tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88707684445903099972024-03-14T05:39:49.453+00:00The Quest for a Million WordsIn 2008 I set out to write one millions words in 366 days... but only managed 800,767.Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.comBlogger196125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-12483312449066077812009-07-24T04:29:00.002+01:002009-07-24T04:38:12.385+01:00The Death KnellI have a new blog. It's called <a href="http://thecraigcliff.blogspot.com/">This Fluid Thrill</a>, which may or may not refer to <span style="font-style: italic;">a sharp firm percussion on one part of the abdomen and feeling a shock wave over a distant part of the abdomen</span>.<br /><br />This is now offically my old blog.Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-55509166196881585022009-06-18T01:53:00.009+01:002009-07-24T04:41:21.293+01:00Got nowhere else to spruik this, so...<a href="http://www.randomhouse.co.nz/Book_Display_46.aspx?CategoryId=17936&ProductId=468730">Essential Zealand Short Stories</a>, edited by Owen Marshall, first came out in 2002. It featured 45 stories from 45 New Zealand writers, from Katherine Mansfield and Frank Sargeson, through Lloyd Jones and Witi Ihimaera, to Emily Perkins and Chad Taylor.<p>This month, an updated edition has been published featuring five new stories. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.fishpond.co.nz/product_info.php?ref=1306&products_id=14671473&affiliate_banner_id=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.fishpond.co.nz/affiliate_show_banner.php?ref=1306&affiliate_pbanner_id=14671473" border="0" alt="Essential New Zealand Short Stories" /></a><br /></p><p>If you turn to the last story, you'll find mine ('Copies').</p><p>It's far too early for me to be sitting in a book alongside Mansfield, Marshall and the Maurices (Shadbolt and Duggan)... but when the collection was reviewed on National Radio this morning, 'Copies' got a special mention. Listen <a href="http://www.radionz.co.nz/audio/national/ntn/2009/06/18/book_review_-_essential_new_zealand_short_stories">here</a> if you're interested.</p><p>My only complaint with the book is the lack of author bios. Okay, for all the luminaries you can look up their <a href="http://www.bookcouncil.org.nz/Writers/Information/Introduction.htm">NZ Book Council page</a> (I like the new look, by the way) , but for the "fresh young talents", readers have to make do with whatever Google throws up.</p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-14600861360292355362009-05-27T04:44:00.008+01:002009-05-27T05:14:57.521+01:00All Good ThingsWell I'm back in New Zealand for the first time in 23 months. People ask, "Is it weird to be back?" and, truthfully, it isn't. I like it here. Why else would I come back?<br /><br />A few things have changed. I've noticed my hometown of Palmerston North is a lot more Australian than the last time I was here, and this may be true of the Kiwi culture more generally, I'm not sure yet.<br /><br />I have a little over a month before I have to submit the final manuscript for my short story collection. I also have to find a job and a place to live (both hopefully in Wellington).<br /><br />So you'll forgive me if I takes a wee while before I decide what to do next in the blogosphere. I have some ideas (including one frontrunner), but no announcements yet.<br /><br />As for writing, it was strange reverting to a non-writer for over five months after last year's insanity. Not difficult, just strange. I only made about 10 pages of notes in my notebook over that time. So I wasn't exactly brimming with ideas. I may write a travel-related story in the next few months, but it's one based in Turkey and Australia (drawing on <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/06/gallipoli-sensation.html">experience from almost a year ago to the day</a>). <br /><br />So, as I ease myself back in behind the keyboard, here's some holiday snaps taken since my last blog entry...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Guatemala</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3n7d9HgI/AAAAAAAABFk/MTpv5H2grm0/s1600-h/P1130832.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3n7d9HgI/AAAAAAAABFk/MTpv5H2grm0/s400/P1130832.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340345154760678914" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Honduras<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3oHD9fXI/AAAAAAAABFs/bC2Fxh7Vlww/s1600-h/P1130870.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3oHD9fXI/AAAAAAAABFs/bC2Fxh7Vlww/s400/P1130870.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340345157872876914" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nicaragua</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3oaaPT0I/AAAAAAAABF0/YHwiXxGQ7fE/s1600-h/P1140002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3oaaPT0I/AAAAAAAABF0/YHwiXxGQ7fE/s400/P1140002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340345163066593090" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Costa Rica</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3oX-8mKI/AAAAAAAABF8/ROOlWX20Yuk/s1600-h/P1140427.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3oX-8mKI/AAAAAAAABF8/ROOlWX20Yuk/s400/P1140427.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340345162415249570" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Peru</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3ogrj1kI/AAAAAAAABGE/g8JKZOEmrcA/s1600-h/P1140860.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy3ogrj1kI/AAAAAAAABGE/g8JKZOEmrcA/s400/P1140860.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340345164749854274" border="0" /></a><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4dw3p-MI/AAAAAAAABGc/YxCIM_T4bxk/s1600-h/P1150160.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4dw3p-MI/AAAAAAAABGc/YxCIM_T4bxk/s400/P1150160.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346079628622018" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4dtTZkWI/AAAAAAAABGU/ZeO9kfAlBEw/s1600-h/P1150348.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4dtTZkWI/AAAAAAAABGU/ZeO9kfAlBEw/s400/P1150348.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346078671245666" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4djnqAPI/AAAAAAAABGM/vdxR1zP98_A/s1600-h/P1150533.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4djnqAPI/AAAAAAAABGM/vdxR1zP98_A/s400/P1150533.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346076071854322" border="0" /></a> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bolivia</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4d1Sk3CI/AAAAAAAABGk/hRECWjgz_4Y/s1600-h/P1150812.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4d1Sk3CI/AAAAAAAABGk/hRECWjgz_4Y/s400/P1150812.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346080815275042" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4eDqgytI/AAAAAAAABGs/CWn62tBSegk/s1600-h/P1150980.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy4eDqgytI/AAAAAAAABGs/CWn62tBSegk/s400/P1150980.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346084673768146" border="0" /></a> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Brazil<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5OmFlgKI/AAAAAAAABHU/iwO6z04_FgU/s1600-h/P1160395.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5OmFlgKI/AAAAAAAABHU/iwO6z04_FgU/s400/P1160395.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346918547849378" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5zmsRJtI/AAAAAAAABHc/lmPNPTDdw1Y/s1600-h/cRAIG+%28+ag%7D+26.03.2009+066.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5zmsRJtI/AAAAAAAABHc/lmPNPTDdw1Y/s400/cRAIG+%28+ag%7D+26.03.2009+066.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340347554365253330" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Uruguay</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5OtS1B4I/AAAAAAAABHM/zx3sTkLtyUY/s1600-h/P1160993.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5OtS1B4I/AAAAAAAABHM/zx3sTkLtyUY/s400/P1160993.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346920482441090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Argentina</span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5OR_d-nI/AAAAAAAABHE/AUbNOAv1Tt8/s1600-h/P1170366.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5OR_d-nI/AAAAAAAABHE/AUbNOAv1Tt8/s400/P1170366.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346913153481330" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5Ns9zljI/AAAAAAAABG8/Osuz3mrUJKo/s1600-h/P1170874.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5Ns9zljI/AAAAAAAABG8/Osuz3mrUJKo/s400/P1170874.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346903214396978" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5Nc-XfGI/AAAAAAAABG0/HJiUIyqgqvs/s1600-h/P1180241.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5Nc-XfGI/AAAAAAAABG0/HJiUIyqgqvs/s400/P1180241.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340346898921782370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Chile</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5zw-k-TI/AAAAAAAABHk/ITqxRb44zIU/s1600-h/P1180010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy5zw-k-TI/AAAAAAAABHk/ITqxRb44zIU/s400/P1180010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340347557126404402" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy50PhjAnI/AAAAAAAABHs/PKDyShEVsTY/s1600-h/P1180632.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/Shy50PhjAnI/AAAAAAAABHs/PKDyShEVsTY/s400/P1180632.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340347565326140018" border="0" /></a>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-2263737072409502932009-02-21T21:15:00.006+00:002009-02-21T21:37:49.775+00:00ListmaniaI´ve now been travelling for two months, and what better way to celebrate than with some lists...<br /><br /><strong>Countries Visited Since Leaving Edinburgh<br /></strong><br />Germany<br />Italy<br />Egypt<br />USA<br />Canada<br />Guatemala<br />Honduras<br />Nicaragua<br />Costa Rica<br />Peru<br /><br /><strong>Countries Left To Visit Before Returning to NZ in May<br /></strong><br />Bolivia<br />Brazil<br />Paraguay*<br />Argentina<br />Uruguay*<br />Chile<br /><br />(* perhaps)<br /><br /><strong>Best Meals</strong><br /><br />* Falafel in pita with salad, Luxor, 1 Egyptian Pound (an eighth of a British Pound)<br />* "Enchillada" (unlike western enchilladas, this was a deepfried pocket filled with spicy rice then topped with coleslaw and wrapped up like a soft shell taco), Grenada, 5 Nicaraguan Cordobas (about 50p)<br />* Guanabana yoghurt drink, Lima (1L for about a pound)... a meal in itself<br /><br />Common denominator, as ever, is price. All that street meat (and veg) means I'm pretty immune to most of the nasties out their. (NB: I did get really sick in Cairo, but that was a bug that went around the tour... nothing to do with the cuisine).<br /><br /><strong>Best Historical Sites</strong><br /><br />1. Karnak Temple, Egypt<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305366038595345442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SaByTZXlnCI/AAAAAAAABFc/1VNAwihJkhI/s400/P1140634.JPG" border="0" />2. Philae Temple, Egypt<br />3. The Sphinx and Pyramids, Egypt<br />4. Valley of the Kings, Egypt<br /><br />Egypt is pretty hard to compete with when it comes to ancient stuff. The mayan ruins at Copan in Honduras were pretty cool, but just can´t compete with Egypt when it comes to age, scale, presevation or quality of artistry.<br /><br /><strong>Best Museums / Art Galleries</strong><br /><br />1. Vatican Museum, Rome<br />1.a Egyptian Museum, Cairo</p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305365309340973314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SaBxo8ry-QI/AAAAAAAABFM/O0yeqA7OuRk/s400/P1140635.JPG" border="0" />At the beginning of this trip, I was most anticipating a visit to the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, and by the size of the queues (4 hour wait to get inside without a 4 euro booking) everyone else was too. But it was just a decent art gallery. Sure, there were five or six pieces I studied back in High School Art History, and I´m glad I went, but I was not blown away as I was with the two places above. Both wow with scale: the Vatican museum has whole rooms dedicated to scultpures of animals, or busts, or maps of Italy. In the Egyptian Museum you can find rows upon rows of sarcofagi, or figurines included in burials, or trinkets, or stamps (used with ink rather than postage stamps). And both have pretty awesome pieces de resistance (Tutankhamon´s sarcofagi; Sistene Chapel).<br /><br /><strong>Best Views</strong><br /><br />* Half frozen Niagara Falls, from the Canadian side of course </p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305365314335538274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SaBxpPSl_GI/AAAAAAAABFU/4UmKM0thsk4/s400/P1140636.JPG" border="0" />* Being a foot and a half away from a snake (first snake I've seen in the wild) in Costa Rica... and not just any snake, a fer-de-lance<br />* Top of the Empire State Building at night (freezing cold and cliched as hell, but totally worth it)<br /><br /><strong>Best Cultural Experiences</strong><br /><br />* Seeing an NHL hockey game in Canada (Toronto Maple Leafs vs Pittsburgh Penguins, 31 Jan 2009). The game had everything: former captain's banner ceremony (+ free Dougie Gilmore bobbleheads), nine goals, an awesome fight (my video below), and the Leafs won (a rare occurence).<br /><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/aJHBq0TK60Y&hl=" width="480" height="295" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" fs="1&rel="></embed><br /><br />* Taxi ride from Cairo airport<br />* Dancing in jandels and shorts in Nicaraguan night clubs<br /><br /><strong>Biggest Pains in the Bum</strong><br /><br />* My aforementioned sickness in Cairo<br />* Trying to change a flight with Aerolineas Argentinas (ongoing)<br />* Being talked to in English in Costa Ricano matter how hard you try your dodgy Spanish<br /><br />Oh well, that's all for now. Off to the Peruvian Amazon tomorrow. Bring on those Anacondas!</p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-22997355711189644162009-01-08T19:38:00.007+00:002009-01-09T19:01:39.968+00:00A Driving Tour of Italy......with Mario Mario<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXRx6TmUI/AAAAAAAABDo/S7OirBbAwxI/s1600-h/P1120610.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXRx6TmUI/AAAAAAAABDo/S7OirBbAwxI/s400/P1120610.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289010775360510274" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaMSRb7UI/AAAAAAAABEg/7wCwJweWB8A/s1600-h/P1120603.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaMSRb7UI/AAAAAAAABEg/7wCwJweWB8A/s400/P1120603.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289013979503127874" border="0" /></a>[Firenze]<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaL_K4_qI/AAAAAAAABEY/F_DR52KxXAw/s1600-h/P1120604.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaL_K4_qI/AAAAAAAABEY/F_DR52KxXAw/s400/P1120604.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289013974375399074" border="0" /></a>[Pisa]</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaLb4v2nI/AAAAAAAABEQ/m48NWzTSohE/s1600-h/P1120605.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaLb4v2nI/AAAAAAAABEQ/m48NWzTSohE/s400/P1120605.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289013964904061554" border="0" /></a>[Faster than the train]<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaK--N0jI/AAAAAAAABEI/BM_UV1Ayg80/s1600-h/P1120606.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaK--N0jI/AAAAAAAABEI/BM_UV1Ayg80/s400/P1120606.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289013957142368818" border="0" /></a>[Napoli]<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaKkdB8EI/AAAAAAAABEA/tNonkLgclS0/s1600-h/P1120607.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZaKkdB8EI/AAAAAAAABEA/tNonkLgclS0/s400/P1120607.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289013950023856194" border="0" /></a>[Sorrento]<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXSrIEs-I/AAAAAAAABD4/XYQoeOC4aqY/s1600-h/P1120608.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXSrIEs-I/AAAAAAAABD4/XYQoeOC4aqY/s400/P1120608.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289010790719075298" border="0" /></a>[On the way to Capri]<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXSFJrDpI/AAAAAAAABDw/r417aSIW1pE/s1600-h/P1120609.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXSFJrDpI/AAAAAAAABDw/r417aSIW1pE/s400/P1120609.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289010780525235858" border="0" /></a>[Isola di Capri]<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXRiFP6gI/AAAAAAAABDY/Bo45dbzeEhU/s1600-h/P1120612.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXRiFP6gI/AAAAAAAABDY/Bo45dbzeEhU/s400/P1120612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289010771111438850" border="0" /></a>[Positano]</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXR3q-0dI/AAAAAAAABDg/C86Y44p25-o/s1600-h/P1120611.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWZXR3q-0dI/AAAAAAAABDg/C86Y44p25-o/s400/P1120611.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289010776906846674" border="0" /></a>[Even video game American-Italian Plumbers need to do laundry]<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWeey_pLl2I/AAAAAAAABEo/7LVHhoGtAA4/s1600-h/P1120748.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SWeey_pLl2I/AAAAAAAABEo/7LVHhoGtAA4/s400/P1120748.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289370886284744546" border="0" /></a>[Roma]<br /></div>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-62574174557884233372008-12-31T11:08:00.004+00:002008-12-31T11:08:01.046+00:002008: The Year of Eight Hundred Thousand Words - - Summary Extravaganza<div><div><div><div><p style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span> </p><p style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-size:130%;">800,737 words<br /></p></span><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">My total has not moved since 20 December, but I have. I've spent <i>Weihnachten </i><span style="FONT-STYLE: normal">/ Christmas in Northern Germany, and now I'm in Florence for </span><i>Anno Nuovo </i><span style="FONT-STYLE: normal">/ New Years. I'll be in Rome </span><i>and</i><span style="FONT-STYLE: normal"> Cairo for my birthday (I wonder if any customs officials will wish me happy birthday?), Honduras for Waitangi Day, and probably Argentina for Easter.