Self-Doubt and Smoky Slumber.

If blogging is an exercise in vanity, then maybe it's no surprise that this post is so belated, as the last few months have been marked with scary-soul-squashing SELF-DOUBT.  Caps lock necessary.

Sylvia Plath once stated, 'the worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt', and while I know that all writers have to deal with that dictatorial bellowing in their ears ('this is shit! Who'll want to read this pile of dung?!'), and while I've managed to ignore the niggles before (for the most part), over the last few months it's manifested itself in a distinct 'MEH' feeling about all of my writing.

2013 so far has been pretty unsettled for various non-writing related reasons, but whereas before having an artistic outlet was an anchor when all else was topsy-turvy, now I'm tempted to toss it all overboard and paddle off to a nice, safe office where I can happily file things without all the horrible revising-rejection-self-recrimination business.

Related to this is the fact that it's my birthday in a month, and while I'm not THAT old, yet (30-ish, if anyone asks), I did envisage myself more settled at this age, and with some major publications under my belt, so every passing year (silly as it sounds) prompts a new bout of nail-biting and teeth-gnashing.  Why? Maybe because young writers are instantly marketable. Maybe genius is only aligned with precocity. Maybe I'm just a mediocre writer, who won't see see (major) publication until I'm middle-aged? Worrying about what will (or won't be) is ridiculous, and racing, racing, racing against time is as foolish as Dick Dastardly chasing the pigeon, with lots of 'drat-drat and double-drat'-ing, when one should really be focusing on making their flying machine more effective, to flog the metaphor. AND I KNOW THIS. But still... (And apologies for referring to myself as 'one'. Unforgiveable.)


MA:

Related to all this gloom, this semester at university is the second (and final) writing workshop module of my MA, which has made several melodramatic things whir about my mind:

-I've seen how far my peers have progressed from last year to now: am I keeping up?

-I've seen many of my peers find agents/garner agent interest/do well with regards to publications and prizes: where am I now? 

-This is the last chance to get 'proper' feedback on my writing: am I ready to whip off my stabilizers and sway off, or will I smash into a tree and cut my head open?

My peers are all wonderfully supportive, and their feedback has been essential in helping me hone my work, so to use them as points of comparison is self-defeating and misery-inducing, but while I know this, there's that voice, still whispering, 'Pull up your socks, woman! Stop being so lazy! if they can write a book then why haven't you done it, sloth girl? It's just a hobby for you, isn't it...? and on, and on...

And it doesn't stop there! Twitter. Facebook. All my writerly 'friends' tweeting and posting about their deals and film contracts and their wonderful stories being published in all the best magazines, the same ones who've rejected me over and over, which makes me want to throw my computer out of the window, and join a commune, away from all those social-network-succubus-things that suck my confidence away.

Of course, even reading back through this rambling it's clear that a sense of proportion is needed, as (the unfailingly helpful) Chuck Wending states in his column about how to kill self-doubt:

'....you’re not exactly saving lives. You’re not pulling children out of burning buildings or shooting Osama bin Laden or curing a global pandemic. You’re a writer. Self-doubt for those other guys is life-threatening. They fuck up, people die. You fuck up, the the ink on your manuscript bleeds from your blubbering tears and you put on a couple pounds from wolfing down three boxes of strawberry Pop-Tarts.'

Quite.  So enough whining, for now :)

Publication News:

My short story 'Smoke Surfaces in Slumber' was published by Menacing Hedge at the beginning of the year,  a love-story, of sorts, set in Medieval times and inspired by reading about anchorites and martyrs, and Jersey Devil Press will publish a short-fantasy piece entitled 'Dippin' and Dustin'' in April, I think.(Check out this page too for a Kickstarter project with a difference, where your contribution will buy not a book, but a new pair of lungs for JDP's founder, which certainly puts all my self-centred grumbling into perspective).

Other than that, my focus has been getting my first draft of my Victorian Fantasy novel finished, and reading all the Victorian/Neo-Victorian stuff I can, but more about that next time, once I pull myself back out of the 19th Century.

So, thanks for letting me ramble on, and on, and until then, then!

One Year On...

As the year comes to an end there's often the tendency to reflect back upon the last twelve months (usually after several vodkas and wearing a ridiculous party hat whilst sobbing in the toilets on New Year's Eve), but as it's also been a year since I started my blog and decided to take my writing more seriously, I've decided to let myself wallow. For a bit. So, where to begin...

