A Whole New Year

It has been quite some time since the idea of remixing the Willow Patterns book was proposed. Many ideas have been thrown around, with the raw data being scrutinised, stretched, and segmented into workable bits.

Since then a number of possible creations have been theorized and played with, but some have finally come into the light.

Pascalle Burton created a surreal video containing all the words used in Willow Patterns only once. The onslaught of lyrical vocabulary really expresses the versatility of the writing used as well as the sheer creativity authors need in order to stretch the reader's imagination. After the first few minutes, if you listen carefully and stop concentrating on the words themselves, the video turns into an impressive chorus of originality not unlike many rap songs out today. It's also a fun game to see if you can pick out the words "Douche-bagery".

Nathan Curnow put together one of the greatest poems ever created made entirely of catchphrases and quotes from the book combined with the banter brought from the grueling production process.

There are also a number of other written works all concocted using the Willow Pattern stories as a canvas. They can all be found over at if:book or the Willow Pattern website and each is worth a read just for the ingenuity. 

So with that in mind, and with the beginning of a new year of creativity, let's take another look at remixing The Willow Pattern and what else we can do with the idea of the book.

Lauren 4. The Final Creations

While the group hasn’t managed to create any tangible products due to the difficulties of dealing with a digital medium and the over-excited cease of creativity that comes with a project that has almost no parameters but the imagination, we still managed to create a few things.

“The opportunities presented by the creativity and research nexus are potentially transformative as they provide us with the ability to look at the world in new ways, to look through different prisms and lenses and through other people's eyes so as to develop new aesthetics.” (Josie Arnold, 2012). Overall it doesn’t matter that our final assessment piece will only be a proposal for what we plan to do. It saddens me we couldn’t put more time into something physical and lasting, but the difficulties behind communicating within a large group of people with time constraints puts pressure on the mind. Ironically that is what we came to learn from the interviews and details of The 24-Hour Book; something will be created, but definitely not the anticipated form. 

The Remixed Blog, however, is something of triumph. Acting as the editor to a continuously running website is something I wanted to challenge myself with during the project. I can now appreciate having a creative team to give me content as my own personal blog lays dormant with neglect. I’ve honed my editing skills and battled with the desire to let others do the work, but I’m happy to realise I’ve now come out of the other side of the project with new experience.

The most important thing to come out of the project overall, more than the work we’ve done to connect and remix the content and them of the Willow Patterns book, is the community formed with all the people involved. “Open groups generate more ideas and more different kinds ideas” (von Held, 2012) and it’s because of the community established on Twitter, with the writers of Willow Patterns, project head Sam Burch, Queensland Writers Centre and Simon Groth, all together with the members of the group and myself that the ideas and creations generated within this community have come to fruition.  I’ve learnt that creativity’s greatest strength is the community that supports it and not just the person who thought of the idea. 

Kirsty 4. The End Of The Adventure

I opened a word document to type out this blog about 5 hours before any words were actually put onto the page. No, it was not procrastination (well, okay, a little bit) it was technical difficulties.

First, I was busily searching for a reference point for my original topic of research methods. As I was browsing the crazy, wonderful world of the internet my modem cut out. This happened about another 15 times before the old girl finally gave up and carked it. I had a spare modem with a separate router lying around, so I delved in way over my technologically illiterate head and attempted to install it. First things first, plugging the cords in. Simple, right? Wrong. As I went to insert the power cord into the back of the modem, I don’t know whether I pushed too hard in my technology induced rage or the thing was so ancient that it pushed the chip inside into the modem and it was broken.

I tried for a great deal of time to use tweezers to pull one side out and plug the cord into the other side. My housemate was busily laughing at me as she pointed out I should probably turn the power point off before I electrocute myself with all the poking around. Good one, Kirsty. I ultimately couldn’t get the cord in so I thought it would be a good idea to unscrew the back and try and pop the insides back in place. I tried every tool, which isn’t many, in my house, and whatever other random object I could try to unscrew the tiny screws with. I came to the conclusion that I needed to go out and buy a smaller screwdriver.

I went to good old Kmart and to try and save money I bought a little screwdriver attachment. When that didn’t work due to the lack of handle, I had to go back in and buy a proper screwdriver. Turn out it wasn’t the lack of handle, the thing was so old the screws no longer twisted and I’d just wasted $7 and an hour of my life. Finally, I gave into the ultimate reality that I needed to buy a new modem. A trip to Office Works and minus $75 later I was back with my new modem-router. A quick stop to feed my hungry stomach and then I got to setting it up. 45 minutes and various swear words later I finally did it!

