Travelling write along…

The Book Club

Today marked the third Book Club meeting for a handful of local children (with more hopefully to join next month!). Have I told you about this? Book Club. For kids.

Marvelous idea. Wasn't mine. Grateful to the brain whose idea it was.

I suppose you could run it any number of ways. Because ours is a mix of gender and ages it is very casual. The children mostly treat it like a playdate, getting rather dirty and stuffing their faces as children do. Each parent has scooped up some books that the children are willing to swap and they are all put on a table to share. At some point we herd the kids together, have them look through the pile and then (this is key!) the adult in charge makes sure to keep track of who borrowed what from whom in a diary. (All books have the owner's name inside, too.) 

We don't have them sit down and discuss what they've read. But what they've read, what they'd like to read and (more adorably) what they think their friend would enjoy does come out naturally - be it on other playdates, the playground, or simply slipping one into the pile because, 'I really think Y would like this, because Y is interested in Z and this is the best story with Zs in it ever.'

If you love the language, the greatest thing you can do to ensure its survival is not to complain about bad usage but to pass your enthusiasm to a child. Find a child and read to it often the things you admire, not being afraid to read the classics. - Robert MacNeil, Wordstruck: A Memoir

We believe in books. Somehow we want to make childhood better, and we believe that a book given at the right moment can work magic in a child's life. - Ann Schlee

In the beginning the word was with God; all explanations, physical and moral, rested on the divine. And now for storytellers, even though those patterns of explanation are strictly human, the word has not lost a superhuman power to connect young and old, writer and reader; to connect us with each other and with the causes and consequences of what we do. - Jill Paton Walsh

reductio ad absurdum

Good news! I am allowed to stay in the country for two more years. If you were following the saga on Facebook you will know it was a rather emotional process. But as of yesterday the visa was plastered into my passport. Then A.Word.A.Day emailed me the phrase: reductio ad absurdum. Where I thought, 'Seriously, it is a waste of breath to trying to point out to the Home Office the absurdity of their logic.'

Anyway, we're good.

'Where would you have gone mummy?'

ON HOLIDAY!

Although the funny part is my parents are due to visit three days after the earlier visa was to expire. We could have met up at Heathrow Airport and had such a laugh.

I'm sure they are sorry they are missing out on such a comic opportunity. Now they'll have to visit and see me in my own home. Very boring.

Kind of like my blog. It is getting very dull as I've been rarely posting. Here is the thing: I'm writing. My arm does not have good days. It has horrendous days. It has terrible days. It has bad days and in my life bad days are good days.

And now you can see why I named my dog Orwell. That is very 1984 speak.

November was rock bottom. Things were getting better. But better is not good. We never reached good. Then we had a 'set back.' Left arm is improving and has almost reached good - but not quite there. Right arm is also improving, but it is no where near good. In fact it is bloody sore, but not where it was - so it is doing well. But isn't. In fact, it is shit. But life is relative.

I tried resting, people. I have tried. The absurdity of trying to exercise MORE, but rest MORE and LOSE WEIGHT and do LESS is mind boggling. But I'm trying to work out exactly how that can be possible in real life.  And you can ask my writing BFF, even thought I am writing again I am doing so at a very careful pace. (Aesop's Tortoise and the Hare are my new words of wisdom to live by. Or, more honestly, the ones I'm trying to live by.)

I must write or I am also going to need a psychologist. (Ah, my medical bills!). And I like to blog. But sometimes I just have to pick and choose. So as much as I adored both Richard de Nooy's Big Stick and Henrietta Rose-Innes Shark Egg and would love it if you all took a peek at those books too - truth is it may be some time before I blog about them, if ever.

 

Writing again

1. This week I sat down and began to write. My project that has been a mass of ideas is now becoming. It feels great. Well, mostly. A bit hampered by this whole 'body falling apart' thing. But there we go. 3010 words. It is a start. I am pleased.

2. I always get asked how long a book should be. I have no idea. But the question had me searching out some stats for fun. This blog post is very informative: Great Novels and Word Counts.