Writing:

When I started my blog last November I had two pieces of flash-fiction published, and a story accepted for a forthcoming anthology.  I now have twenty-two published pieces (including the ones previously mentioned); so while I may get impatient with the slow process of write-edit-send-reject/publish, and berate myself for my laziness, that isn't bad going, I tell myself.  Then writerly perfection creeps.  Most of those stories could have been better: some of them much, much better. I know that writers are rarely happy with their own work, and while I can chart my progress back through my work to some extent, which provides 'proof' that there is progress ('see how shit that bit is, hilarious!'), there is a niggling 'urgh, if only I'd sat on that for a while longer before sending it out!' regarding some of the pieces, at the back of my mind. Conversely though, I read through some of my older work, fully expecting to find fault, and instead I find myself enjoying them, and I notice that there's an ease and a lack of awareness to a lot of them (endless concerns about 'telling' versus 'showing', plot advancement, dialogue etc) that is absent now (for better or for worse, I'm not sure!).

The main change in my writing, however, is that while most of my previous work straddled a literary/genre line (and still does to some degree), and while I'm probably not going to start penning hard Sci-Fi, I am now actively targeting my work at 'genre' markets as that's where it feels more at home, and I am starting to define myself as a 'writer of weird things' whereas before 'author' was a catch-all that belied my lack of focus.

Also, concerning my publications, a big THANK YOU to anybody who took the time to comment on my stories where that option was available (or 'liked' them/ shared on FB, Twitter etc).  It's nerve-wracking to have your writing at the mercy of the internet maniacs, but so far all the feedback has been just wonderful and I've filed it all away for those grey days when I'm feeling useless, and where those kind comments are akin to a sugary cup of tea, or a massive slice of cake, or a big hug from somebody in a furry bear/yak whatever that-over-there-is suit. I have been lax myself, and been a read-and-go type, and was a bit oblivious to 'netiquette' regarding these things, but it's made me see just how valuable a bit of bolstering can be, and how if I do enjoy a story, then I really should just let the writer know, so to all those who took the time to do so, again, sincere thanks.

MA: 

In January this year I started a creative writing MA at MMU, and while I'm still getting mocked for pursuing a creative degree '(What yer doing that for?' etc), I've really enjoyed it so far, and it's encouraging to be around (extremely talented) people who are all aspiring authors, and who can empathise with the daily writerly woes ('oh, my pov is so wrong, I'm useless, I tell you, useless!'). It hasn't been an easy ride either (for a 'waster's'' degree); whether it's writing your own stuff for workshop; or giving detailed feedback on the work of your peers, or reading a book a week for three months ('actively' reading too, noticing all the techniques rather than cruising along with the story); or doing the creative exercises linked to whichever text is in question, or providing in-depth analyses for seminar.  I can find themes and subtexts and all sorts of sociopolitical nuances within novels (due to my previous degree which DEMANDED I do so), but I really found it a challenge to pay attention to the nuts and bolts of the work instead (how the characters are drawn, how effects are achieved, how stories generate suspense/ elicit emotion etc) and it's really a case of seeing the ladybirds on the leaves rather than coolly standing back to assess the tree.

Slushing: 

Around February I also started working for the excellent Shimmer Magazine as a slush reader, and I'm still happily slushing away and having fun with it all.  I know I'll sound biased but I love the stories that the magazine publishes -all full of beautiful weirdness and longing and loss and dark lyricism- and I'm really glad to be a part of it; but being a first-reader has also been beneficial for my own writing as it's much easier to assess work which isn't your own, and when you see the same mistakes over and over again (mainly too much exposition, flat characterization, too many superfluous descriptions of the sky, grass, clouds etc), it's easier to notice when you're falling into similar traps, allowing you time to gnaw off your prose and delete before a slusher-sniper out there turns the rifle back on you.

So far (and back to the stats) I've read around 600 stories, rejected most of them, sent some of them to the editorial board for further discussion, of which only one actually got into print.  The magazine does have a very specific style and tone and we do have to reject many wonderful stories just because they don't quite fit, but again, to bring it back to myself (writers are egotists, you know), seeing those odds, and seeing the quality of some of the work that we do have to let go, it certainly makes getting a rejection yourself all the more palatable when you see the process from the other side. Plus the nature of the rejections that we send –personal, rather than form ones- often garners responses from authors appreciative of the constructive criticism that we seek to provide, which makes me feel all warm and smiley and important, and like much less of a ruthless-dream-crushing-monster.

