I've been so uplifted and encouraged by the response I've received from all of you to my last few posts, chronicling some of my ups and downs. I don't know if you truly understand how much this means to me. 'Thank you' seems an inadequate response.
Someone just emailed me this and it's a natural for me to share with you.
NATURAL HIGHS
1. Being in love.
2. Laughing so hard your face hurts.
3. A hot shower.
4. No queues at the supermarket.
5. Taking a drive on a pretty road.
6. Hearing your favourite song on the radio.
7. Lying in bed listening to the rain outside.
8. Hot towels fresh out of the dryer.
9. Chocolate milkshake ... (or vanilla ... or strawberry!)
10. A bubble bath.
11. Giggling.
12. A good conversation.
13. Finding a £20 note in your coat from last winter.
14. Running through sprinklers.
15. Laughing for absolutely no reason at all.
16. Having someone tell you that you're beautiful.
17. Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you.
18. Waking up and realising you still have a few hours left to sleep.
19. Making new friends or spending time with old ones.
20. Having someone play with your hair.
21. Sweet dreams.
22. Making eye contact with a cute stranger.
23. Holding hands with someone you care about.
24. Running into an old friend and realising that some things (good or bad) never change.
25. Watching the expression on someone's face as they open a much-desired present from you.
26. Getting out of bed every morning and being grateful for another beautiful day.
27. Knowing that somebody misses you.
28. Getting a hug from someone you care about deeply.
29. Knowing you've done the right thing, no matter what other people think.
Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Saturday, November 11, 2006
And the visual proof ...
One of the lovely members of the Rotherhithe Reading Group sent me this photo.
So it wasn't a dream then ....
So it wasn't a dream then ....
Friday, November 10, 2006
Feeling gooood ...
You may remember I was invited to the Rotherhithe Library reading group last night.
I was a little nervous. I can walk the walk and talk the talk at such events, but it doesn’t come easy to me to be the centre of attention. Luckily I had the wonderful Joan and Meloney Lemon (friends and fellow members of the East Dulwich Writers’ Group) with me as henchwomen.
But I had particular cause for anxiety this time. Readers of Nirvana Bites will know that I haven’t been exactly flattering about Rotherhithe and Bermondsey. ‘Redneck territory’ is how I described the area.
‘So what’s wrong with Rotherhithe?’ Joan asked as we drove – or to be strictly accurate, Joan drove, I navigated, Meloney lolled.
‘It’s weird,’ I replied. ‘There are plenty of black people living here but it’s very much a white working class area where racism is the norm. There are definite no go areas if you’re black.’
We turned a corner onto a back street leading to the library. A group of shaven-headed geezers, complete with obligatory bull terrier straining at the leash, leered at us.
‘See?’ I said.
‘Blimey,’ replied Joan. ‘Yes, I see.’
We drew up outside the library. We were early and decided to wait in the car. I had a sudden rush of paranoia.
‘What if they’ve read Nirvana Bites?’ I stammered. ‘What if they’ve come to GET ME?’
(For those of you who haven’t read my first book, I should point out that the plot revolves round the setting up of an international fascist headquarters in this very area. My unequivocal anti-racist stance is also clear from my website and this blog. Oh – and I’m Jewish too …)
I turned to Joan, seeking reassurance. None was forthcoming. It seemed I’d have to provide it myself.
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘These guys wouldn’t read a book, would they?’
Meloney piped up from the back seat.
‘You’ve got a blog now, m’dear. You’re out there. Anyone can find out about you …’
Twitch. Twitch.
‘It’s all right, Debi,’ Joan murmured in her famously dulcet tones. ‘We’re here. I can just hit them with my handbag.’
I glanced at the diminutive figure with grey hair sitting next to me, glanced back at the blokes on the corner behind us … The odds didn’t look good. And I couldn’t even smoke a fag, thanks to this awful cold …
So it was with some trepidation that half an hour later we made our way into the library. About 20 people sat in a circle of chairs.
‘Are you Debi?’ one guy asked.
He looked good. I liked the look of him. Very camp and my kinda people … He grabbed my hand.
‘Loved your books,’ he gushed. ‘Both of them. Brilliant characters, wonderful writing …’
OK. Maybe I could relax a bit. There’d be at least one person on my side apart from Joan and Melony. I sat down in the circle.
‘We split the room,’ an older man growled from my left. ‘This side is always people who hate the book we’ve read.’
Gulp. The room was split about 50/50.
‘Think I’m in for a hard time,’ I muttered to the divine Ms Lemon.
Well, my dear blogmates, how wrong can you get???
They were ALL just amazing. Nearly all of them had read one or both of my published books. Several had bought their own copies and many complained that not enough were available in the library.
And they knew them. Really knew them. With hindsight I should probably have reread them myself before coming. It was a bit like a comprehension exam at times. They kept correcting me!
‘But Tatiana wasn’t a victim of global trafficking, was she?’ one woman pointed out. ‘She came here with the circus. It was only after she was here that she fell into the hands of the traffickers …’
‘Ooops, yes, you’re quite right. Sorry.’
I managed to slip in a plug for Amnesty's campaign while I was at it though ...
It would be hard to imagine a group of people more generously-spirited. I almost drowned under the outpouring of positive feedback. They knew my characters. Really knew them. Had no problems whatsoever in identifying with them. This was a very diverse group in terms of gender, age, race, nationality etc yet no one said they had any difficulty relating to the people in my books.
Buoyed up by their support and positive affirmation, I read out the rejection letter I’d received that morning. There was a roar of disapproval. These people, like all of us, are lovers of books and were appalled at the reasons stated for turning down Me, John and a Bomb. I lost count of the number of people who said they couldn’t wait to see my next books published.
There may have been some there who didn’t like them, but if so they stayed silent. I hope they would have felt able to voice criticism if they felt it … It would be utterly ridiculous to expect everyone who reads any book to love it.
Oh and some sundry extreme weirdnesses – they told me that a tropical fish shop (just like Koi Korner in Nirvana Bites) opened up in the same street as Koi Korner round about the same time the book was published! And several of them also said they knew Boddington Heights, the fictional tower block in the Old Kent Road that appears in both books.
‘No you don’t,’ I said. ‘I made it up!’
But they were adamant …
The evening was supposed to end at 8.30. At 9.30 Julian, the warm and welcoming organiser, called a reluctant halt.
So there are wonderful experiences to be had in Rotherhithe after all. I have never been so glad to be proved wrong!
Huge thanks to Julian and Margaret who organised the evening.
Huge thanks to the Rotherhithe Library Reading Group for inviting me and for their warmth and generosity.
Huge thanks to Joan and Meloney for their never-ending support.
And huge thanks to Life for giving me this magical and uplifting experience.
I was a little nervous. I can walk the walk and talk the talk at such events, but it doesn’t come easy to me to be the centre of attention. Luckily I had the wonderful Joan and Meloney Lemon (friends and fellow members of the East Dulwich Writers’ Group) with me as henchwomen.
But I had particular cause for anxiety this time. Readers of Nirvana Bites will know that I haven’t been exactly flattering about Rotherhithe and Bermondsey. ‘Redneck territory’ is how I described the area.
‘So what’s wrong with Rotherhithe?’ Joan asked as we drove – or to be strictly accurate, Joan drove, I navigated, Meloney lolled.
‘It’s weird,’ I replied. ‘There are plenty of black people living here but it’s very much a white working class area where racism is the norm. There are definite no go areas if you’re black.’
We turned a corner onto a back street leading to the library. A group of shaven-headed geezers, complete with obligatory bull terrier straining at the leash, leered at us.
‘See?’ I said.
‘Blimey,’ replied Joan. ‘Yes, I see.’
We drew up outside the library. We were early and decided to wait in the car. I had a sudden rush of paranoia.
‘What if they’ve read Nirvana Bites?’ I stammered. ‘What if they’ve come to GET ME?’
(For those of you who haven’t read my first book, I should point out that the plot revolves round the setting up of an international fascist headquarters in this very area. My unequivocal anti-racist stance is also clear from my website and this blog. Oh – and I’m Jewish too …)
I turned to Joan, seeking reassurance. None was forthcoming. It seemed I’d have to provide it myself.
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘These guys wouldn’t read a book, would they?’
Meloney piped up from the back seat.
‘You’ve got a blog now, m’dear. You’re out there. Anyone can find out about you …’
Twitch. Twitch.
‘It’s all right, Debi,’ Joan murmured in her famously dulcet tones. ‘We’re here. I can just hit them with my handbag.’
I glanced at the diminutive figure with grey hair sitting next to me, glanced back at the blokes on the corner behind us … The odds didn’t look good. And I couldn’t even smoke a fag, thanks to this awful cold …
So it was with some trepidation that half an hour later we made our way into the library. About 20 people sat in a circle of chairs.
‘Are you Debi?’ one guy asked.
He looked good. I liked the look of him. Very camp and my kinda people … He grabbed my hand.
‘Loved your books,’ he gushed. ‘Both of them. Brilliant characters, wonderful writing …’
OK. Maybe I could relax a bit. There’d be at least one person on my side apart from Joan and Melony. I sat down in the circle.
‘We split the room,’ an older man growled from my left. ‘This side is always people who hate the book we’ve read.’
Gulp. The room was split about 50/50.
‘Think I’m in for a hard time,’ I muttered to the divine Ms Lemon.
Well, my dear blogmates, how wrong can you get???
They were ALL just amazing. Nearly all of them had read one or both of my published books. Several had bought their own copies and many complained that not enough were available in the library.
And they knew them. Really knew them. With hindsight I should probably have reread them myself before coming. It was a bit like a comprehension exam at times. They kept correcting me!
‘But Tatiana wasn’t a victim of global trafficking, was she?’ one woman pointed out. ‘She came here with the circus. It was only after she was here that she fell into the hands of the traffickers …’
‘Ooops, yes, you’re quite right. Sorry.’
I managed to slip in a plug for Amnesty's campaign while I was at it though ...
It would be hard to imagine a group of people more generously-spirited. I almost drowned under the outpouring of positive feedback. They knew my characters. Really knew them. Had no problems whatsoever in identifying with them. This was a very diverse group in terms of gender, age, race, nationality etc yet no one said they had any difficulty relating to the people in my books.
Buoyed up by their support and positive affirmation, I read out the rejection letter I’d received that morning. There was a roar of disapproval. These people, like all of us, are lovers of books and were appalled at the reasons stated for turning down Me, John and a Bomb. I lost count of the number of people who said they couldn’t wait to see my next books published.
There may have been some there who didn’t like them, but if so they stayed silent. I hope they would have felt able to voice criticism if they felt it … It would be utterly ridiculous to expect everyone who reads any book to love it.
Oh and some sundry extreme weirdnesses – they told me that a tropical fish shop (just like Koi Korner in Nirvana Bites) opened up in the same street as Koi Korner round about the same time the book was published! And several of them also said they knew Boddington Heights, the fictional tower block in the Old Kent Road that appears in both books.
‘No you don’t,’ I said. ‘I made it up!’
But they were adamant …
The evening was supposed to end at 8.30. At 9.30 Julian, the warm and welcoming organiser, called a reluctant halt.
So there are wonderful experiences to be had in Rotherhithe after all. I have never been so glad to be proved wrong!
Huge thanks to Julian and Margaret who organised the evening.
Huge thanks to the Rotherhithe Library Reading Group for inviting me and for their warmth and generosity.
Huge thanks to Joan and Meloney for their never-ending support.
And huge thanks to Life for giving me this magical and uplifting experience.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Rejection reflection
The story so far …
I had a two book deal for Nirvana Bites and Trading Tatiana. Given the state of the publishing industry, I was unsurprised to learn that the contract was not going to be renewed.
At that point, I found an agent and gave him the manuscript of De Nada Nirvana. (I’d previously been picked up directly by the publisher and had no agent. If I had my time again …) Anyway, he told me that he foresaw an excellent long term future, but warned me that we faced formidable obstacles in the short term.
How right he was! He now has the manuscript of Me, John and a Bomb as well as De Nada Nirvana.
Today I received a copy of a letter sent from one publisher to the agent that he thought I might like to see.
On the plus side, the letter said the following:
• ‘Cleverly and powerfully written’
• ‘… a controversial subject whilst remaining mostly unbiased’
• ‘I like the way the writing style changes to complement the content, for example when Sky and John are on the run the sentence structure changes to short and staccato sentences, reflective of the protagonists’ pain and mental state’ (Gosh – I hadn’t even consciously realised I’d done that!)
But it was, of course, a rejection. I can handle it! I know it’s just a matter of waiting for the right place at the right time. But I was bemused by this particular editor’s reasons for the rejection:
• …’you mention that Alper’s characters come from “a very different world to those we usually meet”. Although I realise this was intended to provide a refreshing change of perspective, to be honest, this was probably the most significant barrier for me – I really had trouble relating to them.'
I hardly know where to start with this … My characters are real people living on the margins of society. Although they are fictional, many people have told me they KNOW them. And they’re not THAT odd. I certainly live in their world … Some are homeless, some live in council flats, and the main characters live in a housing co-op where they have formed their own community. Some have problems with addiction, many are political activists. Many are damaged by abuse of one form or another.
Is this SO strange??? And don’t many books have characters that live in a different world to that of their readers?
And if all books published reflected only the experiences of those working in publishing, wouldn’t that be incredibly narrow?
I had a two book deal for Nirvana Bites and Trading Tatiana. Given the state of the publishing industry, I was unsurprised to learn that the contract was not going to be renewed.
At that point, I found an agent and gave him the manuscript of De Nada Nirvana. (I’d previously been picked up directly by the publisher and had no agent. If I had my time again …) Anyway, he told me that he foresaw an excellent long term future, but warned me that we faced formidable obstacles in the short term.
How right he was! He now has the manuscript of Me, John and a Bomb as well as De Nada Nirvana.
Today I received a copy of a letter sent from one publisher to the agent that he thought I might like to see.
On the plus side, the letter said the following:
• ‘Cleverly and powerfully written’
• ‘… a controversial subject whilst remaining mostly unbiased’
• ‘I like the way the writing style changes to complement the content, for example when Sky and John are on the run the sentence structure changes to short and staccato sentences, reflective of the protagonists’ pain and mental state’ (Gosh – I hadn’t even consciously realised I’d done that!)
But it was, of course, a rejection. I can handle it! I know it’s just a matter of waiting for the right place at the right time. But I was bemused by this particular editor’s reasons for the rejection:
• …’you mention that Alper’s characters come from “a very different world to those we usually meet”. Although I realise this was intended to provide a refreshing change of perspective, to be honest, this was probably the most significant barrier for me – I really had trouble relating to them.'
I hardly know where to start with this … My characters are real people living on the margins of society. Although they are fictional, many people have told me they KNOW them. And they’re not THAT odd. I certainly live in their world … Some are homeless, some live in council flats, and the main characters live in a housing co-op where they have formed their own community. Some have problems with addiction, many are political activists. Many are damaged by abuse of one form or another.
Is this SO strange??? And don’t many books have characters that live in a different world to that of their readers?
And if all books published reflected only the experiences of those working in publishing, wouldn’t that be incredibly narrow?
