Travelling write along…

Fortunately we only live through 2011 once

Around this time last year I was very optimistic. Not a natural state for me. I had just concluded one of the best Christmases of my life, the writing was flowing, I had numerous plans and ambitions dancing in my head and life looked really stable. A quiet year where I would accomplish so much.

The word accomplish can be taken in so many ways. My quiet year ended almost with New Years, as a jaw dropping municipal bill made me reevaluate my current living arrangements. So we bought a house. Moved. And I ended up back in a brace. Then we visited the grand ol' US of A, where I did everything the doctors suggested  - like REST - and came back noticing my arm was only worse.

The new house and visiting The States were not bad things. But everything comes with a price. Even if my arm didn't play up, these things cost time and I'd be lying to say my writing didn't suffer. I've picked up more rejection letters this year than I have ....well, since I wrote my first novel. It's been real. Or humbling. Or something.

Short Story Day South was fun. And wild. And crazy. As was the launch of The Edge of Things. An experience I am grateful for even if I was half asleep.

I can also say we survived Grade 1 & Thing2's new nursery (even got her accepted into Grade RR which was far from a guarantee).

We lived through teeth insanity, mysterious sweaty flu and the chicken pox. One member of the family had to go through special TB testing after crazy cough and not-perfect chest x-rays caused some people to get a wee bit excited. (Family member has been given the all clear, thank you very much.) As to surviving my arm - well, you don't die from lack of working limbs, so there we go. And as to how I feel about it all, that totally depends on what day it is. On a good day I believe my physio, on a bad day the surgeon.

The emotional roller coaster I've been on has been challenging. Insane. Slightly depressing. Filled with belly aching laughs, tons of hugs and kisses and a brilliant core group of friends. Thankfully I've had the dojo to blow off the steam. I may be the equivalent of the club's mascot. In fact, the other week I announced the kick bag and I had eloped and as partners we would never be separated. To say my contribution to the club is mostly I'm in the way would be an understatement. But the exertion keeps me sane. Writing, this frigg'in swimming (which to quote physio is something we 'love because we have no other choice'), are all activities done in isolation. I am self aware enough to know that just because I am socially awkward doesn't mean my socially awkward self shouldn't be out and about. Even if that means hiding in the corner of a dojo where most people chat in a language I can't understand. (Have to work on that, too.)

So this is the year I tip my hat off to my dojo. Thank you for keeping my mood somewhat stable. In the meantime, may I never have to live another year like 2011 any time soon.

My Short Story of the Year

Read so many short stories over the past twelve months. Don't ask me which was the best written. Or most creative. It is the story that stuck inside me, made me gasp and filters into my brain even while pushing a trolley down the grocery aisle. Trophy* by Beatrice Lamwaka, is my short story read of the year.

*Published in The Edge of Things, by Dye Hard Press.

My Novel of the Year

This was not my most voracious year of reading literature. It was also not my best year for great reads. For the first time since I moved to South Africa I found myself yelling, 'Who the hell edited this shit?!!?' There were many books with potential that even editing could not have saved. They were 2nd drafts, an outline of a story that could have been brilliant if only the writer had given it another year of work. Sure, there have been some books I've enjoyed that should have gone another round of the draft process, or needed a better editor, but this year - gah!

And then there were the loads of beauty. There were some real treasures this year. But the one novel that has me going back to read it again and again is Finuala Dowling's Home Making for the Down-at Heart.

My Essay of the Year

Can't claim I read that many essay collections this year. That said, I'd love Andie Miller's Slow Motion anyway. I'm still telling people to go out and buy that book. Such a GOOD BOOK.

However, it is Rebecca Milford's Quiet Morsels with My Mum* that keeps popping back into my head. An essay about a problem with no easy answers. An essay that has haunted me because I don't think I'd have the wisdom Milford's mother had. An essay that is not easy to forget.

*Published in the memoir collection Wisdom Has a Voice.

African Delights

I was in a book store when I spotted Siphiwo Mahala's collection of short stories African Delights. I make no apology for my addiction when it comes to short stories. So into my hands went the book, despite the fact I was supposed to be buying books for other people. Something about that Christmas spirit and all that.

