Writers Writing and Reading!

Dear Reader,

Even though I'm trying my very best to keep the obsessive-irrelevant-fiction-reading to a minimum, I've still managed to find myself just-about half-way through The Reading Group by Elizabeth Noble. I felt it started a bit slowly, when I was completely clueless of what the characters were like, but that turned out to be fun part; discovering the people these characters were, guessing where they were going and where they were coming from, 'who is the one with the "straying husband"? and who's looking for a "new lover"?' But reading this book has left me in emotional turmoil. For example, right now I'm...:

1) hating Harriet, for having the perfect "Mr. bloody Darcy" husband and being completely unable to appreciate him,

2) intensly angry with Nicole for being a coward and not leaving the worthless Gavin who doesn't even deserve to stand in her shadow (in my opinion),

3) greatly happy for Polly for having found Jack (with all the romance of a new love),

4) sympathising and loving Susan for her devotion to her mother,

5) anxious and excited with Cressida over ther pregnancy

6) and, most of all, I can't help wanting to cry everytime I read about Clare.

All this in the space of the first four chapters. How is anyone suppose to handle this sort of rollercoaster, even someone like me who is well known for her 180-degree-mood-swings-per-hour (just ask my brothers; they  will willingly testify to this claim)?

I think that all this (the emotional turmoil stated above) is because I believe that Elizabethe Noble has done exactly what she said (through Harriet's mouth) makes a good, no, great book: "I realise that it is because I care so much more about the characters..." And I haven't even come to the best part of the book yet, which happens to be the parts when they are all sitting together disscussing the books that are on their reading list. It's intriguing to read the often-overlapping, detailed, (anonymous?) conversations trying to guess who made what comment and seeing how I could relate it to their different stories.

And this brings me not-so-neatly onto the main topic of this weeks post: writers reading and writing about other writer's writing. A few weeks ago I came across this Link to a post about "Author Bashing" - in the wise words of Robin Mckinley. It's about what some really-famous authors have said about other really-famous authors. Some of those quotes I already knew about but I never really realised how harsh and critical writers can be (which is quite strange coming from a person who's written a number of "harsh and critical" reviews herself). For example, here is Mark Twain's opinion on our beloved Jane Austen, "Every time I read 'Pride and Prejudice,' I want to dig her up and hit her over the skull with her own shin-bone." For reasons beyond my understanding, I found this quote the funniest of the lot, maybe because the image in my head remined me so much of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, a book that made me both laugh out loud (ROFLMAO-style) and feel quite queasy, at the same time! Ah, but Mark Twain himself has been called a "hack writer" by William Faulkner, who then goes on to say that he [Twain] "tricked out a few of the old proven sure fire literary skeletons with sufficient local color to intrigue the superficial and the lazy." I guess we should all believe in karma then!  

 

But despair not, my dear Reader. Not all of what writers say about each other is hateful. Just yesterday a read such a wonderful review by Robin McKinley - a favourite author - on one of my favourite books, Lament by Maggie Stiefvater. BTW, having read all of Maggie Stiefvater's released books, I am now eagerly anticipating Linger, the sequel to Shiver (can't wait!). 

As far as writers' "supposed egos" go I've even found, unsurprisingly, that some writers are fans of other writers. Follow this Link if you want to know what happened when one writer/fan, Lucy Coats, met with the writer of the exceptionally brilliant Books of Pellinor Series, Alison Croggan.  

Anyway, thats about all I have to babble about this week. I must now return to my pot of yohgurt and berries. 

Nida

P.S. - Have you noticed how almost all the writers I've typed about today are female? Not deliberately done on my part, I just noticed it myself right now. BTW, I have nothing against male writers, in fact, many of my favourite books and poems have been written by men ... but this seems like a discussion for another post so I'll just leave it at this, for now.

Inappropriate Inspiration

Dear Reader,

I have a question. Why is it that I always get my most inspiring, creative ideas when I'm trying to focus on my exams. Writing takes up a hell-of-a-lot of Time, that time that I don't have to give away. Because, surely you need to have something to give it away in the first place, unless you're some kind of con-artist, right? And believe me, I'm as far as from a con-artist as anyone can be. Confession: I have the most appalling acting skills. Out of a will completely of it's own, my face has a ginormous tendency to express whatever I'm thinking. I never did win a single staring contest as a child, and I've never even attempted to play poker (though I'm not so bad in other card games). 

Figure 1: Expressions often found on my face.

You see what I mean! Anyway, I have gone completely off topic. Unfortunately, true to my word last week, since the-night-before-last my brain has begun to formulate a lovely little short-romance story about the "nerdy-not-so-good-looking-but-with-real-substance-beneath-the-surface kind-of-a-guy". Though, after much consideration I believe the story has turned out to be more about the girl than the "hero", Henry Lionel Francis Grant, known to his friends as just plain-old-Lionel. It's set mostly in the beautiful Pennine-heart of Lancashire, with the time period being, keeping in style with Julia Quinn, the early 1800's. 

