or the time you spend chatting on the ‘phone or checking Facebook? Turn that into writing time. Or your trip to the movies or out to dinner? Stay home and write instead. Make some sacrifices. It’s going to be worth it, isn’t it?

Top Tip #3

Writing doesn’t have to be written. Christopher Hitchens (like him or loathe him, he was a prolific author) said, if you can talk you can write. If you have or can get a small voice recorder (they are not expensive) then you can ‘write’ out loud while you do other things.

You can dictate your article, your commentary, your story as you cook, iron, drive, anything. These devices are tiny, portable and slip easily into your pocket. You can use an iPhone or an iPod just the same. Carry it with you everywhere. You can type it up later whenever you get the chance. How easy is that?

You Can Find Time To Write

So there it is. The chips are down. You can find time to write. And if you do, little by little, word by word, you will finish that first book or all those short stories or articles or hubs or whatever it is that you want to write.

If you follow the advice given here, then you will also have the very real pleasure of being able to tell people that you are a writer. A writer is someone who writes. If you write, even if it’s just those 160 words a day (or even less) then you are a writer. Be proud of that. It’s quite an achievement. Keep the faith, be confident and write, write, write as if you had the very devil on your heels just whenever you can.

Just one final word. The most important thing during the time when you are pushed to squeeze your writing time in around all your other duties and obligations is not to keep going back and editing. That can come later. The most important thing is just to keep driving forward, ploughing ahead and pushing the work on to its conclusion. Get it finished.

When you have those 60,000 words all captured on paper, take a break. Then come back and edit it, finding the time to do that in just the same way you did when you were finding time to write it.

Then, when you’re happy you’ve done the best you can with it – send it off to a publisher or an agent.

Then forget about it. You’ve learned how to find time to write. You’re a writer. So crack on with the next piece and the next. You know, the only thing that can really stop a writer from writing is death. I’ll admit that being dead is a real stumbling block to productivity. But aside from succumbing to the beckoning of the grim reaper, there really is no excuse.

If you are still alive and you can talk, you can write.

Get to it and good luck!

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The Gnome

noreply@blogger.com (Austin Hackney) — Mon, 26 Nov 2012 17:01:00 +0000

SHORT STORY/GNOMES/CHILDREN/FANTASY

Source: public domain: artist unknown

I smiled as the smoke cleared from the Circle of Binding. At last it had worked and there he was.

I knew that he wasn’t a hallucination as soon as I saw him. It was the little details that gave him away. It was those little details that proved he was real: the way his boots made such a leathery flip-flapping sound on the polished oak of the tabletop; his shadow falling perfectly as it should have fallen if cast by the light from the window behind me; the aqueous sparkle of his eyes; the sound of his breathing and the clicking of his wet tongue in the hollow of his mouth: and the smell of him. Perhaps more than anything, even before he had started to speak, it was that which had convinced me: the earthy, leaf mould and damp moss smell of him; a pungent fug of fungi and roots and under-earth.

I had been watching him for a while before he spoke. His voice was thick and cracked as gnarled tree bark.

“Well,” he said, pushing his leather cap back from his grizzled head and scratching at his frizzy beard with a stubby finger, “you didn’t summon me up just to stare, did you? What do you want?”

“I want you to do something for me,” I said, carefully replacing my Grimoire on the lectern.

“Aye, well, I’d got that far before you told me. I hope you didn’t just drag me out of the Underworlds - where I’ll have you know I was about to sit down to a tidy good supper - just to have an eyeful of the unusual.”

“No, I didn’t. What may I ask of you?”

“Well not that! If you don’t know, how should I? You can ask anything you like but I’d be indebted if you’d just get on with it, having summoned me without a thought for the inconvenience.”

I settled in my chair, tapping my wand thoughtfully in the palm of my hand.

“I may ask anything?”

“Well, you can ask anything. Whether I can do it or not depends on what it is. If you want mighty world-changing miracles you’d be better on your knees in church praying to the Boss. Not that I’d get your hopes up if you do. He’s got mysterious plans of his own, they say,” here he winked, “and isn’t much inclined to be put upon. Now, what’s it to be?”

