tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57128831426931533552024-03-12T19:49:26.529-07:00Devoted to BooksAmy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-82109447612159907662011-06-11T20:30:00.000-07:002011-06-12T00:00:48.203-07:00Mr Sardonicus By Ray Russell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZzBGzPYiDeg5a3TbCUFvp0Evdn-5uz5PJrH6svMmTMEJG2d_aI_ZpwmkHUdJUyh4ImDb29fEfs7JVnv9Nmm5O98Sk4rbTrw6vqQtWDIutOoxvGAq-Q91PLbTB2fnDy6nPJmhURNMwEKUh/s1600/IMG_6186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZzBGzPYiDeg5a3TbCUFvp0Evdn-5uz5PJrH6svMmTMEJG2d_aI_ZpwmkHUdJUyh4ImDb29fEfs7JVnv9Nmm5O98Sk4rbTrw6vqQtWDIutOoxvGAq-Q91PLbTB2fnDy6nPJmhURNMwEKUh/s320/IMG_6186.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>The title of this post is a tad misleading. You see, our small local mall holds a bi-annual book fair to which I take a box. Hardbacks are a buck and soft-covers, well they aren't pricey either. So. Going through the labyrinth of tattered, musty spines and sifting through the hordes of Danielle Steele (omg, who are you people living in my town?) I often stumble upon an award-winner or classic I haven't yet read and swoop in before the big guy with an even bigger box than mine spies my gold. But sometimes there is a book or two if I'm really lucky that simply seems intriguing and I chance the fifty-cents. For me it is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/MASTERPIECES-TERROR-SUPERNATURAL-MARVIN-EDITOR/dp/0316859966">Masterpieces of Terror and the Supernatural</a> selected by Marvin Kaye. <br />
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Admittingly I do not have as many short fiction anthologies as I should, but I have a few and often the stories selected are more miss than hit for me (with the exception of Best American Short Stories - the edition with Good Old Neon by David Foster Wallace tucked in the back). This anthology of terror and the supernatural is right up my ally. I love me some black and white horror/gothic movies real bad. There has been gem after gem of short stories in here by some famous and not-so-famous authors, including Bram Stoker, Edgar Allen Poe, Mary Shelly, Isaac Asimov and even Walt Whitman. So far two short stories have made such an impression on me that I've got to share them with you.<br />
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The first is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carmilla-ebook/dp/B000SN6HX8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1307848137&sr=1-1">Carmilla</a> by Sheridan LeFanu (please note that Carmilla is available free through the link as long as you have downloaded the free kindle app or the like). Published in 1872, pre-dating Stoker's Dracula by 25 years, this feminine vampire tale is filled with atmosphere and telling. Set in a forested, remote castle in Syria, the young female protagonist, Laura, develops a friendship with a mysterious girl after a carriage accident leaves the girl at their doorstep, the mother and strange carriage men vowing to return in three months time and warning them the girl will say nothing of who they are or where they come from. Soon neighbours start dying slow deaths. I'm not sure how I would feel watching the movie after reading such an expertly crafted story, but it has been adapted for the cinema a number of times so I might do some research and seek out a recommended adaptation.<br />
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The second, and title-sake piece, is <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Sardonicus-Other-Stories-Ray-Russell/dp/000003889X">Mr Sardonicus</a> by Ray Russell that was first published in Playboy (1961). It tells of a young doctor who accepts an invitation to the remote skull castle of Mr Sardonicus and his lovely wife, whom the doctor harbours romantic feelings. When the doctor meets Sardonicus he is affronted by the peeled back lips and teeth which are affixed in a wide grimace, only ever found in cadavers. Thus begins the most original, haunting, atmospheric tale I've read. This story too has been adapted for the screen by Russell and was directed by William Castle. I can't wait to watch it.<br />
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It must be noted I read these short tales when the night is black and my bed covers warm. It's the only way to read such transporting, image rich tales.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-37968099279411345992011-03-15T03:41:00.000-07:002011-03-15T03:41:24.006-07:00Thank you, Canada Council!Spring is nearly here. The hyacinths and tulips are peeping through the soil in my garden. Snow piles are lone bergs among the dead leaves of fall past. And my horse is shedding his woolly coat with each love-pat he receives. It's been a long winter, especially long for us. We're ready for warmer nights and the clean smell that rolls over the barren hills. So what lingers ahead?<br />
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The lovely Canada Council has awarded me a Creative Writing grant for 2011! I got the good news just the other day. On my way to an appointment I stopped and withdrew the large white envelope in my mailbox. When I opened it I didn't realize the good news until I'd read the letter three times. For some reason I took for granted my proposal had been rejected and I was shuffling through the papers looking for 'something good'. When I read the successful bit I said, 'Oh my God.' My husband thought it must've been another large bill we had to pay. Needless to say he was ecstatic for me. No more distraction and worry over finances, I'm going to kill this novel and send it to the patient publishes kind enough to express interest in it.<br />
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This could not have come at a more needed time. Despite a recent Canadian blogger's sentiments, being a writer can be a difficult, isolating, often unrewarding career. Financial restraints often impede creativity and stifle production, luring writers into other professions that offer more stability. I understand those people. I almost became one of those people this year, after spending the last six years toiling away in isolation I was ready to get out of the house and make some money, reinstating a sense of general purpose. Alas, this is the other reason the grant is so vital to emerging writers especially. It gives us the confidence to endure the tougher times, that our peers have faith we'll produce work beneficial to our country. This is just as important as the financial reward the emerging writer grant gifts to writers.<br />
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Now off to bed. There is lots to do in the days ahead and dreaming is a good way to start.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-33815522740085799562010-09-25T03:36:00.000-07:002010-09-25T03:36:40.726-07:00The Cremation Of Sam McGee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNidROlbGvfN7vOEhjlYjFMxQ02_7N3PT-TFImn9mEgKymXlWgSqm55uY1_wqgkaZcp6aVAx98Z8JUNY5FOaqlmlKYpv630BKcbHfrx4ASrijf01HFCupgyO8w_K9hUa80J4tdZeF79LFz/s1600/0079_cv3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNidROlbGvfN7vOEhjlYjFMxQ02_7N3PT-TFImn9mEgKymXlWgSqm55uY1_wqgkaZcp6aVAx98Z8JUNY5FOaqlmlKYpv630BKcbHfrx4ASrijf01HFCupgyO8w_K9hUa80J4tdZeF79LFz/s320/0079_cv3.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br />
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Remember being in grade school and the teacher would read to you? Sitting crossed-legged on the carpet, your elbow on your knee and your chin resting in your palm, listening to your teacher read the words and the sound the pages made when she flipped them over. I miss those days, don't you?<br />
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For me there was one book in particular that cast its spell over my eight-year-old imagination, The <i><a href="http://www.kidscanpress.com/Canada/Product.aspx?productId=5225">Cremation of Sam McGee</a></i>. Originally written in 1907 by Robert Service, the poem was paired with the exquisite illustrations of Ted Harrison and published in 1986. The artwork, as much as the tale, inspired a sense of national Canadian pride and thus began my period of drawing like (or so I wished) Ted Harrison, albeit in crayon. I became proficient enough that my third grade teacher entered one of my drawings in the town fair and I won $2. At that point I thought I hit the ceiling on my talent and never tried replicating Harrison's style again.<br />
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It wasn't until this summer while I was visiting a museum in Banff that I saw the familiar artwork. There it was - the Twentieth Anniversary Edition of The Cremation of Sam McGee. I bought it on the spot and hugged it to my chest for the better part of that day and strolled the tourist-lined streets with a goofy grin.<br />
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The story is about a pact two prospectors make while in the Yukon. Near death Sam McGee from Tennessee wants to be cremated, to finally feel the warmth of home and escape the clutch of north cold. The lyrical poetry in this book pushes past the grim reality of the words and evokes such beauty. While some might find the book morbid, there is so much of life and mystery you can't help but read on.<br />