I'm not going to lie, African Delights is out side my normal reading comfort zone. It features a slick man wearing a suit. He's cool. He's got moves. He probably sms's (text) with so many abbreviations and slang I can't even begin to keep up. This book oozes masculinity. So no, I did not find it a cozy read.

I did think, 'If my proff was still brining students over from the US to UCT she'd make them all read this book.'

I also thought, 'If I had a book-worm of a teenage boy in my life I'd make him read this book.'

Along with, 'There are a lot of men past the age of 40 who should be forced to read this book, but they never will.'

I loved that he included a story from Zukiswa Wanner. You can also rest assured that the book is well edited, it was Helen Moffett-ized. And the story, Hunger, made me want to weep.

To be fair, you have to admire the man's honesty

1. I had my writer's party last week. Everyone fawned over me and made such a fuss. People kept trying to help me. It was odd. Not that the world at large hasn't tried to lend me a hand or two. But mostly I've just had to cope and learn to work around it all. To be constantly told, 'Let me get that for you,' was surreal.

2. I am starting a love affair with Spar. Spar, the shop that I can get to despite all the tourists. Spar, whose veg tends to be terrible (thankfully our garden is stepping up to the plate) but sells fantastic hummus. Spar who has mini trolleys that my children can push for me. Spar who has....MEN (yes, they are always men) who take my groceries to my car. Yes. Every time. Even if the shop is packed. Even if I've only one bag worth of items. I *heart* Spar. 

3. The last man who helped me told me he once dislocated his wrist and had to wear a brace similar to mine.

'How did it happen?' I asked.

'Oh, I was stealing,' he said, and proceeded to explain how he'd climbed up high and fallen. 'I was young. Boys will be boys.'

'I'm sure your mother was less than impressed,' I said.

He nodded gravely, then chuckled.

3. I still have dog-itis. We now have gate. Technically we could start looking for dog after we return from Christmas holidays. However, we now have concerns about dog tugging on leash while being trained. My right wrist can't take it. This means needing to get an already trained dog. Which means rescue dog is probably out. But not even sure where you can get a trained dog. Ideas?

4. Speaking of Christmas holidays, this will probably be my last post before Christmas. The posts that will appear after Christmas are already written (pre-misspelled, pre-typos, pre-whatever). In short, I won't really be here.

5. Merry Christmas to you all. Happy Holidays to those that celebrate something else. And a safe New Year to everyone. The 1st of January is Thing 1's birthday. Let us all make it a happy day and not one of grief.

 

Kathryn White

Some styles of writing are hard to describe. Kathryn White's work has me wanting to tell you, 'There are plenty of reviews of her books, google them.' And so you should. Her contemporary stories defy normality. Things I Thought I Knew, reads as if caught in a fog. It is surreal, spinning in and out of the accepted notion of reality. Yet, it is a very real story. So much so, that it led me to pursue her first novel, Emily Green & Me. Less hazy, but still balances the thin line between realistic fiction and fantasy - without being whimsical.

There is no whimsy. Literary writing that perhaps boarders on poetic. The harshness of the stories have their corners rounded, so it hurts a bit less. But the pain is still there. Adult books. However, like Lauren Beukes' works, Kathryn White should be read by mature teenagers.

Yes, I wrote should.

 

Think we're on the right path

Just got back from the physio. She already sees a positive improvement from the swimming. She also has a much sunnier outlook on my future than the surgeon. She really does believe that after a tough 3 to 6 months we should have built up the shoulder enough to stop pulling on the arm, the arm will have healed (what can) and the pain will be gone. Lead a normal life within my parameters.

Oh, and keep swimming. But not just any kind of swimming, the right kind, which is NOT freestyle. Or...but there we are. Oh - and tell anybody who suggests I just swim in the sea, Absolutely not.' (I risk my arm seizing up. Very bad if I can't touch the bottom or am alone.)

This may mean we really will have to put in a pool. We purposely bought a house with no pool. But too early to say.

Anyway, back to positive news. She is showing my x-rays and records to a surgeon in Jo'burg to see if there is other advice / ideas. We've gone through more exercises and all is well.