I don't actually know why I chose Lancashire. Maybe I wanted some place far removed from London, some place that was just beginning to sprout it's industrial wings, where the quite-country-life was just on the verge of extinction but not quite there yet. Together with the small green-brown peaks in the distant backdrop. And in the midst of all of that fatalistic-peace, will mature-stoic-Lionel be able to overcome the horrors of his past and accept that he has fallen in love with his young and industrious wife? Wow, that sounds extremely icky. I can't believe that I'm actually going to go ahead and write it. But being who I am, it can't be helped. Once I have a story in my head, it must be written down somewhere, even if it will be forgotten until a much, much later date. 

Not that I'm much of a romance writer, anyway. But then again, I can't say what genre-writer I am. You see, I've dabbled in all sorts of genres, which often relate to whatever it is I'm reading at the time, but adding my own flare to it. I think it began with the story of a teenage girl who finds out she's suffering from AIDs. That soon became a trilogy of three extremely different girls attending the same school (St. George's Secondary School and College) and are in the same year, so their stories are mildly interlinked. Each book is written in slightly different versions of diary entries. I think I had just finished reading The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot. Anyway, I was sitting my GCSE exams at the time. 

Then came the trilogy called "Chronicles by Anamika". Set in my own little world called Dinuriya (patent pending), consisting of everything from Demons, Dragons to Pirates. Again, the three separate stories were about three very different women, with a single common eccentric-denominator: the mysterious Anamika, who narrates all the Legends. I planned the entire trilogy while preparing for my A-level exams. I also happen to be reading all sorts of fantasy at the time, The Lord of the Rings, Eragon, Sabriel, The Wind Singer, Northern Lights, The Magicians Guild, The Gift, Across the Nightingale Floor to name but a few (Aside: have you noticed how they all form part of a trilogy or series). 

After that, there were a few minor projects here and there, and also a lot of poetry. But then there was the really BIG ONE (also the one that I have written most - i.e. that it's almost complete) which is a pseudo-biography of my some-what-alter-ego (it doesn't have much of a title yet, as you can tell). I wrote most of it at the time when I should have been getting all panicky about my end-of-year exams for my first year at university. It started out, actually, as a way for me to record memories of my time in College (like how normal people make photo albums), to explore my future options and the different paths that lie ahead of me. It was, after all, the period of time when a calm settles down within, after knowing you have made big decisions and finding them to be some-what successful. I can't remember exactly what I was reading at the time I began writing, but I know that I read a lot of the classics most of the year; books by Elizabeth Gaskell, Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, Homer, George Elliot, the Brontë sisters etc..  

So that is the history of my unfortunate and inconveniently timed writing. If ever I get published, I hope you will have a look at it, maybe read it if it takes your fancy. Though at the rate I'm going, I'll probably only manage that after I die. That was a joke. You are permitted to laugh. I'm not nearly morbid or masochistic enough to get myself killed just to become famous; though that does seem to be the norm for some of our greatest writers, painters and poets.

Anyway, all these dire thoughts aside, I look forward to living out this week so that I may blog again next week. Wish me Luck. 

Nida

Reasons, Incentives to Intensify Revision

Dear Reader,

I believe I have finally, truly, come to the realization that my end-of-year exams are fast apporaching. This phenomenon came about when I sat down at my desk with my folders, my Forever-Friends calendar (incredulously girly - I know) and my lapton. As it turns out, I have about 110 lectures to revise, within the next 39 days. A daunting task, if I may say so myself. I think the only way I'm going to be to be able to cope with this copious task, and still be alive to see the end of it, is by reminding myself of why I'm doing this in the first place. Nothing like some motivation to get me moving. So here goes:

1) Exams and all aside, I actually really like what I'm doing. I cannot count the number of times in the past  years when I've come out of a lecture or a tutorial (the class-room when I was younger) completely pent-up with excitment at having been given new knowledge, or bursting with questions about the connections or loopholes that I'd made. Often times, I've confounded people with my enthusiam. Knowledge, for the sake of knowing, should be gained, not because you are going to be tested on it. As Tim McIlrath sings : "what we  know is almost nothing at all" - a life in the pursuit of knowledge and all that. However, since I have no choice but to be thoroughly grilled in slightly-more than a months time, there is no reason not to show-off all that I already know, little as it may be. 

2) Linking in with the previous point, Allah (swa) made the human body and it is the most marvelous, miraculous piece of machinery in existence. It completely deserves to be studied meticulously. And when it starts to go wrong, it deserves to be treated. Thus, it is my high and noble aim to eventually be in a position where I can help make the quality of life better for these walking talking museums of genius, that vastly populate this world. However, this position can only be reached if I can get an important part of this particular body, i.e. my brain, to focus on the examination at hand.