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If you haven't read it do yourself a favor and race to your nearest bookstore. The poem will haunt you and the artwork might inspire you to win a couple bucks.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-36798859347390091972010-04-07T17:23:00.000-07:002010-04-07T17:23:08.067-07:00Sorry for the absence...but I'm reading. And it's hard work, not to be interrupted by posts. Next book to be reviewed will be Doestoevsky's <i>The Possessed</i>. Who would've thought human nature doesn't ever change.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-60929590346745457242010-02-28T02:56:00.000-08:002010-02-28T02:56:23.611-08:00So True...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">From Quill And Quire:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">“Kafka wrote a perfectly fine beginning to </span><em style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The Castle</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, then threw it out for a better one. So can you. Revise.” – </span><a href="http://network.nationalpost.com/NP/blogs/afterword/archive/2010/02/24/canada-also-reads-rules-for-writing-fiction-leon-rooke.aspx" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">Leon Rooke</span></span></a></span>Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-25999725395265438562010-02-28T02:42:00.000-08:002010-02-28T02:45:27.907-08:00Commonwealth Writer's Prize 2010<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzv3hRhTZ6OlQw_9EAmx1QsMQ0LhT5VD0gv-wEPlYU6QuVMNg46Vi70GFvitt73Y0l-lSkNVKcfVaXWsC6QgReTlMVEWrOE0phzL9_CzAdNdXZvbrDOJyS3aza-TRBczpOH21hwHDiaUH/s1600-h/9781921520747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzv3hRhTZ6OlQw_9EAmx1QsMQ0LhT5VD0gv-wEPlYU6QuVMNg46Vi70GFvitt73Y0l-lSkNVKcfVaXWsC6QgReTlMVEWrOE0phzL9_CzAdNdXZvbrDOJyS3aza-TRBczpOH21hwHDiaUH/s400/9781921520747.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>In 2007 I had the privilege of attending Varuna's Masterclass Residency, where I met four other wonderful writers. We were selected out of close to four hundred other novelists across Australia. So for us four it was a crapshoot as to who we'd meet, and furthermore who we'd nurture on-going relationships with. For me all the writers were amazing people; they were talented, friendly, and lovely to spend the evenings with.<br />
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One of those writers has turned out to be a dear friend of mine, Kirsten Reed of Brisbane. Maybe it was a bond formed by our North American upbringings and our shift to Australia. Who knows. We decided to exchange work here and there over email, after all I was in Melbourne and she was in Brisbane. Through our correspondence I was privileged to read her novel <i><a href="http://www.penguin.com.au/lookinside/spotlight.cfm?SBN=9781921520747">The Ice Age</a></i>. Over the course of a late night, I read the manuscript in one large gulp. It's a slip of a thing, not as long as a more 'conventional novel' but it pacts an emotional tale of a young girl hitching her way across America with an older man she loves and fantasizes about him being a vampire. It read like creative non-fiction because of the protagonist's utterly believability.<br />
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It was soon after that Text Publishing recognized the novel's beauty and published it. Now I'm proud to announce that Ms K Reed made the short-list for First Book in the South Pacific Region of the 2010 Commonwealth Writer's Prize! A hearty congratulations.<br />
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For a complete Commonwealth Writer's Prize short-list go <a href="http://www.commonwealthfoundation.com/culturediversity/writersprize/">here</a>.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-7571191345481514492010-02-16T03:56:00.000-08:002010-02-16T04:05:42.062-08:00Because of Winn Dixie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VVP6AawnAWybgTgaPZ5Zs8ch8xtdGQJUE_Ya6V21J9s3IVnKQnLUwAcfINt3x9lFAppk9rur-0_CsiL5bveCpTGPRKYwicHzeyEYb5n8gRtuwk1W0YDnma8YG7N75SA-CWO7_M1bBtS7/s1600-h/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VVP6AawnAWybgTgaPZ5Zs8ch8xtdGQJUE_Ya6V21J9s3IVnKQnLUwAcfINt3x9lFAppk9rur-0_CsiL5bveCpTGPRKYwicHzeyEYb5n8gRtuwk1W0YDnma8YG7N75SA-CWO7_M1bBtS7/s200/images.jpeg" width="153" /></a></div>Second book in my 52 Books A Year was Kate DiCamillo's <i><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Because-Winn-Dixie-Kate-DiCamillo/dp/0763616052">Because of Winn Dixie</a></i>. I was having trouble sleeping and thought it was the prefect time to indulge in something a little sweet. Admitingly today wasn't a great day. I was feeling lonely. So I thought a little pick-me-up was in order. <br />
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Unlike DiCamillo's previous book for children <i><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Tale-Despereaux-Being-Princess-Thread/dp/0763625299/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1266321357&sr=1-4">The Tale Of Despereaux</a>, Because of Winn Dix</i>ie is a realistic tale of ten year old India Opal and her stray-turned-best-friend dog she names Winn Dixie after the local shop. Both are new to town that summer and with Winn Dixie's smile and Opal's friendliness they quickly shuffle around town striking up friendships and filling the hole where Opal's abandoning mother should be. <br />
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First they meet ex-convict Otis who works at the local pet store. He's no criminal but a gentle soul with a gift for guitar. Then they meet the librarian Miss Franny Block who tells them the story of her great grandfather who fought in the American Civil War,and the story of how he came home to find his family dead (yes, all of them kaput) and how he walked to Flordia to fill the world with sweetness; the result was a hard candy with the secret ingredient of sadness. Which is sad! So sad. In fact, at this point I'm thinking DeCamillo went out of her way here to make this story melancholy. Then she meets a girl whose brother drowned the year before, whose face is always 'pinched'. They also meet the local witch, who isn't a witch at all but an old woman going blind. Opal fills up the hole her mother left in her heart with all her new friends, but the lines of sorrow still mark the breaks.<br />
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The writing is as simple and succinct as always. There's beautiful relationships formed and passages about the ghosts that haunt us and the horribleness of life are are a little sentimental but also tender. The story does redeem itself so that a semi-happy ending is given to the reader like a Littmus Lozenge, sweet yet sad.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-48187659304140427892010-02-13T03:27:00.000-08:002010-02-13T03:28:15.294-08:00Poetry Find: Chris GilpinSo after the Olympics ceremony, and perhaps one too many wines, I came home, slept an hour or so and then woke up in back pain. What's a gal to do? Look up all literary freebies on the web. And by geez, the folks over at <a href="http://www.geist.com/">Geist</a> have published a keeper. It's a poem called <a href="http://www.geist.com/poetry/dear-sasquatch"><i>Dear Sasquatch</i></a> by Chris Gipin. I thought you might like to head over and read it for yourselves.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-62544688241440083752010-02-11T17:08:00.000-08:002010-02-11T17:08:12.316-08:00Book 2 In 52 Books In A YearJust a heads up. Book two in my 52 books for the year is (drum roll, please) is <i>Because of Winn Dixie</i> by Kate DiCamillo.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-52297246631149909842010-02-11T17:02:00.000-08:002010-02-11T17:04:08.340-08:00My Favourite #1: Dlyan Moran From Black Books On RejectionEver wondered what would happen if Bernard Black wrote a book? Watch and find out. It makes me smile every time.<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oS1NOXWVWgo">Youtube clip here</a>Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-29772297506139412492010-02-07T02:30:00.000-08:002010-02-07T03:31:40.063-08:00A Postponement, An Apology and A Hearty Recommended Read<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8vN8edZGVrvAMPaWAKOTifYvPa78CmEQVI4ZiLsFXt14JgwE2FVyvnCr3ScF7EoEUDqqxVq6P5vc-HeK7-gDKrG15V7bBKP8tijzkE-plVSmwjqqnN3Xnii-VkoPOHprIt4k0O45o05_/s1600-h/51AzjN259IL._SL500_AA240_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 149px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8vN8edZGVrvAMPaWAKOTifYvPa78CmEQVI4ZiLsFXt14JgwE2FVyvnCr3ScF7EoEUDqqxVq6P5vc-HeK7-gDKrG15V7bBKP8tijzkE-plVSmwjqqnN3Xnii-VkoPOHprIt4k0O45o05_/s400/51AzjN259IL._SL500_AA240_.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435454488930320210" /></a><br />Due to foreseen illness I have delayed the first book of 52 for the year. I assure you it was worth the wait. So much so that - and this is highly unusual - I refuse to finish the book. It's that good. I've put off the last 50 or so pages because when it is done it will no longer be a parallel world, it will simply be a story in the past. I've come to terms with that and have set a side 3 pages a night, like dessert. My only solace lies in the fact Joseph Boyden has two previous novels awaiting my attention.