You were my sun

Taken from a meme that's going around:

Put your mp3 player/itunes/whatever on shuffle, make the first lines of the first twenty songs into a poem, and use the first line of the next song as the title.

You were my sun

You are my angel
I’ve got no strings to hold me down
Tiptoe down
Rumour spreadin’ a-round in that Texas town

Lambeth you’ve never seen
Leave me alone
Nothing is so good it lasts eternally
Four letter word just to get me along

All through the park past China town gate
I see a bad moon rising
What have we done with innocence?
So you wanna know me now?

Free – is all that she could bleed
Beauty queen of only eighteen
Its all the same, only the names will change
Do you have the time

If I was a rich girl
Will drive you mad
Loving you isn’t the right thing to do
I want to live with the Cinnamon Girl

My story is much too sad to be told
Somebody somewhere turns off the lights
I’m coming out, I’m coming
What are you going to do with all that junk?

Times have changed
Every breath you take
Your cheatin’ heart will tell on you
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

I kind of like it particularly this stanza:
All through the park past China town gate
I see a bad moon rising
What have we done with innocence?
So you wanna know me now?

Emerging from hibernation to say...

you have to go and to Dr Horrible's Sing-along blog and watch the webepisodes. It's no Once More with Feeling but it is very very good. Can't wait for part 3.

Just finishing reading the Host. Much prefer Meyer when she's not writing about shiny, shiny vamps. And even though I love sci this 'sci fi thats for people who don't like scifi was very enjoyable. I still can't put my finger on what makes her books so compulsively readable despite their flaws. They are so addictive.

Messing about on the river

All in all I had quite a good weekend. I spent most of Saturday lying back home in the garden being pounced on by Buffy (our male cat) and nuzzled by Lucy (our girl cat). The highlight of the day was when we went on a walk by the ruins. Its one of the most beautiful tranquil spots and it always restores my spirits. I clambered up the old ewe tree and laughed when my eldest sister got stuck.

Today I met up with Ros in Richmond and we went on a boat trip down the Thames to Kingston. The weather was perfect hot with a slight breeze stupidly I forget to pack sunblock so my nose is very pink indeed. The whole boat heard our views on a variety of subjects, poor them.

Despite a rather sad start this turned out to be a pretty blissful weekend and I feel very relaxed, if not a little pink.

Quit it

Seriously, I am so sick of reading about how old/ugly/weird looking Sarah Jessica Parker is. Hadley Freeman sums up the discussion much better than I can. Not that I would ever read the mail/Telegraph/Maxim because I have betters things to do than digest badly written misogynistic bile. Frankly I don't think she cares what a bunch of pre-pubescant, balding, overweight fugly Maxim journalists think of her. Because really when you start making cruel comments about other peoples appearances you are opening yourself up to a work of of pain. (Note deliberate irony here)

There are, of course, journalists that would make the argument that as an actress you operate in a public sphere and therefore open yourself up to criticise.

But, no. Because its only if your female that your subject to the gaze and judgement of everything in the public sphere.

Also Sharon Stone - shut up. Rant over

Poetry

I read a book last night that I loved: Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin. Its the story of Liz who dies in a hit and run accident when she's fifteen. She goes to Elsewhere, an afterlife, where she learns she will never have grow up. She will never drive, never go to university, get married or have children. Instead her body will get younger and younger until she is reincarnated.

It's a beautiful book, that I will probably rave about later when I have my thoughts in order. There's a passage near the end that had me sobbing. Its a tender mediation on all the experiences Liz will never have good and bad. The words chosen make this section read like a poem and reminded me how much I love poetry.

This wasn't always the case. When I was at school I hated poetry, because I found it difficult to understand. It seemed impossible to me that such a multitude of meanings could be compacted into such a small space. Unlike novels poetry does not necessary have to have a narrative thread running through it. You can play with form, syntax, punctuation, meaning. But slowly I started to fall in love with poetry for all the reasons I had hated it (I'm contrary like that). I also briefly flirtated with writing my own obscenely terrible (but creatively satisfying at the time) poetry.

After reading Elsewhere I knew that I wanted to read some good poems. But most of the poet websites out there are just plain ugly, and even worse hard to use. Among the best are university sites. All I want is aesthetically appealing or at the very least clean looking website, with a brief context of the poets life or type of poem below. But there doesn't seem to be anything like that out there.

However I did rediscover this fantastic E. E Cummings poem, carry your heart with me.

carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it (anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Perfect :)

Today I am mostly thinking...

• Woo hoo it's Friday! Oh except its not (: Is there any feeling more horrible then waking up convinced for a few precious seconds its the almost the weekend before reality reasserts itself.
  
• I'm so envious of jetsetting colleagues and friends who are going to Alabama and Turkey. Its been way too long since I've been outside the UK, however I am planning a holiday to the Lake District later this year.
  
• Thank you Microsoft word for you help auto correction of my main antagonists name to Marshmallow. Although it does kinda take away from the whole evil thing to have it associated with puffy sugary goodness (unless your ghostbusters in which case yay!)
• Loathing Lila off Dexter with ever fibre of my being. I've never met another English person who drawls in that weird upper class British way. In a cast of impeccable actors she alone stands out as, well, being a bit mediocre. Although she was almost redeemed by the 'pardon my tits' comment. And Debs bitching "She's obviously a vampire. A gross, English titty vampire." Touche.
  
• Speaking of Dexter I really disliked the idea that Dexter would punch Doakes and obviously frame him. Up until now Dexter has been very smart. Why would he reveal his true colours to Doakes when he knows how fixated and tenacious Doakes is? Even if you buy the whole embrace the darkness path he has been on with Lila, being so reckless goes against the covert way he normally operates. Especially as it was a calculated move as opposed to a emotional act. It was an obvious move to further the plot, and completely went against his character. Rant over.
  
• You can't italicise full stops. I don't know why this delights me but it really does :)
  
• I really need to update the music on my ipod
  

Writing is hard

My brain hurts. Ugh.

Book Review: The Black Tattoo by Sam Enthoven

If I had a younger brother I would force this into his slightly sticky hands (I'm thinking 5'2, freckles, scabby knees). The premise is simple (and it must be admitted not particularly origin). However the direction that Enthoven goes literally to Hell and back, and the sheer enjoyment he obviously takes in telling his story lift this book beyond the cliche demon possession + martial arts/Matrix stylings. In the acknowledgments Enthoven quotes Lee Child who said something along the lines of 'write the book you would want to read.' And he has certainly done that here from gladiatorial contests in hell, vomiting bat demons who are good, and Great White Shark Lord of Hell.

So taken from the back cover copy:

Jack doesn't know what he's got himself into. One minute he and his best friend Charlie were up in Chinatown having crispy duck with Charlie's dad (and Jack was having to listen to Charlie shouting at his dad for leaving his mum) - then next minute they were in a mysterious room above a theatre, with some of the strangest characters they'd ever encountered. And they were about to take The Test...and something very very weird was about to begin. The Test transforms Charlie - leaving him with the distinctive markings of the Black Tattoo - and with a temper that seems out of control. The boys' meeting with Esme, a young girl with the most impressive martial arts skills this side of Bruce Lee, her huge and hairy father Raymond, and the mysterious Nick seem to have swept Charlie and Jack into a world they had no idea existed. And it's only going to get stranger...This epic tale of good and evil, demons and hell, vomiting bats and huge battles marks the debut of an incredible new talent for children's books.