</span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm"><span style="FONT-STYLE: normal">I haven't arrived at any New Year's Resolutions for 2009 yet as I'm still getting over 2008's.</span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">Which brings me to:</p><br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">How I Got To 800,737 words...</span><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: normal"></span></p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgK8FXrOI/AAAAAAAABBo/mRhyj7eFko4/s1600-h/2008+cumulative.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281842941530713314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 209px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgK8FXrOI/AAAAAAAABBo/mRhyj7eFko4/s400/2008+cumulative.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />From 2 January to 22 March 2008 I was ahead of target. Those were the days. The blue flatlining at the end of the year is a bit depressing / misleading. I recommend you focus more on the steepness of the section that just precedes it.<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Breaking it down further...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgLjROL8I/AAAAAAAABCA/9p9G1ExPgNE/s1600-h/2008+monthly.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281842952049405890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 249px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgLjROL8I/AAAAAAAABCA/9p9G1ExPgNE/s400/2008+monthly.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">And further still...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgTQ-KEHI/AAAAAAAABCQ/vAxXEKzSVvI/s1600-h/2008+weeks.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281843084576559218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 249px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgTQ-KEHI/AAAAAAAABCQ/vAxXEKzSVvI/s400/2008+weeks.jpg" border="0" /></a>(Week 50 stands out, don't it?)<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><br /><br />And further still? Okay...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgLudbsnI/AAAAAAAABB4/UYMOX8CPLIg/s1600-h/2008+day+of+the+week.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281842955053412978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 249px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgLudbsnI/AAAAAAAABB4/UYMOX8CPLIg/s400/2008+day+of+the+week.jpg" border="0" /></a>It was neck and neck between Sunday and Tuesday for a long time. In the end, Sunday contributed 420 more words than it's weekday rival. I'm still shocked that Tuesday did so well. I guess it's because there's never anything to do on Tuesdays except write, and I still have a bit of energy left from the weekend without it being a Monday...<br /><br />By taking out all the days I was away from home, Sunday clearly outperformed the rest (adjusted average of 2,807 words versus Tuesday's 2,619).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgLakpSKI/AAAAAAAABBw/_w4yxDOtlmA/s1600-h/2008+day+average.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281842949714954402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 249px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgLakpSKI/AAAAAAAABBw/_w4yxDOtlmA/s400/2008+day+average.jpg" border="0" /></a>But it would be remiss of me not to address the fact I was aiming for 1,000,000 words and not 800,000.<br /><br />As <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_LaFontaine">Mike LaFontain</a>e would say, <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Wha' Happened?<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6SHRFhfeLgY&hl=" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" fs="1"></embed><br /><br /></span><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Excuses</span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"> </span></p><p>2008 contained no less than seven international trips, ranging from long weekends to nine day absences from my desk: Madrid, Norway, Paris, Turkey, Greece, Estonia/Latvia and now Germany/Italy (and beyond). Then there were the trips within Scotland exploring the Highlands and Hebrides, and the day trips, and the shows during festival...</p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">The link between travel and the ever-widening gap between me and my target was summed up pretty well by this graph from back in <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/09/status-report-week-thirty-nine.html">week 39</a>: </p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SU11X8qAFMI/AAAAAAAABCY/CQxmfKZVk94/s1600-h/week+39+deficit.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282006992255194306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 241px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SU11X8qAFMI/AAAAAAAABCY/CQxmfKZVk94/s400/week+39+deficit.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">But travel wasn't the whole story. There were 43 goose eggs in 2008 (days when I wrote no words) - - all travel related. But if I had those 43 days again, I'd still need to write around 4,600 words a day to crack the million. The longest span over which I averaged that many words was eight days => <strong>Verdict: unlikely.</strong> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">There was, of course, the dreaded day job to contend with. Or day <em>jobs</em>. After an extended Christmas break, I started a six-week temp job in mid-Jan. Queue first drop-off. Then, in March, I moved straight into a more difficult job. I still spent the same amount of time away from home, but I was left with much less energy in the evenings (and less time to dream up things to write about while filing...).</p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">But travel and employment aren't really excuses. I don't regret the places I've been or the money daytime drudgery has earnt. I always knew writing had to fit in around life: the Quest For A Million Words came about as a way of shifting writing up the list of priorities (however artificially), and in that respect it was a success. </p><br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">But there were other 'contributing factors' to my failure to reach one million words:</p><br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">My inability to commit to, and finish, a novel-length narrative. Perhaps it was due to the pressures imposed by this scheme (which I devised to force me to finish another novel). Perhaps it was the difficulty inherent in writing a novel in evenings and weekends? (If and when I jump back on that Clydesdale, I'll look long at hard at doing it without working a day job). </p><br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">Or perhaps I wasn't ready to write another novel? Perhaps I'm just not built for them?</p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">Related to my cooling off with the novel as a form, was my increasing interest and passion for shorter forms, both in prose and poetry. Short stories yielded me <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/11/in-which-writer-takes-significant-step.html">my biggest success </a>of 2008 (though my collection won't be published till 2010), and they made up the biggest chunk of my writing pie this year (see below), but I don't think I could have written much more that 300,000 words of short fiction this year, or any other year. There are only so many ideas you come up with, and only a percentage of these stand up to being put on the page, and only some of these warrant sticking with and revising...</p><br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0cm">Same goes for poetry, though it's more pronounced due to the lack of WORDS in them... </p><p>I don't regret any of the time I spent on poetry or short fiction, so I cant turn around now and say I wish I tried harder with Novel A and Novel B. They'll still be there when I'm ready.</p><p><strong>Recipie for an 800,737 word pie</strong><br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgMP57P9I/AAAAAAAABCI/ZLiKkWZA_Ec/s1600-h/2008+pie.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281842964031291346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 236px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzgMP57P9I/AAAAAAAABCI/ZLiKkWZA_Ec/s400/2008+pie.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p>Blogging is a rather large constituent. I expended about as many words writing about my travels for friends and family on my travel blog as I did on Novel A. I probably didn't put as much care and attention into those posts as I did in my rock'n'roll novel rewrite, but when I read over some of the 'improvements' I thought I was making to the novel, I was clearly way off base. On the other hand, when I read over some of my travel blogs, I don't cringe as much as I would suspect (typos aside), and find that without churning out 2,000 words of "We did A, then went to B, then had C for dinner..." I would have forgotten some details which might one day wriggle their way into my fiction (or poetry). </p><p>The moral: travel blogs (and update-type emails, see larger green segment) contain some value and deserve to be included in the word count.</p><p>As for blogging here, sometimes it has been a postive, sometimes a negative. The weekly wordcount updates helped push me along, but sometimes it all felt a bit too public. I'm liked having a place to air my thoughts about short story competitions, or the evolution of my musical tastes, or nuwanubianism... but wonder now if there shouldn't be a cooling off period before some things get posted, and an expiry date after which some posts cease to exist.</p><p>And since this blog, with it's quest-y title and optimistic and soon-to-be-outdated url, is so 2008, I have a decision to make: continue to blog here, create a new blog (with another gimmick?), or lapse into silence...? </p><p>It's a decision I am yet to make. </p><p>For now, the Quest For A Million Words remains open. I will appear at random intervals to post photos and perhaps even anecdotes from my travels. When I have a job and a place to live back in New Zealand, and have sent of the final manuscript for my short story collection (title still to be determined), things should be clearer.</p><p>But for now, here's some photos from Germany...</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285178748152430898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SVi6EcIRwTI/AAAAAAAABC4/Qs9gV18-kFo/s400/P1110522.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285179760107383666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SVi6_V9I63I/AAAAAAAABDQ/mIo2MWt5S3M/s400/st.jpg" border="0" /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SVi6E2VSv1I/AAAAAAAABDI/3VPPxNMm5d0/s1600-h/P1110660.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285178755186343762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SVi6E2VSv1I/AAAAAAAABDI/3VPPxNMm5d0/s400/P1110660.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></p></div></div></div></div><div></div>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-57244718060610359852008-12-21T09:00:00.002+00:002008-12-21T09:00:00.395+00:00Status Report: Week Fifty-One<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzQrqtzudI/AAAAAAAABBg/7FghwwrBCX4/s1600-h/Week+51+Pie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzQrqtzudI/AAAAAAAABBg/7FghwwrBCX4/s400/Week+51+Pie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281825911618124242" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzQrvBsahI/AAAAAAAABBY/ZMDBmKa17VE/s1600-h/Week+51+Daily.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 243px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUzQrvBsahI/AAAAAAAABBY/ZMDBmKa17VE/s400/Week+51+Daily.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281825912775272978" border="0" /></a>[Since <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/12/sniff_19.html">my landlord's laptop</a> has OpenOffice software rather than Microsoft Office, the graphs look a bit different this week.]</p><br /><p><b>Week Fifty-One – The Stats</b></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>Weekly Wordcount:</b> 13,957 words<b> </b>(compared to 30,863 words last week)<br /><b>Average: </b><span style="">1,994 w</span>ords per day (compared to target of 3,001 words/day)<br /><b>Most productive day:</b> Monday 15 December, 4,141 words<br /><b>Least productive day: </b>Sunday 21 December, 0 words<br /><b>Year-to-date:</b><span style=""> 800,737</span><b> </b>words<br /><br /><span style="">This post was written on Saturday, but, thanks to the wonder of post scheduling, is appearing on Sunday: technically the last day of week 51 and the last day I woke up in Edinburgh. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="">Hence the goose egg for Sunday. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="">Apart from the occasional post on my travel blog and an email here or there, it's going to be goose eggs all the way to April 2009. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="">No fiction. No poetry. No rambling blog posts about </span><a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/07/prime-of-miss-jean-brodie-vs-wasp.html">Muriel Spark</a><span style=""> or </span><a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/08/five-things-i-like-right-now.html">The National</a><span style="font-weight: bold;">. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="">I don't know if I can go cold turkey.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="">I may have to write hundred word stories on restaurant menus, sonnets on ticket stubs, grand ideas for Novel C on the back of my hand...</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="">Week 51 was quite a come down from the record-breaking of its predecessor. Too many errands to perform. Too many people to catch up with one last time. Too many things I never got around to fighting for my attention.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">Seems a shame to end 2008 on a downer, writing-wise. </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">But hey, I made it to 800,000 words. That's 80% of a million words. Or 2,188 words per day. If you take out the 46 days (past and future) in 2008 when I was unable to write due to being outside the UK, the average becomes 2,502 words per day.</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">But I'll hold back on further number crunching until my graph extravaganza.</p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-47584665315600392392008-12-19T14:56:00.003+00:002008-12-19T14:56:57.942+00:00*sniff*Well, my laptop has just gone bye-bye. Don't worry, I'll see it again in 150 days, give or take. Along with other possessions Marisa and I can't bear to part with but can't lug around four continents in our packs, my laptop will be cruising the high seas back to New Zealand. Barring catastrophe(s), the box will beat me home.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I'm using my landlord's laptop to type this, if you were wondering.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I could have knuckled down and written on this computer this morning after taping the box shut, but I couldn't face it. It felt unfaithful. Me and that black slab of increasing obsolescence have been through a lot these past twelve months. Sadly, it won't be around to see my eight hundredth thousand word of 2008.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">That should come later today when I start my big wordcount summary...</p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-58565273918188527852008-12-18T23:31:00.009+00:002008-12-19T00:25:22.449+00:00Best of Edinburgh'Tis the season for heavily subjective lists...<br /><br /><b>Best view:</b><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrhHY3gbbI/AAAAAAAABBI/mqgMObXFptA/s1600-h/P1110431-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrhHY3gbbI/AAAAAAAABBI/mqgMObXFptA/s400/P1110431-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281281030095924658" border="0" /></a>“You take the high road and I'll take the low road…” <br /><br />You can keep your Arthur's Seats and Carlton Hills, give me a glance down Dublin Street towards the Forth. [It doesn't photograph so well, especially on a rainy day in December, but humour me.]<br /><br />I still recommend every visitor climbs Arthur's Seat and Carlton Hill, but I always feel underwhelmed by views from on high.<br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrfzYnAiOI/AAAAAAAABAY/qRCq-tu7cwg/s1600-h/arthurs+seat+panorama.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 40px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrfzYnAiOI/AAAAAAAABAY/qRCq-tu7cwg/s400/arthurs+seat+panorama.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281279586917714146" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Stand on the corner of Dublin and Queen Streets and you're not even at the top of the slope (that would be further up towards Princes Street). But the view has it all, Georgian architecture giving way to greenery (the Botanical Gardens lie somewhere within those trees) and the normally-blue streak of the Forth and the evergreen streak of the Kingdom of Fife. The view is best appreciated after first looking down Howe Street towards<b> </b>St. Stephen's Church and a hidden Stockbridge (best place for quality bread, cheese and seafood) - - something about the withheld promise of the Forth being delayed until Dublin Street. Even though I walked down Queen Street ten times a week for nine months this year, I never tired of this fleeting view.<br /><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>Best place to go on your lunch break:</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrgZTTEEHI/AAAAAAAABAo/rbU2XNtNrHQ/s1600-h/leith_cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 196px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrgZTTEEHI/AAAAAAAABAo/rbU2XNtNrHQ/s400/leith_cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281280238326911090" border="0" /></a>Having just bagged it, I'm recommending Carlton Hill here. Two of my three jobs were within range so that I could climb Carlton Hill and have the breeze blow work from my brain for half an hour. It helped remind me that I was still a tourist, that I still had things to explore and discover. I imagine it would reenergise a lifelong resident in a similar way.