Some articles, some fiction and general mishmash of wotnot
In this issue
Pleases and thank yous
Articles I’ve written this month
Book news
Some music
An excerpt from a work in progress FICTION, ‘Scrooge and the Carol Scam’.
Monthly Musings
Hi,
It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank … which isn’t where I am yet, but there’s still time.
I’m not going to take up too much of your day with this one, because good grief it’s Christmas Eve, and I’m aware many of you will have better things to do than read the musings of a minor British writer with a tendency to waffle and make stupid jokes. Also Santa Claus The Movie is on, a film which is objectively terrible but since it was the first thing I ever saw at the cinema I have to watch it every year. I remember being as mesmerised by the smoke in the projector beam as I was by the film itself, which if nothing else should prove to you that I’m older than I look.
Anyway, I wanted to use this space to thank everyone who reads this newsletter, follows me on social media or actually puts up with me in real life. This has been a weird year. I’m aware they’ve all been weird years recently, but this one has been especially odd for me. When it began I was married, lived with my partner and worked for Twitter. I loved all three of these things. Twelve months later, give or take, and everything has changed. I hate proving Ronan Keating right, yet again, but life really is a roller coaster. And not even a good one like Oblivion or Shockwave.
But this year has had highlights. I’m not going to dwell on the personal stuff, although those responsible for being a delight to my otherwise drab and meaningless existence know exactly who they are, but professionally there’s lots to be thankful for. The wonderful weekends I had at Glastonbury, the Discworld Convention, Weekend at the Asylum and the other events where I’ve hoiked my wares and myself. The incredible response to my announcement that I was leaving Twitter to seek my fortune and those that trusted me enough to offer me work, and the responses and support I’ve had to the book, album, gigs and articles I’ve put out into the world this month. It genuinely means the world. If you’ve clicked, commissioned, shared, bought, reviewed or just been nice about some of my work in 2022 then you have contributed to making what, on one level, has been a stressful and strange time into a year, also a rewarding and (if you squint) successful one. Thank you again. Notable thanks: Melanie Clegg, Cat Lee, Rachel Tyson, Rob Wilkins, Vicky Carroll, Andrew O’Neill, Claire Hutchings, Rachael Cunliffe, Patrick Charlton, Nicola Kearney … gosh. So many more.
Anyway, on to THE CONTENT. Which this months includes some work in progress fiction, the start of a Christmassy tale, which you can find at the end of the newsletter.
As ever please do reply and say hello, feel free to ask me anything and come find on me on Twitter (while it’s still here) @20thcenturymarc.
As always
Marc x
Stuff I’ve Written This Month
I worked at Twitter for seven years – this is what I want you to know | The Independent
I worked at Twitter for seven years – this is what I want you to know
Violent Night Review - HeyUGuys
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, Santa was kicking the living shit out of a bunch of home invaders in increasingly grisly and entertaining ways. And it was brilliant. ★★★★
Elon Musk’s Kanye West problem - New Statesman
If you give awful people the ability to say anything they like, you can’t be surprised when they say something awful.
Christmas albums 2022: Who's a shooting star and who delivered a turkey? - The Big Issue
We listened to all of the 2022 Christmas albums, so you don’t have to. Here’s what you should play as you enjoy your mince pies
How The Amazing Maurice changed the game for Terry Pratchett
The first ever full-length Pratchett screen adaptation is coming to cinemas – and it’s the work that finally won over the literary world
Why Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol is still so relevant - New Statesman
Really, the only things separating Bob Cratchit from the average 2022 Londoner are electricity and the fact he could afford to live in Camden.
Defensiveness doesn’t suit Nepo Babies - New Statesman
Nepotism is often forgiven when people admit their privilege.
We spent a day streaming bad Christmas movies and this is what it did to our brain - The Big Issue
It’s the most wonderful time of the year… for bad Christmas movies. Will we survive an entire day of saccharine festive tat?
Book Updates
After much bother The London Boys: David Bowie, Marc Bolan and the 60s Teenage Dream is finally out in proper book shops and online stores and on eBook, including Kindle! I’m aware Amazon is kind of awful, but for an author it’s a necessary evil, so if you do buy it from there at least you know it’s boosting me up the rankings. I’ve put some links for the common UK bookstores below. International releases will follow next year.