Then I confessed that despite the pain killers the only time my arm is not a pain is during MMA class. Yes, I am following the rules. I only do what I can. But working out that hard gives me an endorphin rush and for a good hour afterwards I have relief. There is nothing else I've ever done where I've managed to get this: running, swimming - nothing. It makes any sore muscles (non arm ones), bruises and scrapes totally worth it.

So she turned around and used dry needles on me. Ahhhh...I'm very, very relaxed right now. *insert massive dopey grin*

She also taught me how to tape my arm to give me a break from the brace. And unlike the brace, it keeps my 'rattle' parts (things that should not rattle) from rattling in my arm and wrist. (I can't tell you how disturbing it is to have things rattle that should not. So bizarre.) There are still reasons to wear the brace. But it is SO NICE to have freedom from it too.

Ah.

And she really does believe that we can stop the hand from separating further. That we can heal all that can be healed. Just going to take a lot of time. And she loves electric can openers.

And no, I'm not going to try playing left handed.

Realised that if I don't blog soon my family is going to start imagining I can't type. While it IS true that I'm supposed to try to let my 'soft tissue' heal as much as possible right now, that is the least of why I'm not blogging. Northern Hemisphere peeps: imagine the chaos you experience near Christmas. Now, imagine the chaos you experience at the end of the school year with graduations, award ceremonies and so on. Now, put those two things together, things you normally spread almost six months apart, and imagine doing them ALL IN ONE BIG SHEBANG. Yes. That is how the Southern Hemisphere does it.

Which is fine, but healthy arm or no, work / blogging is not getting done.

In the meantime, I'm trying to move on / digest / cope with arm. Colds tend to improve in 5 to 7 days and it seems most folks believe my arm should be improved by then too.

Sigh.

I'm getting rather good at using mouse with left hand. I make people use my garage door instead of my front. I've started to believe that rice (which can just sit in the pot) is much better than pasta (which must be drained).

Other solutions were not so obvious. I vented to my friend about how I can't even use a can opener. What do I do if I can't open a damn can?

'Get an electric can opener,' she said.

So I did. Forgot they'd invented such a thing. An invention that seemed frivolous until I wasn't supposed to use one anymore. Tried it left handed and...that doesn't work. Right handed prejudice, those can openers. So electric it is.

And now I swim. Hard to explain to people that I don't know if it is helping or not. Have been told that even if this works, this is going to take months and months. And even so, there is still no fix. We are making do.

Thus, it has been made very clear to me that while I can carry on doing some things, and if this new plan works, perhaps can reintegrate others back into my life, some things must go. I talked to Husband about this. Told him I understood it is about choices. Told him that while I do miss piano and knitting, at least I can listen to CD's and use my mini loom. Not the same. Perhaps I will be able to do both activities on a very casual basis again (I hope - being optimistic here.) But this is all about choices. I get to choose between typing and things like piano and knitting. Typing wins.

Surfing...well, it was fun folks, but frankly those sharks are scary so whatever. Push ups...who really enjoys push ups anyway? And on it goes. The issue is learning the difference between CAN and SHOULD. I can do all these things, with pain, for now. But each time I do them because I CAN means that I'm speeding up the degeneration. No, my arm is not broken. But that doesn't mean I should.

But dammit, I'm really, really, really going to miss ping-pong. That is so much on the NO list, it is most likely a 'never again in this lifetime.' It seems a very silly thing to miss, I know. But it was one of the few activities Husband and I, with our competitive natures, did together that was fun, sort of active and led to zero disagreements.

For a person that doesn't play much, I'm rather good at ping-pong (she says, oh so humbly). I often beat Husband, but only just. Its a great activity when we have guests. We laugh. And talked. I can't even begin to explain. We didn't play every week. But. But. Some of the best chats I've ever had with my husband have been while playing ping-pong.

Ping-pong.

On the wider perspective it isn't that big of deal. But it still pisses me off. I stink at pool.

I had a good day today

I just wanted to tell you that. After yesterday's post, I was a wee bit worried that I sounded like a woman ready to toss myself off a bridge. So rest assured, I'm fine. Life is what it is. Today was good. No lie. At one point Thing 2 and I were lying in the grass watching the clouds. Turned and looked at each other with grins.

Then I had a beer.

I don't drink beer.

I blame the drugs.

But even drug-less and beer-less today would still have been a brilliant one.

Promise.