I was pleased. He was everything a gnome should be. Not bad for my first ever summoning. But what should I ask of him? In honesty I hadn’t given it much thought. After several failed attempts at the spell, I had just wanted to see if I could get it to work. He was looking a little peeved now; his thick, muscular arms crossed over his little pot-belly, wispy eyebrows furrowed, drumming his dirt-stained fingers on his elbow. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, please. You first timers are all the same, dragging us out without any forethought. You do realise that being summoned out is very uncomfortable, don’t you? That it hurts? I’m not here because I want to be - so don’t expect me to be patient. And I don’t suppose you troubled to familiarise yourself with the details of the pact, did you? Well, if you did and you’ve forgotten, just let me remind you: if you don’t ask for something and I’m summoned for nothing but to satisfy the idle curiosity of a would-be wizard, I’m entitled to due recompense.”

“Due recompense?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to avoid, I reckon.”

For the first time in our little discourse I began to feel slightly ill at ease. He could have been bluffing, of course, but I didn’t see any point in taking risks. There was a wicked glint in those narrowing eyes that suggested he’d be quite content to lift the veil from his threat. It was common folk-lore that gnomes could be irascible, tricksy sprites. I should be careful what I asked for…but I must think of something. Then it dawned on me: if anyone could help me find the casket it would be this little fellow, surely. My smile broadened.

“Could you find something for me?”

He looked, I thought, a little crest-fallen that I might have something to ask after all, having raised his hopes at getting up to some mischief at my expense. But it seemed that he was still going to play hard to get.

“Maybe I can and maybe I can’t. As I say, it all depends on what it is.”

“It’s a stolen casket.”

“Treasure?”

“Not exactly.”

“This’ll keep me even longer from my supper if we’re both to talk in riddles. Is it treasure or not?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Would I be wasting my breath?”

“Very well. The casket contains papers. Alchemical papers left to me by my master. It contains the knowledge necessary to transform base metals into gold.”

The gnome raised his eyebrows and chuckled, the sound gurgling in his throat like an underground stream.

“If it’s gold you’re after I can give you that easy as snip!” he said, with a tone of amused satisfaction.

“No, thank you. If I find the casket I’ll have no want of gold, do you see? So it’s the casket I want back. It was stolen from here, from my laboratory.”

“I see. From here you say? When?”

“Two nights ago. I was practising the same summoning that brought you here. I must admit it took me several attempts to get the hang of it. I always keep the casket on the shelf over there with the Grimoire and Book of Lore. I had been working late on the spell of summoning and had achieved no results even as the clock struck the twelfth hour…”

“No visible results,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you didn’t see anything? There was no one in the room? You didn’t hear anything, even?”

“I heard and saw nothing. I was tired and I decided to stop my work for the day and retire to bed. When I turned around the casket was gone.”

“Vanished away as if by magic, eh?” said the gnome, tittering at the irony of his jest. I think he saw the annoyance on my face at that, because he brought himself back to seriousness and hurried on. “So you think someone must’ve crept in and snatched the casket while your back was turned?”

“It seems the only possibility. The problem is, however, that I am certain I am the only one who knows of the casket’s existence and I always keep the door locked when I am working.”

“And the key?”

“In my pocket.”

“Windows?”

“As you can see, the windows are clasped shut from the inside. I never open them. And the curtains are always drawn closed at dusk.”

“And what of trapdoors? Hidden passageways, that sort of thing?”

I could tell by his jocular tone that he was not taking me seriously. I tapped the wand irritably on the chair-arm.

“I’ve not summoned you here to interrogate me about the obvious. It is precisely to cut out the laborious detective work that I’ve asked you to help me. Now, are you going to find my casket for me or not?”

“Why, but I’ve already found it,” he said. He looked quite smug.

“Then where is it?”

He winked and his broken-toothed grin made manifest his treachery.

“You asked me to find it, not to give it to you.”

I admit at that point I was merely frustrated.

“Then give it to me now,” I said.

He shook his head and blew air through his lips in a low whistle.

“Now that really would be breaking the rules, wouldn’t it? You really should have read them before you summoned me from my supper - which by now will be quite cold if it isn’t already in the dog. It’s one request only. Three wishes a throw is genies, not gnomes. Genies always sell themselves cheap.”

I was furious. It was quite clear what I had meant. It took every ounce of self control I could muster to keep my voice steady. My fingers were gripping the wand as a warrior grips his sword hilt in the moments before battle. I saw the gnome’s eyes register that fact and perhaps he thought I had some harmful spell brewing because he stood up hurriedly and took a couple of paces back to the far edge of the circle. His tone was conciliatory.

“All right,” he said. “No need to get uptight. Seeing my supper’s most likely spoiled beyond bothering about, you can have one more request. But a third really would be pushing it: so think carefully what you ask.”