<br /><br />The book in question is Canadian writer Joseph Boyden's <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Through-Black-Spruce-Joseph-Boyden/dp/014301787X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1265539989&sr=1-3">Through Black Spruce</a></span>. The story unravels by alternating between two narrators. The first is Will, an aboriginal bush pilot with a penchant for alcohol. He is in a coma and begins to wander through his life, telling his story to his two nieces Annie and Suzanne.<br /><br />Suzanne, a successful model disappeared with her boyfriend Gus Netmaker, the youngest in the Netmaker clan. A clan well known to import cocaine and crystal meth into the community of Moosonee with help from their underworld connections. While her family holds out little hope that she's alive, her sister Annie continues to hope. Annie follows her sister's life through the modeling world in Toronto then New York, wearing her clothes, meeting her friends, staying at the same places and even sharing the same modeling agent. <br /><br />Annie comes home to Moosonee and talks to her uncle in a coma, telling him everything of her life for the past few months. Her only solace lies in the mute aboriginal man she found in Toronto who knew something of her sister. Together they live in a small cabin, writing notes, trapping marten and commuting to town by snowmobile.<br /><br />The danger of two first-person narratives situated in the past is that there is no present story arc and little suspense. However, Boyden manages this extremely well, making sure there is a present story and the reader is compelled to read on to find out how this all unfolds.<br /><br />Boyden depicts the harsh Canadian landscape with love. With each character and event the small town gains weight, fleshing out the story so it seems real, that these are real people and this story is the only one they belong to. Overall a ten!Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-11525515438608050182010-01-23T00:28:00.000-08:002010-01-23T00:52:59.736-08:00Dear Writing, In Your Absence...I am aware of the infrequent posts here on Devoted To Books. Fortunately my writing is going far better than my blogging. Yay for me! Every day I'm getting closer to completing the major over-haul on my novel and it's turning out better than I could've thought. There is one reason for this: reading. Reading copious amounts of literature. Good and bad.<br /><br />Books. For some reason reading places me in the correct headspace to write. Books are why I started this blog in the first place. Admittedly I'm not a critic. Nor is it my desire to be. I once told Steven Hall (<span style="font-style:italic;">Raw Shark Texts</span>) that I bought his book because it received rave reviews, which I don't usually do - I liked to purchase books with crappy reviews because I felt bad for them and because I thought it built up decent karma. I digest what I'm reading, sure, and I'm able to (on the most part) recognise literary nuances. But write about them? And I have one of the worst memories on the planet (what was that song again?) so I'm not going to regurgitate my undergraduate knowledge here. I'm going to tell you bluntly why I enjoyed the book, and what I didn't. Think of it more like talking to your book club (without the stuffy members and unsatisfied married women). <br /><br />One thing that keeps my writing on track is a deadline. Thus, a deadline is needed for this blog. I pledge from now on to review a book weekly for one year. That's 52 books. It's an easy target. However to write about them will be interesting. I hope you think so too. <br /><br />The first book up is <a href="http://www.penguin.ca/nf/Book/BookDisplay/0,,9780670063635,00.html"><span style="font-style:italic;">Through The Black Spruce</span></a> by Joseph Boyden. Besides his white straight-as teeth and dashing good looks, this 38 year-old writer is Canadian. And Canadian literature is something I'm embarrassingly starved for. Review to come next Saturday folks. That's Sunday for all you Australians.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-57187175880634987922009-12-12T19:09:00.000-08:002009-12-13T12:55:26.498-08:00My New Side Project<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRdqg4fpxwfLVdCnf4lmkBn5t7OBiHo-YxTp-bvQvKGR1caXkEUTa3VcfQ6kzfVx138QLCpt9c8x7eDbBi0yDNzg2VW96v2fUNmb14DPGPqRs1nyEjClTyozggNPpNJnATL2dnGmCYv1L8/s1600-h/IMG_1144.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRdqg4fpxwfLVdCnf4lmkBn5t7OBiHo-YxTp-bvQvKGR1caXkEUTa3VcfQ6kzfVx138QLCpt9c8x7eDbBi0yDNzg2VW96v2fUNmb14DPGPqRs1nyEjClTyozggNPpNJnATL2dnGmCYv1L8/s400/IMG_1144.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414557447272435458" /></a><br /><br />Well I'm back from New York and Ottawa and I tell you, what a trip! The Australian High Commissioner was a blast (he gave me some wise advice on my career - bodice rippers are the way to go as far as money earners. But don't put vampires in because they are passe and werewolves will never be sexy). <br /><br />Yay, now I'm an official Aussie and I loved New York. I learnt something everyday. Example: Two young men sitting next to me on the subway were discussing how their friend just received a year in jail and how they were going to mess up the lawyer when a gaggle of young women boarded the train carriage. The guys then proceeded discussing 'taco butt', which is, by their standards, slang for a narrow butt. I do not suffer from taco butt, but ever the optimist I put it down to an addition to my street cred.<br /><br />Since I'm back and the novel revision is coming along in strides, I've decided this is a great time to start up my side project. Take a gander here to investigate the matter further: thebiographer.wordpress.com<br /><br />Above is a photo I took passing the the Lady of Liberty on the Staten Island Ferry. Below are a few other New York photos I took on the whirlwind tour.<br /><br />XX<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiX7ZzVlwLbSbgWTh07oG8GMaTkBBUzFSvvGzUhQy3rxMrbAeo42N8QSmRUnYfDOmSY4cHe9IU_pPAQx2TRMWDB_IEkA9jw0NRjKG3Rg4gSZH-g0-dcptKwdltADTQ5DjM8sOIQ1FMW1_f/s1600-h/IMG_1097.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 326px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiX7ZzVlwLbSbgWTh07oG8GMaTkBBUzFSvvGzUhQy3rxMrbAeo42N8QSmRUnYfDOmSY4cHe9IU_pPAQx2TRMWDB_IEkA9jw0NRjKG3Rg4gSZH-g0-dcptKwdltADTQ5DjM8sOIQ1FMW1_f/s400/IMG_1097.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414558175090963250" /></a><br /><br />The Brooklyn Bridge.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF4d3cOkv5BWKJPYl0pA6C9Rw6uMoyyhAEEgVlQ_TixlOtUVEaVHCPCt4cXB_tBWHfDc3RyGQdT_rp1Qd7KfvTMVfNp8lfmTlkUfnEhvPGmOIAoo9Oa0cvHsuMWFEo8mlANPYnpuif5kyz/s1600-h/IMG_1035.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF4d3cOkv5BWKJPYl0pA6C9Rw6uMoyyhAEEgVlQ_TixlOtUVEaVHCPCt4cXB_tBWHfDc3RyGQdT_rp1Qd7KfvTMVfNp8lfmTlkUfnEhvPGmOIAoo9Oa0cvHsuMWFEo8mlANPYnpuif5kyz/s400/IMG_1035.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414558637881134962" /></a><br /><br />Crossing the Canadian border into New York. Yes, their was drugs on our train carriage and we sat there for two hours.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qaBzWFyMBF2sGN5keDSXZlM8IhUFU3nE-rcBmiiG5CbWeae19w6Ub3dMPK5YQ6lh5g3f3YJDlWCKMIQA1yp9aU4Ltyu0eR2F1rwuHvtmRA69hn5R5miZ3lPGFN58pIGTFW5DbLHzs6_l/s1600-h/IMG_1235.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qaBzWFyMBF2sGN5keDSXZlM8IhUFU3nE-rcBmiiG5CbWeae19w6Ub3dMPK5YQ6lh5g3f3YJDlWCKMIQA1yp9aU4Ltyu0eR2F1rwuHvtmRA69hn5R5miZ3lPGFN58pIGTFW5DbLHzs6_l/s400/IMG_1235.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414559069718311298" /></a><br /><br />Times Square.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGRNZHCzBX-ee4fpg2NR2WEDRKiptVnnLdNaNCOdcRIKcu3Zbi9Hx2cpiYUCG_bz7bSVG6m5cuQHY7L2FHIXW0ox1N9kvquyNAWT2EXpc2fcElY2q9g6QR3OZUoBGcstc-gxxQ83Vf9ZFT/s1600-h/IMG_1112.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGRNZHCzBX-ee4fpg2NR2WEDRKiptVnnLdNaNCOdcRIKcu3Zbi9Hx2cpiYUCG_bz7bSVG6m5cuQHY7L2FHIXW0ox1N9kvquyNAWT2EXpc2fcElY2q9g6QR3OZUoBGcstc-gxxQ83Vf9ZFT/s400/IMG_1112.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414559427593877154" /></a><br /><br />A Christmas tree on Wall Street.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yjm2wwu3mAU1AvzogxOx67fe7HLWzJDIo0uDq4mJPj8jdnOGj72FebDdKs3OsALDB2KkZbnj90OeljcA7MhFJ_NXdAwz3zs3_Mmbto-47Jsnq8h1_06ZfSYyTf-KOj902Aam8SCdfAy5/s1600-h/IMG_1434.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yjm2wwu3mAU1AvzogxOx67fe7HLWzJDIo0uDq4mJPj8jdnOGj72FebDdKs3OsALDB2KkZbnj90OeljcA7MhFJ_NXdAwz3zs3_Mmbto-47Jsnq8h1_06ZfSYyTf-KOj902Aam8SCdfAy5/s400/IMG_1434.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414559944596675762" /></a><br /><br />Our ride in Central Park.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-47743744636713126312009-11-29T13:16:00.000-08:002009-11-29T13:47:47.677-08:00What Tom Hanks and I Have In Common<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvigNkCZkAXXX4ynNTgVtCCTkBqByLtwSIdnxHyAjpyT-ibOurZTAsQw8xeZGGda_aJKS5Uk92jrPylptMi46Diq5fcbKgv6rbe1ve9jjXNg1wXOvScVJ1D59jasZuZOBpPaHLhi0f-Xb3/s1600/IMG_0932.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvigNkCZkAXXX4ynNTgVtCCTkBqByLtwSIdnxHyAjpyT-ibOurZTAsQw8xeZGGda_aJKS5Uk92jrPylptMi46Diq5fcbKgv6rbe1ve9jjXNg1wXOvScVJ1D59jasZuZOBpPaHLhi0f-Xb3/s400/IMG_0932.