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Short story competition - time's running out ...
Have you entered the Skint short story competition yet?
No? Why on earth not?
Have you seen the glittering array of prizes?
Think of the prestige ... the kudos ...
Imagine how good winning would look on your cv or on your next submission letter ...
Now, get scribbling! You've got 3 weeks left.
No? Why on earth not?
Have you seen the glittering array of prizes?
Think of the prestige ... the kudos ...
Imagine how good winning would look on your cv or on your next submission letter ...
Now, get scribbling! You've got 3 weeks left.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Women for sale ... life is cheap
I wrote Trading Tatiana in 2002/3 and it was published in Jan 2005.
As soon as I'd signed my two book deal with Orion, I knew I wanted to use the opportunity to draw attention to the horrors of the international trade in women's bodies. The subject was all over the media. I hoped that in my own small way I could contribute to a raised consciousness that would surely result in a tidal wave of public revulsion. If people really knew, I reasoned, their demands for an end to the global trafficking of women and girls would be unstoppable.
Here's an excerpt from Trading Tatiana:
Facts were delivered with no dramatic embellishment. They needed none in order to invoke horror and disgust. Statistics leaped from the paper and bludgeoned me with the stark reality of human misery they represented.
• Fifty two billion dollars – the annual value of the global prostitution industry.
• Five hundred thousand – the number of women smuggled into Western Europe by the sex trade.
• Ten thousand – police estimates of the number of illegal immigrants working as prostitutes in Britain.
• Seventy – the number of walk-up flats in Soho worked by prostitutes of whom ninety per cent are from eastern Europe.
• Twenty-four hours – the time within which women picked up by Immigration are flown home, having been seen as illegal immigrants rather than victims who could potentially give evidence against the criminal networks that brought them here in the first place. The traffickers often meet the women at the airport and bring them straight back to Britain.
• Two years – the Court of Appeal’s recommended sentence for pimping.
My tea grew cold and my toast lay uneaten as I read through case studies of girls – teenagers most of them, but some as young as ten – tortured and exploited, isolated and terrified. Like the sixteen-year-old whose pimp had taken out her front teeth, so she could give better oral sex. I learned about ‘seasoning’ – a pimping term for raping and beating a girl until all resistance has been knocked out of her.
I was beginning to understand Mags’s concern. The men controlling this human trade were not part of an organised Mafia. They were more dangerous than that. They operated in small groups held together by blood or tribe. Their own backgrounds were often ones of abject poverty. They had little to lose and untold riches to gain.
So here we are, nearly 5 years after I wrote those words. Have the hoped-for changes come about? Has the situation I depicted been consigned to the dustbin of history?
Here's an excerpt from an Amnesty International leaflet I received last week:
... Victims of trafficking have little real protection. Most women - even if they manage to escape their captors - are frightened of going to the authorities. When they do, they are all too often treated not as victims but as criminals. That can mean deportation to a homeland where they may be shunned by their own family or - worse still - fall back into the hands of the traffickers.
What is urgently needed are new international laws and guidelines ... Amnesty International, together with other organisations, has been campaigning for the introduction of a Europe wide convention against trafficking ... The Council of Europe Convention on Action Against Trafficking in Human Beings has finally been drawn up.
However, before it can come into force it must be ratified by 10 states.
So far the UK has refused to sign.
If, like me, you feel sickened and ashamed to live in a society that allows this suffering and exploitation to continue unchecked, go here to contact Vernon Coaker, the Home Office minister responsible for preventing human trafficking (!)
Either compose your own email or copy and paste the following:
I am calling upon the UK government to sign the European Convention on Action Against Trafficking in Human Beings as a matter of extreme urgency.
The Home Office's own sources suggest that at least 1400 women are trafficked into the UK and sold into the sex trade every year. This sale of women and girls is utterly unacceptable. People who are trafficked are not criminals - they are victims of a most horrific human rights abuse and deserve our protection.
Unless enougn people demand change, it won't happen.
And thousands more Tatianas will have their lives stolen from them ...
As soon as I'd signed my two book deal with Orion, I knew I wanted to use the opportunity to draw attention to the horrors of the international trade in women's bodies. The subject was all over the media. I hoped that in my own small way I could contribute to a raised consciousness that would surely result in a tidal wave of public revulsion. If people really knew, I reasoned, their demands for an end to the global trafficking of women and girls would be unstoppable.
Here's an excerpt from Trading Tatiana:
Facts were delivered with no dramatic embellishment. They needed none in order to invoke horror and disgust. Statistics leaped from the paper and bludgeoned me with the stark reality of human misery they represented.
• Fifty two billion dollars – the annual value of the global prostitution industry.
• Five hundred thousand – the number of women smuggled into Western Europe by the sex trade.
• Ten thousand – police estimates of the number of illegal immigrants working as prostitutes in Britain.
• Seventy – the number of walk-up flats in Soho worked by prostitutes of whom ninety per cent are from eastern Europe.
• Twenty-four hours – the time within which women picked up by Immigration are flown home, having been seen as illegal immigrants rather than victims who could potentially give evidence against the criminal networks that brought them here in the first place. The traffickers often meet the women at the airport and bring them straight back to Britain.
• Two years – the Court of Appeal’s recommended sentence for pimping.
My tea grew cold and my toast lay uneaten as I read through case studies of girls – teenagers most of them, but some as young as ten – tortured and exploited, isolated and terrified. Like the sixteen-year-old whose pimp had taken out her front teeth, so she could give better oral sex. I learned about ‘seasoning’ – a pimping term for raping and beating a girl until all resistance has been knocked out of her.
I was beginning to understand Mags’s concern. The men controlling this human trade were not part of an organised Mafia. They were more dangerous than that. They operated in small groups held together by blood or tribe. Their own backgrounds were often ones of abject poverty. They had little to lose and untold riches to gain.
So here we are, nearly 5 years after I wrote those words. Have the hoped-for changes come about? Has the situation I depicted been consigned to the dustbin of history?
Here's an excerpt from an Amnesty International leaflet I received last week:
... Victims of trafficking have little real protection. Most women - even if they manage to escape their captors - are frightened of going to the authorities. When they do, they are all too often treated not as victims but as criminals. That can mean deportation to a homeland where they may be shunned by their own family or - worse still - fall back into the hands of the traffickers.
What is urgently needed are new international laws and guidelines ... Amnesty International, together with other organisations, has been campaigning for the introduction of a Europe wide convention against trafficking ... The Council of Europe Convention on Action Against Trafficking in Human Beings has finally been drawn up.
However, before it can come into force it must be ratified by 10 states.
So far the UK has refused to sign.
If, like me, you feel sickened and ashamed to live in a society that allows this suffering and exploitation to continue unchecked, go here to contact Vernon Coaker, the Home Office minister responsible for preventing human trafficking (!)
Either compose your own email or copy and paste the following:
I am calling upon the UK government to sign the European Convention on Action Against Trafficking in Human Beings as a matter of extreme urgency.
The Home Office's own sources suggest that at least 1400 women are trafficked into the UK and sold into the sex trade every year. This sale of women and girls is utterly unacceptable. People who are trafficked are not criminals - they are victims of a most horrific human rights abuse and deserve our protection.
Unless enougn people demand change, it won't happen.
And thousands more Tatianas will have their lives stolen from them ...
The Words in Him
And now for a poem ...
It's not one of mine of course cos I'm crap at them.
This is one of Skint's from his book, The Words in Me.
You're Fab
There are those that wake with still closed eyes
And grunt and hide and live in lies
They swallow anything that comes
And lay to rest with nothing done.
Then there are the ones that see
That live their own humanity
They show their beauty in the night
And when they leave they leave a light.
While I'm on about Skint, let me tell you about another book of his - Fabulous Fillings for Baked Potatoes. If the title leads you to expect recipes along the lines of 'Fill with grated cheese and for that extra special touch add a knob of butter' or 'Open the tin of baked beans ...' think again!
This book is a veritable cornucopia of vegan delights such as Continental Lentil Moussaka, Mushroom Yoganoff and Hawaiian Stir Fry. But what else would you expect from the man who gave us bhajis to die for???
Both these books are a tribute to Skint's determination to bring his words into print for us all to share, savour and enjoy. Searching for sustenance for the soul or for the palate? Look no further for that special present for the gift-giving season!
I've just started on the stream of consciousness that is The Three Bears in the sure and certain knowledge of his ability to make me laugh, cry and dribble.
Oh - and you did know he's a talented and intuitive painter too, didn't you?
It's not one of mine of course cos I'm crap at them.
This is one of Skint's from his book, The Words in Me.
You're Fab
There are those that wake with still closed eyes
And grunt and hide and live in lies
They swallow anything that comes
And lay to rest with nothing done.
Then there are the ones that see
That live their own humanity
They show their beauty in the night
And when they leave they leave a light.
While I'm on about Skint, let me tell you about another book of his - Fabulous Fillings for Baked Potatoes. If the title leads you to expect recipes along the lines of 'Fill with grated cheese and for that extra special touch add a knob of butter' or 'Open the tin of baked beans ...' think again!
This book is a veritable cornucopia of vegan delights such as Continental Lentil Moussaka, Mushroom Yoganoff and Hawaiian Stir Fry. But what else would you expect from the man who gave us bhajis to die for???
Both these books are a tribute to Skint's determination to bring his words into print for us all to share, savour and enjoy. Searching for sustenance for the soul or for the palate? Look no further for that special present for the gift-giving season!
I've just started on the stream of consciousness that is The Three Bears in the sure and certain knowledge of his ability to make me laugh, cry and dribble.
Oh - and you did know he's a talented and intuitive painter too, didn't you?
Friday, November 03, 2006
Coffee with a conscience
I received the following and thought it would be good to share ...
(Bet Sharon's already had it ... I'm on a mission to post a link to something she hasn't known about for ages ...)
Hello D,
We just wanted to send you a quick e-mail about Starbucks, and ask you to put pressure on the coffee company to give coffee farmers a fairer deal.
It's simple: the Ethiopian government has asked Starbucks to sign an agreement that recognises Ethiopia's legal ownership of its coffee names. This will give Ethiopia's 15 million farmers a better cut of the profits.
Despite its much-publicised commitments to farming communities, Starbucks refuses to take the Ethiopian request seriously.
WHAT YOU CAN DO - Click here to go to the Starbucks Action MySpace page:
And then take the action: click the link and send an automated fax to the
CEO of Starbucks, telling him to give Ethiopian farmers a fair deal.
If you're on MySpace, add it as one of your top friends, send a bulletin with a link or spread the word in any way you can.
Whatever you do, please take action!
Thanks loads for your time,
Oxfam Generation Why
(Bet Sharon's already had it ... I'm on a mission to post a link to something she hasn't known about for ages ...)
Hello D,
We just wanted to send you a quick e-mail about Starbucks, and ask you to put pressure on the coffee company to give coffee farmers a fairer deal.
It's simple: the Ethiopian government has asked Starbucks to sign an agreement that recognises Ethiopia's legal ownership of its coffee names. This will give Ethiopia's 15 million farmers a better cut of the profits.
Despite its much-publicised commitments to farming communities, Starbucks refuses to take the Ethiopian request seriously.
WHAT YOU CAN DO - Click here to go to the Starbucks Action MySpace page:
And then take the action: click the link and send an automated fax to the
CEO of Starbucks, telling him to give Ethiopian farmers a fair deal.
If you're on MySpace, add it as one of your top friends, send a bulletin with a link or spread the word in any way you can.
Whatever you do, please take action!
Thanks loads for your time,
Oxfam Generation Why
Thursday, November 02, 2006
A coven for all of us
I was a long way from home.
London to Cardiff.
Over 150 miles.
Three and a half hours travelling through golden Autumn sun-drenched landscapes under a clear blue sky.
Across the vast awe-inspiring expanse of the Severn Bridge, feeling as though I was crossing a small sea, not a mere river.
Into another country.
For just under 24 hrs I was removed from the familiar safety of my normal sources of shared love ...
And instead was enveloped by the kind of warmth and hospitality you would only usually experience in the company of your own family or old and trusted friends!
Making the shift from the blogosphere into Real Life adds so many rich new dimensions. It truly is a gift we're sharing here!
I was delighted to spend the first night in over 11 yrs away from my family (yes, really!) for such an occasion as the first launch of Coven of One. (There will be more ...) I don't yet have the perspective to know the significance of All This and how it fits into My Life, but there's one thing I do know - the relationships forged with Minx and her family, Skint and his family, and the wonderful crimeficreader are very special indeed.
I'd meant to turn off my mobile but forgot (bad Debi!). I'm glad I did though, because in the middle of the evening I had a text from Sharon - who was the first person to comment on both my and Minx's blogs and an early visitor to Skint's. How fitting was that???
Thanks to all of you who were there and who showed such true friendship ...
Thanks to all those who weren't there physically but whose spirit we felt so keenly ...
And most of all I wish Minx and Skint the very best of good things with your new adventure.
Glad I was able to travel this small but momentous part of the journey with you!
London to Cardiff.
Over 150 miles.
Three and a half hours travelling through golden Autumn sun-drenched landscapes under a clear blue sky.
Across the vast awe-inspiring expanse of the Severn Bridge, feeling as though I was crossing a small sea, not a mere river.
Into another country.
For just under 24 hrs I was removed from the familiar safety of my normal sources of shared love ...
And instead was enveloped by the kind of warmth and hospitality you would only usually experience in the company of your own family or old and trusted friends!
Making the shift from the blogosphere into Real Life adds so many rich new dimensions. It truly is a gift we're sharing here!
I was delighted to spend the first night in over 11 yrs away from my family (yes, really!) for such an occasion as the first launch of Coven of One. (There will be more ...) I don't yet have the perspective to know the significance of All This and how it fits into My Life, but there's one thing I do know - the relationships forged with Minx and her family, Skint and his family, and the wonderful crimeficreader are very special indeed.
I'd meant to turn off my mobile but forgot (bad Debi!). I'm glad I did though, because in the middle of the evening I had a text from Sharon - who was the first person to comment on both my and Minx's blogs and an early visitor to Skint's. How fitting was that???
Thanks to all of you who were there and who showed such true friendship ...
Thanks to all those who weren't there physically but whose spirit we felt so keenly ...
And most of all I wish Minx and Skint the very best of good things with your new adventure.
Glad I was able to travel this small but momentous part of the journey with you!
Monday, October 30, 2006
What the well-dressed and stylish authors will be wearing ...
Thought you might like to see a glimpse of the compulsory Samhain look we're adopting for Minx's launch and the blogmoot.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Urgent adjustment required
OK. OK. I've seen this coming for some time ... My blogging is totally out of control. I'm sure I remember saying this before - several times. Didn't I once do a comment somewhere - 'My name's Debi ... and I'm a blogger ...'?
They say admitting to your addiction is the vital first step. But I admitted ages ago! How do I get to take the next step?
Discipline, of course. Now where do I get that from? Any offers?
This is the problem. It's got to the point (to be honest I arrived there some time ago) where my writing fits in round my blogging rather than vice versa. This is Not Good.