For the first hundred or so pages, although the book was very well written, I knew exactly where the story and the characters were going. Magical destiny, demon possession, tragics death spurring a quest for revenge, invasive controlling tattoos, EVIL demon who wants to end all of existence. Apart from a few nice touches (tobacco being able to store magic, the scene in which Charlie makes the butterflies come alive in powerly puffs. This is perfect for demonstrating Charlie's arrogance and how desperate he is to please. One of these great scenes where you can see where each of the characters are coming from.) I was a little bored. And then the characters go through a portal to hell, and the story really kicks in.

In creating hell, and its associated demons is where Enthoven's skills really come to play. I must admit when the characters went through the Fracture (a gateway to hell) my heart sank. But he more than pulls it off from the narcissistic ruler of hell and his officious administrator, to the gladiatorial contests, the God(frey) bumbling and distracted, and the fractious demons not good at doing what their told. Imaginative, gross, inventive, and very clever he squeezes every drop of humour out of his setting. I loved every minute of it. Of course when the action returns to earth some of the frenetic pace lessens but in the home stretch the characters return to Hell and the pace picks up.

The characters are well drawn. Even Esme who at first seems little more than cliche girl with super powers love interests steps outside of what you expect of her. I love the scene in which she says (paraphrasing here) that yes Charlie was an idiot, but the crucial question was whether he deserved to die for being an idiot. One of the nicer and underated things about this book was the way that Charlie and Jack communicate. Despite some of the cool boys own plot points they never stop talking like the fourteen year old boys that they are. You can see why Jack would follow Charlie into hell. And also there's a very nice scene where he rips him a new one for his behavior. Charlie's pain is very real and you see why he would do anything to keep his demon powers, to live in a place where people love him unconditionally and never leave. Jack keeps the book from straying into overblown heroics. I love his 'typicals' and cynicism that things can always get worse.

I really recommend this book, and I can't wait to see what Enthoven does next :)

There are many roads to Oz, but ...

Lately I've been reading a lot of advice about writing: what to do and equally importantly what not to do. Unlike the uniformly excellent advice on agents and the writing business some of the writing advice can be extremely variable. (Diana Peterfreund has an excellent series of posts on when good advice goes bad).

My personal perspective on writing advice can be attributed to the wondrous Jennifer Crusie from who I've taken the title of the this blogpost. There are many roads to Oz, loosely translated to mean that there is no ONE TRUE PATH TO WRITING GENIUS. Of course this flies in the face of what a lot of people want to believe that there is a super sekrit cult of successful writers who in addition to secret handshakes share the knowledge of how to write and guard it jealously mwhahahha. When you're a struggling writer (cf moi) writing in the dark with almost no feedback any hint of a writing bible can seem like a shining beacon in the darkness.

But really as Crusie says we are all individuals and what might work for me probably won't work for you. This is generally why I disavow writing guides (apart from the uniformly expert On Writing by Stephen King) mostly they are written by writers have never heard of telling you that unless you follow the one true way you will never, ever be published. Which is bull.

For example for a long time I got stuck because I had absorbed that you should always have a complete outline before you start writing. For a lot of people, this is the only way they write. For me although I need thinking time, I work out plot quirks by writing. It doesn't mean that the above advice is bad just that it isn't write for me. Different courses for different horses.

But... and here's the crux while 'There are many roads to Oz' there are one or two things that will make the path a little easier. The inspiration for this post was an amazing post called Do it Every Day by Lilith Saintcrow who is preaching that as a writer you should, yanno, write every day. Simple? But a quick scroll down the comments shows that a lot of people seem to vehemently disagree with her.

I agree with her wholeheartedly and here's why. I wrote the first draft of my book in four months. I loved writing it, watching the word count steadily increase. And I disciplined myself to write every day even if it was only for half an hour writing at lunchtime, on the way to work, at home after work, at the weekends. I was so in love with the book at seeing how well it was going that it was easy. Then I finished the book, yay, and I got into the unchartered waters of revision.

At first I hated revising. Unlike writing there was no thrill of the new, no feeling of achievement watching that word counter steadily increase. I found it increasing hard to measure my progress spending all day trying to fix a scene before realising that it would have be scrapped anyway. As a measure most of the scenes in my books have been rewritten four times at least by this point and I still haven't gotten to the line editing stage. So slowly, so slowly I could barely see it my motivation slid. First to go was writing in the evenings. I would work all weekend I told myself. But after four months of semi monkhood during the first draft there was too much fun to be had so that slide by the wayside. Instead of writing every day I was writing ever third day and finding it increasing hard to get back into the story. To see what I needed to do and how to do it. I no longer had a easy handle on my characters, how they would speak, and what they would do. So I would spend an hour or so just rereading what I had already written in order to get back into the book.

A month ago I gave myself a mental slap and got back down to writing every day. And it was hard. But then a week passed and I started enjoying myself I had a handle on my story. Which each bit of text I scraped away I could see the true form of the story.

Lilith Saintcrow is right you have to write everyday. Even if its as little as 10 minutes everyday. Think of other artforms, like music. If you want to musician you play every day,
you do exercises, you rehearse pieces until it becomes second nature. Why should writing be any different?

The trick is doing it when its hard, when your tired, when your braindead, when the sun is shining, when there is anything you would rather be doing than this. But fight through, write everyday and your book will thank you.

Cherchez la femme

I'm about a midway through a book that a number of people have recommended to me. Its a first novel from a celebrated young adult novelist. And its good. The language is crisp, the dialogue funny and realistic, its rife with the little embarrassing details, the first person POV effortlessly conveys the arrogance and uncertainty of a certain type of intellectually advanced (if not psychologically) adolescent male (not that I would know :)). But I keep on stopping, and having to put the book down.

The main problem I have with this book is its central concept. The main character is obsessed with an ephemeral, mercurial, troubled girl who is obviously going to come to a bad end. This is foreshadowed by the title and a stylistic conceit of counting down to an event.

We never know much about this girl, unlike the rest of the characters her behaviour is oblique and inconsistent. Now, I get it. This is because the narrator never really understands the girl she's a cipher for desire, for unrequited love, for femininity. But its been done before; and better.

I have read about a version of this girl in over a hundred different books but I have never met her. Maybe I'm the wrong gender, but I don't think its that. I think its because she only exists in fiction. In a type of literacy fiction written by a late twenties male author looking back on his misbegotten youth and idolising/destroying the memory of that girl he wanted but could never have. I'm not asking for realism in character creation because real life people are more boring, more inconsistent, more fragmented than anything in fiction. However I need some suggestion that characters are more than a cardboard cut out representing the fickle of nature of women.