These adventures made me wonder how the writers went without any technical misdemeanors during the Willow Pattern process. They were working in PressBooks, which for many of them was an unfamiliar program. That could explain the exceptionally high number of saves from Krissy Kneen and Christopher Currie, while Nick Earls lived on the edge with the smallest amount of saves. The data can be seen on the Willow Patterns website. Some of the authors worked straight out of the PressBooks document, whilst others chose to rest on their laurels and work in a Word document, pasting chunks of text over as they went.

Through interviews with the authors and communication with Simon Groth, I thought I had asked all the questions I needed to get a sense of how the 24-hour process went. Even now I’m constantly thinking of other things I want to know like, was there an IT expert on hand in case of technical difficulties? Or was there any problems with losing words of not pressing save, I know I’ve done that a few too many times! This made me realise that the complexity of the project is way bigger than I thought. I don’t know if any of us will ever understand the hellishly
brilliant ordeal that is Willow Patterns, not even the participants themselves! But I guess that’s just the beauty of the whole thing, constantly wondering and searching and asking the question; what’s next for the book?

Poem - A Clay Embrace

A poem by Kat in response to Emily's This Tree Is Not Like The Others

The clay soil has hardened as it dried. It catches under my nails, chipping and breaking them as I dig. The skin of my fingers catch on the rocks and debris hidden in amongst the soil. I imagine my blood being kneaded into the displaced clay, an offering to the earth I’m going to join with. If I could still feel my fingers, I’m sure they’d be bruised. The song of the trees turned violent when I’d tried to use a stick to break through the clay. The soft breeze rattled the leaves until the trees seemed to shake with their anger. I can feel their anger pulse through my blood. 

The sun will rise, soon. The humans will come. The weapon must be hidden. 

I dig harder. My arms burn from the exertion. The song grows louder close to dawn, as the trees pass on their final messages safe from human ears. I can understand them now. They offer warnings, tell each other where the nearest humans are hiding. They send their spiders out for reconnaissance. 

They don’t know that word. My life, my work, mean nothing to the trees. The words I spent years forcing into my vocabulary mean nothing to the trees. They’re just harsh, guttural sounds. They understand the weapon though. 

Back when the trees were new, the humans tried to shoot them. The trees remember, they share their stories in their songs so that every one of them knows to be wary of the metal and plastic beside me. I sing them my plan, my voice nowhere near their beauty. It’s still harsh, more growls than trills. It seems disrespectful, like butchering their language, but their replies assure me that they understand. 

The birds are waking as I drop the assault rifle into its burial plot. The trees sing their approval. I can feel the change. My limbs move more slowly as I pile clay over the gun, my breathing slowly shifting from the human panting of overwork into the high pitched sigh of the trees. 

I will never finish covering the gun with clay. Someone could stumble upon it, could use it against us. I cannot let them. The trees tell me to stand over the gun, to join with the earth and let my transformation contain the threat. 

It seems fitting to let my new life stand on the body of my old one. I straighten my spine, adopt the parade rest pose, and watch the sun rise. 

* 

The iPod won’t last much longer, but I let the music drown out the whispering of the trees. I don’t want to hear them. Not today. If there are spiders coming for me, I don’t want to know that, either.

It takes an age to dig the hole deep enough to fit her body. If my Dad was here, he’d tell me that I don’t have time for the pomp and ceremony. I stopped her become a tree, I don’t owe her any more than that. Just throw her in the dirt and run back to the fortress. 

He’s been gone too long. He’s easy enough to ignore.

I can’t help cranking ‘No Stone’ by Paul McDermott as I fill in the makeshift grave. The soldier-postured tree shades me as I sprinkle some of the clay, letting my voice join with the crickets, and the whispering of the trees as I say my goodbyes. 

Kat 4. A Sneaky Peek Behind The Curtain

If you’ve had a chance to look at the fantastic interviews from the Willow Pattern authors, you may have noticed some differing opinions about the end product. For Rjurik Davidson, participating allowed him to explore new styles of writing, stripping away the literary frills and letting the story speak for itself. For Krissy Kneen and Nick Earls, the end product wasn’t necessarily such a positive.

Personally, I think they’re being a bit harsh about their work, even if I’d be the same. There’s a sense of bravery to the idea of the 24hr Book Project that comes from the group’s willingness to write imperfectly. Nick Earls, for example, is the sort of writer who makes it look effortless. It’s easy to forget how much time, effort, and editing goes into making a story that works so well. Seeing his less polished work in Willow Pattern certainly doesn’t diminish his credibility as a writer. Instead, it gives us a chance to look behind the curtain and remember that writing takes work. It’s not just aspiring writers who write imperfect drafts; our favourite stories don’t flow fully formed and perfect from the mind of their writer.