There are some good discussions on Skint and Pundy on the perennial why-we-blog issue. It's so good to communicate. I love the opinions, the stimulation, the meeting of minds, the cut and thrust of intelligent debate, the howls of laughter at my fellow bloggers' wit ... And then there's the creative process ... And the thought that it matters to get your voice out there ... and that maybe that next link could be the one to change your life ...
See? Hopeless addiction ...
BUT - I need to write this next book. It used to be the case that my work in progress would sit on my shoulder. I would be communing with it at all times whether bashing out words onto a page or not. Now it's all you lot sitting on my shoulder and the book is jumping up and down behind you, shouting 'Oy! Alper! What about me???'
So - here's yet another attempt to change those priorities so that the blog fits into the writing and not the other way round.
* I'll spend one full day a week dedicated to blog-surfing
* But I'll post whenever I feel the need to mouth off
* Other days I'll respond to comments on mine but stay away from the full blogroll
I'm under no illusions. It's gonna be hard. Very hard ...
I'll ... er start next week after Minx's launch ... Or maybe the week after ...
They say admitting to your addiction is the vital first step. But I admitted ages ago! How do I get to take the next step?
Discipline, of course. Now where do I get that from? Any offers?
This is the problem. It's got to the point (to be honest I arrived there some time ago) where my writing fits in round my blogging rather than vice versa. This is Not Good.
There are some good discussions on Skint and Pundy on the perennial why-we-blog issue. It's so good to communicate. I love the opinions, the stimulation, the meeting of minds, the cut and thrust of intelligent debate, the howls of laughter at my fellow bloggers' wit ... And then there's the creative process ... And the thought that it matters to get your voice out there ... and that maybe that next link could be the one to change your life ...
See? Hopeless addiction ...
BUT - I need to write this next book. It used to be the case that my work in progress would sit on my shoulder. I would be communing with it at all times whether bashing out words onto a page or not. Now it's all you lot sitting on my shoulder and the book is jumping up and down behind you, shouting 'Oy! Alper! What about me???'
So - here's yet another attempt to change those priorities so that the blog fits into the writing and not the other way round.
* I'll spend one full day a week dedicated to blog-surfing
* But I'll post whenever I feel the need to mouth off
* Other days I'll respond to comments on mine but stay away from the full blogroll
I'm under no illusions. It's gonna be hard. Very hard ...
I'll ... er start next week after Minx's launch ... Or maybe the week after ...
Friday, October 27, 2006
Is a small gig a giglet?
Following the successful gig in June with the Dulwich reading group, I've been invited for a follow up in Rotherhithe.
Today Southwark ... tomorrow ... who knows? Maybe even ... Lambeth! Ooooh ...
Anyway details are:
7.00-8.30pm Thurs 9 Nov at Rotherhithe Library.
Address is Albion Street, SE16 7HY.
The Library is situated in Albion Street between the Norwegian Church (with the green steeple) and the Finnish Church.
There’s parking space outside and also lots of public transport options. Bermondsey Tube (Jubilee Line) is less than 10 minutes walk away. Rotherhithe Tube Station (East London Line) is 5 minutes away. Buses stopping at the big roundabout by the entrance to the Rotherhithe Tunnel include the 47 and 381 to London Bridge and the 188 and C10 to Elephant and Castle.
If any of you can make it, you just KNOW I'll be delighted to see you!
Incidentally, remember that link to the libraries? You can go in and enter an area and see how many of your books are in stock/out on loan etc.
Well ... for the last few weeks every copy of both my books have been out in Southwark! What a blast!
Today Southwark ... tomorrow ... who knows? Maybe even ... Lambeth! Ooooh ...
Anyway details are:
7.00-8.30pm Thurs 9 Nov at Rotherhithe Library.
Address is Albion Street, SE16 7HY.
The Library is situated in Albion Street between the Norwegian Church (with the green steeple) and the Finnish Church.
There’s parking space outside and also lots of public transport options. Bermondsey Tube (Jubilee Line) is less than 10 minutes walk away. Rotherhithe Tube Station (East London Line) is 5 minutes away. Buses stopping at the big roundabout by the entrance to the Rotherhithe Tunnel include the 47 and 381 to London Bridge and the 188 and C10 to Elephant and Castle.
If any of you can make it, you just KNOW I'll be delighted to see you!
Incidentally, remember that link to the libraries? You can go in and enter an area and see how many of your books are in stock/out on loan etc.
Well ... for the last few weeks every copy of both my books have been out in Southwark! What a blast!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Yubba dubba doo!
ere we go ere we go ere we go ...
And if you can't make the launch (for which you'd better have a very good excuse ...) you can always go here to order copies of Coven of One as well as Skint's books.
Enjoy!
Monday, October 23, 2006
Buddy Blooger's Blogered
What's going on now? Is that you, Leo? If I find out who's responsible for these shenanigans I shall be very cross indeed. I may even write you a letter telling you how cross I am. Then you'll be sorry ...
* Sidebar's back. End of good news.
* Can't comment on my own blog.
* Can't even access comments by usual route.
This simply won't do. I was going to mention on the me ... me ... thingy that I also have different coloured eyes. I'm not going to tell you now. So there!
* Sidebar's back. End of good news.
* Can't comment on my own blog.
* Can't even access comments by usual route.
This simply won't do. I was going to mention on the me ... me ... thingy that I also have different coloured eyes. I'm not going to tell you now. So there!
Friday, October 20, 2006
YIKES!
Who's stolen my sidebar? Come on, own up. I'm going to go away now and when I come back I expect to see my sidebar back in its usual place and then no one will get into trouble.
Otherwise you'll all be kept in after class. For ever ...
Otherwise you'll all be kept in after class. For ever ...
This meme really IS Me… Me …
It started with Sharon. As so many things do … Then Gentleman Oracle zapped me …
Sharon has set up her very own meme and has asked for the following to be copied and pasted into the responses:
PLEASE LEAVE THE FOLLOWING IN ALL ‘PEOPLE COLLECTION’ POSTS
Remember that it isn’t always the sensational stuff that writers are looking for, it can just as easily be something that you take for granted like having raised twins or knowing how to grow beetroot. Mind you, if you know how to fly a helicopter or have worked as a film extra, do feel free to let the rest of us know about it :-)
A few years ago I would have found this really hard. I didn’t like revealing too much of myself. But then I got the deal and found out I was part of the package. And since I publish under my own name, I’ve given up on the idea of anonymity …
On my website there’s a lot of personal stuff that I really agonised over including, but there it is. It feels like there’s not an awful lot more … But here goes ...
5 things about me that are not generally known:
• I talk backwards fluently
• I’ve been bombed by the US
• We once spent a whole day dressing up and acting out the Fellowship of the Ring in front of the video
• When I was 19/20, I spent a year drinking the equivalent of 30 shorts a day
• I spent a total of 9 years either pregnant (including 2 miscarriages) or breastfeeding
And now I tag Minx, Confucious, Skint, Pundy and Clare.
Sharon has set up her very own meme and has asked for the following to be copied and pasted into the responses:
PLEASE LEAVE THE FOLLOWING IN ALL ‘PEOPLE COLLECTION’ POSTS
Remember that it isn’t always the sensational stuff that writers are looking for, it can just as easily be something that you take for granted like having raised twins or knowing how to grow beetroot. Mind you, if you know how to fly a helicopter or have worked as a film extra, do feel free to let the rest of us know about it :-)
A few years ago I would have found this really hard. I didn’t like revealing too much of myself. But then I got the deal and found out I was part of the package. And since I publish under my own name, I’ve given up on the idea of anonymity …
On my website there’s a lot of personal stuff that I really agonised over including, but there it is. It feels like there’s not an awful lot more … But here goes ...
5 things about me that are not generally known:
• I talk backwards fluently
• I’ve been bombed by the US
• We once spent a whole day dressing up and acting out the Fellowship of the Ring in front of the video
• When I was 19/20, I spent a year drinking the equivalent of 30 shorts a day
• I spent a total of 9 years either pregnant (including 2 miscarriages) or breastfeeding
And now I tag Minx, Confucious, Skint, Pundy and Clare.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Testing ... testing ...
The wonderful Techy Mate visited on Saturday. She congratulated me on some bits (my anti-virus/spyware legions and update/scanning procedures) and rapped my knuckles on others (insufficient backing up, opening links in emails, saving book drafts to desktop).
She showed me how to cope with spam.
She also showed me how to get pix up here.
So would you like to see me on the slide?
She showed me how to cope with spam.
She also showed me how to get pix up here.
So would you like to see me on the slide?
Cancel EVERYthing!
What have you got planned for the evening of 31st October? Cancel it!
As if the launch of Minx's book wasn't enough to persuade you to get yourself to Cardiff that day, the wonderful Skint is organising a Blogmoot!
Literary Blogmoot
and Festival
Tuesday October 31st, 2006
Programme:
7pm - Launch of Coven of One
Waterstone’s, Cardiff
* * * * * * * * * *
8.30pm Blogmoot
at Chapter Arts Centre
Market Road, Canton, Cardiff.
* * * * * * * * * *
including:
Guest speakers
Readings
and easy access to Chapter’s bar
sponsored by
opening-chapter-logo11.jpg
Bloggers and publishers bring your own books
contact Skint for arrangements
I've booked a coach ticket for £8 return. I'm on my way ...
All together now:
I'll - be there ... to love and cherish you-hoo-hoo ...
As if the launch of Minx's book wasn't enough to persuade you to get yourself to Cardiff that day, the wonderful Skint is organising a Blogmoot!
Literary Blogmoot
and Festival
Tuesday October 31st, 2006
Programme:
7pm - Launch of Coven of One
Waterstone’s, Cardiff
* * * * * * * * * *
8.30pm Blogmoot
at Chapter Arts Centre
Market Road, Canton, Cardiff.
* * * * * * * * * *
including:
Guest speakers
Readings
and easy access to Chapter’s bar
sponsored by
opening-chapter-logo11.jpg
Bloggers and publishers bring your own books
contact Skint for arrangements
I've booked a coach ticket for £8 return. I'm on my way ...
All together now:
I'll - be there ... to love and cherish you-hoo-hoo ...
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Jimi never had a capo ...
First Born and Little Guy did really well in school last year so my dad gave them £20 each as a reward. We popped down to Argos where FB bought a CD Walkman and LG chose a guitar.
With no idea even how to hold his instrument, LG started to strum. He maintained his enthusiasm and seemd to show genuine aptitude.
There's no way we could afford private lessons, so when we heard the school was offering free guitar tuition we were the first to put his name down.
He was blown away to hear he'd been accepted! I spoke to the guitar tutor and told him how excited we were given our financial situation and what a wonderful opportunity this was for LG.
Then he brought home the confirmation letter.
I am pleased to inform you that your child has been chosen to begin guitar lessons ...
Brill! I read on ...
A good quality beginner guitar will cost between £80 and £110+ ...
I gasped. Then read on ...
I know that this may seem a lot but quite frankly a cheap Argos guitar is just not worth having ...
My stomach lurched. I read on ...
Other requirements are:
* a gig bag or a padded case with straps to carry the guitar on your shoulders
* a footstool
* a capo
* music manuscript
* a music bag to keep everything together
What??? Maybe he wouldn't need all those things. I read on ...
These you will need even if your shild uses a school guitar! Could make them Xmas stocking fillers!
Well, let me make a couple of points to you, My Guitar Tutor. It's obviously escaped your attention that you teach in a culturally diverse school where not every child celebrates Xmas. And that there will anyway be many children whose stockings - if they have them - are unlikely to contain items costing that sort of money. And wouldn't they have to be mighty BIG stockings anyway?
It's the same lack of thought that results in the children bringing home projects like 'Find a nice shady corner in your garden ...' Er, excuse me. Garden???
It would be easy to launch headlong into parental guilt at not being able to give LG these things. Or I could be angry at the gross lack of sensitivity ...
You probably know me well enough by now to guess which way I'm headed ...
So then I thought about Jimi Hendrix. Born into poverty ... given his first guitar, costing $5, aged 16 ... never had a lesson in his life ...
How ever did he manage without a capo???
With no idea even how to hold his instrument, LG started to strum. He maintained his enthusiasm and seemd to show genuine aptitude.
There's no way we could afford private lessons, so when we heard the school was offering free guitar tuition we were the first to put his name down.
He was blown away to hear he'd been accepted! I spoke to the guitar tutor and told him how excited we were given our financial situation and what a wonderful opportunity this was for LG.
Then he brought home the confirmation letter.
I am pleased to inform you that your child has been chosen to begin guitar lessons ...
Brill! I read on ...
A good quality beginner guitar will cost between £80 and £110+ ...
I gasped. Then read on ...
I know that this may seem a lot but quite frankly a cheap Argos guitar is just not worth having ...
My stomach lurched. I read on ...
Other requirements are:
* a gig bag or a padded case with straps to carry the guitar on your shoulders
* a footstool
* a capo
* music manuscript
* a music bag to keep everything together
What??? Maybe he wouldn't need all those things. I read on ...
These you will need even if your shild uses a school guitar! Could make them Xmas stocking fillers!
Well, let me make a couple of points to you, My Guitar Tutor. It's obviously escaped your attention that you teach in a culturally diverse school where not every child celebrates Xmas. And that there will anyway be many children whose stockings - if they have them - are unlikely to contain items costing that sort of money. And wouldn't they have to be mighty BIG stockings anyway?
It's the same lack of thought that results in the children bringing home projects like 'Find a nice shady corner in your garden ...' Er, excuse me. Garden???
It would be easy to launch headlong into parental guilt at not being able to give LG these things. Or I could be angry at the gross lack of sensitivity ...
You probably know me well enough by now to guess which way I'm headed ...
So then I thought about Jimi Hendrix. Born into poverty ... given his first guitar, costing $5, aged 16 ... never had a lesson in his life ...
How ever did he manage without a capo???
Thursday, October 12, 2006
News from Spain
Remember the post about the Spanish translation of Trading Tatiana?
Well, I've heard from Orion. Apparently the Spanish publishers have rearranged their schedule and it's now due to be published in January 2007.
So now we know ... Though I'm not holding my breath ...
Well, I've heard from Orion. Apparently the Spanish publishers have rearranged their schedule and it's now due to be published in January 2007.
So now we know ... Though I'm not holding my breath ...
There's good stuff in the city too ...
Yesterday, OF (Oldest Friend) and I went to Tate Modern to play on the slides. 5 metal and perspex structures, the smallest being the height of one floor and the largest spanning 5 floors.
Think 80' of the steepest flume at the pool or the highest helter skelter at the funfair. Bung in sharp bends, precipitous drops and stomach-churning rolls. Then multiply by 100!
The rules are simple. You have to be at least 1.4 metres tall. You have to lie down, fold your arms over your chest and keep your head raised. There are elbow pads available for the cautious.
'Nah,' I thought, checking out who was pulling on the pads. 'They're just for wussies!'
That was my first mistake, more than evident on the first sharp bend. The second was forgetting to raise my head. The tubes are banded by a series of metal belts and over each is a raised bump. It was like being dragged down stairs by your ankles, your head bouncing on each step. Very very fast. In fact you hear people screaming as they plummet earthwards. Not AAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHH, but AGH, AGH, AGH, AGH, AGH ...
