Reinventing Me: writing workshop

This is a Treo 650 Smartphone from the OpenCli...

Josie over at Sleep is For the Weak put forward a set of writing prompts based on words found while walking around the city of Glasgow. I choose Imagine 2018 as an excuse to get, well, a teensy-weensy bit speculative.

"Dad, I wish you wouldn't insist on real-time." The acute barbs in the voice came across very clearly, even through the right-angled digital packets getting reassembled and decoded in the earpiece. "It's so twentieth century, ya know? And it means I just have to squeeze you between customers, so I'll have to hang up when the next one comes. It's just, like, so inconvenient."

I sighed deeply. "You know I can't stand voicemail tag. And with news like this, I figured it was worth a call, Sugarplum." I heard a grunt on the other end of the line. "I wish you had told me personally. It's a bit of a shock to find out your daughter is getting married through a status update." Already the grunt on the other end was turning into a rebuke. "Dad, don't call me that any more. Especially not any more. I don't want Squid to know that's what you call me. I am twenty-five, you know. Not some kid. And don't even start on that 'you'll always be my little girl' routine. Been there, done that. And as for the status update, well, that's how everyone else found out, too. You're not the lone stranger. That's the way these things are done these days, you old fart."

"What about S.P.? Can I still call you S.P.? So tell me about, erm, did I hear right? Squid? What kind of a name is that. Where's he from? What does he do for a living? How long have you known him?" I heard a bleep at the end of every question; my daughter was bookmarking my sentences again. I knew what was coming. "Well, number 1, what about it? Number 2, sure I guess. Number 3, yes. Number 4, well, that's his screen name, yes he's got a real name Dad before you ask but, well, I don't think that's relevant, he doesn't like it. Number 5, he's from Lincoln, or somewhere like that. Number 6, you're not going to like this, he's a social marketer. And number 7, we've logged about five hundred hours so far."

"He's a spammer?"

"I knew you'd respond like that. That's why I wasn't going to tell you. Social marketer, Dad. It's not the same any more. It's a good job, he makes good money, you couldn't even guess how well he does. And yes, just like you, he has a job that didn't exist when our parents were growing up. Just like everyone used to call you a code monkey or a computer junkie. I know you hated that. Don't you complain about what my generation does with their online presence. It's all stuff your generation invented, anyway." It was the same irrefutable "everyone does it" speech I'd heard over and over again. I wasn't going to encourage it any more than I had to. "Oh," I responded, obviously crestfallen.

"You don't sound very happy."

"Let me see. You're getting married to someone who's real name is 'irrelevant', who you're not sure exactly where he lives and you talk about how many hours you've 'logged'. To be honest, it doesn't sound like you're very happy. Aren't you going to have a proper wedding?"

"Hey, remember Mitzi? From school? She's married now, and they'd only logged fifteen hours. And, if by 'proper wedding' you mean inviting everyone to see it, well, there doesn't seem much point, does there? Oh don't worry Dad, we're going to have it done all legal, properly, and even get all that religious stuff dealt with. We've got a mutual follower who does the ceremonies all the time. He can telepresence us both onto screens next to each other, and he'll podcast the entire thing. Of course, we'll share the file with everyone, so there's no problem. You won't miss any of it."

"And then what? Is he moving there to be with you, or are you going out to Lincoln. Nebraska? There's probably more than one, you know." I had a funny feeling this was going to be a pointless question. "Is it Nebraska then? Oh no, neither of us is moving. He's got far too much concrete investments in his home town, he can't possibly just up and leave them. I think he's got a cat as well. Or a dog. No, it's a cat. He couldn't just move. And his Mom I think. That wouldn't be fair on the cat. And I couldn't possibly give up this job, after it took me so long to find it, could I? You wouldn't want me doing anything foolish. We've decided that as long as we both move each other up out of our nights and weekends lists and into our free call 24/7 groups, that's all we need. And no, before you ask, I'm not going to change my name, either. You can't even begin to imagine just how many online accounts I've got in this name. I don't see the point in changing them." "What about kids?" "DAD!" she yelled at me down the line, before the question was complete. "What do you think this is, the dark ages? We're getting married. It has absolutely nothing to do with whether we have kids or not. You can do one with or without the other, you know. We've never thought about it."