I’m a bit precious about my writing. I will edit it till one of us bleeds. Normally, I’d spend at least a day staring down each of these blog posts, printing them out and attacking them with red pen until I was happy to release them into the wild. I’ve tried not to do that here, giving myself only an hour of editing per post. I want to understand the sort of bravery that the writer’s showed, and I can’t do that if I’m being precious. Having said that, knowing others will read my work has slowed my normal writing process. I can barely hit 300 words in a day like this, so I’m in awe that they managed 5,000 while also navigating social media feeds. So how did they do it?

Each interview touches on the idea that the project was treated as a game or challenge, not as a professional writing piece. Expectations were lowered, and everyone had to make peace with the idea that this was not going to be perfect. The story became more important than the details of the telling. Each writer had to play to their strengths, and acknowledge their limitations, in order to reach their goal. Progress, not perfection, became the focus of the challenge.

It seems as though setting challenges outside of your comfort zone is a good way to gag your inner perfectionist. Throw in some writer friends, some coffee, and a promise that no one will post your work on Facebook, and it could be a great way to spend a day or two over your Christmas break. Even if you don’t live near other writers, there are enough online challenges to keep you writing through the year, including NaNoWriMo (www.nanowrimo.org), which is running now. I’m going to challenge myself to write 2,000 words a day over my Christmas break. Is anyone else thinking of setting themselves a writing challenge?

An Interview With P.M. Newton

I think we owe P.M. Newton a thank you and an apology for her interview. We honestly didn't mean to bring up the bad memories.

*

1. What made you decide to be apart of the Willow Pattern project? 

The people organizing it. I am a big admirer of Queensland Writers Centre and the people who work there. Add to that the writers they were inviting to take part and I was prepared to say yes. In fact, when the email arrived with the invitation I initially laughed (out loud) at the madness of the idea. Then I said yes very quickly before I could think about it too much and say no.

2. Did you have any prior relationship with any of the authors? And was this an additional factor in taking on the challenge? 

I knew Steven Amsterdam from spending a week at Varuna with him doing a 2nd novel residency. The rest I knew by their (pretty awesome) reputations. I ended up, along with Krissy Kneen, convincing Steven to take part. I hope he has forgiven me.

3. Coming from a crime writing/police background, did you want to incorporate this style of writing into your Willow Pattern chapter or try and aim for something different? 

I wasn’t really sure. I said yes quickly then tried not to think about it too much because when I did I started to freak out. There were a few emails setting a time place and situation but beyond that, I didn’t really plan anything. We were asked not to plan too much in advance. So I didn’t, and spent hours in terror.

4. Did your crime writing background influence your choice for the cop character in your chapter?

To be honest – until you asked the question I had forgotten I had a cop character in there. (See Q 8!) I mainly remember the monks.

5. Your chapter introduces a little girl shoving ‘nothing’ into her pockets. How and when did you confer with Simon Groth to refer to his character and a distinct trait of hers? 

I’m not sure ……

We were putting notes up about the work as the day went on, and I think at one point we might have had a structured break to talk about it. I recall taking notes as everyone talked about what they were doing, in the hope that something might crop up that I could slip into my story to give the collection a sense of being linked. So it was quite deliberate. But I can’t recall exactly when.

6. Albeit marginally, yours was the second smallest word count of the group. Were you overly concerned with reaching the word limit or more with producing a greater quality of writing? 

I was terrified. I am a slow writer. I like to re-write a lot. I feel like I don’t get to know my characters until about the third or fourth draft. I said yes to taking part, but then spent a lot of time thinking WTF have I done. I was very concerned with finishing a story on time, having something that had a beginning, a middle and an end. Knowing it was being written in a day kind of made thoughts of quality a bit futile. It was never going to be work I was fully satisfied with. At best it was only ever going to be a passable first draft.

7. Did you learn anything about your writing or process during the 24-hour book or from looking at the data afterwards? 

Yes, I learnt that if forced to I could write a lot of words in a day but that I am not a writer who enjoys writing like that, or a writer who necessarily produces great work by writing like that. I haven’t looked at the data. I’m not sure I could interpret anything too meaningful from it.

8. A couple of the authors have mentioned they haven’t gone over and read the book. Have you read it and if so, what did you think? If not, why haven’t you decided to read the finished piece? 

