Wednesday, 30 January 2013
Monday, 28 January 2013
NEWS - Show & Tell at the Portland Arms
Tomorrow night - Tuesday 29th January - I'll be taking part in Show & Tell 2, a fantastic variety night hosted by the lovely folks at Twisted Willow Theatre.
This is the second time that Twisted Willow have staged this event, and the range of acts is even more diverse than last time! The audience will be treated to a smorgasbord of top quality performances, including music, poetry, comedy, theatre, mime, and even a martial arts demonstration!
At just £2 a ticket, it's a real bargain, and a portion of the proceeds will go to Arts and Minds, a Cambridge based charity that provides therapeutic arts-related activities for people of all ages, with all forms of mental illness and learning disabilities.
It's going to be an amazing show, supporting a great cause, so if you're in Cambridge tomorrow night, you really have no choice but to come along. We'll see you then.
Show & Tell 2. Starts at 7pm at the Portland Arms, 129 Chesterton Road, Cambridge.
Tickets £2 on the door

At just £2 a ticket, it's a real bargain, and a portion of the proceeds will go to Arts and Minds, a Cambridge based charity that provides therapeutic arts-related activities for people of all ages, with all forms of mental illness and learning disabilities.
It's going to be an amazing show, supporting a great cause, so if you're in Cambridge tomorrow night, you really have no choice but to come along. We'll see you then.
Show & Tell 2. Starts at 7pm at the Portland Arms, 129 Chesterton Road, Cambridge.
Tickets £2 on the door
Saturday, 26 January 2013
Writers' Circle Post - January 2013
Zero
When it first began, there was no sense of panic. No rise of bile in
our throats with each drum beat. We didn't flinch at each word that
left her lips. Each syllable that condensed between her teeth was met
with fresh wonder. To begin with.
...Eighty
four, eighty three, eighty two...
She was six when her mother died. A violent death, the details of
which we could not ascertain. The records had been burned. An
accident, they said. Though no one could be certain, even now. Her
father took to drink soon after. Cirrhosis claimed him within a year.
A bachelor uncle was forced to mind her. Most put out, he was, having
been so suddenly burdened with such a child as she. Such scarlet eyes
and furrowed brows and the smoulder of coals about her face. Such
hollowed eyes, dark and haunted, like the space where eyes should be.
Like the collapse of two identical stars. Like the sockets of a
skull. But still, he made use of her. And she learnt how to be
silent.
...Sixty one, sixty, fifty nine...
She came to us in April. Her uncle was gone. A short, sudden illness
had claimed his heart. The ventricles blackened beyond repair,
shrivelled and dead. Quite strange, really, that such damage could
occur in so short a space of time. The cause was unknown. So the
child was left alone once more. Like an amputated limb.
We spent most of our time out of doors that Spring. Although it was
warm, the tulips opened late. Their petals were still coyly folded
when she came to us. Curled at their soft edges, concealing their
quivering stamens, with the false modesty of courtesans. The blossom
from the trees in the street blew in through the window and settled
on the piano in our study. The pink looked pleasing against the black
and white. We wanted it to be a new start for her. We wanted to see
her smile.
Despite all our encouragement, she wouldn't speak. An elective mute.
The first time the house had seen a child in ten years, yet things
had never been so quiet. Marie was barely twelve years old then, but
her face was lined, like ancient cartography paper. And grey as if
covered in dust.
There was nothing then. All Spring and through into Summer we felt
her cold eyes on the backs of our necks. It was grief, we told each
other: she is bereft. We must try to understand. Adoption is almost
like having one's own child, except, that it isn't. Not really. A
flesh-born infant is always more desirable than a foundling. We tried
our best to love her just the same as we had loved our own child, all
those years before. Just the same. If not more so. But she was not a
perfect fit. The years and the damp of our eyes had warped the wood.
Moonlight seeped in through the cracks.
She had been with us for six months when she began to chant. As I
have said, we did not fear her. Not at the start. It is normal, the
doctors stated, for victims of trauma like hers. They warned of
cyphers, riddles, nonsense. Speaking in tongues. The words would come
soon enough, the doctors said. We must be patient.
...Forty
nine, forty eight, forty seven...
When the count down did not cease, we were afraid. Slowly,
rhythmically, she issued the prophesy all her waking hours. The
counting was unbroken by sleep. She dreamed of the numbers. A slow
metronome. Time winding down. We consulted forgotten bibles; not yet
completely cured of religion. We were still slaves to our
upbringings. I suppose we all are.
We tried to silence her.
...thirty
one, thirty, twenty nine...
I wanted to love her as my own. She was not born of my flesh, how
could she be? I wanted to love her just the same. But she is so cold.
She wants to punish me for what I did.
We could not grow accustomed to her, as people suggested we might. We
hated her with each word that escaped, unbidden, from her lips. Like
a leak. A heartbeat. The timer on a bomb.
...seventeen,
sixteen, fifteen...
We do not know what will happen when she reaches the end of her
puzzle. Maybe she will begin the count afresh? We do not discuss it.
We don't talk much, these days. The air is thick with words,
oppressive, like the heady scent of chlorine gas. We argue in hushed
tones, locked behind bathroom doors, the panelling muffling her
voice. We barely touch one another now. We used to be so strong. Now
every utterance is forced and false. We are desperate for the end. We
pray to God that it will never come.
...Three,
two, one...
Friday, 25 January 2013
NEWS - Live Lit Residency*
*Or 'How Many Superlatives Can Leanne Fit into One Blog Post?'
In December of last
year, I got an email from the lovely people at the Writers' Centre Norwich, asking if I would like to take part in The Next Step Live
Literature Residency.