I was spewed out the other end and shot across the mat like Jonah being gobbed from the whale's belly, my legs rubbery, head spinning and elbow throbbing.
So if this sounds like fun and you'd like to go, this is my advice:
* wear the pads
* bring a supply of arnica
* go to the toilet first
Would I do it again? Bring it on!
Oh, and is it art? Well, to quote Rhett Butler (and this is the only time I'm likely to quote a redneck, fully paid up member of the KKK - you didn't know that about Gone With the Wind? Ah well, not this post ...)
'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!'
What a riiiiiide ....
Think 80' of the steepest flume at the pool or the highest helter skelter at the funfair. Bung in sharp bends, precipitous drops and stomach-churning rolls. Then multiply by 100!
The rules are simple. You have to be at least 1.4 metres tall. You have to lie down, fold your arms over your chest and keep your head raised. There are elbow pads available for the cautious.
'Nah,' I thought, checking out who was pulling on the pads. 'They're just for wussies!'
That was my first mistake, more than evident on the first sharp bend. The second was forgetting to raise my head. The tubes are banded by a series of metal belts and over each is a raised bump. It was like being dragged down stairs by your ankles, your head bouncing on each step. Very very fast. In fact you hear people screaming as they plummet earthwards. Not AAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHH, but AGH, AGH, AGH, AGH, AGH ...
I was spewed out the other end and shot across the mat like Jonah being gobbed from the whale's belly, my legs rubbery, head spinning and elbow throbbing.
So if this sounds like fun and you'd like to go, this is my advice:
* wear the pads
* bring a supply of arnica
* go to the toilet first
Would I do it again? Bring it on!
Oh, and is it art? Well, to quote Rhett Butler (and this is the only time I'm likely to quote a redneck, fully paid up member of the KKK - you didn't know that about Gone With the Wind? Ah well, not this post ...)
'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!'
What a riiiiiide ....
Just another day in the urban heartland ...
In the comments responding to the violence debate, Joan gave us a quote from the English philosopher, Edmund Burke:
'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men (and women) to do nothing.'
First Born came home yesterday with a story no parent wants to hear. He was with a large group of friends waiting at the bus stop after school. Another friend, A, was coming to join them but when A was about 10 yards from the stop, he was approached by 3 older boys. They grabbed his bag. They went through his pockets. They jostled and pushed him.
This post is not about them. It's not even so much about poor A. It's about FB and his friends because they could see it all as it unfolded.
'C'mon,' FB urged. 'We have to help him. There's loads of us and only 3 of them!'
Not a single one of these other children moved.
'We don't want to get involved,' they said. 'We don't want to be targetted ourselves.'
FB has heard what what can happen to have-a-go heroes. He knew better than to go out on a limb and be the only one to intervene. He recognised that, without the support of the others, he was powerless.
A was lucky. A passing motorist stopped, yelled at the attackers and they scarpered. FB ran over to his friend to comfort and support him.
He was upset and confused when he arrived home. He not only felt sorry for A and was freaked at witnessing a violent incident. He also felt huge frustration at his friends' lack of response and guilty that he hadn't intervened himself, though he knows he had no choice under the circumstances. Hard lessons for an 11 year old!
'I kept saying to them,' he told us, 'What if it was you? What if you were attacked and a bunch of your friends were standing nearby just watching?'
A was shaken but not physically hurt. Today he will have reported the attack to the head who has a zero tolerance policy for such behaviour. The assailants will be dealt with.
But as I said, they're not the ones I want to talk about this time. I'll tell you what I've come to see. That fear is our biggest enemy.
There will always be kids - and adults - like those assailants. Whether you believe they're products of their backgrounds, or that society is to blame, or whether you believe they are simply inherently evil, is not the subject of this particular post.
This time, it's about those who, through fear, didn't intervene. Even though the risk of having the tables turned on them was minimal, those boys were paralysed by fear. The concept of there being strength in numbers didn't come into play. They were just kids. And they were scared.
It's a familiar fear to adults too - those people who Confucious describes as being afraid to walk alone through a park.
Fear shuts down our responses. We feel adrift in a hostile world, besieged by violence and evil. It makes us herd together and haul up the drawbridge. It's the other side of the same coin that Clare describes as the 'pack instinct'. As a result, we tend to mix only with people who we feel are 'like us' and think 'like us'. And once we succumb to that, those we perceive as being different - outside our pack - become a kind of braying amorphous mass. We invest them with near-mythical powers. They're out to get us. And they're everywhere.
We don't see their faces. We have no communication with them. We've effectively dehumanised them. They're just 'out there', lying in wait for anyone who sticks their head above the parapet.
It's an understandable reaction to inner city life but it's a hideous way to feel. And it gets us nowhere. It's a dead end.
So how do we break out of it? How do we learn how to empower ourselves (and our children if we have them) to know the right time for an appropriate and positive collective response? Because if we're going to live in big cities, whether through choice or lack of it, we have to find an alternative to either being paralysed with fear or forming mindless vigilante groups.
I do believe blogging can help, because in the blogosphere we meet people we'd never otherwise encounter. People outside our pack. We can exchange ideas and join debates which, under other circumstances, we wouldn't be exposed to.
Do I hear you say we're just a disparate bunch of individuals? But if there are enough bunches doing what we're doing - around the country, around the world ...
And that ultimately is the lesson for FB's friends. Together we are powerful. Together we can change the world.
'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men (and women) to do nothing.'
First Born came home yesterday with a story no parent wants to hear. He was with a large group of friends waiting at the bus stop after school. Another friend, A, was coming to join them but when A was about 10 yards from the stop, he was approached by 3 older boys. They grabbed his bag. They went through his pockets. They jostled and pushed him.
This post is not about them. It's not even so much about poor A. It's about FB and his friends because they could see it all as it unfolded.
'C'mon,' FB urged. 'We have to help him. There's loads of us and only 3 of them!'
Not a single one of these other children moved.
'We don't want to get involved,' they said. 'We don't want to be targetted ourselves.'
FB has heard what what can happen to have-a-go heroes. He knew better than to go out on a limb and be the only one to intervene. He recognised that, without the support of the others, he was powerless.
A was lucky. A passing motorist stopped, yelled at the attackers and they scarpered. FB ran over to his friend to comfort and support him.
He was upset and confused when he arrived home. He not only felt sorry for A and was freaked at witnessing a violent incident. He also felt huge frustration at his friends' lack of response and guilty that he hadn't intervened himself, though he knows he had no choice under the circumstances. Hard lessons for an 11 year old!
'I kept saying to them,' he told us, 'What if it was you? What if you were attacked and a bunch of your friends were standing nearby just watching?'
A was shaken but not physically hurt. Today he will have reported the attack to the head who has a zero tolerance policy for such behaviour. The assailants will be dealt with.
But as I said, they're not the ones I want to talk about this time. I'll tell you what I've come to see. That fear is our biggest enemy.
There will always be kids - and adults - like those assailants. Whether you believe they're products of their backgrounds, or that society is to blame, or whether you believe they are simply inherently evil, is not the subject of this particular post.
This time, it's about those who, through fear, didn't intervene. Even though the risk of having the tables turned on them was minimal, those boys were paralysed by fear. The concept of there being strength in numbers didn't come into play. They were just kids. And they were scared.
It's a familiar fear to adults too - those people who Confucious describes as being afraid to walk alone through a park.
Fear shuts down our responses. We feel adrift in a hostile world, besieged by violence and evil. It makes us herd together and haul up the drawbridge. It's the other side of the same coin that Clare describes as the 'pack instinct'. As a result, we tend to mix only with people who we feel are 'like us' and think 'like us'. And once we succumb to that, those we perceive as being different - outside our pack - become a kind of braying amorphous mass. We invest them with near-mythical powers. They're out to get us. And they're everywhere.
We don't see their faces. We have no communication with them. We've effectively dehumanised them. They're just 'out there', lying in wait for anyone who sticks their head above the parapet.
It's an understandable reaction to inner city life but it's a hideous way to feel. And it gets us nowhere. It's a dead end.
So how do we break out of it? How do we learn how to empower ourselves (and our children if we have them) to know the right time for an appropriate and positive collective response? Because if we're going to live in big cities, whether through choice or lack of it, we have to find an alternative to either being paralysed with fear or forming mindless vigilante groups.
I do believe blogging can help, because in the blogosphere we meet people we'd never otherwise encounter. People outside our pack. We can exchange ideas and join debates which, under other circumstances, we wouldn't be exposed to.
Do I hear you say we're just a disparate bunch of individuals? But if there are enough bunches doing what we're doing - around the country, around the world ...
And that ultimately is the lesson for FB's friends. Together we are powerful. Together we can change the world.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
MORE ... on violence
Did you think it was all over?
Just wanted to point you all in the direction of the comments to the 2nd post on the violence debate initiated by the assault on G last week.
The friend I quoted, and with whom many of you took major issue, has now replied at length and I didn't want you to miss it.
Incidentally, I've always believed that everything happens for a reason. Having read all the responses in this debate, G said that he now believes that's why this thing had to happen to him - so that the discussion could take place. Bless!
Just wanted to point you all in the direction of the comments to the 2nd post on the violence debate initiated by the assault on G last week.
The friend I quoted, and with whom many of you took major issue, has now replied at length and I didn't want you to miss it.
Incidentally, I've always believed that everything happens for a reason. Having read all the responses in this debate, G said that he now believes that's why this thing had to happen to him - so that the discussion could take place. Bless!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Me ... Me ... on Feminism
Can you believe it? They've done it again! This time it's Sharon and Marie who simultaneously zapped me. Don't they know I have a book to write???
Many of you have already done this and done it so well, I thought I'd subvert it just a little (though not in the way that Minx did).
So here's 5 things I was told while growing up - post-suffragette and pre-feminism:
Never win
'I beat him at tennis and he went into such a strop!'
'You beat him? Don't you know you should always let him win?'
'What? But I was better than him!'
'Of course. And you know that. But you must never let him know ...'
Be content with the scraps
'Always eat the leftovers yourself and cook something fresh for everyone else.'
Keeping your man
'So many women make the mistake of letting themselves go after they're married. Don't they realise that getting your man is only half the battle? You must never stop making an effort with your appearance if you want to keep him.'
A goddess in the kitchen, a whore in the bedroom
'A woman can be anything: wage earner, home maker, DIY enthusiast, driver, leader, follower, cook, nurse, cleaner, therapist ...'
'Yes I can. But I can also choose to be some or none of the above ...'
Safeguard his image
'A man pushing a pram or carrying shopping just looks wrong.'
And a vital 6th one:
Iron everything.
'Iron nothing!'
Now, who to tag? Let's go for Dirty Christian Socialist Cow, Fiction Bitch and Meloney Lemon (who doesn't have a blog but can reply in comments.)
Many of you have already done this and done it so well, I thought I'd subvert it just a little (though not in the way that Minx did).
So here's 5 things I was told while growing up - post-suffragette and pre-feminism:
Never win
'I beat him at tennis and he went into such a strop!'
'You beat him? Don't you know you should always let him win?'
'What? But I was better than him!'
'Of course. And you know that. But you must never let him know ...'
Be content with the scraps
'Always eat the leftovers yourself and cook something fresh for everyone else.'
Keeping your man
'So many women make the mistake of letting themselves go after they're married. Don't they realise that getting your man is only half the battle? You must never stop making an effort with your appearance if you want to keep him.'
A goddess in the kitchen, a whore in the bedroom
'A woman can be anything: wage earner, home maker, DIY enthusiast, driver, leader, follower, cook, nurse, cleaner, therapist ...'
'Yes I can. But I can also choose to be some or none of the above ...'
Safeguard his image
'A man pushing a pram or carrying shopping just looks wrong.'
And a vital 6th one:
Iron everything.
'Iron nothing!'
Now, who to tag? Let's go for Dirty Christian Socialist Cow, Fiction Bitch and Meloney Lemon (who doesn't have a blog but can reply in comments.)
Monday, October 09, 2006
Poetry competition
One for the poets out there - the Cardiff International Poetry Competition.
First prize - £5000.
My commission - a bar of Belgian chocolate.
What are you waiting for? Go here for details.
First prize - £5000.
My commission - a bar of Belgian chocolate.
What are you waiting for? Go here for details.
Me ...Me ... on music
That Sharon. What is she like? She's only gone and tagged me even though she knows my infinite capacity for displacement activity ...
And as if that's not bad enough, Gentleman Oracle has gone and followed suit.
I bow to the pressure - here goes:
Bob Dylan - Forever Young.
I listen to it and think of my children and wish my words to them were as beautiful.
I listen to it and think of myself and hope I never grow up.
I listen to it and think of my dad - who never has.
Bob Marley - almost anything by the prophet, but if pushed I'd go for Redemption Song.
The last song on the last album. No big production. No rousing chorus. Just Bob - his voice, his wisdom and an accoustic guitar. His last message to the world.
Patti Smith - Because the Night Belongs to ...
She's my icon. I saw her live last year (thanks to Meloney Lemon who once commented on this blog) and was blown away. We used to sing this in the 70s on Reclaim the Night marches, substituting 'women' for 'lovers'.
Bruce Springsteen - Darkness on the Edge of Town.
Haunting lyrics from the man who never forgot his roots. And as for Clarence Clemens soaring sax ...
Third World - 96 degrees in the shade.
Sunny day music with a message. And cos I was blowed over by their exuberance when I saw them perform at Sunsplash a thousand years ago.
Dennis Brown - Judge Not.
Wise words indeed.
Lou Reed et al - Perfect Day.
Always moves me.
Kaiser Chiefs - I Predict a Riot.
A more-than-close friend had a near-death experience recently following a heart attack. But she wasn't accompanied on her journey from this world by her deceased loved ones.
'I was in the tunnel!' she told me. 'With - the Kaiser Chiefs!'
She reckons the reason's prosaic - that they were the last thing she heard on the radio.
I like to think there's an alternative explanation. That she had a glimpse of the Other Side. No harps, no wings ... It's gonna be a riot!
Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Desecration Smile.
Because it will always remind me of this summer.
Sister Sledge - We are Family.
Because we are! I'll dedicate this one to my blog family.
Now who do I zap?
Minx cos I know she's done something like this before so she can just do a cut and paste job.
Skint (who also hates these things - sorry!) cos I'd be interested to know.
And Island Monkey cos he's been toooo quiet. (Bet he doesn't do it!)
And as if that's not bad enough, Gentleman Oracle has gone and followed suit.
I bow to the pressure - here goes:
Bob Dylan - Forever Young.
I listen to it and think of my children and wish my words to them were as beautiful.
I listen to it and think of myself and hope I never grow up.
I listen to it and think of my dad - who never has.
Bob Marley - almost anything by the prophet, but if pushed I'd go for Redemption Song.
The last song on the last album. No big production. No rousing chorus. Just Bob - his voice, his wisdom and an accoustic guitar. His last message to the world.
Patti Smith - Because the Night Belongs to ...