Reviews are starting to rumble in now, including these from Shindig! magazine an Classic Rock.
WATERSTONES * WH SMITH * FOLYES * BOOKSHOP.ORG * HIVE *
Click the Kitten for signed books directly from me
Signed editions of all of my books, including bonus exclusives, are available from my store here
Including
The London Boys: David Bowie, Marc Bolan & The 60s Teenage Dream
Manic Street Preachers: Album by Album
The Magic of Terry Pratchett
Turtles All The Way Down (companion book to The Magic of Terry Pratchett)
Music Writing collection: 1999-2022
I Think I Can See Where You’re Going Wrong
Upcoming events
Sunday, January 8
I’ll be joining a panel on music writing at the Rockaway Beach Festival, in Bognor Regis, alongside some brilliant names. Tickets here.
8-10 October
I’ll be appearing at the Irish Discworld Convention in Cork, doing a reading, probably appearing on some panels and generally larking about. Tickets and info here.
Some music
By band, Before Victoria, played an extremely fun show at Camden’s Black Heart on Dec 2nd. Someone very kindle shot some YouTube footage! We’re on all the streaming sites if you want to hear more.
Another History Song ~ Before Victoria at the Black Heart
'Princess Charlotte' ~ Before Victoria at the Black Heart
Book excerpt: Scrooge & The Carol Scam
This one needs a deep breath, because it’s FICTION. I never share fiction. I love writing it, but it makes me feel very naked and exposed, and not in a fun way. This is the opening of a Christmas story I hope to have finished by next year in some form. It’s based on my song ‘Ebenezer’s Carol’ which I wrote over a decade ago now. Please do let me know what you think.
Scrooge & The Carol Scam
Stave One
Marley was a bastard to begin with. That much needs to be understood or nothing that follows is going to make any sense. And that’s not a glib crack about his parentage, either; it’s about character. And Marley’s was bloody awful.
Being a bastard was not unusual in the money lending game. Actually, it was something of an asset. A certain ruthlessness was necessary as you added the unexpected interest, refused the pleas for leniency and, when all else failed, engaged the services of Big Bobby, the firm’s enforcer, a man so large and so hairy that a rumour had sprang up around London’s scabbier underworld circles that his mother was one of the Tower bears. This was rarely said in earshot of Big Bobby. At least, not twice. Bobby, for his part, was fully aware that his mother wasn’t a bear, though since he had no idea who his father was, he couldn’t rule out the other side of his family.
Marley’s bastardy nature went beyond even the unpleasant standards of the money lending trade. He swindled and scammed, he paid off magistrates and Bow Street and he had special arrangements with the Marshalsea, the debtors prison south of the river. He’d been known to have whole families shut up there indefinitely over a single missed payment, particularly if there was a chance of entrapping another hapless lot in the damp hovel he had rented them. They were closing the Marshalsea this year. Scrooge often suspected that without Marley’s consistent flow of bribes these last seven years, the place had simply gone broke.
Ebeneezer Scrooge wasn’t a bastard. He was, by the standards of his business, a relatively reasonable person. He was conscientious, professional and did the job as best he could. He engaged Big Bobby when Big Bobby was absolutely necessary, and got the magistrates involved when propriety demanded it, but he never did so with any great pleasure or enthusiasm. It was just business. He charged only the agreed interest, was known to grant extensions and deferments within reason, and would at least listen to the excuses trotted out by struggling debtors. Occasionally he even believed them.
Unfortunately, being a right bastard really helped in the money lending game, while being conscientious and reasonable rarely did. In the years since Marley had finally pushed some poor, desperate sod to the point that they pushed Marley right back – backwards into an early grave, as it turned out – Scrooge had tried to keep things ticking as best he could, but he didn’t have his partner’s brutal instincts and business had declined year upon year. Scrooge & Marley had worked because Marley knew business, and Scrooge knew money. Scrooge was a book-keeper, not an entrepreneur. A bean counter. There were substantially fewer beans these days. He loaned carefully where Marley had been reckless, he recovered responsibly where Marley had been ruthless. He understood numbers, and he always assumed that understanding numbers was his business. Marley had disagreed. “People, Scrooge” he would say. “It’s not enough to just understand numbers. Mankind should be your business. Every last desperate, greedy, feckless one of them. You need to learn people.”