3) It would please my lovely and darling mum excessively if I got good results in my exams. And if my mum is happy, then I am. (I always wonder why mothers and daughters are depicted at odd ends in today's media; though that might have something to do with that fact the my mum is exceptionally beautiful and wise and treats me like her best friend.)

Be warned! The following incentives are supremely superficial.

4) I so badly want to get better results than my older brother. Sibling-rivalry - a universally understood fact. No more explanation needed.

A cartoon of my older brother by Moi!

5) Having a decent degree will, Inshallah, allow me to attain a better career. Of course, that also depends if our economy wills itself out of it's current dire situation by the time I'm finished, so that I may make more money than I am right now (which isn't much at all). Since after all, food and shelter aside, I need an incredible income to feed my undying obsession of books. Yes, there are libraries (sigh), but owning and collecting books holds a much better taste in my mouth. 

Which reminds me, I was little more than three-quaters of the way through this Lady Whistledown anthology --->; when I realised how appalled I was with myself. To be so addicted to these yucky-romances! (tut tut) It is entirely dispicable - even though the silly stories bring the most cheesiest smile to my face and make me laugh at completely inappropraite moments. Still, I think it's actually quite disgusting really, the way that all the heroes (except for the some-what uncommon exception of Sir Philip from To Sir Philip, With Love) seem to be either "devilishly handsome" (direct quote) or Adonis reborn (not a direct quote but the numerous repetitions of the similie has lodged it in my brain). In my mind they're all bungled together in a single brown-haired-green-eyed-broad-shouldered bulk of a being. Whatever happened to the 87% of the male population that doesn't fit that description, or something like it. For once I'd like to read a book about the nerdy-not-so-good-looking-but-with-real-substance-beneath-the-surface kind-of-a-guy; read of him falling in love and then actually getting his happily as-long-as-his-life-lasts ever-after (let my know if you think I'm overdoing the hyphens). Someone (I can't actually remember who right now, but I'll let you know if I do) once said "if you can't find the story you want to read, then write it yourself" and that's exactly what I'm going to do ... well, after I can put these awful written exams behind me. 

Which, unfortunately, reminds me that I should infact be revising rather than concocting clamorous critisms of poor Julia Quinn's pathetic choice of heroes. So we'll meet again at my next break from my mind-numbing revision.

Nida

Kitchen Catastrophe

Dear Reader,

My life has taken a turn for the worse ... well okay it's not that bad. Yesterday, the builders did the one thing that is quite opposite to their title but essential to their role in life. They tore down the wall seperating our kitchen from the fancy new extension. I wasn't actually present at the animalistic chaos but I did see the aftermath. I felt as if I had stepped into a volcanic ash-cloud. Once it had finally settled down and I was finally able to breath again, the grey-snow-filled gaping hole left behind inspired in me a sense of nostalgia as well as excitment at what was to come ... i.e. a bigger, lavish-ier kitchen with elobrate squiggly draws and cupboards.

But - dramatic sigh - gone now is my favourite window to the garden where I spent hours amusing my thoughts while my restless hands scrubbed away at dishes from dinners-fit-for-queens; now to be replaced (thankfully?) by a fully-automated-mechanic-dishwasher. Gone is the beloved stained-glass garden door (which will hopefully be transplanted on to the extention). 

Our temporary kitchen has been set-up in the corner of our living room between two antique mahogany book-cases. There's a fridge, toaster, kettle (thank Allah (swa) for tea) and a microwave; as well as boxes and boxes of cutlery, dishes (wrapped in newpaper), tins and other essentiallities of a kitchen. But, dear intelligent Reader, you'll notice I did not mention something vital. Appearently we don't have a gas supply in our living room! So for the next two weeks or so I will be living off the delicate art of microwave meals. In truth, I've never been much of a fan of the microwave oven, only ever needing it to melt chocolate and butter for such delicacies as brownies. But the waiting will soon be over, in the wise words of Charlie Chaplin: "Nothing is permanent in this wicked world - not even our troubles."      

<---- In other news, I saw this cartoon by Kate Beaton online and after laughing for a good ten minutes I thought "I want this on a t-shirt!". And guess what: I got it on a t-shirt; all thanks to the miracle of shopping online. Who has time to go all the way down to the local high streets anyway.

It seems of late that I can't get enough of Gregory Maguires books. Having finished Lion Among Man just days after Son of a Witch, I've now moved on to Mirror Mirror, a retelling of the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. I especially like his take on the original folk tale. He's set it in the heart of Renaissance Italy with some of the pesky Borgias taking-up central roles. I recently did some research on this particularly corrupt family as they play the bad-guys in one of my favourite video games: Assassin's Creed II. The first one was also extremely excellent and was set in the time of the good-ol' crusades and Richard the Lionheart. I just happened to be reading Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott at the time. "A little too ironic..." - I completely agree with Alanis Morissette.

Anyway, I must be on my way now. You know 'meetings to attend, meals to eat' that sort of thing.

Nida