<br /><br /><b>Best place to read a book:</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Despite the above, I spent most of my lunchtimes reading a book in the breakroom at work. As a place to read a book, the breakroom (three floors below street level) cannot compare to sitting on the grassy slope of the Princes Gardens in the sun. The thing is, you probably only have three chances a year to do this [hence no photo this time], so have a book at the ready!<br /><br /><b>Best month:</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It’s a toss up between August and December.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">So what if Summer 2008 came and went on a Thursday? August is still the most interesting time to be in Edinburgh. Comedy, theatre, music, busking, street parades, and more free events than one could possibly attend, you've no excuse to be bored. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">In December, on the other hand, no one expects the weather to be nice, so there's no tinge of disappointment, unless you're hoping for a decent snowfall. Princes Street and the Gardens are again the place to be with the German Market, ice skating rink, and fairground rides. And then, of course, there's Hogmannay on the 31st: hand's down the best New Years I've ever had.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrhHPsjvkI/AAAAAAAABBA/ySHcT1Q43QM/s1600-h/P1110420-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrhHPsjvkI/AAAAAAAABBA/ySHcT1Q43QM/s400/P1110420-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281281027634085442" border="0" /></a><br /><b>Best place to go every month</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The Scottish Poetry Library, of course. On my first visit, I felt a bit of an imposter. I was the only person there apart from the librarian, and she didn't seem keen to acknowledge my presence. The floor creaked terribly. I was looking for an anthology of modern Scottish poetry, which I found, but also left with five volumes of New Zealand poetry. Again, I felt an imposter: a NZer borrowing NZ books from the SCOTTISH poetry library, but I learnt not to worry (it always seemed to be a different librarian issuing my books). A more correct emphasis would be: the Scottish POETRY Library. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">At the beginning of 2008 didn't see the need for a library dedicated to poetry... now I write the stuff with my serious writing face on. Be warned: the same could happen to you!</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>Favourite Building</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Another tie. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">West Register Building, Charlotte Square</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrh_xNVGeI/AAAAAAAABBQ/0PoonRAZLUQ/s1600-h/P1110363-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrh_xNVGeI/AAAAAAAABBQ/0PoonRAZLUQ/s400/P1110363-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281281998702582242" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">St Mary’s Church, Palmerston Place</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrhG0h-GiI/AAAAAAAABA4/yL9slG_q4nk/s1600-h/P1100997-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrhG0h-GiI/AAAAAAAABA4/yL9slG_q4nk/s400/P1100997-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281281020341918242" border="0" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span> </a></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">This church features in Novel B, despite the story being exclusively set in New Zealand. I'm not really a churchy person, but I suspect my affection for St. Mary's began when I noticed that at dusk it looks like Gotham City's take on the Disney Castle:<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrhG0jBuwI/AAAAAAAABAw/Jg5ytgWecfE/s1600-h/P1100992-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrhG0jBuwI/AAAAAAAABAw/Jg5ytgWecfE/s400/P1100992-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281281020346350338" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">As I walked around town today, the weather was miserable and so was I for the most part. Why can I not find <a href="http://www.thelairdslarder.co.uk/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=&product_id=872&category_id=168&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=34">risoni</a> in any supermarket all of a sudden? Why do people say they'll buy something off you but never arrive to pick it up? Why does my iPod run out of battery just as I leave the house? Edinburgh isn't so great a city that it makes bad moods impossible - - heck, it's probably caused a few - - but, if you walk around long enough, you'll find some sort of rainbow.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrgO4nT-BI/AAAAAAAABAg/N_5nYF6p6rI/s1600-h/P1060342.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUrgO4nT-BI/AAAAAAAABAg/N_5nYF6p6rI/s400/P1060342.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281280059365390354" border="0" /></a></p>Sorry, that was a bit cheesy. But I'm leaving in two days. I can barely see the keyboard for the nostalgic mist that has set in.Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-20140149243580381692008-12-16T08:59:00.001+00:002008-12-16T12:45:26.184+00:00One RevolutionIn January this year <i>The Lumière Reader</i>'s <a href="http://www.lumiere.net.nz/reader/item/1416">creative writing page</a> published my sort-of story '<a href="http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/arts.php/item/1465">The Kick Inside</a>'. This was the first time words written during my quest for a million words were published <a href="http://www.lumiere.net.nz/reader/item/1416">outside of this blo</a><a href="http://www.lumiere.net.nz/reader/item/1416">g</a>.<br /><br />Now, to close out 2008, I have <a href="http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/arts.php/item/1966">three poems</a> (all written during '08) over at <i>Lumière</i>. Go symmetry!<br /><br />This comes close on the heels of my poem <a href="http://www.nzetc.org/iiml/turbine/Turbi08/poetry/t1-g1-g1-t11-g1-t1-body1-d1.html">'Himalyan White'</a> appearing in <span style="font-style: italic;">Turbine 08</span>.<br /><br />Hold on a minute. Poetry was never in my plans this year.<br /><br />But looking back, the signs were there early on that a change was coming.<br /><br />On the 19th of Jan I had already <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/01/writing-poetry-instead.html">owned up to writing poetry</a> when my primary objective was Novel A. At that stage poetry was primarily a rebellion: when faced with a <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/04/great-white-page-vs-dark-room.html">blank page</a>, writing 'poetry' (blather with line breaks) could fill the space without having to worry about quality or the chances it would be published -- because I had zero expectations.<br /><br />But around the same time, my interest in reading poetry was revived. I tackled <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/01/falling-flat-forced-reference-in-paul.html">Paul Muldoon's 'Sillyhow Stride'</a> (on the pretense of being a Warren Zevon fan). <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/04/best-nz-poems-2007.html">The Best NZ Poems 2007 </a>arrived at the end of March when I was getting NZ Lit withdrawal, then I dove into Best Scottish Poems to <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/05/fern-and-thistle_13.html">compare and contrast</a>.<br /><br />My <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/04/translation-april-experiment-1.html">experiment for the month of April </a>evolved not only into one poem, but a technique which yielded dozens more. ('Josephine', which appears on <a href="http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/arts.php/item/1966"><i>Lumière</i></a>, began life as The Tragically Hip's 'Goodnight Josephine' [video below], and 'Himalyan White' was inspired by mangled translations of Procul Harem's 'Whiter Shade of Pale' and The Moody Blues' 'Nights in White Satin', though it piggybacks off my Bhutan research for the perpetually abandoned Novel A).<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/smWL_KgT83I&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/smWL_KgT83I&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />And then I went to the Scottish Poetry library for the first time, and the second, and the third...<br /><br />I can't see myself ever becoming more than a dabbler in poetry, which is still more than I envisioned at the start of 2008. But the ability to write something complete in a day holds a strong appeal while surrounded by works-in-progress (or works-on-hold). And, thanks to the internet, to be able to unleash these dabbles upon the world provides the ever-needed reminder that there are readers out there, and writing isn't always an elaborate form of self-flagellation.Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-33378821048337752132008-12-14T21:28:00.005+00:002008-12-14T21:49:36.293+00:00Status Report: Week FiftyLast night I saw a fox in Princes Street Gardens. I tried taking a photo but it was too far away, the park too dimly lit. It was a fox though. It wasn’t just me who saw it. We followed the fox for several hundred metres until it disappeared on the Lothian Road side of the Ross Bandstand. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I’ve seen squirrels in the Gardens (though not lately, it being winter and all), but it’s not exactly a haven for wildlife. There may be wild foxes around Holyrood Park / Arthur's Seat, but to Princes Street from there, it would still have to go 500 yards through the centre of Edinburgh (or along the rail lines)...<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUV83VIAsnI/AAAAAAAABAQ/PQSkw9QDW1k/s1600-h/fox+circle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 125px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUV83VIAsnI/AAAAAAAABAQ/PQSkw9QDW1k/s400/fox+circle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279763428167168626" border="0" /></a>I must do some research on whether foxes are a common sight in the gardens, excuse me a moment…</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Okay, I’m back. I couldn’t find anything about foxes in the Princes Street Gardens anywhere on the internet. Has Google let me down? Or am I the first to mention it? If so, is it less than noteworthy, or inconceivable? Will I be spotting Yowies next?</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Anyway. This is just to prove that life can contain its excitement while writing <i>a considerable amount</i>*… </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>Week Fifty – The Stats</b></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>Weekly Wordcount: </b>30,863 words<b> </b>(compared to 12,085 words last week)<br /><b>Average: </b>4,409<b> </b>words per day (compared to normal target of 3,001 words/day; ambitious target of 5,000 words/day)<br /><b>Most productive day:</b> Wednesday 10 December, 6,376 words<br /><b>Least productive day: </b>Saturday 13 December, 2,796 words<br /><b>Year-to-date: </b>786,778 words</p><p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUV7V_-F6bI/AAAAAAAAA_4/PLV4h3bcwmQ/s1600-h/Week+50+Daily.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 234px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUV7V_-F6bI/AAAAAAAAA_4/PLV4h3bcwmQ/s400/Week+50+Daily.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279761756041111986" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUV7WpoohUI/AAAAAAAABAA/kDmUiIjW9BM/s1600-h/Week+50+Pie.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 258px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUV7WpoohUI/AAAAAAAABAA/kDmUiIjW9BM/s400/Week+50+Pie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279761767225394498" border="0" /></a><br /><b>QFAMW</b> <b>Records Achieved:</b></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>Highest single day wordcount:</b> actually reached twice, first on Monday 8 Dec with 5,335 words, then smashed on Wednesday with 6,376 words<br /><b>Highest weekly wordcount </b>(previously held by Week 3: 22,409 words)<b><br />Highest Least Productive Day </b>(if that makes sense)</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">As I mentioned <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/12/status-report-week-forty-nine.html">last Sunday</a><span style="font-weight: bold;">,</span> when I set target of the 5,000 words a day, it was with the knowledge that everything was in my favour in Week 50. No work, defined project(s), looming deadline. Add regular doses of caffeine and not-so-nice weather to reduce the temptation to venture outside, and <i>voila</i>, a truckload of words.</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">This graph show nicely how much not working a day job affects productivity:</p><p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUV7W9zsfQI/AAAAAAAABAI/KZ08kwGp53g/s1600-h/Week+50+comparison.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 248px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUV7W9zsfQI/AAAAAAAABAI/KZ08kwGp53g/s400/Week+50+comparison.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279761772640500994" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">Wordcount is one thing. But I’m also pleased with what I’ve managed to produce so far.</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">A new 12,000 word (and growing) short story.</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">A new 4,000 word short story (almost finished).</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">Expanding an existing short story from 3,000 words to 6,000 words (in progress).</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">This next week is all about tying up loose ends, backing up documents in multiple places, and getting ready to go cold turkey on the (creative) writing front for four months. </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">But let’s not get too ahead of ourselves…</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>2008 Writing Days Remaining:</b> 6<br /><b>Required daily wordcount to crack 800,000 words:</b> 2,222 words per day<br /><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">---</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="font-style: italic;">* </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Other excitements this week: </span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Seeing a floppy disc on the footpath and getting that reminisce-y feeling; </span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Playing Risk (did you know that in mission risk these days you have to achieve four missions of increasing difficulty?); </span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A guy was supposed to come to collect my printer today but his sat nav was broken, I gave him directions, but he panicked on the phone and said he would drive back to Livingstone and get his wife’s sat nav… still no sign of him.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"> </p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-11958970946918094142008-12-10T17:20:00.021+00:002008-12-12T08:34:34.146+00:00Best Books of 2008 (sort of)<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It seems everyone is unleashing their best of 2008 lists at the moment. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAEwOl0uTI/AAAAAAAAA9c/_CZNPIVoGr4/s1600-h/case+of+exploding+mangoes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 96px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAEwOl0uTI/AAAAAAAAA9c/_CZNPIVoGr4/s200/case+of+exploding+mangoes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278223989875194162" border="0" /></a>Unfortunately I’ve only read (slash listened to) three books that came out, in one form or another, in 2008 (<i><span style="font-style: italic;">The </span>Gum Thief </i>by Douglas Coupland, <i>A Case of </i><i>Exploding Mangoes </i>by Mohammad Hanif (audiobook), <i>Snuff </i>by Chuck Palahniuk), and none of them are close to being in the top ten books I’ve read this year.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Which exposes the big lie of most of these year-end lists: that the best books/music/films people have read/listened to/seen that year were all there in the new releases section. The motivation is clear: these lists help move units and solve the ‘what do I get my step-brother for Christmas?’ dilemma. But how many truly great books come out in a given year? And how many of these books were on <span style="font-style: italic;">best of</span> lists in their given year? </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">So, with that pointless proviso out of the way, here’s the list of the best books I’ve read this year:</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">[</span>(A) <span style="font-style: italic;">denotes audiobook</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">]</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><i>The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie </i>by Muriel Spark</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAFVn47AZI/AAAAAAAAA9k/Ct9DMrUi_wI/s1600-h/prime+of+miss+jean+brodie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAFVn47AZI/AAAAAAAAA9k/Ct9DMrUi_wI/s200/prime+of+miss+jean+brodie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278224632321343890" border="0" /></a>I blogged about it <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/07/prime-of-miss-jean-brodie-vs-wasp.html"><span style="">here</span></a> soon after finishing the book and my opinion has not changed. Neither has my opinion of the book I compared <span style="font-style: italic;">Brodie </span> to: <i><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>The Wasp Factory </i>by Iain Banks (A) (good but not top ten material). <i>The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie </i>experience encouraged me to read some more Spark (I’d read two of her novels previous to <span style="font-style: italic;">Brodie</span>), but <i>The Driver’s Seat </i>was an exercise in frustration and <i>The Comforters </i>went soft after the first few chapters. Still, <i>Brodie </i>will always be a book I remember fondly, especially due to its close ties with Edinburgh.