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409644938879964850" /></a><br />Think Tom Hanks, and the generation Y of us think Turner and Hooch. At least I do. Or Big. His acting skills aside, turns out ol' Tommy has a quirk or two up his sleeve. He was interviewed earlier this year, by I forget who, and spoke of his collection - typewriters. Apparently he has stored up over 150 of these marvellous machines. Portables, Manuals, Remington to Hermes to Czechoslovakian wonders. Until then I was naive enough to believe typewriters were all dull like the electrical late 80s Corona machine my cheap ass father bought me when I asked for a computer in the mid 90s. The thing barely printed, had none of the character of its predecessors, and looked like the front end of a '81 Audi. My father seemed to worry about the use of computer technology, and thought I'd spend my days chatting online to people across the world. Turns out he was right in the end.<br /><br />Back to the beautiful beasts. Yes, folks typewriters come in mint green to grapefruit, small or large. Who would've guessed vintage typewriters are good for more than their glass keys, used to make those 'bracelets' hanging in the accessory store windows. Being the sort I am, dabbling in words here and there, I was, er, am enamoured. I needed to source a gold mine and naturally hit up search engines before finally settling on a beautiful Remington Model 5 Portable from Ebay. It cost more than I had anticipated (around $200) but it is in decent nick and it came from Australia (very important to me). So now my collection is under way.<br /><br />The last collection I had was the peanut butter jar of erasers. I ate them all, which might explain why my digestive system completely hates me. Wait I told a lie. The last collection I had was letters from pen pals, who I'd find in the back of old Horse and Rider magazines. I kept the letters in an old cream and gold suitcase and opened them with a gold letter opener with a rose on it. I suppose you're meant to write back to pen pals, which could explain why I the collection never flourished. Hopefully this collection is more successful.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-53486906538823616372009-11-26T19:03:00.000-08:002009-11-29T13:54:50.826-08:00Australian Citizenship, Canada, And New York City<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4iYQy7QAeoJGlOtWntRfP9ygqBAjIyni5mftVPTi2GCNIV3TpY27dLM_R3JI7kigmpVvM4Gt1JUB1x1I424W_bKLI9pvzzHUqp-Qj-LrMuG6MwRKyTBJPAHfS7TaIJLXVTm7tN5Ry7YCD/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 121px; height: 81px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4iYQy7QAeoJGlOtWntRfP9ygqBAjIyni5mftVPTi2GCNIV3TpY27dLM_R3JI7kigmpVvM4Gt1JUB1x1I424W_bKLI9pvzzHUqp-Qj-LrMuG6MwRKyTBJPAHfS7TaIJLXVTm7tN5Ry7YCD/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409647209273480994" /></a><br />I’m off to New York Citeee, folks! That’s right, land of theatre, shopping, history and literature. I couldn’t be happier. Well, yes, I could, but that would be greedy. Besides I haven’t been too happy of late and this unexpected trip has me excited. Australia hangs over my life here in Canada and some days it’s hard to see the sun. But in seven mere sleeps I will be an official Australian Citizen! (Oh so many exclamation marks in this paragraph, apologies.) <br /><br />I’m heading to Ottawa to complete the final leg of my Australian Citizen journey, after nearly nine years, and Canada is making it extra special. Apparently the Australian High Embassador will be hosting the ceremony at his official residence because the rare, upcoming pomp and circumstance is the largest Australian Citizen shindig Canada has seen. To celebrate all this multiculturalism I’m popping across the border to celebrate in New York City. <br /><br />This will be my first visit, and with only a five days scheduled the clichéd Big Apple, I am frantically googling, querying friends on hot spots, and scanning <span style="font-style:italic;">Lonely Planet’s New York Encounter</span> for anything ‘not-to-miss’ (A highly recommended publication – saved my life in Paris). Since my younger sister is accompanying me, and we were both raised by a mother who displays her Christmas spirit by leaving all the decorations up year round, we can’t wait to skate beneath the lit tree at Rockefeller Center and stroll along the streets gazing at Macy’s store-front windows. <br /><br />Now, with the writing studio finished, I just have to complete my novel’s revision and pick out a book for the plane. Me thinks I’ll chose Robert Bolano’s <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/2666-Novel-Roberto-Bolaño/dp/0312429215/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1259291180&sr=8-1">2666</a></span> or Meg Rosoff’s new novel <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Brides-Farewell-Meg-Rosoff/dp/0670020990/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1259291229&sr=1-1">The Bride’s Farewell</a></span>.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-29300242327312394142009-11-04T16:53:00.000-08:002009-11-04T18:00:57.315-08:00Writing Studio Vs WriterAhh, let this be a lesson to all the fellow stationary-living writers out there: you are more than likely unfit. Do not attempt to build a writing studio out of straw unless you train beforehand. Possible exercises include: 25 squats a day for two months, 50 pushups a day for two months and vast cardiovascular training. Also do not plan on writing during the build. Deadlines will be forfeited. <br /><br />Okay, warnings aside, I'm really happy about how the straw studio is progressing. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksiJgOPTjN5MWc9cwj3ZIvs-IqgNSBZn3emM4_fZEHbaCzuLmctCnnqBNUgdAHSF-MZV7tiRwwWo-dScEICpVRSXnbAYymLco00URQTGfLSD_SBHqYg5FfuFUUSAZFqy1YDBzCMmtQcOx/s1600-h/P9110008.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksiJgOPTjN5MWc9cwj3ZIvs-IqgNSBZn3emM4_fZEHbaCzuLmctCnnqBNUgdAHSF-MZV7tiRwwWo-dScEICpVRSXnbAYymLco00URQTGfLSD_SBHqYg5FfuFUUSAZFqy1YDBzCMmtQcOx/s400/P9110008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400417840019338562" /></a><br /><br />At the time this photo was taken it was September. Hot days lifting bales, but I loved it. Tying the bales was laborious and my muscles ached more than having H1N1 (I know, I have it). The floor was environmentally friendly, made of washed sand, poly, sleepers and rigid insulation. No heat escaping here!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtoIj9asNlNNCTYq_LvkjyWeo6x7nZk7bXFj93j3jkdyZXOd4KM1YquaKOQfECJouAJPdZ4mWFxQrDd5iM7-HcGM0VvWX3FtanJBQgeD7k3VXDpVFGoWXMfNdeDr0shSmboNChAbuxj946/s1600-h/P9110015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtoIj9asNlNNCTYq_LvkjyWeo6x7nZk7bXFj93j3jkdyZXOd4KM1YquaKOQfECJouAJPdZ4mWFxQrDd5iM7-HcGM0VvWX3FtanJBQgeD7k3VXDpVFGoWXMfNdeDr0shSmboNChAbuxj946/s400/P9110015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400420107746288594" /></a><br /><br />Then Pa and Brady put their man muscles to use and helped raise the window bucks (notice the budding building lingo) and door thingy (note the lack of building lingo).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4XdVyvfN5CtwXrJTOh0xUhD3uaNx1EGHdu5-Dh2My_AG1xYEM7fpkEoiZbUV7SKuzMgafB58GUIkDXk1oH0a1vmNqpHMpad4M_OSFxaAXcNjJNDcgojy8tzH6idluNnrMkQmeJ590JiT3/s1600-h/P9120022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4XdVyvfN5CtwXrJTOh0xUhD3uaNx1EGHdu5-Dh2My_AG1xYEM7fpkEoiZbUV7SKuzMgafB58GUIkDXk1oH0a1vmNqpHMpad4M_OSFxaAXcNjJNDcgojy8tzH6idluNnrMkQmeJ590JiT3/s400/P9120022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400421190395791666" /></a><br /><br />By the time we started raising the walls until we finished was about four days with two of us working until we couldn't lift a glass of water to our lips. But just look at how cute it is. And just imagine all the writing I'm going to complete in wonderful insolation. (At this point I thought the hard work was mostly over, oh the naivety!)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSab6-CKDrSpwbMkUZHCGpYTBaxRVAloPSgbwu76hOJAKzdzrUVFmb4UfQoKQ_mQ_rA-ZtzFEH6u-77IzPExJV9cgGvqwVF99Iru-kZpaDT0mTnmtgRYHRJi-Zfvaz_qodiWrdujPLAVKf/s1600-h/P9270058.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSab6-CKDrSpwbMkUZHCGpYTBaxRVAloPSgbwu76hOJAKzdzrUVFmb4UfQoKQ_mQ_rA-ZtzFEH6u-77IzPExJV9cgGvqwVF99Iru-kZpaDT0mTnmtgRYHRJi-Zfvaz_qodiWrdujPLAVKf/s400/P9270058.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400423383301524674" /></a><br /><br />Then came the rain. Poly tarpage to the rescue.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWGEFWyFEe9COwYSLqjcK-kZkrARI7merftW2SitPdtXiEeJhK2aHVB17ePy-SHueRblDFqQZ2QFWHK4Al-6wzjldIqD3DIZSZjvD1lz_no1IgWnccGUmJdhqIE2wS68jIxVtWJHFXj1Y/s1600-h/P9030025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWGEFWyFEe9COwYSLqjcK-kZkrARI7merftW2SitPdtXiEeJhK2aHVB17ePy-SHueRblDFqQZ2QFWHK4Al-6wzjldIqD3DIZSZjvD1lz_no1IgWnccGUmJdhqIE2wS68jIxVtWJHFXj1Y/s400/P9030025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400425805389447138" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfshCPYvMqvk-UVysc1Tojamp_jTH-TcLMOtcoCkNX5deeVm8VJdnCsZJ4DNhvDDtVRi29JVOtr-ujdk3FHksdhDSxBDoQtk6D0wgjLWgZfW_GmK0G5_iNBAIIrKsVMgd19d981zCjHxW/s1600-h/P9270060.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfshCPYvMqvk-UVysc1Tojamp_jTH-TcLMOtcoCkNX5deeVm8VJdnCsZJ4DNhvDDtVRi29JVOtr-ujdk3FHksdhDSxBDoQtk6D0wgjLWgZfW_GmK0G5_iNBAIIrKsVMgd19d981zCjHxW/s400/P9270060.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400426348238965266" /></a><br /><br />Then disaster struck. My Morgan mare of 18 years, and my first horse, passed away due to colic that lasted 5 horrible days. Two weeks later our Thoroughbred mare erupted into hives. The culprit is believed to have grown in our upper paddock this spring.