Because of my awareness of this literary trope when I read this book instead of dissolving myself in a fictional world I am constantly aware that the characters are fictional, the story is contrived, I can see the strings behind the puppets. Like Brecht's epic theatre but for books. Now that can work in some stories (Jasper Fforde) but only when the disconnect is intentional. It is not here.

The second issue is that this type of story has been done better elsewhere. For example in the Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides where at least there was the impression that the girls had some kind of interior life. I understand that 'there is nothing new under the sun', that all writing is interrelated to what has come before. For example in horror you can work within genre assumptions (sexually active blondes who are too stupid to live go into dank basement and become killer fodder) or play against them (Buffy (oh how I miss Buffy!) and Scream (which is meta enough to outlines the 'rules' of horror while still working within them)). But you should still add your own interpretation on things and this book takes too much and adds too little.

So I'm torn. A lot of people whose opinions I respect love this book. I hate not finishing books but this book is infuriating me. I can see that the author is a good writer but the lazy misogyny sticks in my craw. Maybe I am missing the point? Or I am just being grouchy because I'm underslept, I have a contact stuck in my eye, and a million Londoners are probably going to vote in an ineffectual fascist just because they like his hair? OK rant over, back to work.

Busy

I have been incredibly lazy on the blogging front. As I was starting to get over my ear infection (and get used to the mixed blessing of being able to hear again), I was struck down with flu. I couldn't have planned it at a more unfortunate time various members of my team were off sick/had left/ or were on holiday so it was just me and an another member of the team in. Not good, especially as we had one of our big projects for proofing and another 30 page brochure. I marked up at home in a delirious state, but finally had to concede defeat and take to my bed.

Now I'm all better but struggling to juggle work, revision (for my theory test this Thursday eek!), and trying to hack my way through book revisions.

The theory test revison is not helped by the fact that the questions are so dull. I know whether or not I'm too close to the car in front how will knowing the exact stopping distance helping me seeing as I can't visually judge 36 meters? But I persist and I'm quite enjoying the feeling of cramming facts in my brain which shows I've been out of formal education for far too long.

I've also got the biggest pile of book reviews to write, and I'll try and get round to them soon.

Today I am mostly...

• Wishing I lived in America so I could watch BSG season 4;
  
• Telling everybody that there are 192 countries in the world if you don't count Vatican City and Tibet. I don't know many factoids but I sure get mileage out of the ones I do know;
  
• Deaf in my left ear. I haven't been able to hear since Sunday I've also got ear ache, nausea and dizziness, nice. The Boy is not sympathetic and accused me of being a hypochondriac! Rude. Just because I've been telling him that I have ear cancer/glue ear/ spiders eggs in there. I never should have read NHS direct;
  
• Watching Gossip Girl. Its not the sharp and bitchy panacea I longed for but in my current illness addled state it will do pretty clothes and NY real estate porn;
  
• Organising the image library at work. This means I get to play around with taxonomies and grapple with our increasing surreal image captioning;
  
• Wondering whether my bank manager will hunt me down if I go on a shopping spree. I want clothes;
• Mocking a colleague who lasted a measly three minutes without speaking an acronym;
  
• Writing lazy blogposts like this one :)
  

Genius

I've read through this scene about twenty times in various different incarnations but only when I was reading it aloud to The Boy did I notice this little snippet of joy

‘Nothing.’ A car came round the bend illuminating them in the bright, white, round headlights. Jamie pushed Maya behind him.

Why in action packed sequence when both characters are on the run did I find the need to describe in excruciating detail the headlights? Unless the headlights use special ions (geddit) to defeat the fey a description is not really necessary.

I am SMRT! Back to the cutting board.

Blah

The clocks going forward + the return of a five day week + Monday morning = does not an awake Rowan make.

To compensate for my extreme sleepiness I am listening to Lastfm very loudly (how much does lastfm rock? A radio station that adapts to your music preferences, yes please).

Other things I am loving in no particular order

• seeing my friends. It was one of my best friend's birthdays this weekend. There was pink wavers, balloons, angel cards, pink champagne, a gay and very not gay cat and a game of two lies and a truth in which we fruitlessly tried to find things we hadn't already confessed to each other. All in all I have some of the funniest, sickest, loveliest friends in the world (but never the nicest :))
• Blenio, if you are a Brightonian you must try this restaurant. Located close to seven dials its a European bistro set around intimate sized tables complete with fresh herbs, fruit and vegetables as a centre piece. The food is delicious my main was spinach and riccoti cake, potato rosti with cherry tomatoes and a rocket dressing. Yummy. The Boy had quail for his starter, followed by pork belly, and sticky toffee pudding for dessert. I had a chocolat tart with raspberry coulis and mascarpone. Even more entertaining was the two old ladies eating behind me who were having an edifying conversation about their sex lives.
  
• TV wise I have been mostly watching: Gossip girl (trashy, bitchy brain candy), Reaper (slacker comedy you must indulge in for the oleaginous devil, and Sock who is my new TV best friend).
• dressing up, I'm already planning my outfit for this weeks burlesque fun. I can't wait
  
• Word of the day: mendacious aka a posh way to say lying.
  

Revision neurosis

Was browsing the interwebs when I came across this on Libba Bray's livejournal

'I’m convinced that self-loathing is just a huge part of the writing process. The first draft is like getting dressed in a dark room, and revision is like being in the cruel, fluorescent glare of the dressing rooms in Macy’s with its three-way mirrors. Necessary and painful.'

Word. Except my inner critic is Trinny and Susannah combined and has a big pokey stick to draw attention to all the wobbly bits (back, inner critic, back). Thank god I'm not the only one who feels like this.

Anyway back to, yanno, work.

Half full, half empty?

I've been musing about whether my views of life, the universe, everything are reflected in the fiction I write. In real life I'm a optimistic person. I try my hardest to make the best out of things, to try, to have fun, and treasure those I love. I know that bad things happen to good people, that there is little correlation between virtue and a happy life. Sometimes tragedy comes out the sky, it strikes and there is very little you can do to prevent. So why worry? Instead focus on the good things in life, the things that you as an individual have control over.

As a writer I take great pleasure in being a god in my own self created universe. As such I want my good characters to have nice things happen to them and evil doers to be punished. Simple, non? Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, they live happily ever after. Great for the characters as people, less interesting in narrative terms. Conflict drives the story. So I do horrible, horrendous things to my characters. I punish them. I give them what they want only to take it away or have it turn out that it wasn't what they wanted after all. I am an old testament smotey god.

But the problems/conflicts are often, inevitably of the characters own making. Because although I do believe that sometimes bad situations happen to good people, it deepens the drama for me if the characters partially create and are responsible for their own downfall (think Macbeth whose cycle of violence springs relentlessly back on himself 'I am so steeped in blood that, should I wade no more/ Returning is as difficult as going over to the other side').

I like HEA (happy ever afters) but I need my characters to earn them. To grow and to change throughout the process of the books only then do they get their HEA.

Eight random things

So Easter rocks. Spent most of my time up in London visiting The Boys parents, meeting Indy (the cat), and dropped in on my family. It snowed for most of the weekend which made London look like Narnia. Even better, I got a extra day off on Thursday and I get extra day off tomorrow making five whole days off in total. Thank you lovely employer.