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><i>Breakfast of Champions </i>and <i>Cat’s Cradle </i>by Kurt Vonnegut<i> </i></b> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAFlRE1SwI/AAAAAAAAA9s/57rZKSzRIMw/s1600-h/breakfast+of+champions.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 98px; height: 149px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAFlRE1SwI/AAAAAAAAA9s/57rZKSzRIMw/s200/breakfast+of+champions.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278224901075192578" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAFl7kFJOI/AAAAAAAAA90/0K6g_0WFGDo/s1600-h/cat%27s+cradle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 93px; height: 151px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAFl7kFJOI/AAAAAAAAA90/0K6g_0WFGDo/s200/cat%27s+cradle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278224912480543970" border="0" /></a><i>Breakfast of Champions </i>was the first Vonnegut book I read in 2008 (perhaps my fourth or fifth overall) and like <i>The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie</i>, it encouraged me to read more of this author. I think, upon reflection, <i>Cat’s Cradle </i>was my the favourite of the 2008 batch (others in order of appreciation: <i>Galapagos</i>, <i>Hocus Pocus</i>, <i>God</i><i> Bless You Mr Rosewater</i>). I’ve mentioned it here <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/search/label/kurt%20vonnegut">a couple of times</a> this year, but it’s KV’s voice that gets me, and it's there in all these books. <i>Breakfast </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and </span><i>Cat's</i><i> Cradle </i><span style="font-style: normal;">are just that bit more memorable in terms of plot and inventiveness.</span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><b>Who Will Run The Frog Hospital </b></i><b>by Lorrie </b><b>Moore</b><i><br /></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAGVd_UaII/AAAAAAAAA98/CKBRpUyJeY4/s1600-h/frog+hospital.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 111px; height: 167px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAGVd_UaII/AAAAAAAAA98/CKBRpUyJeY4/s200/frog+hospital.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278225729175447682" border="0" /></a>Another short novel (so far, only <i>Breakfast of Champions </i>was over 200pgs, and that included illustrations), but the behemoths are coming. Not that <i>Who Will Run The Frog Hospital </i>felt light in any respect. Tight without being stingy. Witty without being cynical. Elegiac without being morose. Moore walks many a sharp edge and the result is a book I will read again.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><i>The New York Trilogy </i>by Paul Auster<i> </i></b> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAGmmUuQDI/AAAAAAAAA-E/H-S5fVA9FrE/s1600-h/ny+trilogy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAGmmUuQDI/AAAAAAAAA-E/H-S5fVA9FrE/s200/ny+trilogy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278226023470481458" border="0" /></a>I had read ‘City of Glass’, the first novella in the trilogy, before this year, but (inexplicably) never got around to reading the next installments. So when I got ahold of the book in 2008, I read ‘Ghosts’ and ‘The Locked Room’ and then returned to ‘City of Glass’ which leads off the collection. Auster is a seriously smart man, and sometimes the strings of his smartness show, but I can always forgive the slips for what he says about the acts of writing, reading and living. I also read <i>The Brooklyn Follies </i>(A) this year, and liked it until the end, at which point its significance sort of dissolved, rather than crystallised. <i><br /></i><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><i>Disgrace </i>by J.M. Coeztee</b><i><span style=""> </span></i><span style="">(A) </span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAGxVk3fvI/AAAAAAAAA-M/2YEnPElSzic/s1600-h/JMCoetzee_Disgrace.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 127px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAGxVk3fvI/AAAAAAAAA-M/2YEnPElSzic/s200/JMCoetzee_Disgrace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278226207953354482" border="0" /></a>I’d studied Coeztee at university and found him too stark, too academic, but <i>Disgrace </i>was a revelation. Perhaps it was the short time I spent in South Africa last year, or all the mongrel dogs I saw as I listened to the audiobook on the walk to work, but this was a book I connected with. I love the way it insistently tackles the questions at its heart, but never truly resolves them, and never devolves into polemics. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><b>Wind Up Bird Chronicle </b></i><b>by Haruki Murakami</b><i> </i>(A)</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAG5Oe7NHI/AAAAAAAAA-U/_UoyI4UKEw4/s1600-h/wind+up.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 152px; height: 152px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAG5Oe7NHI/AAAAAAAAA-U/_UoyI4UKEw4/s200/wind+up.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278226343488337010" border="0" /></a>The first longer novel on the list (the audiobook was 21 CDs). This will be another novel forever linked to my time in Edinburgh (I blogged about my listening experience <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/02/audiobook-review-test-case-wind-up-bird.html"><span style="">here</span></a>). Complex and riddled with intractable questions, but frequently funny, always inventive, and, most important, interesting. I went on to listen to <i>A Wild Sheep’s Chase </i>(A) a few months later, which now reads like a dress rehearsal (in terms of themes, character, narration, you name it) for <span style="font-style: italic;">Wind Up Bird</span>.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><b>The Corrections </b></i><b>by Jonathan Franzen </b>(A)</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAG_UOFGjI/AAAAAAAAA-c/Gg7VwP5rN00/s1600-h/corrections.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 112px; height: 170px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAG_UOFGjI/AAAAAAAAA-c/Gg7VwP5rN00/s200/corrections.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278226448107510322" border="0" /></a>Another fatty which I listened to while <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/06/inventory-of-cuts-and-abrasions.html">filing</a><i> </i>in my third best (read: worst) temp job in Edinburgh. It took me a while to get over Franzen’s showy, almost smarmy style, and longer still to warm to it and his characters, but I got there in the end. Not quite the era defining doorstop it hopes to be, but despite all the backhanded compliments, this book refuses to be left off this list.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><i>Then We Came To The End </i>by Joshua Ferris </b> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHVG3w2nI/AAAAAAAAA-k/M551SuOWXTc/s1600-h/Then_We_Came_to_the_End.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 121px; height: 185px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHVG3w2nI/AAAAAAAAA-k/M551SuOWXTc/s200/Then_We_Came_to_the_End.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278226822481369714" border="0" /></a>I remember over at <a href="http://www.themillionsblog.com/2008/10/ask-book-question-68-building-21st.html"><span style="">the Millions</span></a> earlier this year when a teacher asked if this book would be suitable to teach in his high school English class and someone said no. Not because the book is bad, or difficult, but simply because you really need to have worked in an office (perhaps any sort of full time work) to get the most out of this book. Some of the plot towards the end was a bit “first book” (I hate myself for using that term and those quotation marks, but whatever), but the third person plural narration is genius, and more importantly, executed so that doesn't stand out like a genius idea. Did I mention it was funny? Probably the funniest book I read this year.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><i>Revolutionary Road </i>by Richard Yates</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHcI0uZaI/AAAAAAAAA-s/cS93z5kbAUg/s1600-h/ryatesvintage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 183px; height: 183px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHcI0uZaI/AAAAAAAAA-s/cS93z5kbAUg/s200/ryatesvintage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278226943264581026" border="0" /></a>Okay, so I’ve only just started reading this book, but sometimes you can just tell. Like, if you think about slowing down so you can savour each page, that’s a good indication. If you think about actually buying a copy (mine’s from the library) so it can be the book you take around the Americas with you, that’s another sign. Something tells me I don’t have to worry about the ending messing anything up (see <i>Brooklyn Follies</i>). Perhaps it’s Kurt Vonnegut calling it “The Great Gatsby of my time” on the front cover.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAIP8u6-CI/AAAAAAAAA_c/_izwjvHGQzQ/s1600-h/phil+persuasion+nation.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 106px; height: 167px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAIP8u6-CI/AAAAAAAAA_c/_izwjvHGQzQ/s200/phil+persuasion+nation.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278227833372211234" border="0" /></a>So that’s ten. There’s a second tier of books which I would recommend people read, but for some reason they just didn’t squeeze into the top ten. For example, I really enjoyed George Saunders’ <i>The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil / In Persuasion Nation </i>(which I read in the single UK edition ----> ) and his earlier short fiction collection <i>Pastoralia</i>, but they kind of cancelled each other out.<i> </i><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Then there was <i>Never Let Me Go </i>by Kazuo Ishiguro (A), which I had in my top ten for a while until I remembered Joshua Ferris. It seemed to have everything—strong, believable narrative voice, interesting premise explored with restraint—but it fell off at the end (again).<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Sometimes, books suffered by comparison to the one I had just finished or was reading concurrently (see <i>Wasp Factory</i>). Sadly for Lloyd Jones, I read <i>Mr Pip </i>after <i>Then We Came To The End</i>. Whereas I shared the office experience of the latter, I didn’t share the love of <i>Great Expectations </i>with the former.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Then there were books that were good, but paled in comparison to their author’s best work (see <i>The Names </i>by Don DeLillo, <i>The Crying of Lot 49 </i>by Thomas Pynchon).</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">O<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHvCTRoxI/AAAAAAAAA_M/fL2Ip3eUPGw/s1600-h/jekyll+and+hyde2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 89px; height: 136px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHvCTRoxI/AAAAAAAAA_M/fL2Ip3eUPGw/s200/jekyll+and+hyde2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278227267931185938" border="0" /></a>kay, well, for completeness, here’s a list of the remaining books I haven't yet mentioned that I read this year (I’m sure I’ve forgotten some… I need to write these things down somewhere):</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Jekyll and Hyde </i><span style="font-style: normal;">by Robert Louis Stevenson</span><br /><i>Money</i> by Martin Amis (A)<br /><i>Skinny Dip </i>by Carl Hiassen (A)<i><br />The Blind Assassin </i>by Margaret Atwood (A)<i><br />Brave New World </i>by Aldous Huxley (A)<br /><i>Metamorphosis </i><span style="font-style: normal;">by Franz Kafka<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAIQHsuddI/AAAAAAAAA_s/SNxTMGpHtnk/s1600-h/word+made+flesh+jack+o%27connell.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 165px; height: 165px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAIQHsuddI/AAAAAAAAA_s/SNxTMGpHtnk/s200/word+made+flesh+jack+o%27connell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278227836315792850" border="0" /></a><i>World Made Flesh </i><span style="font-style: normal;">by Jack O'Connell</span><br /><i>Winter's Bone </i>by Daniel Woodrell<br /><i>Offshore </i><span style="font-style: normal;">b</span>y Penelope Fitzgerald<br /><i>Casino Royale </i>and <i>Moonraker </i>by Ian Fleming</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">This list excludes poetry (I’ll post about the Scottish Poetry Library, again, next week), and literary journals. If I did not appear in <i>The Best NZ Fiction Volume 5</i> I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHulA8xSI/AAAAAAAAA-0/biQE_V5xNfI/s1600-h/Best+NZ+Fiction+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 95px; height: 145px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHulA8xSI/AAAAAAAAA-0/biQE_V5xNfI/s200/Best+NZ+Fiction+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278227260069692706" border="0" /></a> would have put that in my top ten by virtue of it being The Best Reading Experience of The Year.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Compiling this list has really bought home how much I’m looking forward to returning to NZ and diving head deep into some local literature. A couple of years ago I was lukewarm on NZ fiction, and stone cold on NZ poetry / all poetry. Things change, eh? Call it what you will (maturity, homesickness, brainwashing), but next year’s list will look quite different.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>Other observations:</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Okay, so there are only two female authors in my top ten, but this is a vast improvement on a couple of years ago. Making boys read Jane Austen before they’re ready probably does more harm than good. Again, it’s a maturity thing. You can keep your Couplands and Palahniuks, give me more Lorrie Moore!</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Three of the top ten were consumed as audiobooks. <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/01/audiobooks-vs-traditional-books.html">As I’ve said before</a>, reading and listening to books are different experiences but in the end, you should still be able to say you’ve ‘read’ <i>The Corrections </i>or whatever. If it weren’t for audiobooks, I would have read a third less books this year than I did. It’s something I’ll continue to do as long as I have my hearing.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Until recently I was always guarded about I'm reading certain books. Not that they were embarrassing in guilty pleasure kinda way, but that, as someone who claims to be an aspiring writer, I had only j<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHvSuHqCI/AAAAAAAAA_U/tJ4JRqYMsQo/s1600-h/mrpip.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 175px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHvSuHqCI/AAAAAAAAA_U/tJ4JRqYMsQo/s200/mrpip.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278227272338745378" border="0" /></a>ust read Kafka's <i>Metamorphosis</i> or <span style="font-style: normal;">the biggest book to come out of NZ in the last decade (see </span><i>Mr Pip</i><span style="font-style: normal;">). But I'm learning, slowly, not to take myself so seriously. There are more books out there that you </span><i><span style="">absolutely must</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"> read than you could physically read (and/or listen to) in a lifetime, so you gotta get selective. Sure, you'll make a bad decision here and there, but the fact no two bookish people have read the same books is what makes that booky conversation tick.</span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Finally, given</span> this site is all about me trying to write a lot of words, it’s probably worth reflecting how the above reading list impacted, if at all, on what I wrote in 2008.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Well. There’s a short <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHu7ril3I/AAAAAAAAA_E/TEj4PW7f4Y8/s1600-h/Galapagos+cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 182px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAHu7ril3I/AAAAAAAAA_E/TEj4PW7f4Y8/s200/Galapagos+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278227266153912178" border="0" /></a>story which will appear in my short fiction collection <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/11/in-which-writer-takes-significant-step.html"><span style="">to be published by Random House in 2010</span></a> which bares many similarities to <i>Galapagos</i>. But I hadn’t actually read that book when I wrote the story, and it was more of a general Kurt Vonnegut vibe I was channelling. <i><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></i>I then read <i><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>Galapagos </i>as a sort of compare and contrast (I’m satisfied they’re different animals). And re-reading my story, I think it sound more like George Saunders than KV, so…</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The story I’m working on now may or may not sound a bit like <i>Who Will Run The Frog Hospital</i>. I can’t tell, I’m too close to it at the moment.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Um. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">When I was doing my hundred word stories (<a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/12/thirty-ways-of-looking-at-blank-page.html"><span style="">November experiment</span></a>) I often found myself starting in the third person plural, so maybe that was Joshua Ferris coming through?</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">But that's all I can really think of.