Farewell Alan Mitchell: comics and black history writer

Paul Anderson, Anna Chen and Alan Mitchell in Suffolk, March 2016.
Pic by Charles Shaar Murray

Tomorrow we bury our friend, brother, son, and father, Alan Mitchell.

Alan Mitchell 9th November 1960 to 22nd June 2016

In the outside world, it was the darkest period of our lives in a generation. We were about to topple into a post-truth era where politics, economics, race and ethics would all be thrown into the air. However, after years of struggle we were temporarily safe in our new home which was to be a writers’ retreat for myself, Charles Shaar Murray, Paul Anderson and Alan Mitchell.

They say the sound you hear while making plans is the gods laughing. At 6.30pm on 22nd June 2016, the eve of the catastrophic Brexit vote, the wheel of fate creaked round a new notch and the walls were breached. The powers of destruction in evidence Out There crashed in with the news that one of my best friends, my bro, the person I could talk to and share experiences with of racism, exclusion and injustice, had died that morning.

Alan Mitchell, with whom we were going to do amazing things now that the house was almost finished — including his history of black creatives and heroes in comics — had gone and left us bereft.

He had persuaded me to turn my show, Anna May Wong Must Die!, into a graphic novel. He was always brilliant when it cames to matters of race and black history in particular and he thought that this was an important project about the Chinese diaspora and my own place in it. Conversations with him had already led to me adding a new section to the end of a lengthy piece I’m writing about my experience in the far left and how their particular brand of conscious and unconscious racism works.

Alan always understood me with great kindness and insight. He was to be my editor and script consultant, basically holding my hand through the process of adapting to a new writing genre. I’m missing his love, his wisdom, his humour. I’m so sorry for his beautiful children, his family and his mother, all of whom he loved so deeply; for the writer Charles Shaar Murray who brought him into my life 18 years ago. And especially for Sarah Adams who'd found love with him in the last six months of his life.

There are many cruelties to this early death. To pass on at 55 is to feel cheated of the promised three score years and ten. All of us are feeling the Alan-shaped hole left behind, but no cosmic joke is as profoundly hurtful as this talented man working for decades to perfect his art finally reaching a point in his life where he was about to blossom with the conclusion of various projects and the birth of many more.

He was going from strength to strength, inspiring and supporting everyone, and I hope feeling the same in return.

The butterfly broke out of its chrysalis ... and was gone before his beautiful irridescent wings had even unfurled.

So now, in memory of him, we have to channel Alan, allow his spirit to take our hand, and create the most fabulous, soul-soaring body of work within our abilities and beyond.

Loving you always, Alan. Your spirit sister, Anna.

9th July 2016, Suffolk

The Hothouse Project alternative counter-culture education group now on Facebook

Charles Shaar Murray's Journalism as Craft and Art writing course goes live tonight in NW6 for eight weeks.

The Hothouse Project is now on Facebook and here's what amounts to our manifesto:

Charles Shaar Murray's "Journalism as Craft and Art" writing course is the basis of our alternative education group, The Hothouse Project, featuring the best of the ideals and artistic values of classic counter-culture. We share rigorous, hard-headed journalistic craft, to bring literary quality into even the most mundane journalistic tasks, and offer an inspiring alternative to the flatlining culture, showing you how to inject style and subversion into a timid, conformist media landscape. We'll skill you up, sharpen your claws, broaden your bandwith and widescreen your horizons. Covering writing skills from journalism to poetry and publishing.

Don't worry if you missed this one — there's another one along in the Spring — details to come. Get in touch if you wish to know more or reserve a place.

Charles Shaar Murray's Hothouse Journalism course returns to north London

Or learn how to pimp your prose.

Legendary author and journalist Charles Shaar Murray's excellent Hothouse Project "Journalism as Art and Craft" writing classes return to north London in September for eight weeks.

CSM has been dubbed "the rock writers' rock writer" and has accumulated a wealth of knowledge over his four decade career which he endeavours to impart to his students in his eight week course. Aimed at writers, editors, beginners, veterans wanting to raise their game, bloggers and the mildly curious, CSM's course adds a vital skillset in an increasingly competitive climate.