So, the plans for the new year, then: finish the YA novel and start looking for an agent.  Finish the short stories that are three-quarters complete (the stagnating stage, it seems) in my pile, get on with the MA, and the reading, and the slushing, and see where I end up this time next year.  So happy new year, all, see you on the other side :) x

Seminars, Squids and Sex Dolls.

Right, a quick round-up of all things writerly as I've been as neglectful as ever (I even forgot my login details, although I can blame my uni schedule, I hope), so, to begin:

MA:

This term it’s a reading module, one book a week for ten weeks, and seminars are based on studying the mechanics of whichever novel is under scrutiny (characterisation, style, P.O.V, themes, plot etc).  It's actually been quite difficult to read novels 'as a writer', and while I can spot various techniques in poems, once a novel grabs you it's tricky to distance yourself to the level where you can see how it's grabbing you; kind of like watching a film and noticing the lighting and the angles rather than focusing on the action.  Some part of this may have been due to me being disinclined to break the mystical spell of the oh-so-sacred-story, but as the weeks have progressed, there is a new ruthlessness in my approach, which means that I do have much more appreciation for the novels that I do like now, and at least I can better verbalise what I don't like, rather than stating: well, it was just..shit. I'll be scribbling in books in permanent pen and breaking their spines before I know it.

Anyway, so far we have torn to pieces:

Everything is Illuminated –Jonathan Safran Foer.

I 'appreciated' this one, in that I liked the scope of ideas and the overall quirkiness and the fresh take on the Second World War and the focus on hidden histories, but due in part to me leaving it to the last minute to read, I couldn't get as fully absorbed as I could have done, and I began to find it tiresome and difficult to plough through as it progressed. My overall impression is then: original but over-hyped. But I must impress, props for the boldness and the approach.

Going Out –Scarlett Thomas.

A stark contrast to the week before, a very easy read (but one with many hidden layers- Wizard of Oz references, capitalism, reality TV etc).  Luke is allergic to the sun and confined to his bedroom, but he and his friends embark upon a journey down the B-roads to Wales in a camper van, in the hope of finding a healer. A coming of age type tale, and another 'quirky' novel (is this a thing now in contemporary literature? Quirky sells, obviously). Interesting and inventive and touching but ultimately forgettable.

Dorian- Will Self.

Will Self makes me sick (in a good way), with his envy-inducing eloquence and his snazzy words (that made me consult the dictionary about ten times per page) and his sardonic face that sneers –oh, you wish you were as clever as me- and this book has probably been my favourite one so far. I loved Wilde's original, and this take, described thus –"Brutal, savage, infinitely readable…it will upset people"- took all of the implied decadence of the former, and transposed the characters to the 80s, where Aids, homosexuality, drug abuse and Princess Di all become commingled with the themes which include power of influence, vanity, vice, superficial society, the creation and reception of art and celebrity culture.  At times the 'shock' aspect did become a little tedious, but maybe that's the whole point, that we are so anaesthetised that it's hardly surprising that people are looking for such thrills, in greater and greater measure, so yes, read it.

A Whistling Woman by A.S Byatt.

A novel of ideas (reason versus belief, faith versus science, mind versus body, good versus evil, evidence versus superstition, revolution versus institutions, female biology versus female independence, passion versus restraint…) ideas that are excellent in theory but in the context of this book made me want to sleep/cry/throw it out of the window. In hindsight, I can again 'appreciate' it, but reading it was an ordeal. And I don't use that word lightly.

Politics-Adam Thirwell.

According to the blurb, it is a book about a) a father and a daughter and b) a threesome, and is not about politics, at all. Which isn't actually true. The broader politics (mentions of Stalin, Hitler, Mao) are juxtaposed here with personal politics, and ones of gender and sexuality and politics pertaining to the body, so cue various cringe-worthy sex scenes that certainly made for lively conversation ('Now, how could you make fisting sexy?').  The main literary device that we focused on was the use of the intrusive narrator, which I really liked (maybe that says something about my own authorial vanity), and the book overall did pique curiosity and there was a certain peering-through-the-keyhole-quality to it that couldn't fail to draw the reader in, not matter how awkward the exchanges. So, overall, the confidence of the voice and dry humour made it very readable, and I did enjoy it.