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">When I was younger I found it difficult to writ<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAIPz-Z8VI/AAAAAAAAA_k/tH-Zqx5biE8/s1600-h/shampoo+planet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 189px; height: 189px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SUAIPz-Z8VI/AAAAAAAAA_k/tH-Zqx5biE8/s200/shampoo+planet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278227831021236562" border="0" /></a>e and read at the same time. Well, not simultaneously, that would be extremely difficult—but to be halfway through a book and in the midst of writing my own story. I remember once trying to write a workshop exercise while reading <i>Huckleberry Finn</i> and producing this kind of Southern-inflected voice. Another time, I gave Marisa a copy of <i>Shampoo Planet </i>by Douglas Coupland and she said, “It sounds like the stuff you write” (or something like that). </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Now, after years of practise, it’s easier to sit down and write in the voice I intend, rather than unintentionally mimicking someone else. I think. Part of that is actually reading <i>more </i>than I did, say, six years ago. Being used to different voices in my head than my own.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">That’s why I’m glad I’ve gone through and done this summary. Because a) there’s no way I’d be able to remember all of this in a couple of years, b) it acknowledges the important though difficult-to-place role reading has played in the Year of Eight Hundred Thousand Words, c) this summary itself constitutes 0.25% of my yearly wordcount.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">As Tesco's are constantly reminding me: <i>Every little helps</i>.</p> <p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-22971445804973354522008-12-07T19:50:00.003+00:002008-12-07T19:52:35.829+00:00Status Report: Week Forty-Nine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STwpJm5N8oI/AAAAAAAAA8s/SMsjvc3mUrw/s1600-h/Week+49+Cumulative.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 245px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STwpJm5N8oI/AAAAAAAAA8s/SMsjvc3mUrw/s400/Week+49+Cumulative.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277138108407476866" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STwpKISJ6iI/AAAAAAAAA88/EQtr_Ew-fPA/s1600-h/Week+49+Pie.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STwpKISJ6iI/AAAAAAAAA88/EQtr_Ew-fPA/s400/Week+49+Pie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277138117370440226" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STwpJxzNNYI/AAAAAAAAA80/8S7nJzM1M38/s1600-h/Week+49+Daily.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 236px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STwpJxzNNYI/AAAAAAAAA80/8S7nJzM1M38/s400/Week+49+Daily.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277138111335052674" border="0" /></a><b>Weeks Forty-Nine – The Stats</b></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>Weekly Wordcount: </b>12,085 words (compared to 16,163 words last week)<br /><b>Average: </b>1,726 words per day (compared to target of 3,001 words/day)<br /><b>Most productive day:</b> Sunday 7 December, 3,117 words<br /><b>Least productive day: </b>Friday 5 December, 703 words<br /><b>Year-to-date: </b>755,915 words<br /><br />Week forty-nine was a paltry one, there’s no escaping the fact. But whatever. I still have a long list of things to sort out before we fly out on the 21st, BUT I don’t have that pesky day job any more. Suddenly, time is less of a problem. It’s just a matter of finding the motivation, inspiration, and perseverance to write 2.5 short stories and sundry summary materials I deem appropriate.</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>Additional Number Crunching</b></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>2008 Writing Days Remaining:</b> 13<br /><b>Required Daily Wordcount to Crack 800,000 Words:</b> 3,391 words per day<br /><b>Target for the Next 13 Days:</b> 5,000 words per day (why the heck not?)</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">So what if I haven’t written over 5,000 words in a day since the first of March? I have all the ingredients: defined project(s); defined goal; deadline; time... I feel I should be knocking wood as I type this, but I can’t risk a knuckle injury at this late stage!</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"> </p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-7259445836834466892008-12-04T16:40:00.004+00:002008-12-04T21:34:38.201+00:00The drum roll has begun.<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>I have one day of paid employment left. It will probably contain far less than a normal day's work as my replacement is pretty well trained up, and an early knock off is likely as people need time to "dress to impress" (that's the dress code according to the invite) for our Christmas Party in the evening.<br /><br />The earliest I will be in paid employment again is April 2009. I wouldn't like to go much longer than that (especially with the constant devaluing of the GBP in the places we want to spend it!), but who knows how long it takes to find a job during such times as these?<br /><br />Whatever it is, I sure hope it's permanent. If it wasn't for my nights spent writing, my days spent reconciling <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/07/one-penny-blues.html">one penny transactions</a> would have driven me balmy. Balmier, perhaps.<br /><br />What am I looking forward to most about not working? No more <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/06/inventory-of-cuts-and-abrasions.html">papercuts</a>? The chance to write full-time for two weeks? The months of travelling that will follow? No, right now is just the thought of being able to sleep in during these sub-zero mornings the arctic is inflicting on us. And when I do need to venture outside, it will be in comfortable shoes. Ah. Don't let anyone tell you I'm a man of complicated needs.<br /><br />Or complicated tastes...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SThKUym4xzI/AAAAAAAAA8k/0Bj_X5JWiGI/s1600-h/P1110112.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SThKUym4xzI/AAAAAAAAA8k/0Bj_X5JWiGI/s400/P1110112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276048684507252530" border="0" /></a>[my favourite sign from Tallinn]<br /></div><br /><br /></div>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-13893804108877710812008-12-01T17:52:00.000+00:002008-12-01T17:52:00.651+00:00November Experiment – A Post-Mortem<p><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PczW76rpTbM&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PczW76rpTbM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></p><p style="text-align: center;">[<span style="font-style: italic;">to go along with number 21.</span>]<br /></p><p>It’s strange to sit down at my computer today and not need to get a hundred word story out of the way. Throughout November the task was a millstone. I couldn’t start working on a longer story until I’d done my hundred word one, and despite the length, they weren’t that quick to write. First there was coming up with an idea: either a plot (such as the ribcage on the beach in <strong>13</strong>), an image (e.g. “full flame” in <strong>30</strong>), or an arbitrary rule (e.g. using every letter of the alphabet except “A” in <strong>20</strong>). Then there was writing a story. Then there was making it work in one hundred words. Most of the time this meant cutting. A couple of times this meant looking for another sentence.<br /><br />So I should be relieved to not have to write another tiny story today, right? Except I feel I’ve got another story in me. I’ve overheard snippets of dialogue that could be the beginnings of a hundred word story. Images have popped into my head that could be chiselled away to reveal their clovis point. The palindromatic and 7th person singular stories I never got round to writing are still waiting in the green room, reading magazines with the covers ripped off, hoping their name is called next.<br /><br />The November Experiment is, at least in this respect, like a micro version of my yearlong experiment. Creative writing is habitual. Ideas come when you have somewhere to put them. Words come when you have something to sit down for. The way to get over whatever hump you’re at, so it appears to me, is to write regularly. Whatever it takes to sit you down -- a blog, a competition deadline, a book contract – you gotta milk that for as many hours as you can.<br /><br />I think it also speaks back to <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/11/how-long-do-i-have-to-write-until-i-get.html">my post</a> a fortnight ago on Malcolm Gladwell’s <em>Outliers</em> and the fact a writer needs to put in around 10,000 practice before their genius will show. I don’t think my hundred word stories became demonstrably better as the month went on, despite knowing more about what the form can do (and what it can’t). But I feel like I could, if my life depended on it, write a better hundred word story today than I could on 1 November. Or perhaps just write one quicker. I’d be able to recognise the false starts and the blind alleys, having come across similar before. I’d be able to choose the best suited of available ideas.<br /><br />The same goes with short stories (over 100 words): the more stories I write, the more I can see the roadmap before I begin and can choose a more direct route. The story itself may not be the best I’ve ever written as I write it, revise it, or even after I’m finished and satisfied with it, but that may not be the fault of how much practice I’ve put in. That may be a failure of genius.<br /></p><p><br />---<br />FOOTNOTE: According to wikipedia, a hundred word story is called a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drabble">drabble</a>. I just found this out. </p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-1233628741395924212008-12-01T17:42:00.003+00:002008-12-02T07:40:57.525+00:00Thirty Ways of Looking at a Blank Page<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>November Experiment – Hundred Word Stories<br /></i></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">[<a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/10/thirty-ways-of-looking-at-blank-page.html">background</a>]<i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>1. IVF </b></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I can't eat this,” she said, and removed the half-chewed segment from her mouth. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">What?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">It has seeds.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">So? Spit them out. So we bought seeded by mistake, it's nature's way, y'know?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">They didn't have seeds on Saturday.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I don't remember.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">They didn't.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">So?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">So the seeds, they've grown in these mandarins since we bought them.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I guess. As they ripen...”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">She pushed the segments and peel further away from her.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">What?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I can't stand the thought of the things in my fruit bowl... struggling. Not rotting but fighting for life. To make life. It seems so...”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Pathetic?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Heroic.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>2. Half-life</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I like bullet points, meetings with agendas, stationary cupboards, walking down the hall to collect something from the colour printer, holding it against my cheek, warm and smooth. I’m not built for construction or sales or science or medicine or piloting any sort of vehicle: I’m built for office work. I like semi-colons and ampersands and control-shift-8: the reveal key. If only there was one for life outside. Too much to absorb, filter, guesstimate. Give me a box of paperclips and a slow Thursday afternoon. Give me a farewell morning tea with sausage rolls and talk about the weather. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>3. Medium</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The television waited till everyone was in bed before it snuck out the kitchen window. It was rooting through a dumpster when the rain began. Under a cardboard box that may have once held another TV — the television couldn’t read — it hummed the theme from </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Bonanza</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">. The same faint grey image continued to flicker on its screen: a young boy halfway up a hill of bison skulls. (The family had briefly switched over to a history of the Midwest while </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>X-Factor</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> went to a commercial.) The cardboard began to sag. The rain beat harder. The television resolved to stay.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><strong><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">4. St. Mary’s</span></strong></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I am standing in front of a huge stone cathedral. There are no paths. Grass is growing halfway up the door. It’s as if this building was moved here but never re-opened. Beneath the highest spire I find a man in a brown suit pressing a palm to the stone exterior. His head is turned towards me, one cheek hovering just off the pressing hand. His eyes are closed. It looks as if he is humming, but I can hear nothing. He opens his eyes, stares straight at me. His lips are moving, but I can hear nothing.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>5. Soft</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">There were too many women talking at once for Chobe to understand a word of it. He did his best to look like he was listening, not wanting to appear rude. To keep a focussed expression on his face, he listed his favourite animals:</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">* Wombat<br />* Beaver<br />* Bison<br />* Kodiak Bear<br />* Highland Cow</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">He wondered why they were all so furry? And where were the animals from his own country?</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Someone said his name, or so it sounded. He looked from face to face, but there were too many women talking at once for Chobe to understand a word of it.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>6. The Six People You Meet Called Steven</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The kid who taught you the fingers.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The learner driver who knocked you off your bike. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The video store clerk who always recommends </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Jules et Jim</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> even though you always tell him you’ve seen it (and didn’t rate it).</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The guy drinking at an airport bar who ends up asking you for a kidney.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The friend of your partner’s brother who does that thing with his eyelids, y’know?</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The doctor who asks you to use his first name, but you persist in calling him Doogie, even though he’s too young to get it.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><strong><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">7. Leitmotiv</span></strong></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">When I was a student, there were only a limited number of flats close to the university which landlords would rent to undergraduates. Somehow, I always missed out. Forced to live further out in the suburbs, the rent was cheaper but I still could not afford to catch the bus. Everyday I would walk passed houses that had passed me over, and houses that were deemed too good for my kind. But what really annoyed me were the vacant lots.<br />The effrontery.<br />After graduation, after marriage, the years of fidelity and filing, my memory is crowded with vacant lots.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><strong><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">8.</span></strong><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>Keynesian Slips</b></span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Any prolongation of the work will exacerbate an already alarming rate of deterioration.<br /></i></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The policy analyst read over this sentence a second time. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">He control+C and control+V’d the sentence into an email and wrote: </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>If I ever start talking like this you have my permission to kill me</i></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">, pressed send and moved on with his life.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">At the trial, the prosecution argued that the email did not represent a legal contract as it involved an illegal act.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The defense couldn’t think of any witnesses to call. He was too preoccupied with avoiding any prolixity in his spoken communications.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>9. The Truth About Honesty</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The morning after you lost your virginity, I was there. I wanted to ask how it went, but didn’t. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">You bared your soul to me once, but I drank so much the black spots ate the whole conversation. You would never tell me what you said, just that you said </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>it</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">We drifted apart.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I feel I should apologise, but it may seem like I expect some apology in return. Like, for not replying to my emails. For having a secret that doubled with importance the second time you bottled it up. Perhaps I do.