He may be my Loved One but he's also recognised way beyond our living room as a fabulous stylist who helped bring the liveliness of the counter-culture into the mainstream in the early 1970s when he was one of the star writers on the NME in its glory days.

He's also an engaging raconteur so expect to hear his stories about meeting some of the great men and women of the culture including Paul McCartney, The Who, Pink Floyd, John Lee Hooker, Marc Bolan, Patti Smith, Chrissie Hynde, J G Ballard, Black Sabbath, Kurt Vonnegut and David Bowie.

“front-line cultural warrior” and “original gunslinger” Independent on Sunday

“The artistry of [Crosstown Traffic] matches that of its subject” Nick Tosches

“The Johnny Cash of rock journalism” Phil Campbell – Motorhead

“Next time you’re in Chicago, I’ll cook for you myself” Buddy Guy

“I’d go if I lived in London … if I could do it all over again, at age 17 … this is how I’d do it. CSM is the Yoda of music writing” Julie Burchill

“Charles Shaar Murray was always the best read” Tony Visconti

“The New Musical Express was one of the big things in my life … there was outrageous writing by Charles Shaar Murray, Nick Kent and, later, Julie Burchill — what they were writing was unbelievable! The NME was so important for lonely suburban kids. It was a lifeline” Danny Boyle

STUDENT TESTIMONIALS

“Charles’ course is personal, packed with anecdote, caters to the individual and is so helpful for anyone brushing up their journalistic skills or branching out into different types of writing. 5 shiny gold stars from me – I’d do the course again just for fun to be honest!”
Juliet Rossetti

“I thought your course was ‘write on’! You polished and perfected everyone’s writing style. I felt privileged to have been coached by you. You imparted a lot of knowledge. The course was well structured and more importantly, good fun. Would I recommend it? Absolutely.”
Tessa Christian

“For anyone interested in the processes of writing and assessing creative journalism, Charles Shaar Murray’s Hothouse Project courses are essential!”
David Hodson

If you are a writer, you need this course. More information here.

My Get Fit and Write Diary: the struggle of a lady of letters

Inspired by Gwynneth Paltrow's Journal at goop.com, I will now take an organic leaf out of her virtual volume and keep a diary of my struggle as a lady of letters.

7.30am Wake up. Twilight. Cold. Forbidding.

7.35am Fall asleep.

8.05am Wake up. Stare at the space where my mug of tea should be. The absence makes me think about the state of the world, the sad state wherein which we humans have arrived at in. Fall asleep.

8.42am I must have dreamed — vividly — because I wake up with a start, full of inspiration, or something. I snatch up my black moleskin notepad, stroke its soft yet firm welcoming cover, and scribble down my thoughts.

8:45am Fall asleep.

9.22am I am woken with a steaming cup of Earl Grey, too hot for plump sensitive lips that speak of sensuality and a generous soul, so I wait for it to cool a little.

10.17am I wake up to find my tea tepid — the ice-fairy has visited during my slumber. I drink a little, nevertheless, and am reminded after the first lukewarm mouthfull that hot things rise, and that my tea will fall icier as I descend its depths. I call for a fresh cup. Bone china — with real bone so the delicacy of bergamot infusing the leaves of the camellia sinensis can come through and clear my heady head, even if it means (s)cuppering my drive to go vegetarian like my heroine Gwynnie and save the planet.

10:18am Intent on using every available moment of the day, before even leaving the warmth of the duvet, I do some limbering up in bed. I know I must get myself fighting fit like an athlete for the day ahead. It is vital for a creative person like I to get their endorphins flowing through the brain: the intellect is your armoury in the struggle to create. Breathing puts arrows in your quiver, lead in your pencil and electron thingies in your Mac.

10:33am Exhausted from multiple leg-raises and yoga stretches, I resist the urge to slip into the sweet arms of Morpheus. But, hark, here comes my tea. I clear my lungs of their overnight bronchital detritus and contemplate the day ahead.