The delightful Rowan (the other one) tagged me to list eight random things about myself. So, very belatedly, here they are:

I hate brushing my hair (as any picture taken over the last couple of years proves.) I have very thick easily tangleable hair which eats combs which sends me into a Verucca Salt temper tantrum.. Also I am very indolent and combing hair is just too much effort. Helena Bonham Carter is my idol, not only does she embrace the birds nests, she makes it a statement and even has matching bird nested hubby Tim Burton. Fab! I am currently engaged in a life long war of attrition with my mum where she vainly tries to stop me from looking like human version of what-a-mess. She is failing.

I have a tattoo (of a pentegram), a scar of a cats paws on my thigh, and have been pierced nine times (including two self piercings) but I only wear earrings now.

I won an award when I was 10 for a story about powder monkeys in the Napoleanic wars. The story was my first unwitting attempt at slash fiction and depicted the 'friendship' between two boys. Twas a hearbreaking work of staggering genius (damn you Eggers!). I always loved the HoYay.

This is gross, I once had blisters so bad on my feet that my entire sole peeled off. The doctors took photos for medical journals and said it was the worst case of trench foot they had seen in this decade. To recreate this at home all you need is Soft feet+ speedwalking+ wet socks (from swimming)+ thick sport socks = trenchfoot. Even grosser it took two lessons for me to notice my shoes had filled up with blood.

I am obsessed with tennis. I've no idea why as 1)I'm completely dyspraxic, 2) I find most sports boring too watch 3) Up until the age of 15 I hated tennis too. I have been to Wimbeldon six times, Eastbourne three times, and Queens once. I have seen Steffi Graf, Andre Agassi (three times!), Mark Philippoussis, Tim Henman (three times (:), Pat Rafter, Lleyton Hewitt, Maria Sharapova, and Serena Williams play.

I used to act (badly). I have played Alice in Alice in Wonderland, The Caterpillar in the aforementioned play, The Fool in King Lear, a nurse, a fairy, a Lost Boy, Jasmine in Aladdin, Cinderella, and a nanny.

If I were a superhero my special power would be the ability to heal (ruling out any Rogue/Peter style powers which is just being greedy)

So tagging:
Ros A journey with no answers
Irayla Mingitas world
Go!

She's a pistol

I've had a good weekend. But now I'm deep into the Sunday blues that even a three day week can't alleviate. Bleurgh.

I went back home for the weekend. The Boys mum and dad are moving to my home town and we went for a look round their new home. Its gorgeous, high ceilings, beautifully finished and with its only mini temple in the garden. Then I went up on the hill to see the folks .

Today, I just lounged in bed and indulged in my new obsession, Veronica Mars. Veronica is the daughter of a PI, an outcast and a former member of the 09ners the rich kids that rule the school. Her best friend Lily Kane was murdered and her father the former sheriff was discredited after going the father of the Kanes. The show is brilliant Veronica is approachable, feisty, interesting, but never smug. She's like the new Nancy Drew. The shows funny and sad a little bit twin peaks, a little bit buffy. Go watch it, go watch it now!

{Does anyone know to cut and hide things? I really want to rave in detail about certain books and shows without spoilering them for friends}

Less of a recommendation more of avoid this if you don't want to be a little bored. We're watching the mist at the moment which is filled with people jostling for the position of 'Too-stupid-to-live' from the religious freak lady, unbelieving attorney, callow youth etc. Its not quite as bad as cloverfield (30 minutes of drunken party footage, 1 hour and a half of running and screaming with unlikable stupid characters) but what is? Anyway you can tell how interested I am in by the fact I'm surfing the internet instead of watching the damn thing. Although interesting ending

Example 1 of how hypothetical situations ruin relationships was not too impressed that The Boy just remarked 'why is he going back for his wife'. Hmmm

My friend joey has joined the blogging revolution with his friend leo. Go and check out their film review blog over here

All about me

It's Friday and I'm feeling very lazy indeed. So because I'm starved for ideas and a friend forwarded this to me today, this post is all about me!

Two Men I’d Love to Date if I Were Single (and they were single):
- A tortured artiste and I would be his muse
- An rocker/geek guy

I Am Wearing...
- Black tshirt with sequinned tie, long black skirt and boots

Two Things I Would Want in a Relationship:
- Love
- Kismet/that click moment

Two of My Favorite Things to do:
- Read
- Spend time with those I love

Two Things I Want Very Badly At the Moment:
- Sleep
- A massage

Two things I did recently:
- Bitched for 25 minutes about how dire our work email client is
- Stared longingly out of the window in the hopes that protesters may storm the building and I can go home early

Two things I ate today:
- Sultana and butter cookie (for breakfast), macaroni cheese (it was v yummy)

Two things I’m doing tomorrow:
- Writing/revising my book
- Spending some one on one time with The Boy

Two Favorite Holidays:
- Christmas and August Bank Holiday (not really a holiday I know)

Two Things about me, things you may not have known about me:
- Up until the age of 10 I slept with the night light on
- I am completely ambivalent towards dolls, fluffy teddies etc

Two of my Favorite Foods:
- halloumi and roasted vegetable kebabs
- chocolate cheesecake

3 things I'm loving about Lost this series

I'm really getting into Lost again. I can't help it. I know it's the TV equivalent of that hot guy with the perfect hair and the air of mystery – until you actually talk to him and figure out the perfect hair is hours spent in front of the mirror and the air of mystery is just somebody without anything interesting to say. Even when I'm faced with the almost certain realisation that there is no way the writers are going to be able to tie up all the loose ends in the conclusion of the show, I still love it. I need help.

Anyway the show has definitely started getting more interesting since it has confirmed that it has a end point. So in honour of the fourth season (IMHO the most compelling series yet) I thought I'd post 3 things I love about Lost:

1) The flash-forwards are utter genius. In the third series they managed to breathe new life into the flash backs by concentrating on the others. But still they are only so many times you can look at Jack's fascinating previous life (yawn). I mean we get it your a spine surgeon, with daddy issues, a divorce, and a drinking problem do we really need to rehash old. So when the series finale of season three focussed on yet more Jack flashbacks I was bored - until the ending 'we have to go back to the island.' Eeek! And I was so glad this continued in the fourth season.
2) Ben, he may be weaselly googly eye machiavellian freak, but he's unbelievably compelling. Unlike some of the less believable characters Ben's actions always seem in keeping with his character. That Ben may turn out to be the saviour of the lostaways is well genius.
3) An actual, gulp, explanation appears to be forthcoming for the messed up physics of the island. How the polars bears are going to fit in who knows?

Procrastination thy name is Rowan

So you set yourself a firm, not to be moved deadline, that you will send your novel out for beta reading at the end of March. And you know that by then you have to work day and night to complete the revisions needed so the novel is in as good as state as it possibly can be. Knowing this would you:
a)revise in lunchtimes, after work, before work, forgoing sleep, food and all others things but the WORK.
b)practise your guitar hero skills until the 29th of March then panic and spend a frantic day shifting commas like deckchairs on the Titanic
c) Write 1,500 words of a new project completely unrelated to WIP, and excitably start drawing up outlines for the birthing process of your new baby.