I couldn't stand it any more, I had to say my piece. "This isn't the way I saw things happening, S.P. I remember that evening, all those years ago, when I brought you and your mother home from the hospital. You know ever since then I've been thinking about this moment. And the moments to come, where you'd be there in your dress and I'd offer you my arm and walk you down the aisle to give you away. By the sound of things, that's not going to happen. You're going to be 'telepresent' and 'podcasted'. To someone who's idea of commitment is moving you to a list of names where he doesn't have to pay for telephone and video chat. I don't see what was wrong with the way things used to be. Where you'd meet someone, for real, in the flesh, go out for dinner and a movie several times, talk, get to know each other better, learn everything about each other, share everything, your entire lives, your complete existence, struggle together, bring up kids, and meet the challenges head on, at each other's side. This way you kids get together these days, it really doesn't sound like a happy ever after."

"You mean, like you and Mom?"

"Point taken." I said no more.

Why not go ahead and join in? Check the prompt page for instructions, and remember to add your link on Thursday.

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J, a dear musician friend of mine, wrote to me a couple of days ago with his ambition for the week. "I am going to do a remake of I Am The Walrus," he bragged. "It'll be quite a challenge, I'm going to be using all sorts of sound effects, I'll see how it goes." I wished him luck, told him he was exceptionally brave, and wondered what would become of it.

Last night, he mailed me an MP3 file attachment, and I was so intrigued I had to go over immediately to the computer and see what he had done. Admittedly, it was a bit rough around the edges. An amateur musician, with basic home studio equipment and a keyboard... but nevertheless J had done exactly what he had set out to do. And, more than that, he had created something that had never been created before. He had entitled his e-mail "You have never heard it like this" - and he was absolutely right. His sound effects included other Beatles songs, a sample of Rod Serling giving one of his Twilight Zone introductions, and even the great Don Knotts as Barney Fife saying "you've gotta nip it in the bud". It was indeed something I had never heard before. Something old and familiar, but delivered with a fresh spin so that it became something new.

For countless centuries, that has been the way culture has been done. Every generation takes the existing culture, and builds on it, modifies it, refreshes it, and gives us an increasing return on investment. Culture is a wonderful thing. Like intelligence, sharing it doesn't deplete it; it all comes from a commons. The more we have of it, the more it enriches us all. With the technology and capabilities that we now have, things that were radical and only accessible to producers like George Martin in studios like Abbey Road are now available to more of us than ever. Most of us have easy access to sufficient technology just by using our computers. Yet, somehow, our abilities to do so are being stunted. J can never perform his recording. He can only share it privately with friends in an e-mail. He can, of course, never afford to deal with copyright law.

The irony of it all is that copyright law calls what J has done stealing. There's some implied philosophy there that because the song of another was used as part of his work, because he "took" something, that there's less of it remaining for the original author. J had only done this as a tribute, paying homage to his heroes, as a labor of love. There was never anything remotely vindictive about what he did. Any concept of theft could not be further from the truth. Yet, that's not the way the law works. It's not just music, and it's not just the Beatles, of course. Once upon a time, the Walt Disney company took the works of the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen. Things that were old, and turned them into something fresh, something different, something new, and something that suited the times. Of course, were any of us ever to do the same to Disney as Disney had previously done to the Grimms or Andersen, the outcome would be very different.