She's my icon. I saw her live last year (thanks to Meloney Lemon who once commented on this blog) and was blown away. We used to sing this in the 70s on Reclaim the Night marches, substituting 'women' for 'lovers'.
Bruce Springsteen - Darkness on the Edge of Town.
Haunting lyrics from the man who never forgot his roots. And as for Clarence Clemens soaring sax ...
Third World - 96 degrees in the shade.
Sunny day music with a message. And cos I was blowed over by their exuberance when I saw them perform at Sunsplash a thousand years ago.
Dennis Brown - Judge Not.
Wise words indeed.
Lou Reed et al - Perfect Day.
Always moves me.
Kaiser Chiefs - I Predict a Riot.
A more-than-close friend had a near-death experience recently following a heart attack. But she wasn't accompanied on her journey from this world by her deceased loved ones.
'I was in the tunnel!' she told me. 'With - the Kaiser Chiefs!'
She reckons the reason's prosaic - that they were the last thing she heard on the radio.
I like to think there's an alternative explanation. That she had a glimpse of the Other Side. No harps, no wings ... It's gonna be a riot!
Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Desecration Smile.
Because it will always remind me of this summer.
Sister Sledge - We are Family.
Because we are! I'll dedicate this one to my blog family.
Now who do I zap?
Minx cos I know she's done something like this before so she can just do a cut and paste job.
Skint (who also hates these things - sorry!) cos I'd be interested to know.
And Island Monkey cos he's been toooo quiet. (Bet he doesn't do it!)
Sad but true!
Check out this excellent article on the realities of the publishing industry. (Thanks to Fiction Bitch for this link.)
A useful follow up to some of our previous debates on the subject. And so true! I genuinely believe you're better off trying to get a first novel published - at which point you still have the potential to be The Next Best Thing - than subsequent ones. Unless, of course, you hit the jackpot first time round.
Which is as likely as - er - hitting the jackpot first time you buy a ticket ...
But don't let that put you off. Please! Someone's got to win it and it could be you!
A useful follow up to some of our previous debates on the subject. And so true! I genuinely believe you're better off trying to get a first novel published - at which point you still have the potential to be The Next Best Thing - than subsequent ones. Unless, of course, you hit the jackpot first time round.
Which is as likely as - er - hitting the jackpot first time you buy a ticket ...
But don't let that put you off. Please! Someone's got to win it and it could be you!
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Opening up the debate on the kicking episode
Heartfelt thanks to all of you who responded with sympathy and support re the assault on G. I’m pleased to report that, thanks to lashings of arnica and sympathy, he’s fine now.
I’m opening up a new post because I think this is really important and I don’t want the arguments to dwindle off into the hinterland of the comments section.
As well as the above-mentioned comments, I also received an email from a friend. She’s a retired probation officer with a heart the size of a planet and a keen intellect to match. She emailed rather than commenting because she was afraid of offending me. Far from it and, to prove the point, I’m reproducing the text of her email here with her permission.
But Debi, Debi, ah Debi, please don't use words like 'dregs' (oh please). That's tabloid, Tory, lazy, thinking (Good. Bad. Black. White. Fuck the complexity). You're not a tabloid thinker, I know how generally aware and compassionate you are (more so than me on many issues) and I was distressed to hear you say 'dregs'. There's no such thing as dregs. They're people with all sorts of forces, personal, social, political working on them to make them, finally, behave in this appalling way. Which is a million miles from me wanting to pat them on the head and say 'there, there, you're a victim of a wicked world, here have a sweet and a cuddle' (that's tabloidism again). If I had those lads in front of me now I'd be giving them a very hard time indeed. But, but...
I feel I want to throw Tim's mantra at you "Don't not know. Know. Be conscious. Only if you're conscious..." Don't be perplexed. You're politically sophisticated and intelligent. You can work it out. You can see that those lads, deprived, poorly educated, probably jobless, media soaked, hopeless about their future, look at Greg, big, manly, fit, (I saw him) living the good life (as they perceive it), everything they're not, having everything they don't have and never will (they think). You can feel the envy, the rage, the need to taunt the need to assert themselves. And then, when Greg just ignored them (which was right and brave and I don't know how he did that) and they couldn't keep up with him and they knew that he really was stronger and faster and better than them, the need to lash out, the increase in rage, the need to assert something. It was dreadful behaviour and I hope somebody will teach them to deal with their problems in a different way. But it's not perplexing. And they're not dregs.
She’s absolutely right. My angry and dismissive use of the word ‘dregs’ to describe the men who abused and assaulted G was lazy and – yes – ignorant. In its own way, as ignorant as they were, but with less excuse.
Do I mind having this lapse pointed out to me? Absolutely not! I WANT this space to be used to provoke debate. It’s why I often phrase things as questions rather than steaming in with my own line. If we don’t discuss the issues, how else can we learn and grow?
Understanding why people resort to senseless violence is certainly not the same as condoning it. Taking a step back and seeing where such behaviour comes from instead of resorting to dismissing the perpetrators as ‘dregs’ isn’t liberal and wet. It’s the only way forward if we are to break out of the cycle of violence, fear and overflowing prisons.
So NOW what do you think??? Please feel free to respond. And I hope my friend will have the confidence to comment too and join the debate in this forum, knowing that my mind is open and I won’t be offended, but will be grateful for her (and your) contribution.
The continuous exchange if ideas is crucial if we’re to understand our world and hopefully change it for the better.
I’m opening up a new post because I think this is really important and I don’t want the arguments to dwindle off into the hinterland of the comments section.
As well as the above-mentioned comments, I also received an email from a friend. She’s a retired probation officer with a heart the size of a planet and a keen intellect to match. She emailed rather than commenting because she was afraid of offending me. Far from it and, to prove the point, I’m reproducing the text of her email here with her permission.
But Debi, Debi, ah Debi, please don't use words like 'dregs' (oh please). That's tabloid, Tory, lazy, thinking (Good. Bad. Black. White. Fuck the complexity). You're not a tabloid thinker, I know how generally aware and compassionate you are (more so than me on many issues) and I was distressed to hear you say 'dregs'. There's no such thing as dregs. They're people with all sorts of forces, personal, social, political working on them to make them, finally, behave in this appalling way. Which is a million miles from me wanting to pat them on the head and say 'there, there, you're a victim of a wicked world, here have a sweet and a cuddle' (that's tabloidism again). If I had those lads in front of me now I'd be giving them a very hard time indeed. But, but...
I feel I want to throw Tim's mantra at you "Don't not know. Know. Be conscious. Only if you're conscious..." Don't be perplexed. You're politically sophisticated and intelligent. You can work it out. You can see that those lads, deprived, poorly educated, probably jobless, media soaked, hopeless about their future, look at Greg, big, manly, fit, (I saw him) living the good life (as they perceive it), everything they're not, having everything they don't have and never will (they think). You can feel the envy, the rage, the need to taunt the need to assert themselves. And then, when Greg just ignored them (which was right and brave and I don't know how he did that) and they couldn't keep up with him and they knew that he really was stronger and faster and better than them, the need to lash out, the increase in rage, the need to assert something. It was dreadful behaviour and I hope somebody will teach them to deal with their problems in a different way. But it's not perplexing. And they're not dregs.
She’s absolutely right. My angry and dismissive use of the word ‘dregs’ to describe the men who abused and assaulted G was lazy and – yes – ignorant. In its own way, as ignorant as they were, but with less excuse.
Do I mind having this lapse pointed out to me? Absolutely not! I WANT this space to be used to provoke debate. It’s why I often phrase things as questions rather than steaming in with my own line. If we don’t discuss the issues, how else can we learn and grow?
Understanding why people resort to senseless violence is certainly not the same as condoning it. Taking a step back and seeing where such behaviour comes from instead of resorting to dismissing the perpetrators as ‘dregs’ isn’t liberal and wet. It’s the only way forward if we are to break out of the cycle of violence, fear and overflowing prisons.
So NOW what do you think??? Please feel free to respond. And I hope my friend will have the confidence to comment too and join the debate in this forum, knowing that my mind is open and I won’t be offended, but will be grateful for her (and your) contribution.
The continuous exchange if ideas is crucial if we’re to understand our world and hopefully change it for the better.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Short story competition
There's just no stopping that Skint! No sooner has he finished the huge work of dealing with publishing the Minx gem, than he's off again ...
Click here to see his short story competition on the theme of spirituality.
Yours truly has been asked to be on the panel. Possibly the only time I'll be called a judge as opposed to facing one ...
Click here to see his short story competition on the theme of spirituality.
Yours truly has been asked to be on the panel. Possibly the only time I'll be called a judge as opposed to facing one ...
Blogs, reviews and all that stuff
Check this out from the scarily-titled National Book Critics Circle Board of Directors (twitch).
It's an interesting angle and one in which the ever-wonderful Frank Wilson of Books, Inq contributes customary words of wisdom ...
It's an interesting angle and one in which the ever-wonderful Frank Wilson of Books, Inq contributes customary words of wisdom ...
How some people get their kicks ...
G's a running man. He runs between 6 and 15 miles a day, 6 days a week. As he has insulin-dependant diabetes, regular exercise is part of his be-fit-live-longer masterplan.
He's 6'4" and, though skinny as the proverbial rake, you wouldn't want to mess with him. (Which is actually an illusion - he's a pussy cat. Whereas I may be a foot shorter but am far more scary!)
Anyway, yesterday he was out running through Greenwich in his lunch break when 3 guys started taunting him. It happens - don't ask me why. Only these particular dregs sprinted to run alongside him. And when they didn't get any response to their abuse, one of them kicked him. Hard. Being G, he didn't so much as stumble. He carried on running and very soon they were unable to keep up with him.
So now he has a large swelling on his thigh and a nasty gash where the boot caught him (he was wearing shorts).
Now - and this is a genuine question - can someone tell me what those guys got out of that???
He's 6'4" and, though skinny as the proverbial rake, you wouldn't want to mess with him. (Which is actually an illusion - he's a pussy cat. Whereas I may be a foot shorter but am far more scary!)
Anyway, yesterday he was out running through Greenwich in his lunch break when 3 guys started taunting him. It happens - don't ask me why. Only these particular dregs sprinted to run alongside him. And when they didn't get any response to their abuse, one of them kicked him. Hard. Being G, he didn't so much as stumble. He carried on running and very soon they were unable to keep up with him.
So now he has a large swelling on his thigh and a nasty gash where the boot caught him (he was wearing shorts).
Now - and this is a genuine question - can someone tell me what those guys got out of that???
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Revealing my inner anorak
Many many moons ago, a friend told me about a woman she worked with.
'You're not gonna believe this,' she said. 'She files her clothes! She's got her whole wardrobe colour-coded! Says it helps her find what she wants, co-ordinate her 'look' and she can always find the empty hanger. How sad is that???'
'Blimey,' I said outwardly.
'Blimey,' I said inwardly. 'What a brilliant idea!'
I went home and rearranged my wardrobe and it's stayed that way ever since.
I like creating a semblance of order, especially at times I feel things are slipping beyond my control. October has always been a difficult month for me and the time of my greatest sorrows.
So excuse me. I'm off now to sort my blogroll into alphabetical order ...
'You're not gonna believe this,' she said. 'She files her clothes! She's got her whole wardrobe colour-coded! Says it helps her find what she wants, co-ordinate her 'look' and she can always find the empty hanger. How sad is that???'
'Blimey,' I said outwardly.
'Blimey,' I said inwardly. 'What a brilliant idea!'
I went home and rearranged my wardrobe and it's stayed that way ever since.
I like creating a semblance of order, especially at times I feel things are slipping beyond my control. October has always been a difficult month for me and the time of my greatest sorrows.
So excuse me. I'm off now to sort my blogroll into alphabetical order ...
The Battle of Cable Street
Yesterday was the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Cable Street. I remember my mum telling me her story of that amazing day ... How her family forbade her to go, but she (ever the rebel) sneaked out anyway. Her eyes shone with pride as she told me how she watched from the street corner as the dockers swarmed like the cavalry to join the Jews, united in their determination to stop Mosley's fascists marching through the East End.
They shall not pass, was the slogan. And they succeeded! It was the unprecedented solidarity between disparate communities that made victory possible. So often we allow our perceived differences to divide us, blinding us to our common cause.
On that day, 70 years ago, everyone saw the truth in the statement, 'Together we are powerful!'
They shall not pass, was the slogan. And they succeeded! It was the unprecedented solidarity between disparate communities that made victory possible. So often we allow our perceived differences to divide us, blinding us to our common cause.
On that day, 70 years ago, everyone saw the truth in the statement, 'Together we are powerful!'
A book you can't read ...
It's here! The first novel you can't hold in your hands. Sex on Legs, by Brian Luff, is not available in printed form. Instead you can download it here and then upload it to an iPod or mobile. Total playing time is just under 6 hours.
We've been here before, discussing the future of the printed word, and most of us are convinced there will always be a place for Real Books - at least we seem to be unanimous in hoping so ...
So whaddya think? Is this a 'good thing', opening up writing to an otherwise non-reading audience? Or is it the beginning of a new age, heralding the demise of the written word?
We've been here before, discussing the future of the printed word, and most of us are convinced there will always be a place for Real Books - at least we seem to be unanimous in hoping so ...
So whaddya think? Is this a 'good thing', opening up writing to an otherwise non-reading audience? Or is it the beginning of a new age, heralding the demise of the written word?
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
A good deed in a naughty world
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. (Thanks to Crimeficreader for reminding us!)
Does everyone already know about the Breast Cancer site? You click the box daily to fund free mammograms. From there you can also link to the Rainforest site, the Hunger site, Child Health site, Literacy site ...
It takes seconds and costs nothing, so unless anyone can think of a good reason not to, why wouldn't everyone do this? I go to one site, click 'fund free ...', click back and then go through the links to the others.
What are you waiting for?
Does everyone already know about the Breast Cancer site? You click the box daily to fund free mammograms. From there you can also link to the Rainforest site, the Hunger site, Child Health site, Literacy site ...
It takes seconds and costs nothing, so unless anyone can think of a good reason not to, why wouldn't everyone do this? I go to one site, click 'fund free ...', click back and then go through the links to the others.
What are you waiting for?
Sunday, October 01, 2006
This time last year ...
This time last year ...
* I didn't have a website
* I didn't have this blog
* I hadn't linked up with all of you
* I hadn't met Maxine, Sharon and Minx
* I was finishing off Me, John and a Bomb
* I hadn't yet started Depth Charge
* I was still expecting Trading Tatiana to come out as a mass market paperback
* FB was still in primary school preparing for his SATS
* We were frantically checking out secondary schools
* A & D were still in Italy
* My dad was rushed into hospital
* G was still working at the pool mentioned here
* I was still on sabbatical
This time next year?
* I didn't have a website
* I didn't have this blog
* I hadn't linked up with all of you
* I hadn't met Maxine, Sharon and Minx
* I was finishing off Me, John and a Bomb
* I hadn't yet started Depth Charge
* I was still expecting Trading Tatiana to come out as a mass market paperback
* FB was still in primary school preparing for his SATS
* We were frantically checking out secondary schools
* A & D were still in Italy
* My dad was rushed into hospital
* G was still working at the pool mentioned here
* I was still on sabbatical
This time next year?