One must be sensitive to the Process. I am aiming for a chapter every day: two thousand words minimum. At this rate I will have my memoir finished by Christmas.

14:15 Showered, lunched and gardened out, I proudly announce that I have spent 20 minutes masturbating when I catch myself and realise I mean the other activity beginning with M: I have been meditating for 20 minutes flat-out and feel marvellous. I settle down to the computer to write. But first, I download my email, respond to several urgent calls upon my time, check Facebook, read the papers (including my secret vice, the Daly Mail), check Twitter, check Facebook again and then, finally ready to begin The Work, I open up the Word document.

It is not the blank screen of terror that stares back. I have already written 500 words or so only the previous week before having to take an important telephone call. However, time ticks on and the butcher shuts at four so I dash out to the shops, remembering to pick up milk, fresh vegetables and fat balls for the birds.

16:56 Arrive back home just in time to tune in to Eddy Mair on Radio 4's PM. It is so vitally important to keep up with the news, and Eddy's little jokes always make a welcome break from the tragedy unfolding on the BBC. Mr Savile the entertainer and Freddy Kreuger have never been seen in the same room together and there is a lesson to be learned there somewhere if you dig deep enough and think hard and long. But as an intellectual, that is my job.

19:00 We sit down to dinner and another one of Jon Snow's fabulously cheering ties. If only they had these in the Blitz. Lavender socks today, Jon. A welcome joyous flash in today's bleak world.

20:00 I allow my dinner to go down as Mr Showbiz himself, Gok Wan, starts another telly series, "Baggage", which feels ironic somehow and yet never is. I stifle the thought that this is unmitigated rubbish and continue to watch out of solidarity with the bredren and fascination at the novel sight of a Chinese person actually saying things until the little vein at my temple begins to throb.

23:29 News at Ten and Newsnight over, it is time for bed. I apply myself to my ablutions and retire to bed with my kindle, tired after a hard day's labour. To rest and wake up refreshed for another day's toil at the writing coal-face.

An Unusual Case of Smothering Secondary to Ingesting Raw Pet Cat

Oh my good frickin' god. That must have been a bad puddy.

This report from the American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology (via Private Eye) reads like a horror story par excellence. It's the cool scientific tone that packs the punch as we see the whole episode and backstory played out in our mind's eye. Short story writers take note.

Motivation? Forensics should have looked for scratch-marks on the furniture or poo in the pot plants.

"Margaret Redpath MD — 'An Unusual Case of Smothering Secondary to Ingesting Raw Pet Cat'.
Abstract: Smothering is defined as an obstruction of the air passages above the level of the epiglottis, including the nose, mouth, and pharynx. This is in contrast to choking, which is considered to be due to an obstruction of the air passages below the epiglottis. The manner of death in smothering can be homicidal, suicidal, or an accident. Accidental smothering is considered rare among middle-aged adults, yet many cases still occur. Presented here is the case of a 39-year old woman who was found dead on her living room floor by her neighbours. Her hands were covered in scratches and her pet cat was found disembowelled in the kitchen with its tail hacked off. On autopsy her stomach was found to be full of cat intestines, adipose tissue, and strips of fur-covered skin. An intact left kidney and adipose tissue were found lodged in her throat just above her epiglottis. After a complete investigation, the cause of death was determined to be asphyxia by smothering due to animal tissue." 06/2011

Actually, this is similar to a scene in the late JG Ballard's "Home" which was dramatised for television with Anthony Sher in the main role. Wonderful it was, too.

Orwell Prize: Madam Miaow makes the longlist

May I just say, "Blimey!"?

I've just heard from the organisers of The Orwell Prize that I've made the longlist in the Blog category. "They are awarded to the book, the journalism and the blogposts which are judged to have best achieved George Orwell’s aim to ‘make political writing into an art’."

When I submitted my entry a few months back I didn't dream I'd get anywhere in this prestigious award so I am delighted to have made the final fourteen.