Josie over at Sleep is for the Weak posed, as one of her prompts for this week's Writing Workshop, to write about a time when I stood up for something I believe in, and what were the consequences. (I must admit, this is my second attempt at a post; I tried the "taking stock" prompt first and wasn't pleased with the results). I guess like most kids of my generation, I was falling foul of copyright law as soon as I had any appreciation of music at all. I can remember every Sunday evening, listening to the Charts countdown (during that rare spell where Radio 1 would get a hold of the FM waveband from Radio 2 for the evening - I find it humorous now that I'm definitely in the 'Radio 2" demographic now), perched on a chair in the corner of the room, hovering expectantly over the stereo with three buttons pressed in on the cassette player; play, record, and pause, waiting, just waiting, for a favorite song to come up and release the pause button with a flourish; then hoping at the other end the DJ wouldn't punch in too early before a chance to get a clean pause at the other end. (Simon Bates was terrible for that sort of thing). It occurred to me back then that yes, what I was doing was technically breaking the law; it also occurred to me that why on earth did they sell blank cassettes, then. Now all you kids these days with your digital copies and your MP3's are missing how difficult it was to 'rip' music thirty years ago. You had to plan ahead with blank cassettes and all sorts. It actually took a great deal of work, and, quite frankly, the resulting quality was awful. Perhaps that was why nobody cared too much about it; the copyright police knocking on the door seemed about as far-fetched as the other bogeyman of The UK in the 70's - the TV detector van.

It takes quite a bit more than trying to badly record a few things off the radio to really make this much of a tale about standing up for what I believed in; let's go forward quite a few years later, to my last year at college. The college alternated between lavish May Balls and somewhat more subdued June Events; and, as luck would have it, I was in one of the years that would have a June event in their first and last years there. The committee for the 1992 Event had chosen an Olympic theme; and was looking for volunteers to assist, entertain. I'm a passable keyboard player. What that means, in actuality, is I can't play to save my life, but I can program a sequencer. There was an entertainment slot available; a "chill-out room" where movies would be projected up on the wall with some accompanying music. This sounded like just the thing, and I set to work composing the music. On the night, I'd sit behind the screen with the projectionist, and as the images appeared in front of me, I'd mouse-click and punch-in and out different music and sound effects. It had the potential of being an unmitigated disaster.

Indeed, for the first pass, it was. The music was bland and generic; the odds of actually being able to synchronize anything with the experimental art-school movies and claymation reels we had seemed hopeless. By the time I made the second pass, however, things started to look considerably better. This may, perhaps have been related to the consumption of alcohol; you know, just the right amount to loosen things up a bit. The more relaxed and laid-back things became, the more smoothly everything fit together. As the evening progressed, things seemed better and better - both the performer and the crowd evidently were getting drunker and drunker. After a while, things got to the point where I thought, why not, I can play live if I want to, maybe I can spice things up a little. What I did was unquestionably a violation of copyright law. All those keyboard riffs that I'd practised over and over again in my room, in an effort to learn how to play, ended up appearing in the performance. That unmistakable horn from Pure by the Lightning Seeds; Stevie Wonder's Superstition; those artsy-fartsy pseudo-Mozart riffs that the scruffy guy with the beard from Abba would do in S.O.S and Gimme Gimme Gimme. The crowd loved it. There were howls of recognition, and a room full of people who had a WTF expression (long before the Internet had seen that expression take off) turned into a rather raucous bunch who were quite happy to make more return trips to the bar to buy more beer. The copyright police didn't show up that day, either; I'm quite sure if I hadn't have decided to do something that was technically illegal, that night would not have been a success. A few people came up that night and wanted recordings of the music; I can remember giving one of the cassettes to Crazy Alice, who caught up with me a couple of days later. "It's not the same," she bleated. "Where's all the cool bits of stuff I know?"

Tonight, I wish I could share J's creativity and expression with you; I really do. I know however that copyright law won't allow that, and that's something I will have to begrudgingly agree to. But I do worry about the state of the law, about how it stifles creativity and expression, and I'm sure art will suffer as a result. What I worry most about the law is it does not change the behavior of those who believe, in their heart of hearts, that the restrictions are wrong. Law doesn't make people behave; it makes outlaws out of common, good folks. I am going to enjoy a performance of I am the Walrus now, and one thing is certain.

You have never heard it like this. And perhaps you never will.

Reinventing Me

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Writing Workshop - Imagine 2018

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Standing up for what I believe in - I Am The Walrus