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Sorry.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>10. Inventory</b></span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">My knuckles have been replaced with grapefruit. My fist feels crowded. I expected this would come, one day. But my feet? The hinge between my foot and toes has rusted, the bolt buried in the middle aches to be released.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Grapefruit and rusted bolts.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">My shoulders rattle like those hand-cranked cement mixers. My shoulders weigh so much. They never used to weigh at all, did they?</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Perhaps this is the body’s way of taking an inventory. This is what you never knew you had. This is what we won’t let you forget again.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Grapefruit, rusted bolts and cement mixers.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>11. Nodes</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">John looked up from his sandwich. “My kid, you know what he did? He went one better. He has this friend who moved away. Went to live with his mother in Auckland. But they kept in touch, you know, texting. Anyway, one day, this friend, his cellphone dies. His mother, she’s still finding her feet up there and can’t afford to buy him a new phone that minute. So he can’t text my kid. You know what he does, my kid? He writes a message on his phone, puts it in an envelope and posts it to bloody Auckland!”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>12. Hear No Evil</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">This woman comes on the train with one of these modern prams with the oversized, off-road wheels. A real effort to find somewhere to park the thing, but she manages. Then I see the kid in this pram. It’s gotta be five years old. “You want to sit next to mummy?” she asks the kid, and hoists it out the pram. It’s wearing a fake fur coat, jeans and white boots with wee heels, listening to an iPod. The mother places her on the seat next to her and the kid just sits there, holding its ears. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>13. Scandal</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">A ribcage is found washed up on the beach. A child, or perhaps a woman — it’s hard to tell. After a head-count, the police are called. The townsfolk watch them bag the ribcage — from a distance their care and precision looks like squeamishness. It is sent for testing. Days pass. The ribcage falls from conversation, though the antique dealer exhibits an unnatural interest. It’s not like C.S.I., he is told. These things take time. Eventually, he reads of the results in the local paper. Chimpanzee? People come to his store, eager to gauge his reaction. No one buys anything. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>14. Three Friends</b></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">What are ten year olds like these days?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Oh, you know.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">No, not really.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Me neither.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Well…”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">When I was ten I thought sex was like pumping petrol — you put the nozzle in and leave it there till it’s done.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">When I was ten my only concern was making a pottle of yoghurt last an episode of </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>HeMan</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">When I was ten I got sick of waiting for my parents to buy me a Ken to go with my Barbie, so I cut Barbie’s hair off and drew on a moustache.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">And then?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Ken-Barbie was just as lonely.”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>15. Lecture Theatre</b></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I had this psychology lecturer who was always drinking from a Pump bottle. One day I was late and the only available seat was on the end of the front row, right by where she kept her water. I didn’t think I was that late, but the bottle already looked empty. I was surprised, then, when I saw her walk over and attempt to have a drink. I figured she’d forgotten it was empty and pretended to drink to avoid looking foolish, but then, a few minutes later, she returned and had another drink from the empty bottle.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>16. Hallway Sentence</b></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Neil had come to the conclusion that whenever anyone asked </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>How are you going?</i></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> they didn’t really care — it was just a turn of phrase like </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>gidday</i></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> — and as such he ignored the question whenever it was posed and jumped right into his prepared conversation, which normally related to variance reports (with a hand shake for favourable variances and hands in pockets for unfavourable ones), though this one time, shortly after being promoted, he held up his hand like he wanted to high five me, but I just coughed and in the end he let the hand drop.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>17. First Order Of Business</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Ned suggested that, as an homage to Nirvana, they chose another Buddhist word. After trawling a website on Buddhist doctrines, Joel recommended they check Google for any existing bands with those names. </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Samsara</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">? Melboune hardcore band. </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Bodhi</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">? Exeter Jam Band. </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Kilesa</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">? Students from Carlow, Ireland. </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Moksha</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> was actually two bands, one in England, one in India. ‘What about Bad Karma?’ Neil, the band’s Warren Zevon fanatic, suggested, but another Melbourne group beat them to it. “The Dharma Bums?” ventured the Kerouac-enraptured Clayton. When </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255);"><u><a href="http://www.nationmaster.com/encyclopedia/Dharma-Bums-%28band%29"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">the page</span></a></u></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> loaded, Shawn suggested maybe they weren’t ready to form a band.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>18. </b></span></span><strong><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Switch</span></span></strong></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The problem bear turned out to be a Newfoundland named Waldo. </span></span><em><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The Missoulian</span></span></em><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> couldn’t resist running the headline: </span></span><em><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Where's Waldo?</span></span></em><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> along with a big photo of the rascal dog looking down the lens, his paw resting on the rim of a silvery rubbish bin. The photo later appeared with thousands of Lol Catz style captions around the internet. W.I.S.P.A. ran the photo as a full page ad in national papers with the caption: </span></span><em><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">If I wuz a bear I wld hav been shotted</span></span></em><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">. Waldo appeared boisterous but loveable on Letterman, while a man was being mauled back in Montana.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><strong><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">19. Hangovers</span></span></strong></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">On my second Friday I went for a drink with my workmates and I found myself swearing a lot. I changed the topic away from my last job but the swearing continued. Conscious of the impression I could be making, I opted for silence. I looked over at the bar, to a woman with a black handbag the size of a For Sale sign and just as thin. A workmate tapped me on the shoulder. The bald buy in the corner was staring at me, apparently. “Fuck him,” I said. “Have you seen the size of her fucking handbag?”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><strong><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">20. _BC of Life (a pangrammatic lipogram)</span></span></strong></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">In the spirit of George Perec, who wrote one complete novel without the letter 'e', this story does not use the first letter of the, um, list of letters in its common order. Without further fuss, the story goes like this: guy, girl, drive-in; necking, petting, cooling off; more necking, more petting, no cooling off; zygote, foetus, birth; teething, toddling, speech; primmers, juniors, high school; long locks, short locks, locks left on pillow slips; blue pills, red pills, purple pills; rest home, hospice, exquisite urn; silence/trumpets, void/cherubs on puffy clouds, nothingness/bliss.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><strong><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">21. If Six Was Nine</span></span></strong></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I can't believe you had the balls to meet his wife!”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I've had 'Ironic' by Alanis Morisette stuck in my head all day.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">You deserve to suffer.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I wonder if it will rain on our wedding day?” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Whose?” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Mine and Brian's.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">You're unbelievable.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Oh! O-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh, so you're unbelievable!” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Who sung that?” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Jesus Jones?.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">No, they did ‘Right Here, Right Now.’” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Second single?” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I’ll have to wiki it.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Props bet?” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">It’s not Jesus Jones.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Whoever it is, it beats Alanis.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Woe, you’ve just invited her back in.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Haven’t.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I can see you want to hum it.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">It’s…”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>22. In certain weather, all you can see on the footpath is chewing gum</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I decided economics was not for me today. Rudy Valentine was talking about sanctions, how they can have unintended consequences. His example: if you increase the sentence for rape from ten to twenty years, the penalty for rape is now closer to murder and may lead to rapists murdering their victims. “After all,” Rudy Valentine said, forcing his hands into his pockets, “it would eliminate the witness…” Bad example, sure, but it was the shallow laugh that we budding economists gave off that made my stomach slouch.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>23. Memoir</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The vice-principal’s rubbish bin. Too many pub bathrooms to list. Behind the recycling bins on Caledonian Place. In my mouth (swallowed). Every toilet in every house I’ve ever lived in. The path from the library to A Block before the debating final. The ferry back from Zanzibar. A truck somewhere in Northern Malawi. Over the side of a fishing boat off the Gold Coast. Outside a fish’n’chip shop in Taihape. The Kaimais. An ice cream container. A mixing bowl. An empty coffee mug. My hands. A plastic shopping bag. In the shower. Out the window of a moving car. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><strong><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">24. The Pohutokawa Wars, Pt I</span></strong></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">After the flood there were potatoes and kiwifruit and onions over everyone's lawns. It seemed a kind of surreal pickmeup until it was discovered they were rotten. Nature continued to taunt with possibilities. The top half of Mr Jenkins’ pohutokawa, snapped free by the floodwaters, flowered gaily in the now-streaming sun, wedged between Mr Kellum's woodshed and back fence. Kellum left a note in Mr. J’s letterbox: </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Extricate your g-d tree from my g-d property</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">. Miffed, he researched tree-related torts online. </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Extricate your head from your arse</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">, he replied. The reply: a volley of onions. </span> </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>25. Extra-curricular</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Where’s Ernesto?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Didn’t you hear?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">He wasn’t fired?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">No.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Another job?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Nope.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">He was too young to retire… So what?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">He finally sold a patent.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">No kidding. Which one exactly?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">You know how he was always walking into those </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Slippery When Wet</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"> signs?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Oh yeah.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">And how he always said one day he’d make those signs a thing of the past?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Sort of.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Well, he did.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Huh?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">He invented linoleum that changes colour when wet. Sold it for millions.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Ernesto, eh? Geez.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Yeah.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">So what you up to tonight?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Karaoke competition. You?”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">Might take another look at my screenplay.”</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>26. Degradable Bio</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">When I was ten I had a calendar on which I crossed off the days till Disneyland. If there was a switch to skip the intervening months I would have flicked it.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">When I was sixteen I had a journal in which I tallied my situps, though sometimes I just scribbled the whole page black. If there was a switch to stop existing I would have flicked it.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">When I was twenty five I had a blog where I posted graphs and made nonsense calculations. If there was a switch to slow time it would be long flicked.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><strong><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">27. Workie</span></strong></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">I pulled a workie today. I just couldn't face another day on the couch. I put on my black slacks and polo, walked down the road to the big Tesco and straightened shelves for four hours. After a cigarette and a Yorkie by the loading bay, I straightened shelves for two more hours until a guy with bluetooth earpiece asked me if I was able to work a double shift. I told him my kid was sick -- he looked disappointed -- but my wife was a doctor. He gave me a huge smile, and two jars of Dolmios.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>28. Cliffhanger</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;">…<span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">but he was only clinically dead. Paramedics managed to revive him after fifteen minutes and six broken ribs. The doctors were amazed he wasn't a vegetable, and warned Sadowitz, Mendez and the band that his brain function would be reduced. “Reduced from what?” we asked with straight faces which evolved to tense-but-smiling faces. Two weeks later Robbie returned to the studio to work on </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>Live And Let Dog</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">. Little did we know he would be dead in six short months. Skin cancer. From a mole he never got checked. A crummy way to go. So uncool it killed us.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>29. Solitude With Options</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">The comedian was a regular on celebrity quiz shows, well known for his garish shirts, buggy eyes and knack with accents. One day, he appeared with a ventriloquist’s dummy that looked just like him: same buggy eyes, same orange shirt. His normal voice was the dummy’s voice. Snippets of this particular show became popular on YouTube for the wrong reasons. The comedian refused to appear without the dummy. The shows acquiesced. The comedian hid behind the desk, refusing to show his face. The dummy remained a regular on celebrity quiz shows. The comedian was never seen again.