Despite being
incredibly nervous about hanging out with a load of real poets for
a whole week, I just couldn't pass up such a fantastic opportunity!
We spent five days in a
beautiful holiday home on top of a cliff in Mundesley, North Norfolk.
The residency involved a mixture of one to one discussions, group work and free
writing time, and it was so wonderful to have the time and space
to concentrate on writing poetry!
(We also had an indoor
swimming pool and a sauna in the back garden, as well as a lovely
beach five minutes walk from our front door. It was pretty idyllic.)
The four other poets on
the residency – Andy Bennett, Hollie McNish, Rebecca Holmes and
Russell J Turner – are all so fantastically talented, and it was an absolute pleasure to work with them all. We each have such different poetic styles, and it was really cool to share ideas and get honest critique from people whose opinions and work I really respect.
It was also really
amazing to watch the progression of ideas; by the final evening, everyone had the makings of really
fantastic live literature shows.

We also got extra
support from three of the best performers working
in UK at the moment: Ross Sutherland, Francesca Beard and Luke
Wright. Working with each of them was really inspiring, and their advice on
show structure, narrative, and poetic form was incredibly useful.
In fact, I've learnt so much about
live literature in the past week that I haven't been able to stop thinking about it
since I left the residency this morning!
The main lessons I'll take
away from the trip are as follows:
- my own ideas
are valid and worth pursuing
- walking over
a snow covered beach is both bizarre and breath-taking
- dogfish egg
cases (mermaids' purses) look very much like the character Plankton
from SpongeBob SquarePants
I'm going to keep
working on my show ideas, with a view to performing a twenty minute
scratch at some point in April. I'll keep you posted for further
details.
Friday, 18 January 2013
The Obscure Music Fan's Limerick
This one is for Michael:
The Obscure Music
Fan's Limerick
This music fan's tastes
are obscure:
Glitch Techno; Blood
Wave; Vapor Core.
The beat's never
rhythmic
The tunes are sadistic
Is it music or static?
Not sure.
Saturday, 5 January 2013
NEWS - Hammer & Tongue Cambridge
On Wednesday 9th January, I'm performing as one of the featured poets at the Hammer & Tongue Slam in Cambridge. I'm really nervous because I'll be supporting Steve Larkin, the headline act for the evening and the man who invented Hammer & Tongue!
Steve
is an amazing entertain, who never fails to entertain a crowd. He's an internationally respected spoken word artist, poet and performer, as well as the front man for cabaret ska band Inflatable Buddha and a lecturer in creative writing, storytelling and performance poetry. He won the International
Poetry Slam Champions in 2004, and has been a firm favourite on the spoken word and fringe festival circuit ever since. He's performed at shows across the globe and his poetry is funny, engaging and thought-provoking.
Basically, you need to come see him perform.
It's so cool to be invited to participate in Hammer & Tongue as a featured artist, I really hope I can do it justice and keep up with the incredible wit of Steve Larkin and the Hamer & Tongue Slammers. I'm even considering previewing some new material on the night, so it should be an interesting performance. If you're in Cambridge on Wednesday night, why not come along? You can order your tickets in advance from Eventbrite, or just show up and pay on the door.
It'd be awesome to see you all there!
Hammer & Tongue Cambridge
The Fountain Inn, Regent Street, Cambridge
Wednesday 9th January 2013
8:00pm
Tickets are £6.50 each or £5 for concessions