I wished with fervent desire that he would stop harping on about his supper, when it was my precious casket that was at stake! But at least it was clear to me what my one request must be. I wouldn’t waste it asking him to tell me where the casket was. Oh no, I’d not be fooled that way and have him laughing as he described it locked in a stronghold guarded by dragons or sunk at the bottom of the darkest seas. Did he take me for such a fool? I think he suspected that I had seen through his cunning because he folded his arms and began drumming his fingers again.

“Come on,” he said at last. “One request can’t be that tough even for a pea-brained novice like you.”

I bravely ignored his goading insult. I was not to be drawn. I smiled again as I perfected the wording of the request in my mind. I was confident that the casket was as good as mine.

“Have the true and real casket that was my master’s and that he bequeathed to me upon his death, that was stored on those shelves between the Grimoire and the Book of Lore and was stolen from me two nights ago, placed here on my lap without delay of any kind, becoming from that moment fully my own possession and entirely at the disposition of my will in perpetuity.”

I sat back, openly pleased I suppose and adjusting my cloak to accommodate the casket, palms open to receive it. The gnome looked more crestfallen than ever, so much so I almost felt a pang of sorrow at having denied him not only his supper, but his mischief to boot.

“You’ve got me there, right enough,” he said. “The casket is yours!”

And sure enough, in an instant I felt the weight of it settle in my lap and my fingers clasped about its corners.

“Thank you,” I said with what I hoped was a satisfied and business-like tone. I was only slightly embarrassed that I had allowed myself to become quite so flustered by his antics. But I was still bothered by an unresolved problem.

“May I ask you, merely to satisfy curiosity, if you know: who stole the casket and how?”

The little fellow kicked a passage through the salt – the Circle of Binding that now no longer bound him, he having fulfilled the obligations of his summoning. He padded then to the edge of the table and took a mighty leap, landing with a soft, fleshy thud on the top of the casket. That quite startled me. He checked his balance and settled his hands firmly on his hips. His smile was broad. The bad smell of him was strong at close quarters and his breath so rancid that I had to put my cloak sleeve up to cover my nose. He chuckled.

“Well,” he said. “The first time you summoned me…”

I was incredulous. “The first time I summoned you?”

“Yes, when you were practising. You got me here alright, but not quite manifest. And that’s the most painful part, you know, before you manifest, hanging there neither really one thing nor another. Anyway, you couldn’t hold it together long enough for the spell to take hold and I was dropped straight back home before my meat and potatoes had even had the gravy poured on them. I just put it behind me, that time. Mistakes can happen, I thought, and picked up my knife and fork. Well now, the second time was pushing it and you’d got me all coughed up in that filthy smoke of yours dragging me to manifestation but, oh no, never mind how it hurts the little fellow, stretching me out till I thought I’d snap and be gone from either world.”

“And what happened the third time?”

“The third time, you brought me to visible manifestation but landed me way out the Circle of Binding, square on that shelf back there.” He indicated the shelf where I had kept the casket with a jerk of his thumb. “I was here all of a few seconds that time. Not long, no, but time enough to take something for my trouble. I was not in a fair mood by then, I can tell you, so I just snatched what came to hand. And it seems it was that precious casket of yours.”

“So it was you who stole it in the first place?”

He pushed his grizzly face close to mine.

“You were pushing your luck, mate.” Then he sank back on his heels again. His voice was resentful. “Anyway, what of it?” he said. “You’ve got your precious casket back now.”

I felt quite satisfied.

“You can go back to your Underworld, my little friend, and tell the others of your kind that when they deal with me they’re dealing with a wizard of real power and wit and they’d better think twice before attempting any trickery or deceit.” I added imperiously, “Now you may leave, or would you have me banish you as I summoned you?”

But he was laughing, quite merry with mirth. I was about to ask him what he thought so funny when I saw what he held between his accursed, grubby, treacherous little hands: the sealed roll of alchemical manuscripts written in my master’s hand.

I snatched out at the filthy sprite to grab the papers but he dissolved between my fingers. The only trace of him was a fading chuckle, the foetid odour of rotten roots lingering in the heavy air. And then that too was gone.

I cursed and flung back the lid of the casket. A stale reek assailed my senses; the disgusting, rotten stench of gnome; but it was not empty as I had expected: it was full of gold and russet and fading green; it was full of autumn leaves.

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