</span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><b>30. Curtains</b></span></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.18cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">You could see his tragedy coming a mile off. He’d worked up this momentum and there was nothing that could stop him, except, you know, </span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;"><i>the big full stop</i></span><span style="font-family:Georgia,serif;">. Like how with some gas hobs you have to go though “full flame” to get to “off”. The last time I saw him, he was in full flame. It was probably the alcohol, poisoning from the inside, which made him sweat in the cool of the corridor. “I want to change,” he told me, stroking my lapel. All I could think was: A snowball’s chance in hell. A snowball’s chance.</span></p><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-25977687667259178052008-11-30T19:16:00.003+00:002008-11-30T19:23:12.840+00:00Status Report: Week Forty-Eight<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>Weeks Forty-Eight – The Stats</b></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>Weekly Wordcount: </b>16,163 words (compared to 15,561 words last week)<br /><b>Average: </b>2309 words per day (compared to target of 3,001 words/day)<br /><b>Most productive day:</b> Wednesday 26 November, 4,284 words<br /><b>Least productive day: </b>Friday 28 November, 650 words<br /><b>Year-to-date: </b>743,830 words (171,470 words behind target)</p><p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STLnHoBdr8I/AAAAAAAAA8c/2VMWwMTxMfo/s1600-h/Week+48+Pie.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STLnHoBdr8I/AAAAAAAAA8c/2VMWwMTxMfo/s400/Week+48+Pie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274532231792930754" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STLnHHvBTlI/AAAAAAAAA8U/eDD3xaQGXis/s1600-h/Week+48+Daily.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 392px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/STLnHHvBTlI/AAAAAAAAA8U/eDD3xaQGXis/s400/Week+48+Daily.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274532223125638738" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">There was a spike on Tuesday and Wednesday while Marisa was away for work. I was able to build my evenings around my writing, rather than write around other things. I’m looking forward to the fortnight between finishing work and leaving Edinburgh almost as much as the recommencement of our world tour. Almost. </p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">There are several things I’d like to achieve before 21 December:</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"> * Write my 800,000th word. (Not a million, but it’s something).</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"> * Finish first drafts of two new stories and the expansion of another, hopefully for inclusion in my short story collection. I’m not too worried about the level of polish at this stage, as two of the three stories have scenes set in places I haven’t been yet (Boston; Lima) but will have visited by the time I have to submit the final manuscript (June 09).</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"> * Some sort of Year of Eight Hundred Thousand Words summary blog entry or entries. Lots of graphs, pointless statistics, spelling mistakes: just like the rest of the year. And something about living in Edinburgh: the digested read.</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"> * Submit as many poems and short stories as I can for publication in print and online. I did a similar thing before leaving the Southern Hemisphere in May-June 2007… it seemed to work pretty well. I think my strike rate was 8 publications submitted to: 1 rejection, 6 acceptances, 1 no reply. Having a lot my writing under my belt, I’ll probably (hopefully) be submitting to more than 8 publications this time… we’ll see how my hit-rate goes.</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">This being the final day of November, and thus the final day of this month’s experiment (write a 100 word story every day), expect some sort of post-mortem tomorrow.</p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-38171886927066245712008-11-29T15:41:00.002+00:002008-11-29T15:46:09.708+00:00Help The Aged<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gPQGeJYaAes&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gPQGeJYaAes&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I went for an eye test today. Several reasons: it’s about 2 years since I last had my eyes tested and back then they said I was a borderline case, and it was best to apply a wait and see approach. Recently, I’ve been having trouble reading signs and clocks from a distance. And in the U.K., eye tests are free, and glasses are a lot cheaper than back in N.Z.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The technician who was taking photos of the back of my eyes sad something strange. Perhaps strange isn’t the right word. Rude, maybe. She was looking at my details on the system and said, “Wow, you’re younger than me. I was born in 1982. You look a lot older.”</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I didn’t say anything, just lowered my chin onto the next chinrest and proceeded to blink every time the jet of air was fired into my eye. (I struggle to put eyedrops in, so that was like torture).</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">But I was a little offended. I don’t want to look a lot older than twenty-five. I like to think that even though I find a new grey hair every fortnight, most people won’t be standing that close to notice. That aging is my little secret. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Maybe having an eye test on a Saturday morning after drinking the night before wasn’t the best idea. But I was still surprised the technician thought I was... <i>older</i>.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">[Perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised. Not after last year, when, on the train from Venice to Vienna, the elderly Czech lady who used to be an acrobat thought my brother (who is three years younger than me) was my son.]</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">On the other hand, I probably would have been just as put out if she had said, “You look much younger than twenty-five.” I’ve done a lot since I left school, and it only seems right that my appearance reflects this.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Perhaps twenty-five is that difficult age where you don’t want to be older and you don’t want to be younger, you just want things to stay how they are right now?</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Or perhaps it was twenty-four, back before the grey hairs and the ever-wrinkling eyes?</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Or twenty-three, before I looked like my brother’s old man?</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">At least my eyesight is still good. No glasses required. Who cares if I have to take a few more steps to see if the street sign says Morrison or Merchiston Street?</p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-173152004756006922008-11-25T19:29:00.006+00:002008-11-25T20:41:46.732+00:00All Tore Up Tonight<a href="http://www.bookcouncil.org.nz/writers/kassabova.html"></a><a href="http://www.bookcouncil.org.nz/writers/kassabova.html">Sort-of expat NZer</a> <a href="http://www.kapka-kassabova.com/">Kapka Kassabova</a> in the <a href="http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/the_way_we_live/article5188287.ece">Sunday Times</a> (via <a href="http://beattiesbookblog.blogspot.com/">Bookman Beattie</a>):<br /><blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Rivulets of urine crisscross the pavements as you slalom between puddles of fresh vomit, discarded takeaway cartons smeared with ketchup, and the occasional survivor swooning in an alcoholic daze in some corner, watering the nearest pot plant... On a Saturday morning, it’s normal to walk past the Calabrian restaurant and find its spotless window smashed. And the boutique next door, and the cafe next door to that. On a Sunday morning, it’s normal to find all the cars parked in my street with their side mirrors smashed. It’s normal to find the glass entrance to my building smashed, to have it fixed, and then smashed again. And so it goes in our pleasant neighbourhood. </span></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>That neighbourhood? Pricey Broughton in central Edinburgh's East End.<br /><br />When I lived on Queensferry Street in the West End, my experience was almost identical. It's no fun to find the entrance to your building covered in chip-shop & alcopop vomit on a Saturday morning. And to find it still there when you get back in the afternoon. Or, in the still of night (you really notice it once the buses stop) to be woken by the same swear word over and over, louder and louder, until you think the guy's head must explode, but then he remembers another swear word and starts again.<br /><br />In her piece, Kapka Kassabova goes on to claim she feels safer in Bulgaria than in Britain. I haven't been to Bulgaria, so I can't really comment, but I don't think it's really an issue of safety. I've never felt unsafe in Edinburgh. Just as you need to be doing something pretty wrong to end up being gunned down by a mutri, you normally have to make a succession of mistakes to end up on the wrong end of a drunken Brit's weekend lash-out.<br /><br />The results of alcohol are annoying, and unsavoury, but I'd stop short of scary.<br /><br />When I moved further out of the city (admittedly, Polwarth is still not that far) it bought home how localised the loutish behaviour is, and how precious a little piece and quiet. The unsightly remains of a night on the turps have, however, been replaced by footpaths covered in dog poo [photo omitted]. Nowhere's perfect, eh?<br /><br />Reading Kapka's moan (however well argued, it's hard to deny that's what it is), what I now want to know is why she choses a) to live in the UK and b) in Edinburgh? This isn't the sort of snide rhetorical question many of the commenters to her piece employed (<span style="font-style: italic;">Why don't you go back to Bulgaria, then?</span> etc), but genuine interest. I wouldn't be surprised if part of the reason why Edinburgh appeals to a multi-lingual, multi-national, multi-talented person is closely related to why Scots are so tolerant of drunken misbehaviour. After all, the unfettered celebrations of Hogmanay would be impossible somewhere less permissive, and that's exactly why it works, if only for one night of the year.<br /><br />Sometimes the things we hate are holding the things we love together.Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-57786445332266300712008-11-24T18:34:00.002+00:002008-11-24T19:54:34.016+00:00Status Report: Week Forty-Seven<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSsGKoH4tGI/AAAAAAAAA78/4ga1wzEtw1w/s1600-h/Week+47+Cumulative.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 245px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSsGKoH4tGI/AAAAAAAAA78/4ga1wzEtw1w/s400/Week+47+Cumulative.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272314568406250594" border="0" /></a><b>Weeks Forty-Seven – The Stats</b></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>Weekly Wordcount: </b>15,561 words<br /><b>Average: </b>2,223 words per day (compared to target of 3,001 words/day)<br /><b>Most productive day:</b> Sunday 23 November, 3,116 words<br /><b>Least productive day: </b>Tuesday 18 November, 1,717 words<br /><b>Year-to-date: </b>727,667 words (168,508 words behind target)</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">Life, or preparation for life after the U.K., has impinged on my writing time all week, and will do so for the rest of the year. I wish I could stop checking the GBP-Euro and GBP-USD exchange rates (scary bad) but I can’t. I wish I could just pay whatever price for a memory card or for shipping a box of mementos to NZ but I can’t. I’m too cheap. And, having paid for all our flights and pre-booked tours, there’s not a lot of room for frivolity. Still, it’s all worth it, eh?</p><p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSsGK2L6GRI/AAAAAAAAA8M/RKObOYuYkKE/s1600-h/Week+47+Daily.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSsGK2L6GRI/AAAAAAAAA8M/RKObOYuYkKE/s400/Week+47+Daily.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272314572181215506" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSsGK2Fi8VI/AAAAAAAAA8E/qQX-5kojFFc/s1600-h/Week+47+Pie.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 255px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSsGK2Fi8VI/AAAAAAAAA8E/qQX-5kojFFc/s400/Week+47+Pie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272314572154532178" border="0" /></a></p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-31363985257755931242008-11-23T12:15:00.003+00:002008-11-23T14:43:58.088+00:00The best moment in NZ sport in the last twenty years<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSlsJPPpSfI/AAAAAAAAA70/B3Awm-UMbRU/s1600-h/kiwis+win+world+cup.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSlsJPPpSfI/AAAAAAAAA70/B3Awm-UMbRU/s400/kiwis+win+world+cup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271863744780650994" border="0" /></a><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00fqhqj/Rugby_League_World_Cup_2008_Final_Highlights/">Watch it here if you have a spare hour.</a><span style="font-size:85%;"> (Positives: Neutral British Commentators, Great Streaming. Negatives: The pronunciation of anyone without an anglo name, pointless references the UK Superleague.)</span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Okay, so maybe Team NZ winning the America's Cup in 1994 was a bigger financial boon for the country, but honestly, it's yatching. If there were millions of dollars to be made from the Fencing World Cup, would that make a NZ victory our greatest sporting achievement?</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">And sure, there were only three teams with a realistic chance of winning the Rugby League World Cup (“realistic” may be flattering the English), but there are so many factors that make the 32-20 victory the sweetest of sweet:</p> <ul><li>Beating Australia, in Australia (in a stadium I've sat and watched NZ lose to Australia twice by a combined margin of 60 points), after losing 8 straight to the Aussies, in the face of 10-1 odds, against a squad the pundits were calling the best ever... *cough*</li><li>Beating Ricky Stuart. God I hate that guy. </li><li>This was the first rugby league world cup for eight years, and even then, people were asking <i>what's the point, we know who'll win</i>. And I'm the first to say the format was beyond stupid. But NZ's victory (and the surprises in Pools B and C) proves the worth of a world cup, and that it should be a regular fixture. (Though eight years with NZ as World Cup champs without having to defend the title would be okay, too).</li><li>The fact every New Zealand sports fan knows what it is like to be the favourite going into a rugby code's world cup, only to see that team confound expectations in the space of 80 minutes. And after 1991 and 2003, it was sweet that it was Australia's dream we ended.</li><li>The game itself. New Zealand was the better team. We wanted it more. We weren't overly confident (see Billy Slater's gift to Benji Marshall) and played to the whistle (see tries by Jerome Ropati and Adam Blair). We were the perfect incarnation of a Wayne Bennett team. Oh, what, Stephen Kearney was the head coach... Hmm.</li></ul> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; font-style: italic;">Da-da-da-bom-bom, da-da-da-bom-bom<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mDb5wdB05WU&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mDb5wdB05WU&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-1811719848188194242008-11-21T16:38:00.001+00:002008-11-21T16:40:19.890+00:00How Long Do I Have To Write Until I Get Really, Really Good?It’s about a week old, but I only just read <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/nov/15/malcolm-gladwell-outliers-extract">this extract from Malcolm Gladwell's upcoming book, Outliers, over at The Guardian Online</a>. It’s definitely worth a read.<br /><br />Basically, in addition to All-World talent, one number links The Beatles, Bill Gates, Mozart and Tiger Woods: 10,000:<br /><br /><blockquote>"In study after study, of composers, basketball players, fiction writers,<br />ice-skaters, concert pianists, chess players, master criminals," writes the<br />neurologist Daniel Levitin, "this number comes up again and again. Ten thousand<br />hours is equivalent to roughly three hours a day, or 20 hours a week, of<br />practice over 10 years... No one has yet found a case in which true world-class<br />expertise was accomplished in less time. It seems that it takes the brain this<br />long to assimilate all that it needs to know to achieve true mastery."</blockquote><br /><br />Obviously, the mention of fiction writers got most interested me, but I’ll have to wait to read the whole book to see if there are any persuasive case studies of writers.<br /><br />[<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/nov/16/malcolm-gladwell-interview-outliers">This piece on Gladwell</a>, also via Guardian Online, does mention his own 10,000 hours writing non-fiction came while working for the Washington Post ages 24-34].<br /><br />Does a wannabe have to write for 10,000 hours before there’re ready to win the Booker, or write their Sgt. Pepper? Ten years of writing twenty hours a week? Goodness.