Basically, you need to come see him perform.

It'd be awesome to see you all there!
Hammer & Tongue Cambridge
The Fountain Inn, Regent Street, Cambridge
Wednesday 9th January 2013
8:00pm
Tickets are £6.50 each or £5 for concessions
Review: Frankenstein The Pantomime

This year the Players
took a risk by performing an unconventional script: Frankenstein The
Pantomime.
The story revolves around Frank N. Stein, a lowly taverna
worker, who is transformed into monster in order to save his friend Heidi
from the clutches of evil vampires. With help from a handsome prince,
a dame, a mad scientist, a dog, and hordes of naughty school girls,
Frankie is on a mission to save Heidi from Dracula and his gruesome
Granny. But can they rescue her before it's too late?
As you can probably
guess from that synopsis, the story is gloriously silly but an awful
lot of fun. The script is laden with wonderfully terrible jokes and
great visual gags, which leave the audience giggling and groaning
with pleasing regularity. All the usual pantomime tropes are here,
including men dressed as women, plenty of singing and, of course, a
happy ending!
Director Kate Carpenter
does a marvellous job, ensuring that the large cast have plenty to do
and that every character is fully realised. Each role is played with
good humour and conviction – there are no bit parts here – and
the quality of the acting across all performances is testament to
the strength of the whole ensemble.
Matthew Kerslake is
engaging and likeable as Frank N. Stein, while Eleanor Cullum-Hanshaw
and Ben Robinson are both excellent as star-crossed lovers Heidi and
Prince Ludwig. Hugh Pearce makes a fantastic Buckles, and Mike Cooke
and Rachel Marshall relish their roles as evil vampires Dracula and
Granula.

Chip Carpenter and
Eileen Haynes are fantastic as the suitably disreputable owners of
the taverna, Herr and Frau Pumpernickel. Leslie Judd plays dame with
aplomb as schoolmistress Miss Nelly, the perfect foil for the
outlandish and hilarious Professor Crackpot, played by Peter
Fiddling. (Peter's German accent is worth the ticket price alone!)
Emma Aubrey-Jones,
Cerys Brooks, Saffron Krill and Becky Read are all wonderful as
Dracula's dancing bats, and where would we be without the great
supporting chorus of Steve Brooks, Karen Girdwood, Sandra Johnson,
William Johnson, Gemma Laing, Su Read, Daniel Wagg and Irene
Whitehouse?
In terms of criticisms,
there are a few scenes in which the dialogue might be
tightened up, to aid the flow of the story. Similarly, the ambitious
shadow puppetry of the surgery scene is very funny, but may benefit
from a few cuts to help with pacing.
However, these small
grumblings do little to change the fact that this is an excellent show, and a fine night out. Once again, the Watlington Players have created a fantastic pantomime that's fun for all the family.
I've already booked my tickets
for next year!
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