Hi everyone,
The other morning, about 4 or 5am, I was lying awake in bed and I saw a big flash of light through the curtain and for a slippery moment I was sure it was a giant taking photos in the street, and I thought, well, what else could it be, and then there was a big deep roll of thunder. This happened twice, but the rain didn’t come. There’s been a lot of hail. Life is carrying on. I’m glad it’s spring. Here’s a worthy cause.
In this newsletter:
Minor Leagues #12: available now
Ivor Cutler
Pluckley’s many ghosts
A note on the state of the Internet
Signs of spring
Minor Leagues #12
On social media people often say things like ‘I’m so excited to announce..’ or ‘I can’t wait to tell you about…’ and our eyes glaze over because, well, marketing speak. But I actually am excited about finishing the latest issue of my periodic zine series, Minor Leagues. It’s the first issue since July 2021 and while I’ve made plenty of things since, I’ve been finding it hard to find my way back to this zine; what was I even doing with my life? Who was as I an artist? Could I wring my hands more tightly? Will tiny violins play? Then I made Gardening Beneath a Falling Piano (released by Bored Wolves earlier this year) and I was like—this is right! This is where I am going now! and I jumped and hollered and got excited and then, suddenly, this issue just flowed out of me. It’s how it works sometimes. So here it is, back with a bang, or a weird splosh, or a triumphant whimper: Minor Leagues 12.
It contains writing about what’s been happening; cut-price popcorn, anxiety, excitement, love, domesticity, the weight of the world, Guinea pigs. Poetry, prose, drawing, collage, photos
- 120x180mm
- 48 pages
- Black and white throughout
- fancy card half-cover with hidden cover underneath
- Printed, assembled, and trimmed at home
£5/£4/£3 (sliding scale) + P&P
£2 from every copy goes to Medical Aid Palestine.
Now is the Time… review
My book about families and loss got a review at Razorcake magazine. It means a lot that Michael T Fournier (my buddy) got what I was going for and that he felt it worked.
Now is the Time to Know Everything is available here.
Ivor Cutler
Apropos of nothing, here is an appreciation of Ivor Cutler. I really love the work of the late, Scottish-born, latterly London dwelling, musician, poet, artist, Ivor Cutler. I bought this book of his recently: it’s tattered and tiny. I like it a lot.
Here’s Ivor Cutler singing a song in ‘In Search of the Great English Eccentric’ a 1974 documentary which you can watch on YouTube if you’re keen. Maybe one day I’ll finally realise my dream of running an Ivor Cutleroke where people come and sing/recite their fave Ivor pieces.
Pluckley and its many ghosts
In other news some of you may know that over the last few years I’ve been doing some deep ol’ research into the English village of Pluckley and its reputation as the ‘most haunted village in England’. I’ve finally written up that work and it’s going to be published soon in the academic journal, Folklore.
Here’s a bit of context from the paper itself:
Pluckley is a small English village situated on the northern edge of the Kentish Weald between Maidstone and Ashford. It was an Anglo-Saxon settlement, boasts several historic buildings, including its 14th Century church, and found fame in the 1990s as the setting for a popular TV adaptation of H. E. Bates’ novel ‘The Darling Buds of May’ and its sequels. The village also enjoys a reputation as ‘the most haunted village in England’, a somewhat contested accolade first accorded to the village in 1950 by a man called Frederick William Sanders, and bolstered by a mention—though not an actual award—in the 1989 Guinness Book of World Records.
The village’s ghosts are rumoured to include the spectre of a highwayman run-through with a sword while hiding in a hollow oak; the screaming ghost of a man who died in a quarry; a ghostly miller that appears on stormy nights; the shade of the ‘Red Lady’ and another woman in contemporary dress, both of whom haunt a graveyard; the ‘White Lady’ who haunts the site of a demolished mansion; the spectres of a schoolmaster and a military man, both of whom hanged themselves; a phantom coach and horses heard but not seen on a local road; the shape of an old woman who died after accidentally setting herself on fire; a spectral monk, and the revenant of a woman who poisoned herself in a local house.
The paper traces how it was the work of the aforementioned Frederick William Thomas Sanders (1908-1996) as a ghost hunter, local historian, and avid correspondent with the local press that provided the first written source for nearly all of the village’s stories.
I’ve uncovered all sorts. Like; did you know the ‘Hanging Schoolmaster’ was not a schoolmaster, but a paper maker? That the 'Screaming Man’s name was Richard? Did you know the old woman who accidentally set fire to herself was my distant cousin? I didn’t, but I do now. Anyway, when it’s published I’ll share a version with you all that isn’t behind a paywall.
A note on the state of the internet
If you happen to also make things and try to tell people about them on the Internet, you’ll probably have noticed that in the last year it has become even harder to get yourself heard. Between Noel Skum taking over Twitter, and Instagram getting even more influencery, the algorithms that used to (vaguely) connect us to our communities have become actively hostile.
This Cat and Girl strip is about how ‘AI’ (boo) is making things even harder, but it also nicely summarises the changing landscape of the Internet. It’s worth reading. It also reflects the feelings I had when I started out making art and what seemed possible, and how I still feel now despite everything:
Panel from Dorothy Gambrill’s ‘Cat and Girl strip’, 4,000 of My Closest Friends
Signs of spring
More soon
Sx
Like that fancy cover! The whole thing looks great, looking forward to reading it :)
Oh! PS! If you’re a reader who is interested in the Pluckley thing, here is a thread I did on Twitter at the end of last year but forgot about: https://twitter.com/simon_moreton/status/1738282695640203686