Films About Books

Two little treats for you tonight, and they’re both videos.

The first is a short piece of stop motion called ‘The Joy of Books’:


The second video is another short film, called ‘The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr Morris Lessmore’:


Hope you enjoyed them!


“The Best Book Ever”

High expectation is a writers enemy. It puts so much pressure on the writer and can cause writer’s block because the writer is scared to make anything less than perfect. This short by Lev Yilmaz demonstrates this viscous cycle in a witty, humorous way.

Yilmaz later, gives amazing advice on how to conquer that expectation, in a way that I never thought of before. In this clip linked here (between 1.17-2.42), he suggests that one should set out to make the most rubbish piece of work they can, thus cutting out all pretensions and allowing you to be free. Hope this clip and piece of advice helps any struggling writers out there, or at the very least put a smile on your face. Have a great Saturday folks.

For more videos on  Lev Yilmaz click here.

Waiting in the Small Hours

Tonight’s Good Night Gift is admittedly a little self-indulgent.

The Barbican Young Filmmakers recently made a short film of my poem, ‘Waiting in the Small Hours’. It’s a poem about dreams and the space between waking and sleeping. (You can read the poem by itself if you want, as I’ve posted it underneath the video, but the film really brings it to life.)

The film itself is full of gorgeous shots, and is brilliantly put together. A magnificent job by Barbican Young Filmmakers. Much thanks and praise.

Enjoy, and sleep well.


Waiting in the Small Hours
by Katie Hale

In the underbelly of night, I count seconds
by the clock’s mechanical heartbeat,
hoping they will transmutate into a dream
of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones of a dead city,
with a soft cotton duvet swirling in the industrial smoke.
Any dream will do, so I hum to the metronome pulse
beating time into a line like a piano teacher’s ruler:

Tick.    Tick     – and every tock is a cross
disapproving my unshuttered eyes. And still I lie
awake. I strain to lighten the darkness, shade by shade,
as birdsong and train-rumbles summon the morning.

Only in the cobweb-grey hours of dust-bin men
and Canary Wharf commuters, only then
I slump into dawn, and dream of empty platforms.

The Man with the Beautiful Eyes

Beautifully Creepy.
Poem by Charles Bukowski,  film by Jonathan Hodgson. Click here for more on Hodgson’s shorts.