I haven’t read it, no. When I recently came back to the State Library to go to GenreCon I realised that it was my first visit there since the 24 Hour book, and I felt a momentary sense of anxiety as I came into the building and sat down in the room we used. I think I was a little traumatised by the experience! So, no, I can’t bring myself to read it. Maybe one day.

9. How did you find collaborating with 8 other authors? Is collaboration something you wish to further pursue as an author? 

It was not really collaboration in the sense of making a seamless whole. Because the spirit of the project was to ‘do it on the day’ we didn’t plan too much. And on the day we were working too intensely on our own things to really have time to bounce ideas around. I have had the experience of working collaboratively on a TV series (which sadly wasn’t made) and I really loved that. A bunch of writers sitting in a room, round a table for a week, bouncing ideas, stories and characters, it was great fun and a really creative experience The process is extraordinary and it’s fascinating to see ideas built upon and grown.

10. Would you be interested in participating in a similar project again?

Not something that demanded x number of words in a day, no. I don’t regret taking part, it was interesting and I made some good writerly friends but I know that for me writing is something that I do slowly, with a lot of  non-writing thinky bits in between drafts. And that’s not a process that I want to mess with again. I find it hard enough to do with time and space.

Economical Weather Report

A wonderful poem by Ryan

It’s that time again to take a break

From the Brightman and Ferret burlesque,

With the time honoured news, filled with the midnight blues,

For better or worse, more or less.

Murders in Oxley, riots in Rocklea, rapes in Indooropilly,

But we’ve heard it all before, and before the end

We may be lucky to hear it all again.

The entertainment today - an economical weather report,

Of which you are about to receive,

As it affects us all, is what we all perceive,

What unites us under one azure roof, eternal eclipse of the bright light.

The truth:

The rivers are rising, yes, yet life flows on.

There’s sand shattering windows, stealing under doorways.

Great hordes roaming highways, forgotten byways,

Moving with the ferocity of the Hun, mixing waterways,

Thick, viscous hybrids of an alien world

Oozing and drooling over riverbanks.

Sand from Ganden Jangtse to borrow your head in,

And enclose you like a dream. 

The sands they are a shiftin’.

The rain, a familiar theme -

Don’t ignore the voice inside your mind,

Have the spider sense to come inside.

Keep your cigarettes dry.

Be careful on the roads –

Don’t drink and drive.

Drink. Strive for off the roads.

There’s nowhere to go,

The bottleos are closed.

But drink. I shouldn’t alone

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

So measure:

One part vodka, two parts apocalyptic pleasure.

Find peace now, in the final debt calling.

For with the morning will come a storm warning

Feeding to the fall of man and moribund burning.

Unless of course, we lead a different life.

Instead of the fire, and brimstone age,

We have a green recourse and the earth sprouts anew.

And the rain, it paints the world blue,

An intricate willow pattern revealed. 

The mercury rises and the world grows blurred.

Forms less distinct, with hand upheld

Like pointing at the moon, we see only our own flesh.

Boiling blind in narcissistic sin, we burn

Hotter than a night with the kids away.

The Himalayas melt and, faint, we sway.

No need for sweet zephyr to bring the rest.

So tell your loved ones, or better yet, grab them

And hold them and don’t let them put on their old raincoat,

The one that makes them look like a plastic bag filled of Fanta.

Don’t let them step outside.

Stay indoors, stay upstairs.

Keep warm and keep in good company and good humour.

Don’t let’s cry, there are enough tears soaking the world.

Smile and think happy thoughts,

Fly up high where the rivers won’t rise.

Straight on till morning

Because a new day is dawning

And with the brilliance of the rising sun,

Life will linger on.

In you or me, my mother, or your lover,

In a cicada, an amoeba, or a cellular vessel for creation. 

In world news Egyptian deltas dry out

And aid is delayed.

Smooth hypabyssal rock river beds,

The porphyry sparkle in sun-dried eyes,

Igniting lost desert dreams of a time

When the earth’s small stone’s scintillation

Meant food and water, power and protection,

Wealth, health and life.

Now though, with this Great Crash,

There will be no suicide epidemics

Leaping with the rain like an Yves Klein, blue.

The sands, the spiders, the wild Maia weather

Will suffice.

Now we’re all boat people and the party isn’t happy.

Refugees and we’re sailing the tides low,

Hearing “fuck off, we’re full” from those without voice.

A diaspora ahead, but with nowhere to go.

We’ll wait on the water

Enchanting new gods,

Waiting for the Halcyon flight

To bring peace and calming tides.

No prayers for the past,

Bloody waves and the crash of all erected cliffs.

Disaster brings no nostalgia for death,

But a desire to live.