A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian- Marina Lewycka

Guess what? Yes, it's quirky! The story is concerned with the romance between an eighty-four year old Nikolai, and his new bride, the thirty six year old Ukrainian 'gold-digger', Valentina, and the effects that this union has upon Nikolai's family as she enters their lives '…like a fluffy pink grenade.'

I liked this one, and found it funny and despite the ease of reading it managed to encapsulate themes such as survival, change, progress, compromise, responsibility, old age, 'will', obligation, love, forgiveness, liberalism vs radicalism etc. Plus the author thanks her former tutor in the book –Livi Michael- who is now our tutor, so that made us all feel that one day it'll be our creation being ripped to shreds by aspiring, scornful authors.

Writing News.

 Twilight Turns from Amethyst.

I had this piece published in the Lovecraft Ezine, an unusual publication story in that I was approached by the editor (the lovely and very supportive Mike Davis), and it took a few months and forward-and-backing and rewriting (and me being concerned that it wasn't 'Lovecraftian' enough) for it to be published, but when it was, it was with excellent accompanying artwork (by Robert Elrod, who can find at his site here), and audio by Juliana Quartaroli) which was all very exciting.

The title is basically stolen from James Joyce's poem, itself entitled 'The Twilight Turns from Amethyst', and while it fits the story with regards to Lana Lilac's eyes, there's both a nostalgic and a hopeful tone to the original that I thought would make a good contrast to the overall bleakness of my version.

The story received some great feedback on the site which was wonderful, as I was nervous about how it would be received (being an odd semi-erotic tale about lesbian strippers), and while having that option there –the 'leave comments for the author' one – could easily cause a melodramatic crisis should a commentator be less than positive, getting the good stuff is also an instant come-now-you're-not-really-shit when the inbox is full of rejections.

 

Melt:

I submitted this flash piece for National Flash Fiction Day's Flash Flood, where they published a short piece every fifteen minutes for a day, and this I wrote in about an hour and sent off more as writing practise than anything else, but I'm pretty happy with it.

It tells the story of a man and his rubber doll and their romantic trip to the beach, but I hope that it did touch upon loneliness and desire and expectations as much as anything else.

Other writing news included me signing up for NanoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, where you well, have to write 50,000 words of a novel in a month, without over-thinking, or editing, just going, going going…), and I'm still on 12,000 and the deadline is four days away, so I have a feeling that maybe I won't 'win' it this year!  It's still been a good experience though as I have now fully plotted my novel out, so the not-thinking led to lots of covert thinking that led to lots of solutions to problems that I never knew where there. Or something…

So, now, I'm off to read my next MA book, and check my inbox, just in case a story acceptance is hidden somewhere, or maybe I overlooked something, or maybe one slipped into the junk folder…

New Publications.

A much delayed update:

If blogs were cats then mine would have ran away to some kindly neighbour's house by now, tail in the air with ne'er a backward glance, seeking out somebody who'll actually feed it and give it some fuss..  If they be plants, we'll, then they be dead.

I haven't actually blogged much as I've been busy novel-plotting, slushing and working, but not much else, and while there were still billions of writing-related things that I could have used as blog fodder, somehow I slipped into the summer holiday langour and couldn't quite pull myself out. Until now!

So, writing news:

 open/sesame.exe.

The first National Flash Fiction Day was held on May 16th, and 1000words is a site that started in response to it, and is now dedicated to fiction that is, well, 1000 words, or shorter.  You pick a photo prompt from one of the many images on their Pinterest page, here, and get scribbling.

I chose this one, and followed an usually literal path: "ooh, flying laptops = Arabian Nights...with computers!" 

Not the most avant garde thought process, I must admit, but for a writer, the figure of Scheherazade, from Arabian Nights, who clung to her life day by day, just by telling stories, is a potent metaphor, and one that I was happy to explore her.  Telling stories is also part of the whole social networking culture, where illusion often trumps reality; where 'off the cuff' remarks and ready, obscure quotes have been researched for hours; where people sit in the pub bored stiff, but pose for Facebook photographs like they're having the most exhilarating, fantastic night out that one could possibly experience, ever, and that's all before we even get to the realms of romance, where some degree of deception is perhaps the only way that anybody would ever get a date, ever ("Me? I'm mental, mate.  You should speak to my ex...")

Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May- John William Waterhouse, 1908

'Gathering Rosebuds of Rust.' 

This was published by Flash Fiction Online, which was an 'easy' write for me, as it's Victorian and dark and I can always find some passion for those things.   

The title is adapted from the poem 'To the Virgins, to make much of Time' by Robert Herrick, and from the opening lines: 

'GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.'

As in within many Metaphysical poems, the Carpe Diem motif here is inextricably aligned with fading female beauty -life is beautiful, short and fleeting, now get your knickers off, before you're a hag- so I wanted to couple this with all the socio-economic pressures and the onus on 'wifely' behaviour, and notions of being an 'angel in the house' that defined a great deal of Victorian discourse, and do a kind of Pride and Prejudice with...pistons, which has left me itching to write a great deal more 'Steampunk' type stuff.

 'Red in Tooth and Claw'.  

Tennyson. Because he looks cool and has a fine beard.

This is another title that I stole from a poem, Tennyson's In Memoriam A.H.H:
 

'Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation’s final law
Tho’ Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek’d against his creed.'

The poem is concerned with faith, loss of belief, death, religion, science, evolution, nature versus culture and the irreconcilability of the two, and this quote is often used to symbolise the essence of Natural Selection, and Darwin's theory of evolution, but I wanted to explore it an a smaller scale, and 'survival' as adjunct from good or bad, where there's much ambiguity about whether the protagonist/'survivalist' is both, neither, or one or the other.

This piece was a 'landmark' one, in that the editors required an author interview for the site, which I found a little bizarre, and completely exciting (when I wasn't thinking, "I bet I'll sound like a knob.")

Right, that's that for now.  The Writing MA starts again in a couple of weeks, and as this is a reading module there should be lots of book reviews up soon, so, until then....

Bad, Bad, Blogger...

As I've completely neglected my blog lately, this will be a brief scoot through everything that's happened/hasn’t happened over the last month or so.

I've finished the first 'writing' module of my MA, and have emerged the other side feeling simultaneously inspired and anxious.  I can now see all the things that I may have been doing wrong with my writing, and I know what I need to change, but I'm not quite sure how to do it, just yet.  I'm hoping that this 'impasse' is a temporary thing, and a positive thing, and while I am ruing my lack of output of late, I can see the improvement when I do manage to sit down and write.

This has meant, then, that I've also stopped bombarding literary journals with my work, and while I still have a few pieces that I would have previously dashed out, I know now that they're not ready, and now I don't want to attach my name to work that is rushed, or incomplete, whereas before the joy of just being published would have overridden such concerns. Now I just sit and stare at them instead. But this is GOOD, I tell myself, as it seems that somehow along the way, I have discovered PATIENCE, which will possibly be my greatest weapon as I carry on down the writerly road. I'm wielding it clumsily, and bearing it with little grace, but it's there, and while I'm currently Daniel-San moaning about his aching wrists and fence-painting and floor-sanding, there's a Miyagi whisper in my ear, telling me that this is PROGRESS.

MA Round-Up: 

After the official teaching ended, my group continued to meet up every week at the same time, and conduct similar peer-feedback sessions, and while this wasn't perhaps as helpful as before (I think there's only so far the critiquing can go while a writer's still at the same stage, and while the deadline does force you to write, I was personally submitting stuff that was rushed, so the feedback I received couldn't be used as effectively as it would have been had I submitted something decent), it was still wonderful to be amongst other people in the same boat, and to have that weekly motivator, and just to have people take the time to read your work and comment upon it.     

We've disbanded now for the summer, and my plan is to work on plot, and outline, and as my novel-in-progress has gone from a 'literary' historical tome, to a YA fantasy-type thing, I'm also aiming to write enough of it to stop me from changing my mind and starting yet another project instead. Fingers crossed.