Nobody tells me nuffink!
Remember the post about Trading Tatiana being translated into Spanish? The deal was apparently negotiated last September, but I didn't find out about it until this June when Orion contacted me wanting to know if a photo of me taken by G could be used on the Spanish edition and in the brochure.
I asked for the publication date and was told it would be this September. So I've been checking the website of the Spanish publisher and ... it's not there!
I emailed Orion a few weeks ago to ask what's happening. They got back to me to say they would check. I emailed again a few days ago and was told they've received no reply as yet but would check with the sub-agent. I've had no direct contact with any of these people but, hey, I only wrote the book ...
Yesterday, my royalty statement arrived relating to the first 6 months of this year. Sadly, it showed the chasm that still exists between my original advance and the money made from sales so far (an author doesn't receive royalty payments or income from translation rights etc until the advance has been used up).
But the Spanish deal is there in black and white, so I know it's real. But don't expect any further details from me. Nobody tells me nuffink!
I asked for the publication date and was told it would be this September. So I've been checking the website of the Spanish publisher and ... it's not there!
I emailed Orion a few weeks ago to ask what's happening. They got back to me to say they would check. I emailed again a few days ago and was told they've received no reply as yet but would check with the sub-agent. I've had no direct contact with any of these people but, hey, I only wrote the book ...
Yesterday, my royalty statement arrived relating to the first 6 months of this year. Sadly, it showed the chasm that still exists between my original advance and the money made from sales so far (an author doesn't receive royalty payments or income from translation rights etc until the advance has been used up).
But the Spanish deal is there in black and white, so I know it's real. But don't expect any further details from me. Nobody tells me nuffink!
Misery Makes Money
That's a horrible heading, isn't it? But there can be no doubting its veracity.
Take the rash of celeb biogs, for example. (I mean that literally - you can take them. I don't want 'em!) Then compare the pulling power of Kerry Katona with, say, Anthea Turner. Damaged childhood and drama-filled adulthood vs middle-class girl does quite well for herself. See what I mean? There's even a name for these unhappy goldmines ... 'misery memoirs'.
I started thinking about my own experiences in publishing. When my books first came out and were being publicised, this is what I got:
* 'You were made homeless when you were 7 months pregnant? Oh that's wonderful!'
* 'You wrote 2 books, while holding down 2 demanding jobs and raising 2 demanding children and living on a council estate and it nearly did you in? That's great - we can definitely use that!'
* 'You lived through a war? Fantastic! It was 20 years ago? Never mind, it's still useable.'
* 'You didn't have a dreadful childhood? Oh ... shame ...'
OK, I'm paraphrasing a bit, especially on that last one, but honestly, not a lot. And you have to bear in mind that this was about me, not my books. I've never written about those experiences!
Anyway, surely the lowest point in the commercialisation/exploitation of misery has to be the case of 18 year old Natascha Kampusch, who recently escaped after 8 years captivity in a tiny basement in Vienna.
No sooner had she stumbled, blinking and confused, back into the real world, than the literary vultures began circling, cackling their responses to the horror that was her life.
'Completely fascinating, extraordinary,' cackled one. 'The biggest misery memoir there's going to be,' said another, audibly salivating.
Just as well her interests are in the hands of a sensitive PR agent, Dietmar Ecker, then. Here's what he said.
'From a purely capitalist point of view, this woman is a goldmine.'
Excuse me. I think I'm going to be sick.
Take the rash of celeb biogs, for example. (I mean that literally - you can take them. I don't want 'em!) Then compare the pulling power of Kerry Katona with, say, Anthea Turner. Damaged childhood and drama-filled adulthood vs middle-class girl does quite well for herself. See what I mean? There's even a name for these unhappy goldmines ... 'misery memoirs'.
I started thinking about my own experiences in publishing. When my books first came out and were being publicised, this is what I got:
* 'You were made homeless when you were 7 months pregnant? Oh that's wonderful!'
* 'You wrote 2 books, while holding down 2 demanding jobs and raising 2 demanding children and living on a council estate and it nearly did you in? That's great - we can definitely use that!'
* 'You lived through a war? Fantastic! It was 20 years ago? Never mind, it's still useable.'
* 'You didn't have a dreadful childhood? Oh ... shame ...'
OK, I'm paraphrasing a bit, especially on that last one, but honestly, not a lot. And you have to bear in mind that this was about me, not my books. I've never written about those experiences!
Anyway, surely the lowest point in the commercialisation/exploitation of misery has to be the case of 18 year old Natascha Kampusch, who recently escaped after 8 years captivity in a tiny basement in Vienna.
No sooner had she stumbled, blinking and confused, back into the real world, than the literary vultures began circling, cackling their responses to the horror that was her life.
'Completely fascinating, extraordinary,' cackled one. 'The biggest misery memoir there's going to be,' said another, audibly salivating.
Just as well her interests are in the hands of a sensitive PR agent, Dietmar Ecker, then. Here's what he said.
'From a purely capitalist point of view, this woman is a goldmine.'
Excuse me. I think I'm going to be sick.
ocCult Fiction
I've finished copy editing Minx's book, Coven of One, published by Skint's company, Opening Chapter and due out 31/10.
And I can tell you this ... You won't be disappointed!
Think ... mesmerising. Think ... enchanting. Think ... bewitching.
Get the pic?
Now, film rights anyone?
And I can tell you this ... You won't be disappointed!
Think ... mesmerising. Think ... enchanting. Think ... bewitching.
Get the pic?
Now, film rights anyone?
Thursday, September 28, 2006
I WAS invited to this one, but didn't go anyway
The Society of Authors had their AGM on Monday and were hosting a debate entitled 'How to get the best out of agents and publishers.'
I signed up for it before the envelope was fully opened. Right up my alley, I reckoned.
But ... I didn't make it. G was working, FB was swimming, LG's too young to be home alone.
If anyone out there went, could you possibly pass on any useful tips?
Ideas on how to coordinate the various strands of my life, inc parenting and writing, would also be gratefully received.
I signed up for it before the envelope was fully opened. Right up my alley, I reckoned.
But ... I didn't make it. G was working, FB was swimming, LG's too young to be home alone.
If anyone out there went, could you possibly pass on any useful tips?
Ideas on how to coordinate the various strands of my life, inc parenting and writing, would also be gratefully received.
Third party? I wasn't even invited to the first ...
Apologies to anyone who might have been trying to access the news link on my website recently and finding ... er ... an intro but no news.
My wonderful techy mate tells me this is due to a 3rd party thingy going AWOL. Luckily all the posts were still on my dashboard.
Anyway, she's now sorted it so the link goes straight to Blogger here, thereby earning her my eternal gratitude (yet again) and a sackful of these.
My wonderful techy mate tells me this is due to a 3rd party thingy going AWOL. Luckily all the posts were still on my dashboard.
Anyway, she's now sorted it so the link goes straight to Blogger here, thereby earning her my eternal gratitude (yet again) and a sackful of these.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Bonfire of the Brands
By now, I'm sure everyone's heard about Neil Boorman's Bonfire of the Brands, where he destroyed all his branded possessions. There have already been posts on DCSC and Sharon J provoking some thoughtful comments, many about the perceived waste of resources.
I'd skated through his blog - not in great depth I have to admit, and was undecided. The cynical part of me was ready to write it off as a publicity stunt - Boorman's a nightclub promoter ... He had a PR team at the event ... He has a book coming out next Autumn ... But now I'm not so sure ...
Boorman claims to have been a brand addict from an early age. He used his possessions to project himself and invested his self-esteem in them. He believed the hype but came to a realisation that he'd been swindled.
'These brands never deliver the happiness they promise. After a while, you're left feeling empty, needing another branded hit. That's the vicious cycle ... A consumer society is an anxious society,' he reckons, pointing out that comparatively wealthy Britain came 24th in a New Scientist happiness poll - behind countries where poverty is rife.
Now no one in their right mind would argue that poverty = happiness. But we do need to accept that accumulating wealth and possessions don't complete the equation either.
More to the point, Boorman's been living up to his rhetoric, refusing to buy any branded goods for the last 6 months and continuing to do so now the 'show' is over. He has no mobile, has had to give up cigarettes and makes his own toothpaste. In an interview in the Independent on Sunday, he says, 'It will be a slower life from now on. I will have to think a lot more.'
Challenging our rampant consumerism and rethinking our priorities has to be a good thing, desn't it? While few people will go as far as Boorman has, hopefully many people will have stopped to think about his message, which wouldn't have happened if he'd simply given his £20,000 worth of possessions away rather than publicly destroying them.
And maybe some will think twice when they're next out shopping ...
I'd skated through his blog - not in great depth I have to admit, and was undecided. The cynical part of me was ready to write it off as a publicity stunt - Boorman's a nightclub promoter ... He had a PR team at the event ... He has a book coming out next Autumn ... But now I'm not so sure ...
Boorman claims to have been a brand addict from an early age. He used his possessions to project himself and invested his self-esteem in them. He believed the hype but came to a realisation that he'd been swindled.
'These brands never deliver the happiness they promise. After a while, you're left feeling empty, needing another branded hit. That's the vicious cycle ... A consumer society is an anxious society,' he reckons, pointing out that comparatively wealthy Britain came 24th in a New Scientist happiness poll - behind countries where poverty is rife.
Now no one in their right mind would argue that poverty = happiness. But we do need to accept that accumulating wealth and possessions don't complete the equation either.
More to the point, Boorman's been living up to his rhetoric, refusing to buy any branded goods for the last 6 months and continuing to do so now the 'show' is over. He has no mobile, has had to give up cigarettes and makes his own toothpaste. In an interview in the Independent on Sunday, he says, 'It will be a slower life from now on. I will have to think a lot more.'
Challenging our rampant consumerism and rethinking our priorities has to be a good thing, desn't it? While few people will go as far as Boorman has, hopefully many people will have stopped to think about his message, which wouldn't have happened if he'd simply given his £20,000 worth of possessions away rather than publicly destroying them.
And maybe some will think twice when they're next out shopping ...
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
That explains it ...
Monday, September 25, 2006
Mystery Women
Mystery Women was set up in 1997, dedicated to the enjoyment and promotion of crime fiction. They produce a quarterly newsletter packed with reviews, interviews, articles etc and also hold events.
They are looking for new members. Subs cost £18pa for UK members and £25pa overseas. You can sign up via their website.
I am continually amazed and grateful for the existence of individuals and organisations such as Mystery Women. Like the websites and blogs It's a Crime and Eurocrime, they do an amazing job of supporting and publicising the work of writers in this genre, especially those at the struggling end of the market.
They do this as a labour of love, not for any personal gain. As someone who has linked and been reviewed by them, I'm extremely grateful for their selfless input.
They are looking for new members. Subs cost £18pa for UK members and £25pa overseas. You can sign up via their website.
I am continually amazed and grateful for the existence of individuals and organisations such as Mystery Women. Like the websites and blogs It's a Crime and Eurocrime, they do an amazing job of supporting and publicising the work of writers in this genre, especially those at the struggling end of the market.
They do this as a labour of love, not for any personal gain. As someone who has linked and been reviewed by them, I'm extremely grateful for their selfless input.
Elif update
Remember the post I did re Elif Sharak?
I'm relieved to report she was acquitted last week! From her hospital bed (she had just given birth) she spoke of her relief on a personal level but continuing concerns re how the law on 'insulting Turkishness' could impact on other authors.
It seems there could be moves afoot to change this outrageous law. Meanwhile Elif's acquittal has infuriated nationalists ...
I'm relieved to report she was acquitted last week! From her hospital bed (she had just given birth) she spoke of her relief on a personal level but continuing concerns re how the law on 'insulting Turkishness' could impact on other authors.
It seems there could be moves afoot to change this outrageous law. Meanwhile Elif's acquittal has infuriated nationalists ...
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Blogger in distress!
I can't sort this bloody spam problem. It looks like another squad, as well as Spamcop, are bouncing me back now. I'm getting all these 'message can't be delivered' emails coming through re mail I sent over a week ago and assumed had got through. If you're cussing me for not contacting you, it ain't me, honest guv - society is to blame ...
Each time I try to email my ISP - guess what - the email bounces back! Maybe someone is using my email address and password to send spam, having harvested the info from when I had the Trojan back in July? It's possible - esp as the (un)help pages for my ISP inform me I'm unable to change my password!!!
I really hate this stuff. It takes far too much time and energy ...
Any suggestions? Would going over to Google mail thingy sort this out? Or is it too late as I've already been branded a spam-sending scuzz bucket???
Each time I try to email my ISP - guess what - the email bounces back! Maybe someone is using my email address and password to send spam, having harvested the info from when I had the Trojan back in July? It's possible - esp as the (un)help pages for my ISP inform me I'm unable to change my password!!!
I really hate this stuff. It takes far too much time and energy ...
Any suggestions? Would going over to Google mail thingy sort this out? Or is it too late as I've already been branded a spam-sending scuzz bucket???
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Junk the junk
That spam is s-o-o annoying. It doesn't only clog up your inbox with annoying trivia (how trivial can you get with all those penis enhancements?) but also the methods taken to combat it can bring even bigger problems. I've recently been unjustly accused by the spamcops, with the result that some of my emails are being bounced back while others that appear to have been sent, don't get through and I can't tell if they have or not. Grrr!
But even worse is junk mail. OK, we recycle it (having carefully removed the name and address) but just think of the environmental resources that go into its production and delivery ...
And what about junk phone calls? Most of them go away once we tell them we live in a council flat so no thanks, we won't be needing a conservatory ... but why do they always phone just as you're stirring cheese sauce/delousing the children/dishing up the grub? I don't like to be nasty to them - it must be the job from hell - but some of them seem to think it's OK to be nasty to ME!
Well, this is me in fairy godmother guise coming up with a solution:
Go here to register with the mail preference scheme that should stop the vast majority of your junk snail mail. And here for the telephone preference scheme to stop this misuse of your phone.
You're welcome!
But even worse is junk mail. OK, we recycle it (having carefully removed the name and address) but just think of the environmental resources that go into its production and delivery ...
And what about junk phone calls? Most of them go away once we tell them we live in a council flat so no thanks, we won't be needing a conservatory ... but why do they always phone just as you're stirring cheese sauce/delousing the children/dishing up the grub? I don't like to be nasty to them - it must be the job from hell - but some of them seem to think it's OK to be nasty to ME!
Well, this is me in fairy godmother guise coming up with a solution:
Go here to register with the mail preference scheme that should stop the vast majority of your junk snail mail. And here for the telephone preference scheme to stop this misuse of your phone.
You're welcome!
Monday, September 18, 2006
How old are you?
Well, on Jupiter, I'm only 4 - which explains why so many people tell me it's really about time I grew up.
But on Mercury, I'm 212 - which explains why my joints creak.
What am I on about? Check out this site, which I've just come across thanks to Amy Nelson-Mile. Don't forget to enter your birthdate with month before day ...
But on Mercury, I'm 212 - which explains why my joints creak.
What am I on about? Check out this site, which I've just come across thanks to Amy Nelson-Mile. Don't forget to enter your birthdate with month before day ...