<br /><br />But I am strangely comforted by this idea. Talent is crucial, but maybe persistence and patience is just as important. This links back to my post a few months ago where I argued for <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/09/not-so-brilliant-failures-why-every.html">public apprenticeships for writers</a>. You may be able to write an entertaining book after, say, 5,000 hours of practice (though who’ll admit that their current novel / story / blog post is just practice?) but it will probably have a few kinks. Perhaps once you reach 10,000 hours, you’d be able to iron out those kinks, or (more likely) be able to recognise that the kinks are part of the genetic makeup of the book and you’re better making another one from scratch -- but the kink-y book still has value. To give a book over to the world provides fresh perspectives on the book for the writer (I imagine, check back with me in 2010), and allows them to start something new.<br /><br />Right at the beginning of this Quest for a Million Words lark, <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2007/12/rules.html">I said</a>:<br /><br /><blockquote>I know this is a gimmick. But if it makes me write everyday, regardless of mood<br />or circumstances, it's the gimmick for me.</blockquote><br />What I thought I’d mentioned, but it seems I decided against, was that I felt my writing had reached a tipping point (to borrow another Gladwellian term) at the end of 2007: I had an MA in Creative Writing, I’d recently won the novice section of a short story competition and had another story published for payment… all I needed was more finished things to submit for publication, which would require a lot of writing.<br /><br />And write I have. <br /><br />Okay, so I haven’t finished either of the two novels I worked on this year, and probably won’t finish one next year either, but I feel like <a href="http://yearofamillionwords.blogspot.com/2008/11/in-which-writer-takes-significant-step.html">it’s happening</a>. <br /><br />Three hours writing a day is probably quite close to my average for 2008 (most days I do more, but all those travel goose-eggs bring the average down-down-down), which means I’ve probably chipped a year off my ten year apprenticeship. Which begs the question: how many hours had I done before this year? And: how many more do I have in front of me?<br /><br />During September-October 2006 (in the lead up to handing in my novel/thesis), I wrote an average of eight hours a day (honest). For the majority of my MA year, however, I was lucky to pull down three hours of writing time. But I was living and breathing writing the whole time. I was reading books by the pile and the work of my other classmates, providing comments, talking about writing and books, attending readings, seminars, book launches… All of these things were important in shaping either my understanding of writing (reading especially) or my drive to become the one giving the reading / having the book launched. So perhaps the 10,000 hours for a writer is actually 10,000 hours of writerly activity, be that reading books with a writer’s eye, talking about writing, or writing writing. Or maybe for writers it’s more like 10,000 hours writing + 10,000 reading. <br /><br />Either way, I’m not there yet, but I’m on the way. If I keep working, well, I’ll only have my lack of talent or the seismic shifts in the publishing industry to blame for not winning the Booker!Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-53761800762071099472008-11-17T19:00:00.001+00:002008-11-17T19:46:59.116+00:00The Expanding Sidebar<div>Is it wrong to like Monday mornings? Perhaps "like" is the wrong word, but normally all it takes is a read through of the results of the NFL's late games to make the walk to work (and what follows) tolerable. Tuesday is okay too, since there's the box score from Monday Night Football to read (and the mental arithmetic to see if I've won my fantasy football matchups), but after that, the week seems to drag.<br /><br />This particular Monday morning was even more tolerable as I received emails from <a href="http://nzpoetsonline.homestead.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Blackmail Press</span></a> <span style="font-weight: bold;">and</span> <a href="http://www.victoria.ac.nz/turbine/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Turbine</span></a> informing me I'd had poems accepted for publication.<br /><br />[This will be the third consecutive year I've appeared in <span style="font-style: italic;">Turbine</span>; each time for a different form of writing: novel excerpt, short fiction and poetry. Not that I'm claiming to be any sort of <a href="http://celebrities.com/celebrities/jennifer-lopez/jennifer-lopez-conquers-triple-threat/">triple threat</a>. Actually, I had non-fiction included in <span style="font-style: italic;">Turbine 06</span> as well, so if anything, I'm a <a href="http://www.mtv.com/videos/misc/174426/justin-timberlake-wins-quadruple-threat-of-the-year.jhtml">quadruple threat</a>! *cough* ]<br /><br />The difficulty is that now I have to write two bio notes without sounding like a plonker. I guess I could send the same note to both... but I kind of enjoy writing them. It sure beats receiving a rejection email and deciding whether to resend, rewrite, or abandon a piece of writing.<br /><br />In an unrelated note: Blog Visitors...<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSGQlVZgBuI/AAAAAAAAA7s/BwwTx2uF4mo/s1600-h/visitors.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269652010073851618" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 400px; height: 327px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSGQlVZgBuI/AAAAAAAAA7s/BwwTx2uF4mo/s400/visitors.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-6007887822021125162008-11-17T18:30:00.002+00:002008-11-17T18:31:26.607+00:00No Accounting For The Taste Of An Accounting Student<b><br />Why I Used To Enjoy Books By Chuck Palahniuk, Using His Latest Novel, </b><i><b>Snuff</b></i><b>, As An Example<br /></b><br /><i>1. <a href="http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=ITUSZ6LRHrk"> "It's the vibe of the thing, Your Honour"</a><br /></i><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSBQdcLdufI/AAAAAAAAA7c/McHMjl9oy-4/s1600-h/snuff.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 131px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSBQdcLdufI/AAAAAAAAA7c/McHMjl9oy-4/s200/snuff.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269300030734186994" border="0" /></a>Dirty, dark, wry, nihilistic, visceral. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snuff_%28novel%29"><i>Snuff</i></a> is all of these things. Shocking, too, perhaps, depending on your shock threshold. (Tick <b>yes</b> if you find hardcore pornography, date rape, incest, mutilated genitalia, and/or urine socked stuffed toys shocking.)<br /><br /><i>2. It sure was interesting<br /></i><br /><i>Snuff</i> contains riffs on the following topics: the history of gang bang style pornographic films, the death or maiming of more traditional movie stars as a consequence of their craft, a history of vibrators, gang-land tattoos, the history of cyanide, the means of suicide of movie stars of yesteryear... do you see a theme developing? See dark/dirty/nihilistic discussion above.<br /><br />Chuck Palahniuk has done a lot of research, and he does his best to impart his learnings to the reader.<br /><br />In addition, there's all the stuff he just plain made up himself, like the names of fictional porn actors named after alcoholic beverages (Branch Bacardi, Cord Cuevo, Beamer Bushmills...) and the names of Cassie Wright's films (variations on real books/films: <i>The Da Vinci Load</i>, <i>Butt Pirates of The Carribean</i>, <i>The Importance of Balling Earnest</i>).<br /><i><br />3. No fat<br /></i><br /><i>Snuff </i>is only 197 well-spaced pages. Every sentence and every chapter feel crafted, honed. There are no big words. Certain phrases (‘True Fact’...) and images (dandruff, bronzer…) reappear and act as refrains, helping to add a rhythm to a passage and remind us who is talking.<br /><br /><i>4. More twists than a packet of... um, twisties<br /></i><br />Every chapter hums along with it's surface concern and then right at the end you realise all is not as it seems: Mr 72 believes he is Cassie's son / Mr 600 might be Mr 72's dad / the disgusting dude Mr 600 is watching on TV is actually himself...<br /><br />And then there's the biggest twist of all, which, like <i>Fight Club</i> and <i>Choke </i>and <i>Invisible Monsters</i> (and maybe more, I'm getting forgetful), revolves around people not being who they say they are, or being more than they say they are. I didn't pick <i>Snuff</i>'s big twist until half a page before it happens. That's pretty good. I'm honestly trying not to be sarcastic in this first section.<br /><br />But I can't keep it up any longer.<br /><br /><br /><b>Why I No Longer Enjoy Books By Chuck Palahniuk, Using His Latest Novel, </b><i><b>Snuff</b></i><b>, As An Example</b><br /><br /><i>1. "It's the vibe of the thing, Your Honour"<br /></i><br />Hardcore pornography, date rape, incest, mutilated genitalia, an unhygienic craft service table... <i>Snuff</i> sounds shocking on paper, but everything is presented with so much intent - - the scene where Branch Bacardi absent-mindedly shaves his nipple off; the scene where Mr 137 accidentally eats a flake of Sheila's dandruff - - that it's not shocking. It's like those modern horror movies where the villain and the blood and the guts and the screaming gets 90% of the screen time, and it's not actually scary anymore, it's something else (sadistic?).<br /><br />And as for the wryness, the jokes are as stagey and hammed-up as the sadism, I mean <i>schlock</i>, I mean <i>shock</i>. All those porn star names and porno titles. It just becomes another device to space out a chapter.<br /><br /><i>2. It sure was interesting<br /></i><br />There's nothing wrong with doing research. I simply object to the way Palahniuk inserts the findings of his research. On most occasions, the riffs are presented as reported speech, and intercut with two or three of the following: direct speech regarding something else, either from the narrator or a third person; a description of something happening in the present (what Cassie Wright is doing on the TV screen / the state of the waiting room / the signatures on Mr 137's Autograph Hound); a description of something that happened in the past. I don't mind the fact these riffs are intercut (they need to be spaced out by something!), but that someone is supposedly saying these things.<p></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">For example, the exchange between Sheila and Cassie Wright in chapter 12 presents the history of pelvic floor exercises <i>and</i> a catalogue of film actors who befell terrible injuries whilst filming as Cassie’s reported speech, while in direct speech we only get earthy sentiments like, “He’s hot,” and “Fuck… that one was genuine jade.” And then, the direct speech Cassie Wright doesn’t know the philosopher Aristotle (“The man who married Jackie O?”). This may be an attempt at humour, but its real effect is to underline how the research element is independent of the character ostensibly delivering the nuggets.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSBQdYfRqwI/AAAAAAAAA7k/7UByBq0zzEs/s1600-h/chuck+palahniuk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSBQdYfRqwI/AAAAAAAAA7k/7UByBq0zzEs/s200/chuck+palahniuk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269300029743540994" border="0" /></a>Indeed, the voice of these research-heavy riffs is constant, regardless of whose speech is being reported and which of the four narrators is doing the reporting, and this is why I am left thinking: <i>Thanks for that, Chuck Palahniuk</i>. It's all too clumsy, too showy, too schlocky.<br /><br />And then there's the strange tension created by all of these real world facts and anecdotes (Annabel Chong did this, Annabel Chong did that), with the pantheon of fake porn Palahniuk regales us with. It's not a case of having to figure out where the real world ends and the fiction begins, the two are so clearly delineated by voice and content that they are almost different languages. No, the problem is that it yet again reminds me of Chuck Palahniuk and the act of compiling this book (I say compiling, because it's a cut and paste job more than a successful attempt at a prolonged prose narrative).<br /><br /><i>3. No Fat<br /></i><br /><i>Snuff</i> may be concise but if you poke around the story, you find there's nothing there. The action takes place over a limited timespan (about 10 hours) with minimal flash backs, and the novel purports to see the action from four different perspectives -- but what do we really get in that time? 30+ chapters with the same structure: set-up, twist; set-up, twist. And the four voices, despite a few token efforts at differentiation (the “True Fact” refrain, Mr 600's use of "dudes"), all of the narrators share the same voice as Palahniuk's other damaged, grimy narrators. They aren't narrators so much as perspectives from which a third person limits their knowledge and relates the action. I guess out-and-out omniscience runs contrary to Palahniuk’s nihilism, I mean <i>romanticism</i>. Everything presented on the page is in service of the vibe, nothing is in service of the characters.<br /><br />Having wafer thin characters does allow the author more scope in where he can take them. Crazy shit appears to work on the surface, because all we have in <i>Snuff</i> is surface: characters who don’t know each other can suddenly fall in love (Mr 72 and Sheila, the hitherto gay Mr 137 and Cassie), or act out of character (the selflessness of Mr 600's final act), because there wasn't really any depth of character their to begin with.<br /><br /><i>4. More twists than a packet of... um, twisties<br /></i><br />The <i>set-up, twist</i> structure begins to grate after a while. It's a bit like a child overusing exclamation marks. The twists stop being twists because they are expected. Near the end, Palahniuk has forced himself into a corner: he needs to out twist his previous twists, out shock his previous shocks, out gross everything that has gone before. So we get necrophilia, electrocution, ghosts and sexual welding.<br /><br />At the same time, the last twenty pages are the worst kind of throwaway. Whereas earlier in the book the writer's bodily fluids could be clearly detected on the pages, it's as if Palahniuk doesn't truly believe in what he's asking us to believe at the end of <i>Snuff</i>: the chapters are shorter, the cut-up structure within chapters is set aside, the nifty research he digs so much is all but gone (there is a Marilyn Monroe riff, so...), and we are rattled through to another ending with two damaged individuals forming an unlikely couple in the rubble.<br /><br />---</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />The above is a purely personal take. I suspect I would have liked <i>Snuff</i> if I read it six years ago -- though the subject matter would still have been alienating. This is not to say that I am now a better reader and that anyone currently who likes Palahniuk's work is any sort of inferior. Just that my tastes have changed. I want different things from fiction. I can cope with less twists and less grime and less cool-factor if the story can make me suspend my disbelief. The fact that I have immersed myself in writing fiction over the last six years means it's harder to make me suspend my disbelief: my default mode of reading is thinking about what the writing is doing. I'm less forgiving of loose writing and sore thumb scenarios. But the good stuff can still suck me in. That's why it's so hard to write about the good books and why I took two pages of notes while reading <i>Snuff</i>. The fact I'm no longer an angry young man might also explain why <span style="font-style: italic;">the Palahniuk vibe</span> has lost its appeal.<br /><br />I suspect if I was to read a book by Vladimir Nabokov, the writer I swore allegiance to after Palahniuk, I'm sure I would be able to write something similar (if a little less scathing). The thing about reading (and writing, too, I guess), is that you can never step in the same book twice. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870768444590309997.post-46964129746809060092008-11-16T19:51:00.000+00:002008-11-16T19:51:00.917+00:00Status Report: Weeks Forty-Five and Forty-Six<b><br />Weeks Forty-Five and Forty-Six – The Stats</b> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><b>Fortnightly Wordcount: </b>19,286 words<b> </b>(compared to 19,214 words in week forty-four)<br /><b>Average: </b>1,378 words per day (compared to target of 3,001 words/day)<br /><b>Most productive day:</b> Sunday 16 November, 4,641 words<br /><b>Least productive day: </b>8-13 November October, 100 words each day (see November experiment)<br /><b>Year-to-date: </b>712,106 words (164,943 words behind target)</p><p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSBPv3UoFaI/AAAAAAAAA7M/cNWgOKKIFPk/s1600-h/Weeks+45+%26+46+Daily.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 231px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSBPv3UoFaI/AAAAAAAAA7M/cNWgOKKIFPk/s400/Weeks+45+%26+46+Daily.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269299247746389410" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSBPwUHqlzI/AAAAAAAAA7U/MwKQPm15gDU/s1600-h/Weeks+45+%26+46+pie.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 396px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WtipjzEFc9g/SSBPwUHqlzI/AAAAAAAAA7U/MwKQPm15gDU/s400/Weeks+45+%26+46+pie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269299255476655922" border="0" /></a>If you took out the seven days travelling, you be left with a decent week’s wordcount. But, if it weren’t for the seven days travelling, I wouldn’t have anything to write about on my travel blog and no concerts to review here and I still wouldn’t have had a feijoa since 2006…</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">I promise I won’t mention Dave Wyndorf or Monster Magnet again this year. However, after posting yesterday’s review I have been thinking a lot about how my tastes have changed since the Y2K bug failed to bite. So tomorrow there’ll be a sort of review of Chuck Palahniuk’s <i>Snuff </i>which is really just another veiled navel gaze.</p> <p style="margin-top: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0.49cm;">Oh goody.</p>Craig Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04683220586520558481noreply@blogger.com0