"This year’s shortlists, of six in each category, will be announced at Thomson Reuters, Canary Wharf on Thursday 15th April at 7pm. The announcement will be followed by a debate entitled ‘have the political classes been fatally weakened?’"

Commiserations to my comrades who also submitted their blogs for consideration. A special mention for Splintered Sunrise who I was convinced would lead the pack and at least get this far as his writing style, wicked wit, and sharp incisive analysis outshine us all in the left. Also for Harpy Marx whose knowledge of the political landscape teaches me much.

Congratulations to the others on the list. You may recognise some of them. Well done.

David Osler Dave's Part
David Smith Letter from Africa
Gideon Rachman rachmanblog
Hopi Sen Hopi Sen
Iain Dale Iain Dale's Diary
Jack of Kent Jack of Kent
Laurie Penny Penny Red and others
Madam Miaow Madam Miaow Says
Mary Beard A Don’s Life
Morus PoliticalBetting.com; Daily Kos
PC Ellie Bloggs A Twenty-First Century Police Officer
ray The Bad Old Days Will End
Tim Marshall Foreign Matters
Winston Smith Working with the Underclass

More about this year's prize here

PS: Ha! I can't believe this news came in just after I succumbed and posted a funny pet video. George must be spinning. Or maybe not. He did, after all, own a poodle called Marx, thus proving a fondness for mutts combined with a sense of humour. Hey, perhaps the pet pooch video is the perfect Orwell blog item. Judges, please note.

EDIT: Other left blogs submitted and worth checking out include: Andy Newman Socialist Unity, Phil BC A Very Public Sociologist, Lenin's Tomb, Kevin Blowe Random Blowe, Jim Jepps The Daily (Maybe), Sunny Hundal Liberal Conspiracy, and Neil Clark

My essay on George Orwell here. Written as a review of John Newsinger's insightful biography.

Orwell Prize: Madam Miaow makes the longlist

May I just say, "Blimey!"?

I've just heard from the organisers of The Orwell Prize that I've made the longlist in the Blog category. "They are awarded to the book, the journalism and the blogposts which are judged to have best achieved George Orwell’s aim to ‘make political writing into an art’."

When I submitted my entry a few months back I didn't dream I'd get anywhere in this prestigious award so I am delighted to have made the final fourteen.

"This year’s shortlists, of six in each category, will be announced at Thomson Reuters, Canary Wharf on Thursday 15th April at 7pm. The announcement will be followed by a debate entitled ‘have the political classes been fatally weakened?’"

Commiserations to my comrades who also submitted their blogs for consideration. A special mention for Splintered Sunrise who I was convinced would lead the pack and at least get this far as his writing style, wicked wit, and sharp incisive analysis outshine us all in the left. Also for Harpy Marx whose knowledge of the political landscape teaches me much.

Congratulations to the others on the list. You may recognise some of them. Well done.

David Osler Dave's Part
David Smith Letter from Africa
Gideon Rachman rachmanblog
Hopi Sen Hopi Sen
Iain Dale Iain Dale's Diary
Jack of Kent Jack of Kent
Laurie Penny Penny Red and others
Madam Miaow Madam Miaow Says
Mary Beard A Don’s Life
Morus PoliticalBetting.com; Daily Kos
PC Ellie Bloggs A Twenty-First Century Police Officer
ray The Bad Old Days Will End
Tim Marshall Foreign Matters
Winston Smith Working with the Underclass

More about this year's prize here

PS: Ha! I can't believe this news came in just after I succumbed and posted a funny pet video. George must be spinning. Or maybe not. He did, after all, own a poodle called Marx, thus proving a fondness for mutts combined with a sense of humour. Hey, perhaps the pet pooch video is the perfect Orwell blog item. Judges, please note.

EDIT: Other left blogs submitted and worth checking out include: Andy Newman Socialist Unity, Phil BC A Very Public Sociologist, Lenin's Tomb, Kevin Blowe Random Blowe, Jim Jepps The Daily (Maybe), Sunny Hundal Liberal Conspiracy, and Neil Clark

My essay on George Orwell here. Written as a review of John Newsinger's insightful biography.