Old Marley had died on Christmas Eve, something Scrooge had always felt was a bit unfair. His memory haunted a time of year that the younger man had always rather enjoyed. He had liked Marley, despite the swindling and the sharking. He was funny. He had taken a chance on a young apprentice and taught him the game. They had been genuine partners. He knew Marley was a bastard. He found he missed him anyway.
It was a slightly irked and melancholy Scrooge that was interrupted that Christmas Eve by his nephew, who barged into the little office, stamping the cold out of his feet.
“Uncle it is barely warmer here than it is outside” said the younger man, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together. “Why have you not got a fire going?”
“And a merry christmas to you, nephew”, said Scrooge, looking up from his books.
“Sorry, yes. Merry Christmas.”
“The coal has gone. I’ve been trying to ration it, but finally it’s gone. It was buy coal or not pay Bobby his weekly wage. I’m not about to give Bobby that news”.
Big Bobby was not a man you withheld money from if you valued your teeth, the straightness of your fingers or the shape of your nose.
“Really uncle, is business so bad?”
It was that bad. And it shouldn’t have been, which was maddening. The city was poorer than it had ever seemed, and yet also richer. There seemed to be more beggars, more urchins and more laboring men available, and also more merchants, mill owners and magnates in fine carriages. To the money lender, that was ideal. You squeezed from both ends. It was perfect. But the poorest weren’t coming to Scrooges for loans, because they knew full well they’d be turned down. Marley might have taken chances, at exorbitant and impossible rates of repayment and interest, and some were desperate enough to take the offers, but Scrooge found he couldn’t bear to make loans that could never be repaid, or wring money from those that didn’t have any. Marley somehow made it work, but Scrooge had always squeamishly looked the other way. Which is why he’d never learned how the trick was done. And the rich? The rich had banks. And, well, money. That’s what made them rich. They didn’t need street corner loans.
Scrooge shunted the thought to one side and addressed his nephew, Fred, a golden haired, preposterously enthusiastic and, Scrooge thought, not especially bright young man of seventeen, who should probably have found his own station by now.
“Mother asks if you’re coming to Christmas dinner?” Said Fred. Scrooge nodded, but with no great enthusiasm. An afternoon of Fan hinting that he should take her son as an apprentice would put a dent in his festive spirit.
The door opened again, it was a rascally-looking man of 30, well dressed in a large overcoat worn over a splendidly designed waistcoat, a rich blue with golden thread picking out details. “Charles,” said Scrooge looking up.
“Ebenezer!” The man said, blowing into his hands as Fred had done. “Merry Christmas”.
“You see, nephew” said Scrooge, turning back to the younger man. “Manners”.
“Blasted cold here Ebenezer” said the newcomer, shivering. “The coal supply finally gasped its last?” Scrooge gave a small nod, and a large sigh.
“It is not much better at home, else I’d bring some to you”. Scrooge eyed his friend’s waistcoat. You didn’t need his mind for figures to understand why Charles’ dwindling funds were dwindling further. Charles was a dandy and a wit, and an old friend of Marley’s whom Scrooge had rather inherited with the office. A celebrated writer with a dozen schemes always on the go. Scrooge often wondered how Charles kept so many plates spinning in the air, when his hands were so frequently around the waist of whatever actress, singer or serving girl had wandered into his path that week.
“Keep what you have for the family” said Scrooge. “I’m quite capable of wrapping myself in a comforter. It’s Christmas.”
“Ah yes,” said Charles, a twinkle of mischief in his tone. “And it is of Christmas I wish to speak. I wonder if I could invite you gentlemen for a bowl of Smoking Bishop. I have …” he paused for quite unnecessary dramatic effect. “An idea”.
And that’s that!
Thanks again for all of your support – let’s do it again next year.
A Merry Christmas To All, and to All a Good Night.
Marc x