Getting a grip
Next weekend is our New Year. It’s a very different kettle of chop fish balls from the celebrations associated with 31st December.
We don’t get pissed, have parties, countdown the seconds … Instead it’s a time for spiritual reflection and being with the family. We also don’t have new year resolutions as such, though we do take stock and look back at what the previous year brought us and forward to the directions we’d like to move in. At least I do, but then my interpretation has always been a bit unique and personal …
So, here are some of my thoughts for the coming year:
• I will continue to blog most days …
• … but for a maximum of 2 hours per day – this includes posting, surfing, commenting and playing with my site meter.
• I won’t return to the blogosphere twice in the same day.
• If I can’t get on pooter but have a post in mind, I’ll write it in longhand and transcribe later.
• I will concentrate on my writing every day, although this may not always be in the form of words on the page.
• I won’t beat myself up if the word count isn’t going up as rapidly as previously. I will accept the blogging has to take time …
• I will continue to respond to personal emails as soon as I read them.
• I’ll try not to feel irritated or rejected when other people don’t respond as quickly.
• I will update ALL my anti-virus legions weekly.
• I will run regular scans.
• My children will be my number one priority. They always have been, but by this I mean that I’ll come off the blog on the occasions they want/need me but are only able to get a teensy fraction of my attention. (Not sure if this is achievable.)
• I’ll try to do positive visualisation without panicking along the lines of …’But if it doesn’t work, I’ll be crushed,’ aware that such fears inevitably negate the process.
• I’ll try not to be such an insufferable ratbag in the mornings.
• I’ll really really try not to lose my rag over First Born’s reluctance to do his homework.
• Ditto re the above over G overfilling the kettle, washing up under running water or using the car to go down the road.
• I’ll try to be honest and true to my beliefs – which means I definitely won’t be achieving the previous intention cos I’m RIGHT dammit!
So that’s it. I’ll let you know this time next year how I got on …
We don’t get pissed, have parties, countdown the seconds … Instead it’s a time for spiritual reflection and being with the family. We also don’t have new year resolutions as such, though we do take stock and look back at what the previous year brought us and forward to the directions we’d like to move in. At least I do, but then my interpretation has always been a bit unique and personal …
So, here are some of my thoughts for the coming year:
• I will continue to blog most days …
• … but for a maximum of 2 hours per day – this includes posting, surfing, commenting and playing with my site meter.
• I won’t return to the blogosphere twice in the same day.
• If I can’t get on pooter but have a post in mind, I’ll write it in longhand and transcribe later.
• I will concentrate on my writing every day, although this may not always be in the form of words on the page.
• I won’t beat myself up if the word count isn’t going up as rapidly as previously. I will accept the blogging has to take time …
• I will continue to respond to personal emails as soon as I read them.
• I’ll try not to feel irritated or rejected when other people don’t respond as quickly.
• I will update ALL my anti-virus legions weekly.
• I will run regular scans.
• My children will be my number one priority. They always have been, but by this I mean that I’ll come off the blog on the occasions they want/need me but are only able to get a teensy fraction of my attention. (Not sure if this is achievable.)
• I’ll try to do positive visualisation without panicking along the lines of …’But if it doesn’t work, I’ll be crushed,’ aware that such fears inevitably negate the process.
• I’ll try not to be such an insufferable ratbag in the mornings.
• I’ll really really try not to lose my rag over First Born’s reluctance to do his homework.
• Ditto re the above over G overfilling the kettle, washing up under running water or using the car to go down the road.
• I’ll try to be honest and true to my beliefs – which means I definitely won’t be achieving the previous intention cos I’m RIGHT dammit!
So that’s it. I’ll let you know this time next year how I got on …
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Bring on the bovine revolution!
Just had to point you at this brilliant clip on Atyllah's blog.
Each time I balk at the length of my blogroll and think I really must stop making new links, something like this comes along and I end up feeling I must NEVER stop!
Each time I balk at the length of my blogroll and think I really must stop making new links, something like this comes along and I end up feeling I must NEVER stop!
Friday, September 15, 2006
You'll thank me for this ...
Problems, anyone? Apart from blog addiction, that is ...
Howzabout debt ... divorce ... bullying ... contracts ... identity theft ... Anything at all, in fact, associated with your rights and the law?
We do photos for a really excellent organisation called Advicenow that will give you all the help you need ... Their website has a great search facility, downloadable leaflets and has won a Plain English award. (Oh, and it's got luverley photos, of course.)
Check it out and bookmark for future reference. You never know ...
Howzabout debt ... divorce ... bullying ... contracts ... identity theft ... Anything at all, in fact, associated with your rights and the law?
We do photos for a really excellent organisation called Advicenow that will give you all the help you need ... Their website has a great search facility, downloadable leaflets and has won a Plain English award. (Oh, and it's got luverley photos, of course.)
Check it out and bookmark for future reference. You never know ...
Thursday, September 14, 2006
It ain't THAT bad ...
We all have our gripes with the state of publishing in this country, but things could be worse. A lot worse.
Ever heard of a Turkish novelist by the name of Elif Shafak? I hadn't 'til yesterday when I read a short article about her in the Independent. Apparently she's written a book about the Aremenian genocide, but that's not why she's in the news.
Next week, she goes on trial - accused of 'insulting Turkishness' in her book. As she says, it will be the first time the words of fictional characters will be judged in court!
Now I have no idea about the content of her book, and not much more, I'm embarassed to admit, about the events she depicts.
But I know one thing ... if the equivalent situation happened here, I'd be one of the first up against the wall. But I'd be in good company ...
Ever heard of a Turkish novelist by the name of Elif Shafak? I hadn't 'til yesterday when I read a short article about her in the Independent. Apparently she's written a book about the Aremenian genocide, but that's not why she's in the news.
Next week, she goes on trial - accused of 'insulting Turkishness' in her book. As she says, it will be the first time the words of fictional characters will be judged in court!
Now I have no idea about the content of her book, and not much more, I'm embarassed to admit, about the events she depicts.
But I know one thing ... if the equivalent situation happened here, I'd be one of the first up against the wall. But I'd be in good company ...
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Life calling ... are you receiving me?
It’s my belief that when you get sick, it’s your body sending you a message that all is not well and something needs to change. (Dis-ease of the mind?)
It took a wonderful homoeopath to point out the obvious to me – that the frequent ear infections followed by extended periods of deafness I’ve suffered throughout my life always coincided with times when things were going on that I literally didn’t want to hear. It was that simple!
Sometimes a minor illness is a sign that you need to stop doing whatever it is you’re doing and take a break. Ignore your body’s message at your peril! If you do, it will fell you in a way that will leave you no choice but to take note.
Well, I think the same thing’s happening to me on a techy level … and I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that I’ve been foolish to keep fighting it but instead should listen.
First there was my hideous case of Trojanitis. Now there’s all this other stupid techy nonsense – once again impacting on my ability to email and blog. We all know it can be hard to keep a balance on our addiction. (See Minx and Skint for current versions of this debate.)
Sometimes the problems could be a test of our resolve. Sharon, for example, refused to allow the technology to dictate to her and has taken matters into her own hands with her gorgeous new blog. On the other hand, maybe we sometimes need to learn that walking away is not a sign of defeat, but is actually very empowering. Marie, for example, deciding she needs to move away from a negative and destructive situation …
So this, in a nutshell, is what I’m thinking: that the techy irritations are life’s way of telling me I need to get back to my current book. It’s been weeks since I wrote anything new and I realised at the writers’ group on Saturday that I’ve become too distanced from it. And when I don’t write, I get twitchy and feel … just … not right.
So yesterday, pooter was duly shut down. Rug, suntan oil and other comforts came out and I took to the great outdoors and read story-so-far. And you know what? I like it. I want to work on it. I will work on it.
You hear that, life? I am listening. Now just sort the bloody techy stuff, will ya?
It took a wonderful homoeopath to point out the obvious to me – that the frequent ear infections followed by extended periods of deafness I’ve suffered throughout my life always coincided with times when things were going on that I literally didn’t want to hear. It was that simple!
Sometimes a minor illness is a sign that you need to stop doing whatever it is you’re doing and take a break. Ignore your body’s message at your peril! If you do, it will fell you in a way that will leave you no choice but to take note.
Well, I think the same thing’s happening to me on a techy level … and I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that I’ve been foolish to keep fighting it but instead should listen.
First there was my hideous case of Trojanitis. Now there’s all this other stupid techy nonsense – once again impacting on my ability to email and blog. We all know it can be hard to keep a balance on our addiction. (See Minx and Skint for current versions of this debate.)
Sometimes the problems could be a test of our resolve. Sharon, for example, refused to allow the technology to dictate to her and has taken matters into her own hands with her gorgeous new blog. On the other hand, maybe we sometimes need to learn that walking away is not a sign of defeat, but is actually very empowering. Marie, for example, deciding she needs to move away from a negative and destructive situation …
So this, in a nutshell, is what I’m thinking: that the techy irritations are life’s way of telling me I need to get back to my current book. It’s been weeks since I wrote anything new and I realised at the writers’ group on Saturday that I’ve become too distanced from it. And when I don’t write, I get twitchy and feel … just … not right.
So yesterday, pooter was duly shut down. Rug, suntan oil and other comforts came out and I took to the great outdoors and read story-so-far. And you know what? I like it. I want to work on it. I will work on it.
You hear that, life? I am listening. Now just sort the bloody techy stuff, will ya?
Monday, September 11, 2006
Deep in the ether, something stirred ...
Now what's going on??? Problems, problems, problems ...
1) Someone somewhere has decided I'm sending out spam and is blocking my emails - though not all of them ...
2) I can't see my latest posts on my own blog! The last one is the meme thingy. Where's me bleeding conkers??? I presume you can see the post as you're commenting, but I can only access it via my dashboard ...
3) Ditto re comments. According to what's on my screen, no one's commented at all. But you have! Again I can only see them via following email links or via dashboard.
Now this is all very silly! I'm not going to spend all this time/energy chucking things out into the ether if they just disappear off. Could someone let me know what you're seeing your end?
I mean, I don't mind the stupid spacing I get on my links (though sometimes it sorts itself for a while - just to wind me up) but losing whole posts - nah, I'm not having that ...
1) Someone somewhere has decided I'm sending out spam and is blocking my emails - though not all of them ...
2) I can't see my latest posts on my own blog! The last one is the meme thingy. Where's me bleeding conkers??? I presume you can see the post as you're commenting, but I can only access it via my dashboard ...
3) Ditto re comments. According to what's on my screen, no one's commented at all. But you have! Again I can only see them via following email links or via dashboard.
Now this is all very silly! I'm not going to spend all this time/energy chucking things out into the ether if they just disappear off. Could someone let me know what you're seeing your end?
I mean, I don't mind the stupid spacing I get on my links (though sometimes it sorts itself for a while - just to wind me up) but losing whole posts - nah, I'm not having that ...
Friday, September 08, 2006
She stoops for conkers
Have you heard about the horse chestnuts?
We’re losing them. Fast. Three years of drought have left their resistance weakened and they’re being attacked by a double whammy of pest and disease.
Look around where you are. Here in the metropolis I’ve yet to see a horse chestnut whose leaves are not at best mottled and dry and at worst shrivelled and brown. The tress are so weakened by the onslaught that they may present a danger and as so many are in parks and residential areas, they may have to be chopped down. Just at the point our cities are most in need of their lungs …
Think about it. Those vibrant green Spring leaves followed by the magnificent pink and white flower candles; the massive trunks and spreading branches providing shade from the hottest sun or the heaviest downpour; and, most of all of course … the conkers.
Generation after generation of children, every September, stamping on those spiky hulls to reveal their shiny contents; collecting, sorting, comparing, challenging … never again. Conservative estimates reckon 40% of these mighty trees are already affected. It’s spreading fast, with experts warning this will be a worse catastrophe than Dutch Elm Disease,
So is there any hope? Well, yes and no. In Holland they’ve come up with a homoeopathic spray that – against all expectations – they say is successfully dealing with both the disease and the pest. So – are we pulling out all the stops to get it here ASAP? Are we hell …
‘We’re very sceptical about a miracle cure,’ is what we’re hearing here. ‘What we really need is a census.’
Oh right. Sure, that’ll sort it. Let’s spend a few million quid and waste vital time – not in tackling the problem, but in – er – counting the trees!
Meanwhile, First Born is collecting conkers to thread on a necklace. He says he’ll keep it forever and show it to his kids, who will probably never get to collect one fresh from the tree.
Some of my best conker memories
• The bruised knuckles we all sported every September throughout my childhood.
• My brother’s attempts to discover the perfect conker-strengthening recipe: pickling in vinegar, massaging with oil, gentle roasting in a slow oven …
• The endless debates about the ideal length of string, the best technique for swinging, whether a glancing blow can be more effective than a full-on shot …
• The horror when a much-loved veteran conker finally shatters.
• The joy when a cracked and manky conker refuses to die.
• The carrier bags filled to the brim every year and kept in a corner until the contents lose their shine and you finally give in and chuck them away months later.
• The annual conker competition where I used to work. I particularly remember the time a pretentious bruiser named Eugene Hieronymus Maximillian III was smashed to oblivion by an unprepossessing conker called Fluffy – thereby proving that looks ain’t everything.
• That September day 10 years ago when C died (5 years to the day after my mum). I walked to a lake and chose a single conker from the hundreds carpeting the ground. I took it home, carved his initials and the date on it and put it in a Special Place. It’s still there …
So farewell then, mighty horse chestnut. We may never stoop to conker again …
We’re losing them. Fast. Three years of drought have left their resistance weakened and they’re being attacked by a double whammy of pest and disease.
Look around where you are. Here in the metropolis I’ve yet to see a horse chestnut whose leaves are not at best mottled and dry and at worst shrivelled and brown. The tress are so weakened by the onslaught that they may present a danger and as so many are in parks and residential areas, they may have to be chopped down. Just at the point our cities are most in need of their lungs …
Think about it. Those vibrant green Spring leaves followed by the magnificent pink and white flower candles; the massive trunks and spreading branches providing shade from the hottest sun or the heaviest downpour; and, most of all of course … the conkers.
Generation after generation of children, every September, stamping on those spiky hulls to reveal their shiny contents; collecting, sorting, comparing, challenging … never again. Conservative estimates reckon 40% of these mighty trees are already affected. It’s spreading fast, with experts warning this will be a worse catastrophe than Dutch Elm Disease,
So is there any hope? Well, yes and no. In Holland they’ve come up with a homoeopathic spray that – against all expectations – they say is successfully dealing with both the disease and the pest. So – are we pulling out all the stops to get it here ASAP? Are we hell …
‘We’re very sceptical about a miracle cure,’ is what we’re hearing here. ‘What we really need is a census.’
Oh right. Sure, that’ll sort it. Let’s spend a few million quid and waste vital time – not in tackling the problem, but in – er – counting the trees!
Meanwhile, First Born is collecting conkers to thread on a necklace. He says he’ll keep it forever and show it to his kids, who will probably never get to collect one fresh from the tree.