3. This week I read Carol Shields book Unless. If you have not read it, please do. I keep picking up and rereading parts because I cannot let it go. A beautiful story that is seemingly about ordinary life, while being extraordinary profound.

4. One of the undercurrents of the story is a frustration with the subtle sexism that permates society. How it allows women to be overlooked, unseen, while sitting there in front of your face. The main character's rant stems with her inability to protect her daughters from these tiny little slights, take on their own may seem inconsequential, no big deal - but massed together are a very large force.

5. My mother would love this book.

6. Shortly after I finished the book an article via FB popped up. Institutional sexism of books world needs new girls' network.

7. I liked this line very much: Women aren't socialised to brag or boast about our abilities, or to go to an editor and insist, "I'm the best person you could hire for this job".

8. To which I replied, 'Guilty as charged.'

9. The thread on the above article led to a commentator teaching me a new word: wankidoodle.

10. I look forward to it popping up on one my son's future spelling tests.

 

Cake, Book

I have been editing in the small gaps of time that these crazed two weeks have given me. Editing - it is my life. This is partly due to the fact that my spelling (and grammar) are rather crap. 

Oh, you noticed? I suppose it is one of the more commonly known factoids about me.

Less well known, but only just, is that I can't frost a cake. I can bake a cake. I can make frosting. But never the two shall meet in happiness when I am in charge.

Poor speller. Terrible cake decorator.

The funny thing is that due to this disastrous combination (no spell check on cake!) is that I have never considered the possibility of becoming a professional baker. It appears others in this world have no such qualms. Have you seen the blog Cake Wrecks? If you are in dire need of laughs like I was yesterday, then this is the site for you.

I have also gone on a bit of a book buying binge. I had this laughable idea that this year with my children in Grades RR & 2, we were going to have a nice smooth year. That I would be in a reading frenzy by now (and writing one, too). 

I have rather poor instincts on anticipating potential trouble, it would seem. Let history show that I also thought 2011 would be a relatively quiet year. Yes, I'm still chuckling about that, too.

But I do like books, and as soon as I can get the dog to quit standing under my bedroom window at 1:30am and bark till the sky comes tumbling down, I shall be reading at a much faster pace. I have bought used books, ebooks and new physically present books. I have bought books that are fun romances and mysteries, travel fiction stories, artistic literature and South African reads.

While undergoing this buying spree a number of opinions on books have emerged. The one titled The self e-publishing bubble, was both depressing from a writer's and a reader's perspective. I believe this article is a good read. I am still not completely certain I agree with it 100%. But it is interesting (and scary!). 

Then the lovely Yarn Harlot popped up on my blog feed: Randomly on Thursday. She discusses a book she read where the layout, spacing, changes of type face are all part of the art of telling the story. Apparently she knows a number of people who read the book via audio. She poises the question if reading it via audio is 'even remotely the same experience'. You can't hear a change in font, or three pages of blank space.

Her thoughts made me wonder if this is also the case with ebooks. On the kindle you can change the size of the font (can be very handy for many, especially those with eye problems). The number of fonts are limited on the kindle (or at least the version I have). Page breaks are not the same as they would be in a paper book. I have also noticed that paragraphs and line breaks are not formatted properly, causing a very odd flow of words across the screen. Not such a big deal when I am reading a cheap toss away romance. Bothers me greatly when reading Michael Cunningham.

Thoughts?

Jonathan Franzen has plenty of them in the article: Jonathan Franzen: e-books are damaging society. As a person who named her dog Orwell, I have sympathy for his point of view. But I honestly think ebooks are here to stay. My hope is that there will be room for both paper and digital, because if we go totally digital then Franzen's fears will become mine. It will be very Orwellian, indeed.

It won't really be that bad, will it? Perhaps I am being naive.

 

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.

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.

 

Worse than Pavlov's Dog

Dum, de, dum, dum, dee. . . off to buy a book for kindle...kindle one click....ooooooh, what's that? I have an email? Hmmm.... wonder whose it from...dum, de,dum, dum, deee...Oh, it's Amazon.