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_miM24k5njaLxZC_aF7tKgSHF_DK9vtCSptUEgxXOMewPQc9A5Je4V7f_HRG-76jA2U9d4iup1xbc1ac8dIyJgX8qa8LjOD1ZZ-LG3JlhCsnGM8ASYWgnadseM2lD-9J-uS5V2EfrVVe/s1600-h/P9300008.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_miM24k5njaLxZC_aF7tKgSHF_DK9vtCSptUEgxXOMewPQc9A5Je4V7f_HRG-76jA2U9d4iup1xbc1ac8dIyJgX8qa8LjOD1ZZ-LG3JlhCsnGM8ASYWgnadseM2lD-9J-uS5V2EfrVVe/s400/P9300008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400426839524407746" /></a><br /><br />The wire mesh goes on. Oh. My. God. This was hard work, and definitely a formidable foe. At this point it is October and we've had record-breaking cold temperatures, which meant the stucco had to be done asap, before it snowed. Also I do not recommend weed-whacking the inside walls (even with a mask) for asthmatics. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3SGXOfBRP_DFAGUWQ31kmj9e4QbTTUlXVIGDZvIl4QmQT0GldxNWb7bD2c2PpBFr97ZoPyA4-R3Gf5rlt_zGOA3d5LP1OgyAhvXs68RUspnhaDgoWOANUFJbOtF0is_rTm65vrHMNJSSR/s1600-h/PA200040.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3SGXOfBRP_DFAGUWQ31kmj9e4QbTTUlXVIGDZvIl4QmQT0GldxNWb7bD2c2PpBFr97ZoPyA4-R3Gf5rlt_zGOA3d5LP1OgyAhvXs68RUspnhaDgoWOANUFJbOtF0is_rTm65vrHMNJSSR/s400/PA200040.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400430497938203106" /></a><br /><br />Inside is scratch-coated. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEMGaIDTeL_O_o7oY-wybepn5Svd6HHAMQspEaPwWLH5uZX60K-T4LshU2cjpM-qjeU07E7soeKQunpMkzI8MGoh2elvpzGVMUaFf8HgQ7uvB23Ti6Vsulc3aCPs-8sEXJOyXy0JtiNsS/s1600-h/IMG_0272.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEMGaIDTeL_O_o7oY-wybepn5Svd6HHAMQspEaPwWLH5uZX60K-T4LshU2cjpM-qjeU07E7soeKQunpMkzI8MGoh2elvpzGVMUaFf8HgQ7uvB23Ti6Vsulc3aCPs-8sEXJOyXy0JtiNsS/s400/IMG_0272.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400431199942458690" /></a><br /><br />Other than some paint on the boards, the outside it done, and by golly it feels great.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIi57fu1x3_jmihmtAHJyGq2U5sGniClTonCTZIpcDLJ2dOkGFoq-bQCb41v_semxkIOBmv5lONDTWwluZQhvnztdMZD_kW8VYFmrHKtoydD0z-eGSQU8HQv4lQ-iKyOKrI2w0rCaJVHzp/s1600-h/IMG_0276.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIi57fu1x3_jmihmtAHJyGq2U5sGniClTonCTZIpcDLJ2dOkGFoq-bQCb41v_semxkIOBmv5lONDTWwluZQhvnztdMZD_kW8VYFmrHKtoydD0z-eGSQU8HQv4lQ-iKyOKrI2w0rCaJVHzp/s400/IMG_0276.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400432087034516770" /></a><br /><br />The inside walls are in the process of being painted white (yeah, this is where the H1N1 hit). The black ceiling is yet to be tacked up and the floorboards still need to be laid. Then think of the finished bliss. Watching the snow peter down from the sky, settling on the pine branches, sipping hot cocoa with a cozy blanket, tapping on the ol' typewriter. Bliss indeed. More to come.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-79191692615790220772009-10-19T05:23:00.000-07:002009-10-19T16:17:02.244-07:00Curse Of The Second Novel<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlRglWkZ56WFC5iSEAjtV-g9MMLxuj3oYmSQFdbqG3lBR4bAL5veQxedMN_bPlOUjPOzZQ10ctTLQf4V-Jw-JIIWDUaZD4PKdEfM3gCcn1pRO1IUGlxrX-zRAu1oK4h-nn4j-Jboec-Pf/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 98px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlRglWkZ56WFC5iSEAjtV-g9MMLxuj3oYmSQFdbqG3lBR4bAL5veQxedMN_bPlOUjPOzZQ10ctTLQf4V-Jw-JIIWDUaZD4PKdEfM3gCcn1pRO1IUGlxrX-zRAu1oK4h-nn4j-Jboec-Pf/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394287647946050418" /></a><br />So in 2004 I made a pledge with myself. "I shall raise good karma by purchasing and reading books that receive bad reviews". Sounds like a bad plan, right? I'm setting myself up for more than a few boring reads? Yes, but mostly no. In 2005 I saw John Banville speak in a basement bookshop in Melbourne. He said he'd only review the books he deemed worthy of promotion, not ever publishing a bad review of a book. I agreed with the theory. Then came poor Matthew Skelton and his children's novel <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Story-Cirrus-Flux-Matthew-Skelton/dp/0141320370/ref=pd_bxgy_b_text_b">Cirrus Flux</a></span>. <br /><br />First off let me begin by saying one of those critical despised books was Matthew Skelton's debut novel <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Endymion-Spring-Matthew-Skelton/dp/0141320346/ref=pd_bxgy_b_img_b">Endymion Spring</a></span>. The review was published in The Age, declared the book to be too derivitive of <span style="font-style:italic;">Harry Potter</span>, an all-together easy out for a reviewers these days not familiar with a multitude of fantasy books written for children and young adults. Yes, believe it or not, not all fantasy was written after JK Rowling's famous series. Yes, some books contain magic. It's not necessarily automatically derivative of the boy wizard. Anyhoo. After reading the synopsis of <span style="font-style:italic;">Endymion Spring</span> and not understanding in the slightest how it deserved the bad review I purchased it and was moderately pleased when I read it. It wasn't like HP at all, just as I suspected. I liked it enough to buy Skelton's second novel which came out July 2009, <span style="font-style:italic;">Cirrus Flux</span>. That's where my good karma comes undone. <br /><br />As soon as one makes the shift from reader to writer, the reading experience changes. I have become more distanced from the story, admittingly, and more observant of craft. Unfortunately that's where Matthew Skelton falls short of skill with his second novel. Tauted as the Dan Brown of children's literature, he likes to mingle historical facts with fiction. I admit the facts he uses are interesting, but in the case of Cirrus Flux, they feel malaligned with the rest of the narrative. It feels as though he's spent more time with his historical research than imagining his two protagonists, Cirrus Flux and Pandora. <br /><br />Cirrus and Pandora are two orphans who live in an okay orphanage until Pandora is swept away by the overtly evil Madam O who is after the sphere Cirrus Flux's father left him, which is believed to contain the Breath of God. Why? What does the Breath of God do? We never know, nor are we given any clues. So how does the reader know what is at stake? Why would the world crumble if she were to have the sphere? Cirrus doesn't give it much thought but goes to great lengths to keep it from her anyway. Pandora puts her life on the line to save a sphere she knows nothing about. The story would've benefited from a more character driven plot, like all decent stories, instead of feeling like the plot was predetermined and the characters just slotted into the outline, stuffed between crags of historical fact.<br /><br />We are led through this story, sifting through massive amounts of Pullman's <span style="font-style:italic;">His Dark Materials</span>. There is a difference between inspiration and imitation and Skelton walks a pretty dangerous line with this book. The line by line writing seems less sophisticated than its predecessor. The only character I was interested was Madam O's loyal servant, who even in the end chooses to stay by her side, albeit blindly. Even the setting (Oxford) wasn't fully imagined, and could've been richly developed to create more atmosphere. <br /><br />Perhaps Skelton was working to a deadline. Maybe he didn't feel as compelled by his second novel. Whatever failed this book let Skelton's burgeoning fanbase dwindle in anticipation for his third novel.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-61340117062809862132009-08-19T00:58:00.000-07:002009-08-20T09:07:11.159-07:00Virginia Woolf and The Country Writing StudioAlright, so I've been extremely slack with the bloggin (notice the dropped 'g', I'm trying to be more Canadian). Truth is I've been slack in the writing department all around. This move to Canada was extremely upsetting to the creative mojo. While family is great they come with drama (whose doesn't?). And there's been plenty of drama, let me assure you! <br /><br />Returning home for a tentative year to live with my parents in their country town (yes, I did just turn 28 thank you for noticing) and driving my mother's old '91 Topaz is distructive to the ego, even if it's just a launching pad for me to build my own house. I've already had a few 'The Hours' re-enactions of Nicole Kidman's famous Virginia Woolf scene 'I'm dying in this town'. Except I furthered my scene by adding 'I want to go home to Melbourne' and my nose wasn't nearly so large. I think we've settled on splitting our time between Canada and Australia evenly, we've just yet to figure out how to do that on one wage.<br /><br />But I haven't died yet...yet. And conjunctions aside, the straw bale writing studio is underway! That's right doubters, the stone foundation is layed. These keyboard-typing fingers of mine are capable of astonishing feats!<br /><br />Here's a photo journal of the process.