If the answer is c then you are an eejit just like me. So I am firmly going to back away from the keyboard until all thoughts of my fabulous new project fade from my mind. If only if it was that easy ...

Website of the week - Best of Craigslist

So I thought I would start a semi-regular* feature of website of the week, in which I recommend a new or old favourite website for many hours of procrastinating goodness.

Craigslist has finally hit my home town. I'm quite excited because the pure random weirdness of Craigslist combined with weirdness of local people=comedy gold.

If your new to the wonders of Craigslist you have to check out this website Best of Craigslist. Reader of the site filter the weirdest, grossest, funniest entries for a best of category.

And some of these posts are absolutely genius:

Like this My Turtle needs a booty call, this turtle the 'John Holmes of turtles' has recently become 'a man' and needs a 'special friend.'

bathroom stall at work - at least he washed his hands, hmm?

Get well balloon, a deflating balloon free fab

I love this guy, Lets frolic in my totally dope blanket fort anybody who's a fan of blanket forts is OK by me.

In other random news I'm having a really fun Sunday evenings while I'm wasting time on the internet the guys are building humane mouse traps out of lego. Its like scrapheap challenge but smaller. Of course Mr F's mousetrap doesn't really have a hair trigger - more of obese mouse/small cat trigger. I haven't quite pointed out the flaw in his plan ...

*aka whenever I can be bothered

Hot Horse Sex

Thanks Mr F for the title of this post.

So I went to see Equus last night. This necessitated a trek along the coast in the torrential rain and blasting winds. I love small seaside towns out of season, there's something about the feeling that you are one of the few people to discover a town and its secrets. And it was great to escape from the pretentious skinny jeans crowds.

Equus was very interesting. I must admit apart from the nudity, Hot Horse Sex, and Alfie Allen (Lily Allen's younger brother) I didn't know much about the play before seeing it. I didn't realise that the play was originally written in the 70's and apart from the psychology it hadn't dated signficantly.

The play is the tale of a Dr Martin Dysart who is asked by a magistrate friend to treat a 17 year old boy Alan Strang who blinded six horses. The play is like a detective story with Dysart unravelling Strang's motivations for his crime, with help from Strang himself, his mother, father, and Jill the girl at the stables where he worked. and Nugget the horse with which Alan developed a strange relationship.

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts of the play is that despite the subject matter - which in the hands of a less skilful cast could have been sensational (see title) you identified and sympathised with the conflicted Strang. Alfie Allan was great at portraying the twisted religious sexual needs Strang builds into Equus and the roots of his obsession.

I loved the staging the stark dark blocks that littered the stage, that could be changed from beds, seats, horses, effortlessly showing a beach, stable and psychiatrist friend. The horses were exceptional creepy wire heads set on actor/dancer bodies whose body language effortlessly conveyed nervous horses. They all wore fetishistic high heeled wire hooves as they jumped and pranced around the stage. And in the climatic blinding scene, their unearthly blue lights were extinguished one by one. Very much recommended.

High point: when they were smoking on stage a random old guy near the front shouted out 'I can smell that from here'. Its not panto honey :) Although I was slightly disappointed he was suitably hushed during the naked scene - now that would have been funny.

Low point: I was having a funny two minutes when Simon Callow was speechifying at the end of the play and inadvertently missed the ending. Boo hiss

Free booksies

Everybody knows that I 1) love books, 2) love free books, 3) love Neil Gaiman. So I was very excited to see that American Gods has been made available online free in a one month trial. Not only should you head over there to read it asap as its really good. (American gods is a fantastically imaginative mediation on what would happen if the old gods from eygpt, norse, greek, india etc made their way over to America). You should also go over there because Harper Collins free trial should definitely be encouraged. There are also a lot of other free books encompassing a variety of genres.

Earlier in the week I read this article about Random House removing DRM protection on audio books simply because DRM is ineffective. Well done to Random House! All of this combined with the rise of the Kindle reader is pointing to interesting times ahead in the world of books. I don't think that advances in technology will ever make the tactile experience of reading obsolete. But I can definitely see the advantages of being able to carry a library of 5oo books on something a little bigger than a ipod. Anything that aim to make reading more accessible is good by me.

Birdhouse in your soul

Some days you have one of those grinding days where everything feels a bit grey, a little harsh, as if all of the joy has been sucked out of the world. HR have messed up my (and a couple of others peoples) pay slips. So I haven't been paid yet and they have no timescale for when this will be sorted out. All in all I was in a pretty vile mood.

But then I spoke to Ros who cheered me up, then I spoke to my dad who came out with some pretty stellar advice. And it reminded me that even when you are having a day that is not even in the same universe as fantastic sometimes all you can do is breathe deeply, let it all go, and start again. Do whatever you can to look after yourself:
talk to friends, look through old holiday snaps, read the book you've been saving for a special occassion, eat something that is so delicious it feels like a blessing in your mouth, wrap yourself up in blankets and watch buffy, or listen to some uplifiting music. Just when thought I was going to cry Birdhouse in your soul by They might be giants came on my ipod. It was like a shaft of light had come from through the clouds. Audio bliss

Work-in-progress

So I thought I'd post today about the origins of the my work-in-progress (WIP).

NB prepare for much writer navel gazing:)

A bit of background: I've written stories for as long as I could remember. Even as a child I was always fanciful. Why tell a story about a cat, when it could be a cat who was the secret emperor of the universe, and whose unholy weakness was having his stomach scratched. Why tell a story of women waking up from a coma when it could be the story of women called Mimsy. With amnesia. Who everyone thinks is a prostitute. But that actually her identical twin, Limsy. (Sadly this is all true apart from the names Limsy/Mimsy - I was a very strange child)

This story started as all the others did with an idea. Or rather a memory, a boy and a girl on a bridge and a knife. I can remember the day so clearly, it was summer and I was walking home from work and the idea popped into my brain. I'd had ideas like this before. I knew that it would torment me, play over and over again like a scratched tape until I wrote it down. My witchy muse is relentless until I obey her.

So I played around with it. But I couldn't decide how well if at all the boy and girl knew each other. There was no antagonist just nameless formless evil.

A couple of months later a character came fully formed into my head. I knew what he looked like (golden like the sun and just as dazzling), how he sounded (like a young Alan Rickman) and what he wanted. He wanted into this story, so I wrote him in.

The plot grew around these three characters. And then all the while this story was percolating in my head and it grew into a trilogy. I knew very clearly what I wanted to accomplish in the second book. But in the first book beyond the opening scene and the end, I didn't know where I wanted the characters to go.

Then almost a year on from that initial idea I had an idea. I was just about to turn 25 and it suddenly dawned on me that if I wanted to write a book, I should write a book. Simple, non?

Previously I had always believed that all I needed to do was wait around for my witchy muse to send me the ideas and write them down and my career as a glorious writer would be assured. And yes maybe if I had sat around waiting for inspiration to strike eventually many looooooooooooonnng years later I would have finished my novel. But it struck me that a more practical way of doing things would be to try and write even when I didn't feel like writing.

