February 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
Here on the front page of TheNightLight things have been awfully slow lately. First there was Christmas and then there was me being lazy. Finally there was just good old procrastination.
This should all hopefully change at some point in March. New people are joining TheNightLight team and we are moving away from the current format. Our address will still be http://www.thenightlight.co.uk but we will no longer be hosted on wordpress. Neither will we be a blog and neither will we focus solely on fiction. No, The (new) Night Light will be a completely new website with more manpower behind it and it will publish everything. Or nearly everything. The fiction will stay but it will be joined by articles, essays, interviews, videos and more. It will be what TheNightLight was originally conceived as; a sort of online magazine come publishing house. We will cover not just fiction but academia, politics, art, music and film.
So, here is the rallying call. We need submissions for content! We need articles, essays, films, music and, of course, your short stories, poems and plays.
As we establish the website we will eventually be looking to increase the number of people involved behind the scenes by appointing a number of sub-editors to manage the categories that they are most interested in. These plans undoubtedly sound grand but we hope to achieve them by doing what we have always done- encouraging participation and collaboration.
If you have any questions regarding the future of this site or want to get involved in anyway do not be afraid to email us at firstname.lastname@example.org
In the meantime be sure to follow the new collated twitter account for the editors- @thenightlight
November 26, 2010 § Leave a comment
In the last editorial I detailed the beginning of what will be a number of projects focused upon graphic art and illustrations. Well the first stage is now finished and I thought I would share with you all some of the test illustrations for our first project based upon a new script by previous NightLight contributor Peter Rose.
I hope you enjoy these sketches and eagerly anticipate some of the finished projects that they will give life to.
November 3, 2010 § Leave a comment
What do you know about diamonds?
Half an hour ago Ed was in the pub and he was happy. Now he was decidedly unhappy. Confused offence bubbled up from his stomach and out of his mouth. He struggled to breath. Kelly was tiny and was, more often than not, beautiful. Only a few days ago he’d watched her sleep, she’d rolled the duvet into a toga and her left breast heaved as she ever so gently snored. Her nipple looked delicious. He’d thought then about how it wouldn’t be too awful if that’s what he saw every morning for the rest of his life. He hoped she woke up horny and he hoped she would make him breakfast. Kelly made excellent poached eggs. Being a boyfriend was all right.
Now she was crying something rotten about how he’d never loved her and about how he always had his eye out for a better offer. He wasn’t so sure. It felt like love; he was considerate, sexually, and was violently possessive of her. What more was there? He took her to dinner a couple of times as well. Ungrateful. She was wiping her head theatrically and charging herself up for another heavy blast of hubris. The television was on and it was playing disco. A young black man sang about keeping his girl up all night. Ed wasn’t feeling it. « Read the rest of this entry »
September 23, 2010 § Leave a comment
Next For TheNightLight
Nathan Here. You may have noticed that things have slowed down at TheNightLight lately. Not to worry, there are exciting things to come for readers and contributors alike.
I was recently sent a script for a Graphic Short by previous contributor Peter Rose (Students). We are now looking for artists interested in illustrating scripts. The plan is to get anyone who is interested to illustrate the first page which we will then forward to Peter who will choose his favourite to complete the rest. This may sound too much like a competition where the hard work of an artist is judged on a single page by a single judge, and I would agree. Which is why we are going to be using these pages as calling cards for the various artists who have taken part. « Read the rest of this entry »
September 14, 2010 § Leave a comment
David and Nick, Part II
Finally the Prime Ministerial Jaguar silently swooped around the last bend, through the gates which opened to it as if repelled magically by the weight of his position, and rolled to a halt outside Number Ten. Often over the course of the last three dreamy months, this moment had caused David to reflect in wonderment about how often he had dreamt it beforehand, how many times he had believed it real only to be torn from its joyous simplicity by the crying of a piercing alarm clock or an aide-administered morning wake-up call, momentarily melting him back to political and personal reality.
But on this occasion it was different. A dark grey swell seemed to hold the sky above captive, as if threatening to soak the entire world with rain of biblical proportions. David was particularly tired, having just jetted back from the Middle East where well-intentioned pre-peace talk negotiation sessions had dragged him away from his sleep long, long into the night. To compound this, his Blackberry had spent the last hour since he’d turned it back on at Heathrow buzzing furiously at him: message after message streaming through from ‘cleggmeister’, each stranger than the last. ‘Have ordered new dining room set, hope you like. Old one seems fusty, impractical. Ikea, £159.99, total bargain – C’. David wondered momentarily over which foolish junior had given Nick his Blackberry Messenger pin, before remembering that ‘unfettered lines of communication’ were buried somewhere in some addendum to the coalition agreement, and, as such, nobody could probably be blamed. Changes to the furniture, he lamented, were just another unwritten amendment. « Read the rest of this entry »
August 13, 2010 § Leave a comment
My knees bob as my body squats midair, I steady my aim with the aid of a belt loose across the fuselage. Hot shit comes out whole, an otter sloping into cool water and the waste disposal fan sucks the log through a hole, into a dark nowhere, compressed, stored to be recycled. But I would prefer the waste. To let it shoot through space. My contribution to the cosmos.
I feel crazed.
Six weeks on this vessel, this portable lab with wings that my old man called a death-trap. I thought the same myself; but it was dad, not me, who had died, two weeks into the trip; his heart finally got him. The funeral pictures were emailed with condolences and assurances about how proud he was, how proud his old man was of his little boy done good, his working-class scientist. Now space has become boring: the stars we stared at, those velveteen nights, through telescopes dad insisted on buying, to count the constellations and dot the stars. Space looks vague and perfunctory anyplace you go: black, so black, deadly black. Pinholes for stars and swamps of black hole. Now I’ve become brilliant at shitting in the air, flying from room to room like Peter Pan and annoying the team of international scientists; cranks absent from the globe. « Read the rest of this entry »
August 10, 2010 § 1 Comment
‘There are Errors of the Path, Errors of the Inn and Errors of the Cave. Those are errors of the Path where the path itself is taken for its purpose. Those are errors of the Inn where halfway is taken for all the way. Those are errors of the Cave where the cave, which is at the base of the Castle, is taken for the Castle itself.’ – Fernando Pessoa
Nick awoke to find himself in pitch darkness. He activated his touch-lamp and picked up the A4 notepad and cheap pen that lay on his bedside table. He yawned and began to jot down the impressions of the dream, or hypnogogic trance, he had been so deeply immersed in. In fact it had not been that dissimilar to a few others that he had recorded over previous nights but this latest varied slightly in its details and lucidity. With a literary and unhurried hand he scrawled: « Read the rest of this entry »