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicq-b7m3DxO-00rI4dozUWV0U1QjeznL84A4A3WueJ4Tu7uUJhHkCiaPO0xBpIY5C0SRlJvN2bt2hDYeoqXXjFkyEUEokFoCM7AcPbW9iyfK9qxXXsRi1gwg4ppj-SwtYcs7ae96JuTGbO/s1600-h/studio1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicq-b7m3DxO-00rI4dozUWV0U1QjeznL84A4A3WueJ4Tu7uUJhHkCiaPO0xBpIY5C0SRlJvN2bt2hDYeoqXXjFkyEUEokFoCM7AcPbW9iyfK9qxXXsRi1gwg4ppj-SwtYcs7ae96JuTGbO/s400/studio1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371585952139336898" /></a><br /><br />1. Luckily my Pa is handy with a backhoe and familiar with trees. This one was guilty of a falling branch last winter, causing the imminent demise of the horse shelter. More importantly we have firewood forever and no one was killed during the process.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYDHlQxyGebubYmE9h_iXa01y6-Vac8jIGKUJdskLlIkoKGY17LUvcocfEZTmj4oyEPFfbi8ok_ZCPHnsQH8AwIVlZHB12V3kHd8lRHaJIJh6l2Tpu7ErArpMMoX7S0QEEoe_h0U1W95yL/s1600-h/studio+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYDHlQxyGebubYmE9h_iXa01y6-Vac8jIGKUJdskLlIkoKGY17LUvcocfEZTmj4oyEPFfbi8ok_ZCPHnsQH8AwIVlZHB12V3kHd8lRHaJIJh6l2Tpu7ErArpMMoX7S0QEEoe_h0U1W95yL/s400/studio+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371588169294097250" /></a><br /><br />2. Okay so I like design and love when things look good, so after a lengthy discussion with Pa, I refused his advice on pouring a solid concrete foundation and went with the infinetly more asthetically pleasing stone foundation. And more environmentally friendly. Sure, I fainted on the first row but I surived. **Please note the structure in the background has nothing to do with my project. It's horse shelter the II. Also my Pa has a habit of copying me, the old bugger. Look at him in his green shirt with his bobcat, thinking he rules the mountain.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemzXqd3reAcRE_7Ks07lXindr4Y8y8oh9vbPhzPosU0nZytfvYAehqFaOeMUUulBelP7ur0wc9P7fOxtXlkFcBf1xP851jfDRy9j90mU9FYgblci6rWrBXQe8jProtD-jj050uZaKzQaZ/s1600-h/studio.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemzXqd3reAcRE_7Ks07lXindr4Y8y8oh9vbPhzPosU0nZytfvYAehqFaOeMUUulBelP7ur0wc9P7fOxtXlkFcBf1xP851jfDRy9j90mU9FYgblci6rWrBXQe8jProtD-jj050uZaKzQaZ/s400/studio.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371585429700951890" /></a><br /><br />3. The supervisor is on sight. Some of you might remember my chihuahua on the 'Yawn Factor' post eariler this year. He's now found his calling. Also the ground has been smoothed and I've learnt how to mix mortar, use a level and rebar stakes. Oh and how to make things 'pretty' much square. This is only the outside wall, I had to still make the inside wall then fill in the center with found rocks and concrete.<br /><br />Meanwhile this was the view from our house. Yes, it's a 8500 hectacre bush fire called the Terrace Mountain fire in the Okangan, British Columbia.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44LELF7WqH23cpC01P1IENVH3yG_ELRw4eVaANclxjZSrIPnbEr1QMdfA4sQuSpDND-gKoN6oLN2yyOYzmKlBIx75vSEAOCvUCa6rtLbntCcx0AXlzLHtsziMwdmsWMdgz4riIFD9NT5q/s1600-h/fires.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44LELF7WqH23cpC01P1IENVH3yG_ELRw4eVaANclxjZSrIPnbEr1QMdfA4sQuSpDND-gKoN6oLN2yyOYzmKlBIx75vSEAOCvUCa6rtLbntCcx0AXlzLHtsziMwdmsWMdgz4riIFD9NT5q/s400/fires.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371590052315923634" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjurWZHahmHBqyMKlkbgWWgRN2-QTGE6Izg_PatyjlNpm-rDtBAAcZS7EiBLQwSTqWJFrlGrGFZXwEOtqZjeGQl_8-GDJ-PotYtBoXFHabrbUeh3P7btItqKZv6GQilPyy5-xH2pLR2HoYS/s1600-h/fire2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjurWZHahmHBqyMKlkbgWWgRN2-QTGE6Izg_PatyjlNpm-rDtBAAcZS7EiBLQwSTqWJFrlGrGFZXwEOtqZjeGQl_8-GDJ-PotYtBoXFHabrbUeh3P7btItqKZv6GQilPyy5-xH2pLR2HoYS/s400/fire2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371590399926454834" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NO6WjEp_Qz4Qd4hRNAMwUzagjxtbWAcc7TgCLiqw4iKe3o5f0ufyFhHMG-dy5wLx-2aQGuEKXMwncSL82F91ENnKmTwOz3DbU8fZVKqp8SGnMvlrvY8hs-TSF37DrOfeJEQhS4-7U1o8/s1600-h/studio3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NO6WjEp_Qz4Qd4hRNAMwUzagjxtbWAcc7TgCLiqw4iKe3o5f0ufyFhHMG-dy5wLx-2aQGuEKXMwncSL82F91ENnKmTwOz3DbU8fZVKqp8SGnMvlrvY8hs-TSF37DrOfeJEQhS4-7U1o8/s400/studio3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371590920628092114" /></a><br /><br />4. We leveled out the interior of the studio with wet sand first. Okay, Pa built me a simple inside form. I was all about the concrete after the physical demands of the outside stone wall. To rid any guilt I had about the environment I used a lot of rocks too. It was blasted hot so we layed down poly to keep the cement from drying too fast.<br /><br />This is where this post ends my friends. You see, my poor studio has been awaiting the harvest of local straw. In just a few days I shall be the owner of 110 straw bales, ordered from an enthusiastic farming lady who uses far too many smiley faces in her emails. I love her though, secretly.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-13535406856784041652009-05-23T01:26:00.000-07:002009-05-23T12:32:57.820-07:00Recent Publications<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-F6oyGeG4mKog6lfiYyuWyTK6VILEZUdDJF1mwcaogZKlem_zIrslsZX1PK8Tva1sIMIennKYFHS8Ir5qhd0XCJBvDvhitqJAKxS8Av81fRQERN9QcJ3sHAZYuQ4kHeXkMoYwXWkoW2d/s1600-h/m82.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-F6oyGeG4mKog6lfiYyuWyTK6VILEZUdDJF1mwcaogZKlem_zIrslsZX1PK8Tva1sIMIennKYFHS8Ir5qhd0XCJBvDvhitqJAKxS8Av81fRQERN9QcJ3sHAZYuQ4kHeXkMoYwXWkoW2d/s400/m82.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338951708179462194" /></a><br /><br />Over the past month or so, I've had a few more pieces accepted for publication. Woo Who?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://jaam.wordpress.com/">JAAM (Just Another Art Movement)</a></span><br /><br />This New Zealand annual, out of Wellington, has published a short story of mine. This is my first New Zealand publication and it means a great deal because my partner is a Kiwi and so I hold a soft spot for the land of rolling hills and pinky bars. The 2009 edition is edited by Ingrid Horrocks and will be out this September. Bookmark it.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.towardthelight.net/">Toward The Light: Journal of Reflective Word & Image</a> </span><br /><br />I'm happy about publishing my short story in this Canadian biannual considering they have previously published a favourite author of mine, Susan Musgrave of <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cargo-Orchids-Susan-Musgrave/dp/0676972853">Cargo of Orchids</a></span> fame. You haven't read it? Read it. There's drugs, murder and love. It's what I imagine a South American soap opera to be, but with three dimensional characters. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.blockjournal.com/">BLOCK</a></span><br /><br />BLOCK is a biannual out of Canberra. They have kindly accepted my poem <span style="font-style:italic;">Attachment</span>. Issue 8 is being launched June 4th!<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1153358148&ref=ts">[untitled] A Melbourne Writers Magazin</a>e</span><br /><br />Shrouded in mystery and veiled in a facebook homepage, this brand new writing shindig have published my poem <span style="font-style:italic;">To My Music Man</span>, a little diddy ode to my main Kiwi squeeze and our mutual love for the musical genius of Bon Iver. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.matrixmagazine.org/82/issue82.html">Matrix</a> </span><br /><br />A quarterly out of Canada, have published my poem '<span style="font-style:italic;">Acquiring A Strange Thing'</span> in the 82 edition. Side note: any one entering POP Montreal this year?Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-48216861138560005512009-05-21T09:48:00.000-07:002009-05-21T11:05:51.488-07:00Plethora of Literary Wonderments and Ramblings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWBWJicU78ufmB8A7ftIAEAqS_A638vVb9tag-ycMHBxzSH6O-zAn0xIkDh6tC06d6ctmY7i9xDK3v5dvs4RIoUXYbIMw3e0UPs-AZ1LaP8MNPW6KLEVJ44K-hVEqLjDfictUazBmYw82/s1600-h/images-4.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 85px; height: 142px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWBWJicU78ufmB8A7ftIAEAqS_A638vVb9tag-ycMHBxzSH6O-zAn0xIkDh6tC06d6ctmY7i9xDK3v5dvs4RIoUXYbIMw3e0UPs-AZ1LaP8MNPW6KLEVJ44K-hVEqLjDfictUazBmYw82/s400/images-4.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338338355724465842" /></a><br /><br />Those of you curious cats who find your way to my rant will know about the impending shift of countries (mine not the countries'). I'm ultra pleased to announce the Bookshelf Doomsday over! All are coming with me. To ensure this happens they are all packed in tidy boxes and situated in a prominent location next to the front door. To celebrate this triumph appropriately I bought more books.