Fall for it Every. Damn. Time.

In the trees with Rachel Zadok

Our holiday proved many things, not least that my new found fuzzy feelings for arachnids does not extend to rain spiders indoors. I know they cannot hurt me. The local establishment even provided much info on why one should be nice to rain spiders. And we were. Well, Husband was. He made creative use use of a feather duster and a french press in order to re-home the creatures.

Not that I was shocked by them. I was staying in a tree house. The fact that the tree house was more cabin-wrapped-around-tent* meant I actually dealt with less indoor wildlife than expected. Even so, there will be memories. There was our bird thief, who had its own ways of getting in. That sucker could catch moths in a way that had both Husband and I highly impressed. We were less enamoured early Sunday morning with its ability to bash around dishes. Sounded like a monkey had broken in.

Then there were the ants. The children informed me that they'd discovered some ants in my bedside table drawer.

'Hmmm...' I said, refusing to be pulled away from my book.

'Big red ants,' they insisted.

Eventually I looked. The red and black ants were rather large with equally shocking eggs. The children had disturbed their nest, which had gone undiscovered given I'd never made use of the drawer.

To Husband's great credit he eco-dumped the majority over the rail to make new homes somewhere else. Sadly, the same can not be said for me, as the remainder scattered, headed straight for Thing 2, now trapped on the bed. I used Doom. I apologised to the establishment for doing so, but made sure to sweep them up and toss each sprayed ant into the bin so no other wildlife would eat them. Establishment forgave me, a wee bit embarrassed they'd over looked the nest themselves. But there we are. Indoor / outdoor living provides wildlife in all forms.

I'm making the holiday sound rather unpleasant. It was not. Thing 1 declared Saturday 'The best day of my life.' I saw two Knysna Louries, which made me very happy and each morning, just before dawn, I listened in awe to the amazing range of bird songs the Knysna Forest has to offer.

I also learned how to use a composting toilet. Not hard. Far less hassle than I feared, nor is it really that odorous.

We had many adventures planned for the holiday and accomplished some. Thing 1 and Husband more so than I or Thing 2. Thing 2 was having...well, she is now four. And as records show, I was also ready to kick four in the arse by the time Thing 1's fifth birthday came around. An interesting age, but with a distinct attitude. An attitude we decided only naps could alleviate.

So I read. I'd brought books, of course. But the place boasted a social area near reception with books, games, jungle gym, pool, trampoline and so on. I like to see what other people read. Glancing through their shelves I was dismayed. I couldn't stop moaning that it would be rather nice if South African B&Bs, resorts and the like actually had South African books available other than identify-the-wildlife. Especially in places frequented by international tourists. But it did not seem to be so, until...

I squealed. Then said something like, 'OMG, it is Rachel Zadok's book. Look [Husband]! It's Rachel's book.'

Husband gave me a rather perplexed look.

'The lady who basically created and organised Short Story South.'

Then Husband smiled very pleased and interested. Then he was concerned, 'You going to be able to finish it before we leave?'

Of course I could. Especially when I was trapped in a tree house with a must-have-a-nap-because-I-am-being-a-pill small person. The rural setting of the tale was a good fit with my outdoorsy mood, although unlike the story, we are not in a drought (thank goodness!). Gem Squash Tokoloshe is sorrowful, yet beautiful. It kept me company from stoep to stoep as I chased the sun, drinking tea, coffee and wine (not at the same time). And somehow it just seem perfect, to read it there, on a holiday that was both very restful, wonderful, a bit weird (ants!) and difficult.

And just to prove I really did find the book in the land of the tree houses:

*From what we saw, most of the tree houses were very open, with only the sleeping quarters tented. The rest were a series of platforms and one would have to secure food very carefully or find themselves under siege from monkeys, birds and so on. But we were in the uber-safe-child-friendly one. Although I given the children's behaviour I think we could be a wee less cautions next time. However, given our history with Thing 2, I do not regret being tentative on this one.