This may seem very obvious but for me it was paradigm altering. Being such an avid reader I had always had a very romantic view of the writer as artist. I'd glossed over all that work stuff (too much like, well, work).

Also motivating me was that I was now working with two other people who were also trying to write. Despite having busy lives and young children they wrote in the evenings and at
weekends - all my excuses were dissolving

So I gathered together everything I had and started writing. Of course having thought about this story for over a year I had a over 7,000 words which was immediately heartening. I tried to write everyday fitting in writing on lunch breaks, in the evenings, and at weekends.

There were bumps along the way the first time I wrote blind (not knowing where the story was going), when I hit the Great Swampy Middle. I loved it. It was so much fun to absorb myself in a world completely of my making. And as the story grew the sheer weight of the words motivated me.

I finished the first draft early this year. And although I'm waist deep in revisions and doubting everything that sense of exhilaration is still with me. I love writing. And I hope I never forget that.

Links-a-plenty

I'm having one of those days at work when the normal rules of time don't seem to apply. The task that is supposed to take five minutes (and have been sorted on Friday) eats into a morning*. While something I thought would take all afternoon, I've finished in half an hour. Along the way I've discovered all sorts of nifty photoshop tricks and my desktop has started to look like the graveyard where files come to die.

The above picture is courtesy of the lovely Irayla (I get to be Belle, because who wouldn't be wooed by a library? swoon (also am I the only one who thought the Beast was more attractive as a Beast then the freaky weird human he turned into at the end of the film? I always preferred the Angela Carter retellings of Beauty and Beast, lush, sensuous and creepy)).

So this amused me.

As did this even more celeb cameo heavy response (Harrison Ford!!!).

I've also found out about this: Dunning Kruger effect which explains every ignorant bigot I have ever met. Basically people who have little knowledge tend to judge their grasp of an area higher than those who comparatively have much more knowledge but rate their expertise more critically. Ignorance is bliss.

I'm off to book group tonight, (I'll discuss this month's book in tomorrows' post). Book group always makes me feel delightfully grown up not at all like the real me, who has three savings accounts and no savings, who is still learning to drive, and who ate nothing but chocolate for supper last Friday.

*Sadly this is almost entirely down my extreme stupidity, quelle surprise, n'est-ce pas?

You've got questions, I've got answers!

So I'm having one of those days when even choosing what bagel to eat for lunch is causing a meltdown of epic proportions (philadelphia and cucumber vs feta and spinach? Argh!). So instead of having to make pesky decisions for myself why not let my ipod do it for me? Today Madame Rowanna and her spirit guide nano will answer everything you ever wanted to know and more! From the mundane to the mystic see below for the answers!

Q:Will I ever be a published author?
Song:'I've got a Theory' by Buffy the Vampire Slayer cast from Once More with Feeling
Analysis: Interesting. The song on the whole is about the different theories each of the characters have about what is causing people to spontaneously burst into song and dance. An upbeat musical number its also an ensemble piece which suggests that to be successful I need the support of an ensemble of people. The song ends with Buffy chiming with a rousing chorus supported by the rest of the characters 'What can't we face if we are together?'. The last line 'There's nothing we can't face - except for bunnies.' indicates that I should temper by dreams with realism. All in all a tentative yes.

Q:Will Lost ever be concluded satisfactory?
Song: Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds by the Beatles
Analysis: Eh? This song is very Lost appropriate, its like a trip or a dream full of 'meaningful' symbols and dream logic (aka brain vomit). I think this is the musical equivalent of have the writers been smoking crack? Aka there will be answers but they will make no sense. But be very pretty while making no sense. (Sawyer le sigh)

Q:Should I get another tattoo?
Song: Worried About Ray by the Hoosiers
Analysis: 'The future's out to get you', 'I'm treading on my tippy-toes/I'm painfully so worried about Ray.' Hmm I'm thinking this a pretty conclusive no and also indicating that if I ever get a tattoo it will be involve my toes and be painful. Thanks nano, whatever would I do without your helpful guidance :)

Q:Should I go and buy some chocolate buttons?
Song: 74-75 by the Connells
Analysis: At first glance the title seems to be a not veiled reference to size I will be in if I give into the craving for chocolate buttons (75 stone, nano thats just rude). I will be 'Sorry ever after' if I give into my cravings (who knew chocolate buttons would be such a pivotal point in my future). But as the song seems to indicate 'There's nothing to say' as if this a mistake I shall inevitably make.

Q:Will I be BF* 4eva** with Irayla, Bunny and Ros?
Song: Everlong by the Foo Fighters
Analysis: Aaah, I heart this song so much. 'Hello/ I've waited here for you/ Everlong.' True, I did wait a while to meet them (til I was 14 ancient!). 'If everything would ever feel this real forever/if anything would ever be this good again/ the only thing I'll ever ask of you/ you've got to not to stop when I say when' seeming to indicate treasure these moments because afterwards you will look back and realise how great the times were. Nothing but good times ahead :)

Q:Will the Boy's business be a success?
A: Bawitdaba by Kid Rock
Analysis: Now nano is just messing with my brain. All the references to methadone clinic, hookers, hood, pit, the porno flicks could indicate a certain moral grubbiness or mean that his business reaches out to certain demographic. Sadly as I can't hear what Kid Rock is actually saying its all a bit of a mystery.

Conclusion: With the help of my guide nano I have peeled back the veil to reveal the abyss of the future that stretches before me. Try it yourself***

*BF=Best friends, for those of you who are not fifteen or my Lil Sis
**4eva=For ever, see above
***Disclaimer: Madame Rowenna and her guide nano recommend that you only undertake the peeling back of the veil to reveal the abyss of the future TM under the guidance of a trained professional

Blade Runner Final Cut

Last night I went to the late night showing of Blade Runner Final Cut. It was showing at one of the best cinemas in my city, a small independent cinema that shows an esoteric range of films from indie, mainstream, and cinema classics. They also sell alcohol and home made cakes (last night I had chocolate tart - yummy).

I first watched Blade Runner late at night on TV, not only was it the old version with the cheesy voice over and the last scene was of them driving in the sun (because its all OK, kids!). It also had a couple of key scenes edited out for TV, in particular all of the eyeball scenes, I guess because of the violence. In this early version it was clear Dekkard was the good guy, and the replicants were the bad guys. Later I watched the far superior Directors Cut (not to be confused by the Final Cut :)) on dvd, but last night was the first time I watched Ridley's Scotts remastered version.

So not only was I watching the film last night with these ghost versions showing in my head. I was also rewatching the film from a completely different perspective. Blade Runner came out the year I was born, and I think the first time I watched it I must have been 12 or 13. It was my introduction to noir films. I hadn't yet watched Metropolis, Chinatown or The Maltese Falcon. I had never read any Philip K Dick, Isaac Asimov or John Wydenham. I didn't yet know why Blade Runner was such a good movie because I hadn't read or watched the canon of movies that inform it. I just knew that it was brilliant.