Writing News: 

The lack of submissions has meant a lack of publication, but I've had a few flash pieces out:

The Thirteenth Step.  A second person afterlife story. Yes, I know, forgive my lack of originality.  In my defence, however, this story is comprised of bits and pieces that I took from a novel that I started about ten years ago, one that followed a young murdered girl around Birmingham as she travelled about on night buses, trying to piece together the facts surrounding her death.  I can't read it now without cringing, but during a huge clear-up of my computer I skimmed through it to see if there was anything worth salvaging, and wanted to try a story with a different format, and this emerged. After slush reading and seeing the amount of similar stories, I'm almost embarrassed at my theme, and I was wary of moralising (as I work in a bar, and spend a lot of time on the other side of the bar) but I like to think that it avoids that, and that there's some originality in it, and it was great to get positive feedback from the readers on the site.

Four Seasons in One Day.  Written from a prompt - 'Seasons'- on the Pure Slush site, and then understandably rejected by them (as I completely ignored their 'no wank' guidelines and sent them a load of 'wanky' indecipherable nonsense), this just came out of nowhere, and no, I don't really know what it's about, but I did enjoy writing it.

Bonnie and Clyde.  Inspired by a friend ranting on Facebook about people who dress up their pets, a quick search led me to furries, and to this.  No offence meant to any furries out there, each to their own, and all, it was more about how difficult it is to find somebody that you're really suited to, and about the masks that we wear.  I am fond of this piece, partly because although it was rejected a few times before publication, those rejections came back with positive criticism attached to them, for the first time; and because, as I've said before, of my soft spot for anything considered 'freaky' or 'abnormal' or just plain odd.

Right then, I'm literally off to plot...

Recent google research history: bees, topaz, sharks, heart attack, wrestling moves, aubergine recipes, chalet clocks.

Freaks

I love freaks.  My fondness for all things freakish is almost, well, freaky.  I get ridiculously over-excited about anything that could fall into this category, from Victorian sideshows to modern cultural spectacles; from faded photographs of tattooed lion-tamer ladies in sequinned bikinis, to bespectacled geeks and sad misfits wandering down school corridors, lonesome, in countless TV shows.  My bookmarks bulge with macabre curios, and Lionel the Lion-Faced man is peering down on me (albeit in postcard form) as I tap this out.

So, when I first heard about Freaks, and found out that there was a way that I could help to promote it online, of course, I leapt at the chance.

Freaks is published today, and is a collection of short stories by Nik Perring and Caroline Smailes, with comic book type illustrations by Darren Craske. 

The dedication says it best: ‘To all who, if only for a moment, felt that they didn’t belong’, and within the pages, over fifty characters are contained, each one blessed/cursed with an unusual superpower, each exploring the benefits/drawbacks of having such a gift/burden, and each inhabiting the awkward space between each opposition. Cue a zombie hairdresser, a man who can invade the dreams of his lovers, a woman who can photocopy herself at will, a woman clad in My Little Pony Pants who likes to be ridden...like a pony. Wonderful.

The book is available on Amazon, here, (Kindle version here) and for a sneaky peek, here’s one of the stories from the collection, ‘Invisible’:

Invisible

[Super Power: The ability to make oneself unseen to the naked eye]

If I stay totally still,

if I stand right tall,

with me back against the school wall,

close to the science room’s window,

with me feet together,

pointing straight,

aiming forward,

if I make me hands into tight fists,

make me arms dead straight,

 if I push me arms into me sides,

if I squeeze me thighs,

stop me wee,

if me belly doesn’t shake,

if me boobs don’t wobble,

if I close me eyes tight,

so tight that it makes me whole face scrunch,

if I push me lips into me mouth,

if I make me teeth bite me lips together,

if I hardly breathe,

if I don’t say a word.

Then,

I’ll magic meself invisible,

and them lasses will leave me alone.

Books Ticked Off in 2012...

In lieu of any writing/ MA action, I thought I’d do a mini-review of the books that I’ve read in the first quarter of the year. The ones that I've actually finished, I mean, which in itself is strange as I always used to see books through to the end - in some grim faced duel-to-the-death at times- but now, if I'm not caught in a chapter or two, I'm out and it's back on the shelf.

Recently abandoned include:

The Ninth Life of Louis Drax -Liz Jenson. This is part of my MA reading list, and from the premise I was fully expecting to love it. Instead I found it irritating, and I don't know why.  I will have to complete it at some point, so I could have a full turnaround, but for now: no.

Ridley Walker- Russel Hoban.  A post-apocalytic sci-fi horror novel, I still really want to read this, but it needs dedication and I'm too preoccupied with writing and reading a million other things at once to truly give it attention.  And before you think I'm a crap lummox, it's written entirely in 'Ridleyspeak' and the first sentence goes like this: 

on my naming day when i was 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wild boar he parblt ben the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how they hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor i aint looking to see none agen."

