We have just finished two days of workshopping Witch in the Woods at BAC. Exciting to get our new people all together for some concentrated time. I drew a most excellent map of the site, we thought about the rules of the game, the world of the woods and individual characters... Now we are all off to do research on everything form extremism to e-harmony. First hunt on the 1st May!!
Allegra x
Friday, April 9, 2010
Tree of Lost Things at London Word Festival
Thank you to Alex Muller who took the amazing pictures below... see more pictures from the London Word Festival on his website: http://www.alexmullerphotography.com/
Thursday, April 1, 2010
London Word Festival - Photos
Thanks to all who came and made it such an excellent night in a beautiful venue...here's a few dodgy pics taken with my sub-standard camera. We should soon have a link to the photos taken by a very talented photographer...
Thursday, January 21, 2010
London Word Festival
It's a wee while away yet but best to get these things in the diary early; The Tree of Lost Things will be at The Art of Storytelling as part of The London Word Festival on the 31st March. The night will be held at Shoreditch Church with performances from Terry Saunders, Matthew Robbins and more to be announced. Hurrah.
More info here: http://www.londonwordfestival.com/?p=1278
There's lots of other lovely stuff happening during the festival so check out the rest of the programme too.
More info here: http://www.londonwordfestival.com/?p=1278
There's lots of other lovely stuff happening during the festival so check out the rest of the programme too.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
To The Lighthouse
For my first post on our lovely Ignore The Forecast blog, I'm going to take a leaf out of the equally lovely Allegra's book - incidentally, I was fortunate enough to admire her extensive collection of novellas whilst housesitting her abode with Kirsty, where I made a lifelong friend in Jet the cat.
I'd been meaning to read Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse for quite some time, mainly thanks to the Patrick Wolf song of the same name, and and also because I'm in love with the imagery of lighthouses. I'm halfway through so far, and although I'm finding the style and language quite hardgoing in places, I've already been captured by a few quotes that I've decided to share here.
'Indeed, he seemed to her sometimes made differently from other people, born blind, deaf and dumb, to the ordinary things, but to the extraordinary things, with an eye like an eagle's. His understanding often astonished her. But did he notice the flowers? No. Did he notice the view? No. Did he even notice his own daughter's beauty, or whether there was pudding on his plate or roast beef? He would sit at table with them like a person in a dream.'
'And that's the end', she said, and she saw in his eyes, as the interest of the story died away in them, something else take its place; something wondering, pale, like the reflection of a light; which at once made him gaze and marvel. Turning, she looked across the bay, and there, sure enough, coming regularly across the waves first two quick strokes and then one long steady stroke, was the light of the Lighthouse. It had been lit...
...he kept looking back over his shoulder as Mildred carried him out, and she was certain that he was thinking, we are not going to the Lighthouse tomorrow; and she thought, he will remember that all his life.'
I'd been meaning to read Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse for quite some time, mainly thanks to the Patrick Wolf song of the same name, and and also because I'm in love with the imagery of lighthouses. I'm halfway through so far, and although I'm finding the style and language quite hardgoing in places, I've already been captured by a few quotes that I've decided to share here.
'Indeed, he seemed to her sometimes made differently from other people, born blind, deaf and dumb, to the ordinary things, but to the extraordinary things, with an eye like an eagle's. His understanding often astonished her. But did he notice the flowers? No. Did he notice the view? No. Did he even notice his own daughter's beauty, or whether there was pudding on his plate or roast beef? He would sit at table with them like a person in a dream.'
'And that's the end', she said, and she saw in his eyes, as the interest of the story died away in them, something else take its place; something wondering, pale, like the reflection of a light; which at once made him gaze and marvel. Turning, she looked across the bay, and there, sure enough, coming regularly across the waves first two quick strokes and then one long steady stroke, was the light of the Lighthouse. It had been lit...
...he kept looking back over his shoulder as Mildred carried him out, and she was certain that he was thinking, we are not going to the Lighthouse tomorrow; and she thought, he will remember that all his life.'
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
How we lose things
I just read The Mark on the Wall, a short story by Virginia Woolf. Here is an extract about Lost Things:
"To show the very little control of our possessions we have - what an accidental affair this living is after all our civilization - let me just count over a few of the things lost in one lifetime, beginning, for that seems always the most mysterious of losses - what cat would gnaw, what rat would nibble - three pale blue canisters of book-binding tools? Then there were the bird cages, the iron hoops, the steel skates, the Queen Anne coal-scuttle, the bagatelle board, the hand organ - all gone, and jewels too. Opals and Emeralds, they lie about the roots of turnips. What scraping paring affair is it to be sure! The wonder is that I;ve any clothes on my back, that I sit surrounded by solid furniture at this moment. Why, if one wants to compare life to anything, one must liken it to being blown through the Tube at fifty miles an hour - landing at the other end without a single hairpin in one's hair! Shot out at the feet of God entirely naked! Tumbling head over heals inn the asphodel meadows like brown paper parcels pitched down a shoot in post office! With one's hair flying back like the tail of a racehorse. Yes, that seems to express the rapidity of life, the perpetual waste and repair; all so casual, all so haphazard..."
"To show the very little control of our possessions we have - what an accidental affair this living is after all our civilization - let me just count over a few of the things lost in one lifetime, beginning, for that seems always the most mysterious of losses - what cat would gnaw, what rat would nibble - three pale blue canisters of book-binding tools? Then there were the bird cages, the iron hoops, the steel skates, the Queen Anne coal-scuttle, the bagatelle board, the hand organ - all gone, and jewels too. Opals and Emeralds, they lie about the roots of turnips. What scraping paring affair is it to be sure! The wonder is that I;ve any clothes on my back, that I sit surrounded by solid furniture at this moment. Why, if one wants to compare life to anything, one must liken it to being blown through the Tube at fifty miles an hour - landing at the other end without a single hairpin in one's hair! Shot out at the feet of God entirely naked! Tumbling head over heals inn the asphodel meadows like brown paper parcels pitched down a shoot in post office! With one's hair flying back like the tail of a racehorse. Yes, that seems to express the rapidity of life, the perpetual waste and repair; all so casual, all so haphazard..."
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