Watching the film last night was like returning to a place you once loved, everything was the same and everything had changed. From the opening sequence with the shot over LA and the pouff of the flames erupting from the power station to the last scene with the origami unicorn. Watching it now having seen and read a lot of exceptional sci fi (and some extremely dire sci fi) added to my appreciation of the film.

At the moment I'm obsessed by editing, how making a seemingly minuscule change can influence the entire tone, plot, feel of a book. So it was interesting to look at how this works visually. The main change (from what I can remember) is the removal of the cheesy voice over. This serves to make Dekkard's motivations much more opaque and his character more amoral. Sort of like changing a story from first person to third limited perspective, the voice over helps you identify with the character, by removing it allows you to make up your own mind. I think Ridley Scott also rejigged the chase scene at the end with Roy and Dekkard to up the tension. Of course now I want to go back and look at the two earlier versions and see if I can spot the cracks!

I always feel sympathy for the replicants: the desperate need to meet your maker and seek recompense for the flaws of your creation is fertile ground (see Frankenstein et al). The brutality with which Dekkard retires the replicants is too close to the violence they inflict on those that come across their path.

The little details intrigued me, the advertisements for the off world colonies, the fact that real animals were too expensive and replicants were cheaper, the fake memories, and asian advertisements. And there were eyes everywhere, the golden hue of the replicants eyes, the eye man, Priss spray painting over her eyes Roy boring out Tyrell's eyes. A good use of a motif for a film obsessed with our perceptions of reality.

The boy said that he found the noir elements overpowering. Like a rich meal the shadowy lighting, the incessant rain, the beautiful decrepid settings were a little much for his pallet. I loved it, of course. The lighting, the sets, the costumes. even the characters - everything was used, dirty, jaded.

Afterwards there was the eternal debate about whether or not Dekkard is a replicant (for the record I think its a yes the photos, the unicorn dreams, and Grak leaving the unicorn at the end (Oh Adama how I love you!) all seem to point to this. Although the film is ambiguous enough to not answer the question conclusively)

I'm so glad that I got the chance to see the film in the cinema

Cutting

I spent most of this evening reworking a scene in my book. Fiddling around with a couple of key pieces of dialogue and trying to making them fit into the new flow of the story. And one after the other I deleted them. I think I kept about 300 words total of a 1,500 scene. I remember writing the original passage so clearly. I'd be trying for about a month to get Maya (my protagonist) out of her home town and to London. In my original conception of the book the scenes of Maya at her home were considerably shorter. But as I began to write the initial scenes grew, mutating, taking on a strange life of their own. Maya wanted, no needed, to spend more time at home.

My first pass at the scene in the club in London was awkward. There were a lot of things that I knew I needed to fix, but if fit the book as I had it originally conceived. Having finished the first draft my understanding particular of the characters, and the underlying themes has deepened. Even knowing this I still approached the editing of this scene thinking that I would integrate some key changed plot points, and polish some of the dialogue. I didn't intend to cut it all. But once I started I could see the scene taking shape before me, as its true form had been hidden behind the extraneous words. Instead of feeling sad at all that work lost, I felt a sense of relief as I deleted each paragraph. I knew that I was doing what was right for the book

Book Review: Temeraire by Naomi Novik

The hook for Temeraire is inspired– dragons and their captains set across the backdrop of the Napoleonic wars (think Patrick O'Brian crossed with Anne McCafferty). It was this combined with the stunning cover that made me pick up this novel.

Digression: I used to work in the editorial department of a Big Publishing Company so I know how much influence authors have over cover design (very, very little). That said I think the cover fitted the subject matter perfectly. I love the calligraphy of the title and the striking embossed black illustration that flows around the title and author name. All in all it was beautiful so big gold star to all involved.

Captain Will Laurence captures a French ship and as part of the bounty gains a rare dragon's egg. The war with France is not going well, but that dragon if properly trained could provide the vital strategic advantage that England is looking for. When the dragon hatches whilst on board on the ship it imprints itself on Laurence, destroying his beautiful future in the navy, and condemning him to a live as an aviator.

I really enjoyed this book. The authorial voice is confident blending it with contemporary literature of the period. Its full of little historical details which give you confidence that Novik know her period back to front (for example the aviator boys putting kohl beneath their eyes to protect them from the glare of the sun). I really liked the descriptions as dragons as sentient beings. In particular some of the more childish aspects of Temeraire and Laurence's relationship where hilarious, they bickered like an old married couple (Temeraire 's jealously of Laurence cleaning other dragons, and their discussion as to the 'attractions' of Dover)

Novik skillfully weaved women into the narrative without being anachronistic and compromising the reality of the historical period. All in all the the world building was excellent introducing the dragon mad aviators with their crumpled clothing and secretive training schemes (dragons as head trainers - oh yes). I also loved the whole notion of the dragons breeding the aviators to beget a new generation of dragons. Very funny. As well as the different breeds of dragons each with their own particular strengths and weaknesses. There were also a couple of moments with a certain dragon being mistreated that was so heartwrenching sad I couldn't bear it.

However there were a couple of elements that jarred for me. Novik takes great pains to tell us how Temeraire's imprinting on Laurence disrupts his life: his career in the navy, his relationships was his family and his fiancée . But I felt there was a bit of telling as opposed to showing. Almost immediately Laurence develops a relationship with Temeraire. He shows very little resentment or disappointment. I didn't feel that the character went on the emotional journey I wanted or expected (ie longing for the life he left behind and gradually realising how exciting and fulfilling his new world was). All in all the new world he's entering into is too good, too exciting for him to feel much regret about what he is leaving behind.

Tied up in this was that Laurence and Temeraire were just too perfect. The characters that haunt me (Elizabeth Bennett, Heathcliff, Alanna), are difficult, flawed people. They are interesting because they make mistakes, because they change, and because they suffer. Laurence and Temeraire seem always to right. Temeraire is the brightest, the rarest of all the dragons. Laurence despite having little background in aviation often comes up with innovative ideas. I just felt it would be a little more satisfying in terms of character development if there happy ending was earned (yes I am an author sadist mwhahahaha).

Despite these minor gripes, all in all it was skilfully done and I cannot wait to read the many sequels and find out what happens to Temeraire and Laurence.

Book review: Skin Hunger by Kathleen Duey

I often think its harder to review things you love. It easier to point out the flaws and to revel in the snark; but when you love something it is so difficult to analyse why? So if your expecting a coherent critical analysis (and really shouldn't you know better by now?) this is not the place to find it.

I loved Skin Hunger. It is the first in a series called the Resurrection of Magic trilogy. My heart always sinks when I pick up a book that is the part of a series. Partly because I have an instant gratification problem and I need to have my ending (my catharsis) now! Partly because, in fantasy in particular, the series novel is often misused as a form to drag out plots and characters that have well exceeded their shelf life. (And I say this being midway through my own ya uf trilogy - so I know the pitfalls better then most). But this was pitch perfect.