 Imagine that with a hangover/on a bus/whilst trying to fine-tune your inter-galactic love story in your head.

The Night Circus -Erin Morgenstern.  I LOVE anything set in the Victorian period, usually, and I LOVE Vania Zouravliov, who did the artwork, and the premise and look of the book is so wonderful that I felt a little heart-broken when it, frankly, wasn't that great. I found the third person present tense narrative annoying (but perhaps it helped to stop me from slipping into it with my own writing?), and it lacked atmosphere, and felt a little flat.

Books ticked off in 2012, so far...

The Handmaid’s Tale- Margaret Atwood.   

'Woman is nothing but a womb' in a terrifying, dystopian vision. 

Yes, this is the first time that I’ve read it; and yes, I know that it's shameful; and no, I really, really really hadn't read it before.  I've read other Atwood books, in my defence, so I knew that I'd like this one, and I did.  I loved it, in fact.  Just like you all told me that I would. Read it.

 A Visit from the Goon Squad –Jennifer Egan. 

 A post-modern peek at American life.

Part of my MA reading list, and I loved it.  There’s a lot of debate over whether this is actually a novel or a series of interlinked short stories, but whatever it is (and who really cares), it was like a masterclass in both.   

Set within the music industry, and spanning many years, it felt so fresh and new and exciting, and was so well-crafted, that not only was it the perfect text for critical study (various POVS, multiple tones/narrators, a chapter composed of powerpoint slides (!) etc), but it was also plain inspirational in just seeing how flexible and fun fiction can be.

Fugitive pieces-Anne Michaels.   

Survival, spirit, love and language.

My novel (now abandoned) was set in England and Latvia, post Second Wold War, and during my initial research, I encountered this.  It’s very Ondaatje -ish (who I love), and the prose-poetry within it was wonderful, to the point of making me feel sick with envy.   

Niggles were that I hated the ending, as in the last third the narrator switches, and he isn't as engaging as the first one.  To me this felt like somebody turning up at your front door, and trying to sell you stuff you don't want, when you’ve previously been cosy on the sofa, engrossed in a film.  I could almost hear myself muttering under my breath: “who the fuck are you? And what the fuck do you want?”. I also didn’t like the female characters, at all, but overall, I enjoyed it.

 The Book Thief- Markus Zusak. 

 Bigging up books and making you sob like a baby.

Another cheery war story for my research.  Narrated by Death, the book focuses on the life of nine year old Liesel and her foster family, who are living in Germany during the rise of the Third Reich. 

It blatantly pulls at the heart strings, so much so that you feel like one of those people who’ve been hypnotized; someone who ends up grinding up a granny on stage while your mates laugh and record you for YouTube, completely caught in the moment but you feel a little grotty after.  It was a good book, and I enjoyed it, and I got teary-eyed, but still, that sense of shame remains for some reason...

 The Guernsey Literary Potato Peel Pie Society-Mary Ann Shaffer   

A quaint, quirky tale of humour and resilience in the face of occupation.

More novel research stuff, a series of fictional war “letters”, from when Guernsey was inhabited by Germans.  It was alright, not as insightful as I’d have hoped for my purposes, but it had its charm and was interesting enough.

Interpreter of Maladies -Jumpa Lahiri.  

'Pulitzer-winning, scintillating studies in yearning and exile from a Bengali Bostonian woman of immense promise.'

 Another MA book, a selection of short stories, full of sensuous details and wonderful characterisation. Amazing, and again, envy-inducing.  I can see why it’s on a reading list for aspiring writers; well-crafted, beautiful, interesting stories.

Warm Bodies-Isaac Marion.   

A zombie romance.

I had a horrible feeling that it would be a zombie Twilight (mainly because of Stephanie Meyers endorsement on the front), but I really enjoyed it.  R is a zombie, undead, but is he coming back to life? Is Julie the key? Can she save him? I thought it was humorous, touching, and an interesting take on genre.  Well recommended.

Florence and Giles-John Harding.  

A girl and her governess: a Gothic page-turner set in the late 19th Century.