<br /><br />Having said that I have a reading stack to devour that would make the Eiffel Tower blush, I should know, I've seen such wonders. These are books lent to me, given to me and lovingly brought back as gifts from Swine Flu land, ol' Me-hi-co itself. The list: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Wedding-Without-Library-America/dp/1931082030/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1242927071&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style:italic;">The Collected novels of McCullers</span></a>, <a href="http://www.textpublishing.com.au/books-and-authors/book/salt/"><span style="font-style:italic;">Salt</span> by Maurice Gee</a>, <a href="http://www.textpublishing.com.au/books-and-authors/book/ghoul/"><span style="font-style:italic;">Ghou</span>l by Maurice Gee</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Brief-Wondrous-Life-Oscar-Wao/dp/1594483299/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1242927238&sr=8-1"><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">The Brief Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao</span><span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span></span> by Junot Diaz</a>, and <a href="http://www.coaldrakes.com/viewbook.php?book_id=262705"><span style="font-style:italic;">Winds of Heaven</span> (yeah, not the best title) by Judith Clarke</a>. To top it all off the most recent edition of <a href="http://www.parisreview.com/"><span style="font-style:italic;">The Paris Review</span></a> has landed! <br /><br />I started reading<span style="font-style:italic;"> Salt</span> before bed. It's a fantasy novel about a boy who searches for his enslaved father in the deep salt mines run by Company (political and social philosophy abound, which Text Publishing seem to encourage, after publishing the likes of <a href="http://www.textpublishing.com.au/books-and-authors/book/genesis/">Genesis by Bernard Beckett</a>). There's a dash of mind reading, mixed with the adventure of crossing the mysterious terrain with a Dweller woman and a Company girl who has fled a forced marriage. The writing is clean and acute, but the first night after reading I had nightmares about ravenous wild dogs. In the story they eat the boy's old man friend because the boy sends them too. Not to worry, the old man is hopefully dead first. The second time I read this before bed - nightmare town. A coincidence? By the third round of reading <span style="font-style:italic;">Salt</span> before bed and having subsequent nightmares, I've labelled it day time reading only. Not sure if <span style="font-style:italic;">Ghoul</span> will have such dark undertones but I'm guestimating it will. Hell, at least there's no wizards or dragons, which seem to dominate children's and YA fantasy at the moment.<br /><br />So now I read<span style="font-style:italic;"> The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter</span>, and dream of Mick, the prom party-hosting, smoking kid from the south (dang, I could've had a whole novel of just her). It's amazing isn't it that the American Southern writers have such distinct voices? McCullers work reminds me of Faulkner, whom I love, not just for the structure and multiple narrator point of view, but tone and mood. <br /><br />But I couldn't leave the recent issue of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Paris Review</span> in its wrapping. And I'm so glad I didn't. The first short story by James Lasdun <span style="font-style:italic;">The Hollow</span> felt like home so much it almost made me homesick, until I realized I'd soon be up in the mountains, meeting my neighbours on horseback and hearing the local gossip, which my mother all ready fills me in on: the teenager living across the street had a baby, the bed and breakfast pricks next door sold to a young English couple who don't get along with the previous owner still living on the property, the gay couple behind our house are still probably growing drugs in their field (but no one really knows) and the hillside is looking pretty bare because the pine beetle have eaten all the pines. There now you're up to speed too.<br /><br />The best news is that I've been granted permission to build a straw bale studio on my parents' property, using all reclaimed materials for an environmentally friendly space. I've already got a professional photographer on the books to document the raising of the 'Writing Shed'. No one seems to think I can build it. My mother says I have no muscles (OK, I admit it, I thought the new Melbourne train seats were broken for a week until I realised they were not - I just didn't have the strength to fold them down). We'll see. I anticipate sweat, and a certain level of disaster. This blog will host it all, starting this July.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-23273395230322116152009-04-22T03:47:00.001-07:002009-04-22T04:24:51.203-07:00The Book Shelf Doomsday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3F_tu63j8jUI2kzINfD5rYwOcydnGdlu4yfpT_KUSd8cpss2qiuPrZsfrTWPrBh21uNS2Qti4H3yeAEvJcxiTmqg_1CdspjdK2bKjqO6IyPAPBH3wpuOBKJU8-TsrBIx2zlZGrNNDrxe8/s1600-h/P4220085.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3F_tu63j8jUI2kzINfD5rYwOcydnGdlu4yfpT_KUSd8cpss2qiuPrZsfrTWPrBh21uNS2Qti4H3yeAEvJcxiTmqg_1CdspjdK2bKjqO6IyPAPBH3wpuOBKJU8-TsrBIx2zlZGrNNDrxe8/s400/P4220085.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327473905214746018" /></a><br />Not to sound selfish but if I lend you a book I want it back. I've lost so many books I've loved (for those are the only ones worth lending out) to friends who simply pass them on, keep them or let them loose into the ether. But I like my books. I love lending them out to other people. I love referencing them. I love looking at their spines and remembering their tales, since, let's face it, my memory is nearly non-existent. And I like the whole look of it. My two mighty Ikea bookshelves remind me I'm a writer, but also foremost a reader. But now my bookshelves face another blow. This time it is not a book-friendemy. It's me.<br /><br />Since I originally hail from Canada there's always been speculation about heading back there, away from my cozy apartment here in St Kilda. I do not especially want to move. I've gotten to know a tad about Australia's publishing industry and love the independent publishers who serve the literary community well. Oh and those friends who buy me drinks and let me ramble on about whatever obsession tends to occupy my fancy that day, yes, I'll miss them dearly too. Alas, being in a relationship for nearly nine years requires sacrifice and my partner is pleading we move.<br /><br />I've queried many shipping movers, requesting quotes to shift my belongings. I've already decided to sell everything but my art, 1/2 of my clothes, 1/4 of my linen, some momentos and my red mixing bowls. But my books? I don't think so, buster. Then another financial reality of being a full time writer struck - I'll have to, somehow someway, whittle my collection down to a mere box! <br /><br />What do I get rid of? Classics is my main guess. They are easily replaceable, but even then I still doubt my capacity to contain my book collection to a solitary box. These are sad days ahead, my friends. It's like the Sophie's Choice of books. On the bright side, perhaps I'll convince Braden to stay here in melanoma land (so he has freckles and pale skin - slip, slop, slap, solved) or at the very least keep some of my lovelies here, stored up and dusty, so that when I come back (and indeed I will come back, family and everything) it will be like saying hello to a long lost friend, one who isn't on Facebook and doesn't keep in touch.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-52386252604147961102009-04-10T02:07:00.000-07:002009-04-10T02:49:46.242-07:00Oh the guilt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNZOQeP5JU3ZBm7toSp24d7zRrcJlGjXFH0iax9RcenAPr4tBpLigp6pWcdQJlSkx_1Tyt9LweTIfQch_fBDZ4usM946cp6xdTc-zZ3J2tPp2XiWYguo1rTfoMe3Q85an0JXpjYDpPrus/s1600-h/images-1.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 96px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNZOQeP5JU3ZBm7toSp24d7zRrcJlGjXFH0iax9RcenAPr4tBpLigp6pWcdQJlSkx_1Tyt9LweTIfQch_fBDZ4usM946cp6xdTc-zZ3J2tPp2XiWYguo1rTfoMe3Q85an0JXpjYDpPrus/s400/images-1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322993619293344914" /></a><br />Lately the guilt of not writing a short story, or finishing the final *unpublished draft of my novel, or update this blog has taken me to Blue Town. That place writers know all too well. I often go through slumps where thoughts gather in my head but rarely make it on to paper. It's times like these I feel as though I'm that person at the party who say they 'want' to write a novel, well after they manage to find the time.<br /><br />Although, I must say I have a barrel of excuses. I've been ill. Four lumbar punctures and a two day road trip to Queensland where my partner's mother is donating an unmatched kidney to her husband, has left me little energy, physical or creative. It's only the fourth such transplant done in Queensland. Fortunately all went well, except my aching, painful back, and for two weeks we had to devote our time to looking after his parents after they got out of hospital. <br /><br />I haven't had time to read either! Oh my good intentions. I did read a quarter of Dave Eggers <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Vintage-Dave-Eggers/dp/0307385906/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1239354983&sr=1-1">What is the What</a>.</span> And boy oh boy did the story, while at times repetitious, made the long drive and pale paddocks fly by. The story of Valentino Achak Deng combines nicely with Eggers writing. At times, as a writer, I often wondered what their process was, how all the detail was brought to life. It is obvious from the forward, some of the conversations and smaller points of 'the story' were embellished and thus meant publication as fiction. The larger, more important, facets of the story make it without a doubt some of the most compelling, humbling, honest, reading I have stumbled upon for a while. By the end of each chapter, all we wanted to do was read the next. We can't wait for the drive home.<br /><br />Next, I will blog on one of my favourite humorous reads ever, Fanny Flagg's Daisy May and The Miracle Man.