Some of my best conker memories
• The bruised knuckles we all sported every September throughout my childhood.
• My brother’s attempts to discover the perfect conker-strengthening recipe: pickling in vinegar, massaging with oil, gentle roasting in a slow oven …
• The endless debates about the ideal length of string, the best technique for swinging, whether a glancing blow can be more effective than a full-on shot …
• The horror when a much-loved veteran conker finally shatters.
• The joy when a cracked and manky conker refuses to die.
• The carrier bags filled to the brim every year and kept in a corner until the contents lose their shine and you finally give in and chuck them away months later.
• The annual conker competition where I used to work. I particularly remember the time a pretentious bruiser named Eugene Hieronymus Maximillian III was smashed to oblivion by an unprepossessing conker called Fluffy – thereby proving that looks ain’t everything.
• That September day 10 years ago when C died (5 years to the day after my mum). I walked to a lake and chose a single conker from the hundreds carpeting the ground. I took it home, carved his initials and the date on it and put it in a Special Place. It’s still there …
So farewell then, mighty horse chestnut. We may never stoop to conker again …
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
The meme thingy
Crime fic reader has pinged (or zapped … or tagged … or something) me …. And cos I trust her and I love her blog, I’m going for it. Even though I have no idea what a meme is … Maybe it’s as in, ‘Me! Me! This is all about Me!
Anyway, the idea is I answer these questions about books. Only you no doubt already know that. I had been feeling really flattered to be involved until I read the following on Roger’s Plog:
'I think this meme is near the end of its life and almost everyone I know has already done it!'
At which point I went into paranoia overdrive wondering why I’d been the last to be asked … (It’s ok – I jest.)
So ...
One book that changed your life.
This is the point you’re all going to feel you were right not to have included me earlier, but if I’m going to be honest, there’s only one possible answer to this one. So, at the risk of being derided for shameless self-publicising, it’s got to be my own first book, Nirvana Bites.
Allow me to justify the choice:
• I never set out or intended to write a book and certainly didn’t know I was capable of it. Even if it hadn’t been published, creating something from nothing has to be a life-changing event, doesn’t it?
• And then – by an almost magical series of events – the thing gets published!
• Having been written in longhand and typed up in chunks on borrowed laptops, the advance enabled me to buy my own pooter.
• The advance, spread over 4 years, may not have been enough to radically change our living situation, but it certainly made life a little easier during that time.
• I still find it very hard to believe that I wrote a book (even though I’ve written 3 more since) and that I’m a gen-u-ine published author.
So … forgive me? How could a book be more life-changing than that?
One book that you have read more than once.
This has to be The Bridge of Beyond by Simone Schwarz-Bart, set in Guadeloupe. There’s something about that book that works beyond the words on the page. The first time I read it, I was not in a good space. The book uplifted me in the most amazing way. After that, I read it a second time – once again when I was in a painful phase of life. This time, as I read it, I was aware that terrible things happen within the story. Yet in spite of the brutality of some of the passages and events, I was once again uplifted and strengthened by the end.
I’ve probably read it at least four times (always when I’ve felt in need of healing) and it works the same spell each time. Not only that, but I’ve even loaned it to other people and with only one exception, each has said they felt similarly moved.
What a powerful thing is a book!
One book you would want on a desert island.
Now I can hear you all gasp in amazement. My answer (if it could only be one book) would have to be the Bible.
• It’s BIG.
• It’s got some great characters and wonderful stories.
• You can dip in and out of it or read it cover to cover.
• You can skip the boring bits (assuming you don’t feel it’s ALL boring) without losing the thread.
• It operates on many different levels.
• You could while away many moons searching for codes.
• You wouldn’t ruin the plot if you tore out the pages about measurements and stuff to light the campfire.
One book that made you cry.
Philip Pullman’s The Amber Spyglass – the last in the His Dark Materials trilogy – the ending is devastating. In this 3rd book, he moves from the apocalyptic/universal to the deeply intimate/personal and is an absolute master of both. An author who is a committed atheist yet writes in the most spiritual way possible.
Also just about anything by Primo Levi.
One book that made you laugh.
I love people like Laurence Shames and Christopher Brookmyre, whose humour is silly and completely over the top, but who also often make serious points.
One book you wish had been written.
‘How to house, feed and clothe your family using old newspapers and grass cuttings.’
One book you wish had never been written.
I’m not going to name it, cos I don’t like putting out negative stuff, but there’s a well-known comedienne I really like who had a novel published at the same time as Trading Tatiana came out.
I’ve always had loads of respect and admiration for her. She lives locally and I’ve seen her occasionally in the park and desperately wanted to talk to her but never dared (even though I know people who have approached her and said she’s really lovely and easy going). Anyway, I got hold of her book. I was so looking forward to reading it and also thought that it would give me a reason to go up to her next time I saw her. (Though I probably still wouldn’t have had the guts …)
Anyway, talk about disappointed! The characters were paper-thin; the relationship between them simply didn’t work; the plot was unbelievable; and … it wasn’t funny. I felt so deflated – I’d wanted so much to like it. The awful truth is that I really don’t think it would have stood a chance of being published if the author wasn’t already an established ‘name’.
One book you are currently reading.
I’ve finally got round to reading Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City. I’ve been meaning to for ages …
One book you have been meaning to read.
Oh me oh my … the world is FULL of books I mean to read. Every short list … every long list … all the ones that never reach a list …
I’m supposed to tag 5 people now but I don’t dare do it for fear that the replies will come back in the shape of, ‘Oh that! I did that years ago, darling. Did you only just receive it now???’
Anyway, the idea is I answer these questions about books. Only you no doubt already know that. I had been feeling really flattered to be involved until I read the following on Roger’s Plog:
'I think this meme is near the end of its life and almost everyone I know has already done it!'
At which point I went into paranoia overdrive wondering why I’d been the last to be asked … (It’s ok – I jest.)
So ...
One book that changed your life.
This is the point you’re all going to feel you were right not to have included me earlier, but if I’m going to be honest, there’s only one possible answer to this one. So, at the risk of being derided for shameless self-publicising, it’s got to be my own first book, Nirvana Bites.
Allow me to justify the choice:
• I never set out or intended to write a book and certainly didn’t know I was capable of it. Even if it hadn’t been published, creating something from nothing has to be a life-changing event, doesn’t it?
• And then – by an almost magical series of events – the thing gets published!
• Having been written in longhand and typed up in chunks on borrowed laptops, the advance enabled me to buy my own pooter.
• The advance, spread over 4 years, may not have been enough to radically change our living situation, but it certainly made life a little easier during that time.
• I still find it very hard to believe that I wrote a book (even though I’ve written 3 more since) and that I’m a gen-u-ine published author.
So … forgive me? How could a book be more life-changing than that?
One book that you have read more than once.
This has to be The Bridge of Beyond by Simone Schwarz-Bart, set in Guadeloupe. There’s something about that book that works beyond the words on the page. The first time I read it, I was not in a good space. The book uplifted me in the most amazing way. After that, I read it a second time – once again when I was in a painful phase of life. This time, as I read it, I was aware that terrible things happen within the story. Yet in spite of the brutality of some of the passages and events, I was once again uplifted and strengthened by the end.
I’ve probably read it at least four times (always when I’ve felt in need of healing) and it works the same spell each time. Not only that, but I’ve even loaned it to other people and with only one exception, each has said they felt similarly moved.
What a powerful thing is a book!
One book you would want on a desert island.
Now I can hear you all gasp in amazement. My answer (if it could only be one book) would have to be the Bible.
• It’s BIG.
• It’s got some great characters and wonderful stories.
• You can dip in and out of it or read it cover to cover.
• You can skip the boring bits (assuming you don’t feel it’s ALL boring) without losing the thread.
• It operates on many different levels.
• You could while away many moons searching for codes.
• You wouldn’t ruin the plot if you tore out the pages about measurements and stuff to light the campfire.
One book that made you cry.
Philip Pullman’s The Amber Spyglass – the last in the His Dark Materials trilogy – the ending is devastating. In this 3rd book, he moves from the apocalyptic/universal to the deeply intimate/personal and is an absolute master of both. An author who is a committed atheist yet writes in the most spiritual way possible.
Also just about anything by Primo Levi.
One book that made you laugh.
I love people like Laurence Shames and Christopher Brookmyre, whose humour is silly and completely over the top, but who also often make serious points.
One book you wish had been written.
‘How to house, feed and clothe your family using old newspapers and grass cuttings.’
One book you wish had never been written.
I’m not going to name it, cos I don’t like putting out negative stuff, but there’s a well-known comedienne I really like who had a novel published at the same time as Trading Tatiana came out.
I’ve always had loads of respect and admiration for her. She lives locally and I’ve seen her occasionally in the park and desperately wanted to talk to her but never dared (even though I know people who have approached her and said she’s really lovely and easy going). Anyway, I got hold of her book. I was so looking forward to reading it and also thought that it would give me a reason to go up to her next time I saw her. (Though I probably still wouldn’t have had the guts …)
Anyway, talk about disappointed! The characters were paper-thin; the relationship between them simply didn’t work; the plot was unbelievable; and … it wasn’t funny. I felt so deflated – I’d wanted so much to like it. The awful truth is that I really don’t think it would have stood a chance of being published if the author wasn’t already an established ‘name’.
One book you are currently reading.
I’ve finally got round to reading Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City. I’ve been meaning to for ages …
One book you have been meaning to read.
Oh me oh my … the world is FULL of books I mean to read. Every short list … every long list … all the ones that never reach a list …
I’m supposed to tag 5 people now but I don’t dare do it for fear that the replies will come back in the shape of, ‘Oh that! I did that years ago, darling. Did you only just receive it now???’
A shout for Shazza
Please take a moment to send some positive vibes to Sharon, who is suffering from some hideous IT mischief that is preventing her from blogging. I know she's currently searching for a way round the problems so she can rejoin the party.
If you're reading this, babe, good luck! We're all still here waiting for you and will be for as long as it takes ...
If you're reading this, babe, good luck! We're all still here waiting for you and will be for as long as it takes ...
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Back ... with a vengeance.
Hey there. Remember me? I’m back on the scene following a blast of a summer – albeit a soggy one.
We started off camping here on the banks of the River Teign. Then we hit Cornwall as we had a time limit for a Very Crucial Rendezvous (more later) and stayed in a hideous commercial site here. As soon as we could, we moved further west and pitched in a very rough field in Marazion. Just two portaloos, a tap, a couple of other tents – and us.
That was when the monsoons hit, at which point the children became totally feral like those kids you hear about who have been raised by wolves. By a miracle we survived with nothing worse than a couple of nasty cases of suspected trenchfoot ...
After a week, we (and the rain) moved here on the edge of Exmoor, before inching our way home via a few nights in a farmer’s field in Owermoigne in Dorset.
At first glance you might think we look healthy and tanned, but closer examination reveals the truth. It’s wind burn. We look weather beaten – like North Sea fishermen - with a distant focus in our eyes from cloud watching.
So what was the ultimate high point? Was it seeing the ebb and flow of the River Teign as the tide transformed the landscape from raging river to muddy swamp twice a day? Or how about watching a big fat full moon rising over the hills at Crantock? Or the kids surfing at Fistral Bay with the big guys? Could it have been star gazing at Marazion round a campfire with St Michael’s Mount floating out to sea like a fairy castle in the air? What about seal spotting at Lizard Point? Or maybe being blasted by a steaming power shower in Kentisbury after swimming round in mud for a week with only an outdoor cold tap for washing … And then there was gathering armfuls of peacock feathers and organic fruit and veg on the farm in Dorset … Coming home and making jam and crumble …
But you know already, don’t you? Undoubtedly the greatest high of all was meeting the Mighty Minxster, sweet soul sister, and spending six hours with her on Crantock Beach. G and I watched her until she disappeared over the dunes at the end of this too-little slice of Real Life and my head was full of, ‘But I never asked her about …’ and ‘Oh, I wanted to know more about …’ and ‘We never touched on …’
So, the final verdict: a damp but wonderful summer full of happy memories with a Red Hot Chilli Peppers soundtrack. If holidays are all about doing different things to the rest of the year, we scored full points. I did a brief blog surf from a launderette in Penzance where we went to dry out, and wrote nothing more creative than a shopping list. The days – and nights – were spent velcroed to the children – and I wouldn’t change that for the world.
Only now they’re at school, First Born in secondary with 1399 other kids and Little Guy in Year 4. And I’m back at the laptop.
And so we move onto the next stage of This Life. Thanks for hanging in there while I was away. Expect more. Lots more …
We started off camping here on the banks of the River Teign. Then we hit Cornwall as we had a time limit for a Very Crucial Rendezvous (more later) and stayed in a hideous commercial site here. As soon as we could, we moved further west and pitched in a very rough field in Marazion. Just two portaloos, a tap, a couple of other tents – and us.
That was when the monsoons hit, at which point the children became totally feral like those kids you hear about who have been raised by wolves. By a miracle we survived with nothing worse than a couple of nasty cases of suspected trenchfoot ...
After a week, we (and the rain) moved here on the edge of Exmoor, before inching our way home via a few nights in a farmer’s field in Owermoigne in Dorset.
At first glance you might think we look healthy and tanned, but closer examination reveals the truth. It’s wind burn. We look weather beaten – like North Sea fishermen - with a distant focus in our eyes from cloud watching.
So what was the ultimate high point? Was it seeing the ebb and flow of the River Teign as the tide transformed the landscape from raging river to muddy swamp twice a day? Or how about watching a big fat full moon rising over the hills at Crantock? Or the kids surfing at Fistral Bay with the big guys? Could it have been star gazing at Marazion round a campfire with St Michael’s Mount floating out to sea like a fairy castle in the air? What about seal spotting at Lizard Point? Or maybe being blasted by a steaming power shower in Kentisbury after swimming round in mud for a week with only an outdoor cold tap for washing … And then there was gathering armfuls of peacock feathers and organic fruit and veg on the farm in Dorset … Coming home and making jam and crumble …
But you know already, don’t you? Undoubtedly the greatest high of all was meeting the Mighty Minxster, sweet soul sister, and spending six hours with her on Crantock Beach. G and I watched her until she disappeared over the dunes at the end of this too-little slice of Real Life and my head was full of, ‘But I never asked her about …’ and ‘Oh, I wanted to know more about …’ and ‘We never touched on …’
So, the final verdict: a damp but wonderful summer full of happy memories with a Red Hot Chilli Peppers soundtrack. If holidays are all about doing different things to the rest of the year, we scored full points. I did a brief blog surf from a launderette in Penzance where we went to dry out, and wrote nothing more creative than a shopping list. The days – and nights – were spent velcroed to the children – and I wouldn’t change that for the world.
Only now they’re at school, First Born in secondary with 1399 other kids and Little Guy in Year 4. And I’m back at the laptop.
And so we move onto the next stage of This Life. Thanks for hanging in there while I was away. Expect more. Lots more …
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Funny thing, time ...
Never enough of it. No time for posting or checking out all I missed during trojanism.
See you all late August.
Have a great summer. Stay safe and well and happy.
See you all late August.
Have a great summer. Stay safe and well and happy.
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