 Spooky happenings in a grand house, based on Henry James's The Turn of the Screw.  Written from the (unreliable) viewpoint of young Florence, in a language that's all her own, for example,  she 'fairytaled in my tower, Rapunzelled above all my known world'; the house is described as 'uncomfortabled and shabbied by prudence'. Some may find this off-putting, but I loved it. 

Overall the novel could have been a little more ambiguous as it wasn't difficult to see where it was headed, and credibility was pushed a little too much at times, especially at the end, but once the language lures you in and Florence is in your head, none of that really matters.

The Woman in Black- Susan Hill. 

After seeing the film, I got my mitts on the novel.  It was a short, easy read, and very atmospheric, but other than that it left no great impression. But maybe that's because I already knew what was going to come. Grrr.

  

 The Baby Jesus Butt Plug -Carlton Mellick.   

???

My intro into Bizarro.  It was..bizarre.  And hilarious. And...bizarre.  I've read bits and bobs of Bizarro fiction before, and I love the freedom and enthusiasm and the imaginative madness about it all, that does carry you along and make you crave more (even when I can hear all of my English tutors screaming in horror and waving Jane Austen at me, to harken me back. To which I say 'Nah.')

Babies going up bottoms, people photocopied into existence, zombies, clones, a chaotic fairytale, but also an absurdist allegory about exploitation and gratification; slave labour and insignificance.  Right, what's next...

 The Warrior Wolf Woman of the Wasteland- Carlton Mellick.  

 Road Warrior Werewolves versus McDonaldland Mutants

My second fix.  I don't know how this fares with Mellick's other stuff, but again, I whizzed through it, and again, I really enjoyed it. It's so hard to really encapsulate these stories, or say anything without giving too much away, so I'll just give you some key words: rapist wolves as big as buses, mutant men, fry guys, Mayor McCheese, romance, the fear of female sexuality, corporate dominion.  

Probably the only book that I've read that's made me wish I was hairier, more! And oh, read it.

All of my Friends are Superheroes-Andrew Kaufman.

A short, clever, quirky tale about love and losers.

I read this all the way through in about an hour, while sitting in the garden in the sun, and it made me smile. A lot.  That could have been due to the weather, of course, but I enjoyed it. I liked the unusual structure and the superheros who completely aren't heroes at all, and I found the core love story touching.  I could nit-pick away and find many a fault (mainly the sickly reviews on Amazon), but surprisingly, I just don't want to.

 

Story of the Eye- Georges Bataille

I'll let Amazon spell it out:

"In this explicit pornographic fantasy, the young male narrator and his lovers Simone and Marcelle embark on a sexual quest involving sadism, torture, orgies, madness and defilement, culminating in a final act of transgression. Shocking and sacrilegious, Story of the Eye is the fullest expression of Bataille’s obsession with the closeness of sex, violence and death. Yet it is also hallucinogenic in its power, and is one of the erotic classics of the twentieth century."

mmm.  I found it hilarious and disturbing in equal measure, and while certain events had me tittering, they also lingered a lot longer than I thought that they would.  I'm currently looking through some critical material about the book, and it seems that the book is less a novel but more a starting point for critical/psychoanalytical discussion.  Recommended? Yes, it's definitely worth a read, and I'll probably even be able to argue with you if you tell me that you hate it.  Once I digest it.  And eggs will never be the same, again, incidentally.

Justine- Marquis de Sade.

The Misfortunes of Virtue, the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church, and a young girl getting whipped and bitten a lot.

ah, Marquis de Sade, equally ludicrous and enlightening at the same time.  A sadomasochistic fantasy as a young girl struggles to maintain her virtue in a world that wants to abuse it.  An exploration of power enacted upon the body, upon control and binary systems and double standards, with lots of tabernacles being raided and pudendums punched.  

Reading this post-Angela Carter's Sadeian Woman, I'm less inclined to get up on my feminist high horse, and the ideologies, philosophies and the psychologies of dominion and submission in the book makes it never as simple as mere misogyny, so I'll hold that rant for a while.

 I haven't read enough of his other works to say if this is one to read or not, and while the endless tirade of abuse does become a little boring at times, it's certainly interesting.

And that's it! I received a Kindle for my birthday, so now do I not only have shelves full of books peering at me, demanding attention, I also have them in my lap, encased, groaning to be acknowledged.  Best get on with it, then, and hopefully get some writing done in-between...