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-53805707814146332502009-03-03T07:44:00.000-08:002009-03-03T08:42:18.625-08:00Oh, The Woes Of AuthorhoodA few times a week I set aside time to check my email and search out markets for my work. I trawl the internet and the monthly Writers' Centre newsletters hoping to find the elusive beast. It has these features:<br /><br />-it publishes exciting or/and well crafted fiction and/or poetry<br />-it has an email address for submissions!<br />-it does not require any sort of fee.<br /><br />Of course, there is a King Beast. He is extremely rare and facing extinction. Authors hear rumors of the beast at launches or from a drunk who boasts of his catch. You'll recognize the King by the distinctions that set him apart from his contemporaries:<br /><br />-it pays money and/or contributer copies<br />-it has a national or international distribution<br />-it throws great launches.<br /><br />Extended metaphors aside, the reality of placing creative work is daunting. You want it to be read and presented in a respectful way. You don't want to kill trees and fill landfills with ink cartridges to print off your work to send off. Sure publishers, this means you'll get more work to sort through because it makes submission more accessible. Perhaps you can hire an undergraduate intern. Maybe throw a saltine his or her way as they wade through the unsolicited inbox.<br /><br />Don't get me started on contests! I haven't entered any writing contest (aka lottery) for several reasons. First, the submission fee. Australia isn't as bad as Canada. I've seen $25-$30 submission fees with a first prize of $100. Ridiculous. Secondly, the judges. Some contests state upfront who is judging, and pay a local author to adjudicate. But others? Well! Lastly, writing is a profession. Some 'contests' are nice to have on a resume and are genuine platforms for writers (most of these do not require a fee). But others are fundraising tools. It's degrading. What other professions have contests? Imagine an annual builders' contest (picture Jenga on a large scale). The only professions outside the Arts that I can think of that have contests are cat breeders and hairdressers.<br /><br />And publications with reading fees really get my goat. I realize funding is thin. But imagine working days, maybe even months, at your job only to be told <span style="font-style:italic;">you</span> have to pay the boss.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-23089143080757556702009-02-27T23:10:00.000-08:002009-02-28T01:40:42.385-08:00New Authors. An Admission. (No Stones Please)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDMh-35JbKunEHMYYIaKHaYwUZvBOX2SLjFg4cHCeW9Es6ln-5NKpfsAhvmv7e36x1XVaOGTaVQoXnn35AuYH-ESzdq4EsfwSpbqEqYAEacoMy7p6TLx8O799bmnOC6oEsw86E-NlkBy-/s1600-h/the-society-of-s-by-susan-hubbard.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 163px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDMh-35JbKunEHMYYIaKHaYwUZvBOX2SLjFg4cHCeW9Es6ln-5NKpfsAhvmv7e36x1XVaOGTaVQoXnn35AuYH-ESzdq4EsfwSpbqEqYAEacoMy7p6TLx8O799bmnOC6oEsw86E-NlkBy-/s400/the-society-of-s-by-susan-hubbard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307780797827131186" /></a><br /><br />I admit, shamefully, I am shallow when it comes to introducing myself to new authors' work in a bookstore. I'm not talking about word-of-mouth books, or the book reviews we all read and think I must read that author. I'm talking about wandering into a bookstore with no book in mind, stumbling onto a narrow spine which has never had its cover turned toward the aisle, or a little 'Recommended Reading' note inserted under its base. For this purpose I have devised a system, albeit a shallow system, of adjudication. <br /><br />First. Covers. Recently at a party a friend leaned over the table, wine on her breath, and whispered a dirty little secret. She bought and read books based on their covers, wasn't she horrible! Well, no, I told her. I did too. Is the cover shiny? Yes? Then no, I won't read it. Is it a rip-off of J.S Foer's covers? Oh that glorious freehand anti-font. <span style="font-style:italic;">Oui</span>? Then no, I won't pick it up. Does it feature pastel flowers or a photograph of a troubled teenager? Again, not a book I like touching my precious fingers. <br /><br />Second. The blurb. Either it sounds interesting or it doesn't. If the blurb is only praise and quotes from reviewers or other authors in their publisher's stable, count me out. I don't need someone to tell me I should read a book because they liked it. I flip that book over to see if it might appeal to me.<br /><br />Last but not least, it must pass the random flick test. The writing must be up to scratch. Not just the first page or the first overly-written three chapters. Come on writers, we're all guilty of slacking off immediately after the words Chapter Four. If it is well written, and it is under $30, it is likely I'll buy it.<br /><br />Which brings me to Susan Hubbard's <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Society-S-Novel-Susan-Hubbard/dp/141653458X/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1235805867&sr=1-2">The Society of S</a></span>. Despite the Zorro-esque cover of the golden S and featuring Society in its title, I let slide my first rule. Afterall it was matt black, a colour (or non-colour) I respect. Onto rule two. The blurb sounded familiar to my novel, so of course I was both impressed and nervously curious. Rule number three passed when I read a page 2/3s in and it wasn't blooming adjectives and it was written in convincing first person.<br /><br />I was ultimately deceived. My formula wasn't fail proof. Gasp! Clutch my heart! The novel I thought was about a thirteen-year-old girl and her mysterious scientist father, was in fact about vampires. Since Stephanie Meyer's onslaught of everything vampire I shuddered, and admit thinking I'll finish this but I'm not going to tell a soul. Thankfully commonsense prevailed and I no longer care if people know I've read <span style="font-style:italic;">one of those books</span>. After all Dracula remains one of my favourite books in terms of atmosphere and style. Far from cliche-land, this novel is shaping up to be one of the best YA books, realist or fantastical, that I've read since Meg Rosoff's <span style="font-style:italic;">How I Live Now</span>. So, perhaps my system does work. It just allows for hidden surprises.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5712883142693153355.post-37437501076809855732009-02-11T02:35:00.000-08:002009-02-11T03:30:42.247-08:00The Yawn Factor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QIC6Ysv2-pIroD-wn0HbQzTIeykm1f7Xhhowqf7vJ2k5VgzUpbhSCze85cK5VFXYRtClplP7TvPo3nEPBZVFGlcVSlHYmu42hvwNH0kp36rPToDjZz1z91khOIgGvR9aCr8-N0Rzxr6A/s1600-h/P1130004.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QIC6Ysv2-pIroD-wn0HbQzTIeykm1f7Xhhowqf7vJ2k5VgzUpbhSCze85cK5VFXYRtClplP7TvPo3nEPBZVFGlcVSlHYmu42hvwNH0kp36rPToDjZz1z91khOIgGvR9aCr8-N0Rzxr6A/s320/P1130004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301492361574287826" /></a><br />Isn't it awkward when the friend, who is oh so generous, gives you a 'you-have-to-read-this' book? Undoubtably it will be a novel of somewhat questionable writing and most likely filled with a wandering plot that makes you question the publishing industry and characters drawn so thin so can see through them and their families three generations back. Alas, you feign a smile and politely say, 'Oh...thank you' and before you know it you've laid the brickwork for a series of long nights, struggling to finish a few pages before delving into the book you picked out, the one you enjoy, the one taunting you on the bed-side table.<br /><br />I have recently received such a novel. This time from a friend who usually recommends great books. He introduced me to <span style="font-style:italic;">A House For Mr Biswa</span>s, which is now a favourite of mine, so I had every intention of reading the dull, water-warped pages of this 'have-to-read- book', which shall remain nameless for the time being. He had scanned his shelf before our meeting in the city, and thought 'Yes, I bought that years ago when I was in Ireland. It is one of my favourite books. I just forget what it is about' then later told me this as he passed it to me. <br /><br />I wasn't going to let the one Euro sticker on the cover deter me. Some people just don't have taste. However, the first page was traumatic. Adjective and adverb city! And not just the good old JK Rowling romp through adjective town either. To top it off, it was written in that ever so annoying Old English style (yes, I wrote that on purpose) that leads you to think for the first thirty pages it is set in the 1800s until the protagonist mentions Nixon. Why do authors do this? People from the 1800s aren't reading your book, we are...hopefully. <br /><br />Tonight marks the fourteenth night of those horrible words and the plot is wandering on one foot, drunk on too much of its own ale, blinded by the umpteenth adjective, searching for a place to lay down and die. I highly suspect this will take place soon, if not, I'll have to shoot it.<br /><br />Of course there are exceptions to the 'you-have-to-read-this' book lend, but they are exceptions.Amy Jacksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01059227529964738836noreply@blogger.com5