The story is told from the dual pov of Sadima and Haph, who stories despite being seperated by years, are deeply entwined. Sadima is gifted with the ability to speak to animals, in a world in which magic and wizards had been discredited. She forms an uneasy triangle between the cruelly ambitious Somiss, who is determined to resurrect magic, and Franklin who Sadima has fallen desperately in love with. Decades later Haph the son of a rich merchant is enrolled at a school for wizards which is more evocative of a prisoner of war camp then Hogwarths. Unable to leave, the apprentice wizards are forbidden to help each other and starved unless they can conjure food.

In particular the scenes of Haph inside the stone city and the descriptions of the physical depredations he and the other apprentice wizards undergo are darkly fascinating. The emotionally wrought relationships between Somiss and Franklin, Franklin and Sadima and Sadima and Somiss showcase Somiss's growing sadism and the lengths he will go to restore magic and Franklin's inability to part himself from Somiss. The beauty of the language contrasts with the savagery of the subject:

'The magician’s face softened abruptly and she reached to pat Micah’s cheek, then grasped his hand, hard. She leaned close. “Make one more sound and I won’t come. Do you hear?” He nodded, staring at her hand on his. He would remember, all of his life, her yellowed fingernails, rimmed in black—little half moons of filth.'

The structure of the Skin Hunger ramps up the tension as you desperately try and decipher how Sadima's story lead into the creation of the academy of magic and Haph's training as an apprentice wizard. Like a before and after picture you have to fill in the gaps between and draw parallels between the two stories. And you are powerless to change these events because they have, in essence, already happened. I cannot wait for the second in the series.

Inspiration

Reading this has made me very happy indeed. And happiness on a Monday is a rather more elusive feeling than on a Friday. I'm off to take a moonbath, I may be some time...

Doubt weasels

I've finished the first draft of my novel and I'm currently at that bit in the revision process where the doubt weasels are gnawing at me and I'm considering jacking it all in to go and bake.

The problem is that when I write I love what I'm writing, its fresh, its new, its undoubtedly an outstanding work of staggering genius. If the novel in progress was a person we would be at that stage in our relationship where I'm name-checking it every three minutes, whether the conversation is relevant or not 'Novel likes ice lollies too!'.

But editing requires a completely different mindset. When your editing you have to 'kill your darlings'. And when your rewriting as well as editing (combining love of the project with a critical eye) well its a hard slog. Unlike when your writing a first draft and you can rely on the word count to keep you motivated, this is not much help when editing. Because you could have had a really productive morning and -1,4500 words. So instead I'm trying to rewrite for a solid hour. We'll see how it goes.

Anyway after wrestling with a mid point scene in which three characters intersect for the first time for most of the morning, I'm done. The sun is shining. Its a Saturday and The Boy is making neglected noises. We're off to the museum. The doubt weasels will wait til tomorrow.

A trivial mind

This can only be a good thing.

I love gossip. I have a mind that clings relentlessly to the trivial, I can remember all the songs from Labryinth, plots from every Sweet Valley High book (Wakefields 4 eva!) but ask me about the English constitutional system and all you'll get will be a dazed look.

So I was always an avaricious consumer of gossip magazines. I bought one of the first issues of heat magazine (although I haven't been buying for over a year now. No moral fortitude just that gossip sites are better and more available when your bored at work). A couple of months ago heat released a pull section of stickers one of which was a sticker of Jordan's son Harvey with a speech bubble saying 'Harvey wants to eat me'.

Yep. I don't know where to begin by expressing how disgusted I was by this. But to prevent muchas pointless ranting here's the breakdown:

1) Harvey is five years old
2) Harvey is not a celebrity (he's not placed himself in the public eye for his actions to be commented on)
3) Harvey is disabled. He suffers from septo-optic dysplasia, a rare condition which means he is visually impaired and suffers from hormonal deficiencies hence his size

Heat by publishing this are making fun of a disabled, non famous five year old. Which is so beyond acceptable, no matter what pathetic apologies they may make afterwards. So three months ago, I stopped buying all Emap products out of protest (this also coincided (with a rant for another day) the realisation that the majority of women's magazines serve to make you feel crap about yourself and pimp loads of overpriced tat you don't need so you can fill that gaping hole within (try doughnuts instead (joke!)).)

But that feeling that by buying heat and its competitors, by being interesting in Celebrity cellulite etc, that I was culpable it did not go away. I started to feel a little bit queasy.

The recent press coverage of Britney Spears breakdown made me awful. Anybody who profits photos of somebody who 24 hours before had been released from mental institution is immoral.
But by reading the site I was at the very least amoral. I was swallowing it down avidly, no better than those people who stand and gape at ambulances sucking in every last drop of human misery.

Then I saw this article on holy moly, one of my favourite sites, about how they were no longer going to use intrusive paparazzi photo. And it summed up what I'd been thinking.

So I'm going to try and not be trivial. I'm not going to read or buy these magazines anymore, or visit the websites.

I'm not arrogant enough to think that this will make any difference in the grand scheme of things. But it will make a difference to me.

Sorry seems to be the hardest word...

Because when is referencing Elton John songs not a good idea :)

I saw this yesterday. A lot of people I've talked to seem a little dismissive of this speech at the opening of the Australian parliament.

Whether or not you think we in the present are responsible for the atrocities commited by past generations undoubtably almost all of us have profited from our ancestors collusion and in some cases persecution of minorities. However far back you delve into a countries past there are dirty little secrets (and not so secret) And the more successful the country partly in the colonial sphere the larger and more geographically widespread the mistakes.

I think the Australian government have done a great thing. Really what they are saying is:
1) This happened
2) It was not OK that it did
3) And we as representative of the electorate are saying sorry
4) In the future we will try to bridge the widespread economic, educational, and social gap to make recompense for the mistakes of the past.

Don't hold your breath for the English parliament doing anything similar anytime soon

The book journal

For Christmas this year my best friend Bunny gave me a book journal. An A5 size notepad with sections neatly divided into books read, books to read, and books lent/borrowed. This was the perfect gift for me. I am a notorious bibliophile, if I don't have a stack of ten books to read next I get antsy. I have a wide and varied palette, I read: sci fi, fantasy, ya, ya, ya fantasy, ya sci fi, literary fiction, classics, crime, historicals, romance, auto/biographies, non fiction etc. However apart from one notorious summer when I counted the number of books I read (80), I've never kept a record of the books I read or reviewed them.

Recently I've begun reading in a different way. I still read for pleasure, to devour stories, to dive into imaginary worlds, to immerse myself in the thoughts and feelings of characters. Now I've started deconstructing books, pulling them apart to examine the mechanics of structure/plot, characters, description, and dialogue. This is because instead of reading from a consumer point of view I've started writing seriously for the first time.

I have been writing stories from as early as I can remember. An overly imaginative (delusional :)) child I would walk down the end of the garden and tell stories to the vegetable patch and the fairies I believed lived in the fronds of the rhubarb and slept cradled in the pea shells. But this was the first book I ever finished. At the moment I'm neck deep in revisions which are more taxing and strangely more rewarding than I ever could imagine.

So in order to procrastinate a little bit more I've decided to blog about the books I read, as well about the revision process (lots of pathetic moaning ahoy) and anything else that catches my fancy