Archive | 2008

Hear me roar!

By on May 15, 2008 in biscuits and lies, books i've been reading, doctor who, films, internet

Or possibly just mumble a bit in a slightly incoherent fashion. I have the grand privilege of guesting on the Litopia After Dark podcast on Friday evening, and promise to do my level best to be thrillingly audible. (I could aim for debonair and sparkling but, you know, it’s been a long week: let’s not get ambitious.) Full details on how to listen (even for the technowary, or ‘Mum’, as I like to call her) at the above link – and do pop by the chatroom if you happen to be online at the right moment: I hear it gets quite racy in there…

book_mini I’ve gone on a deranged Dick Francis spree, and have been gobbling up the Sid Halley ones with abandon – including the fourth, Under Orders, which I thought I’d read and hadn’t (and quite want to copy-edit, as Sid should really be investigating the mysterious theft of multiple commas). I read a review somewhere that declared the charm of his affable, mild-mannered, stoic heroes is that we secretly all think we’re like that. Alarmingly correct, I fear.

pencil_mini See all those brackets up there? YOU HAVE NO IDEA. They’re like a plague, I tell you. As serafina67 is to CAPSLOCK, Heidi is to parenthetical asides. (I may need to get stern in the edit.)

rocrastination_mini Being overexcited about Indy 4 even though the rumour mill says turkey; being overexcited about the Dollhouse trailer even though YouTube won’t let me see the bloody thing (T, it’s the new Joss Whedon thingy); being overexcited about having a laptop that actually, you know, works; sighing at BBCW’s knicker-knotting over Doctor Who knitting patterns.

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Cookery in Colour

By on May 5, 2008 in big woo, biscuits and lies, books i've been reading, cooking, internet, kids' books i've been reading, other writers, telly

In traditional fashion, I have spent the Bank Holiday doing DIY.  Specifically, decorating the kitchen.

turmeric lightning!

That’s what happens when you burrow in the cupboard for chick peas, and find the turmeric instead.  If I was a C15th spice merchant, I’d be well narked.  As it is, I’m quite impressed by my artistic jar-juggling skills.  I’m calling it Sunset Boulevard: Kitchen, and leaving it there for future generations to appreciate.  Or until I find my dustpan and brush.

book_mini  I’m slacking on the fiction front – always tricky when you’re knee deep in your own book to fully pay attention to someone else’s – so you’ll have to wait for my review of the marvellous Sarah Mussi’s new teen issue-thriller, Last of the Warrior Kings.   (It is killing me to keep putting it down, though.  Damn you, Mussi, and your cliffhangery ways!)  In the meantime, here’s Charlie Brooker talking about existentialism.  He’s always good value, but this column has bonus thought-provocation in with the LOLs.  It’s what Biscuits & Lies is about, really: becoming so accustomed to the rules of the unreal world (telly, movies, the internet, where you’re a safe observer in the audience, just a pseudonym among millions of untraceable others) that you can’t help but apply them to the real one, at which point everything goes tits-up up quite spectacularly.  Speaking of which…

pencil_mini  You know how last week I said I kept thinking of throwing the whole of B&L out of the window?  Well, I did.  (Metaphorically.  It was in my laptop: I sort of need that a bit too much to go throwing it at windows.)  I’ve nailed the heroine’s voice, at last.  The characters I’d planned out are writing themselves into unexpected, sparkly new people.  There’s a whole new subplot, and I have no idea how it will end: I’m spotting clues to it as I type them, and giggling, and scribbling down ridiculous possibilities, because who knows?  It’s a messy, impractical way to work: I can see already the places I’ll need to tighten up, the meandering chunks of dialogue that don’t do anything for the plot, are just there because I was having fun making these people talk to each other.  (I’m writing dialogue!  I’ve missed dialogue.)  But I don’t think my brain works any other way.  I’ve got the fundamental story set in stone, but if it’s all preconstructed, I get bored.  Knowing exactly where I’m going would be like reading the last page of the detective novel to find out whodunnit: simply unsporting, old chap.  I shall deny ever saying such things when I’m sweating over Edit #43, obviously, but right now, I’m having a riot.  Can there really be people on the planet who don’t want to do this for a living?

rocrastination_mini  Doing a little spoon-based dance round the kitchen while cooking, only to realise there were three students in the garden, probably weeing themselves at my old-lady moves; celebrating 2 chocolate-free weeks with pistachio ice-cream (I fit in my jeans again: sod it); Prison Break-ing like a mo-fo (2 eps from the end of Season 2: gosh *flails* etc); finally being a grown-up and going for a proper bra-fitting, which is much less scary than I’d imagined (though I was mentally writing an extra serafina67 scene where she did the same – with hi-larious consequences, of course).

 

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Rest In Nidd, Humph

By on April 26, 2008 in big woo, biscuits and lies, books i've been reading, films, kids' books i've been reading, telly

He’s been introduced on stage with the words ‘Yes, he’s still alive…it’s Humphrey Lyttelton!’ for so long, it seems impossible that he now isn’t.

Forget cups of tea, kings and queens, fish and chips (or endless rain, endemic alcoholism, and teenage pregnancy): I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue is the true symbol of Britishness. When Gordon Brown suggested we needed a motto to rival France’s ‘liberte, egalite, fraternite’ he should have looked no further than the 30+ years of Radio 4′s antidote to panel games. Brains, Filth, Silliness: that’s Blighty. (I’d settle for ‘Bring me the head of Alfredo Garcia!’, though.)

I remember my glee when I first looked at a Tube map, and discovered Mornington Crescent actually exists. I can’t hear the word ‘punt’ without recalling Barry Cryer reducing a theatre to mirthful mush, without ever needing to reach the punchline. Thanks to Willie Rushton, in my mind Hamlet’s ‘To be or not to be, that is the question’ will forever be sung to the tune of ‘A you’re Adorable’. And Humph’s own contributions – wearily deriding the panel, the audience, the games themselves – pricked the possible balloon of smuggery, on the comedy programme of fate.

I just hope that Samantha can cope all right without him. In her honour, some greatest hits: Girlfriend in a Coma to the tune of Tiptoe through the Tulips, and some of the gent himself from 2006.

book_mini Red: the Next Generation of American Writers, edited by Amy Goldwasser (hardback: essays). This is a peach of a dip-into book: a collection of essays on everything from terminal illness to fangirling Johnny Depp, from ‘a generation, perhaps the first, of writers’. It’s grand proof that all the blogging, social networking, texting and gossiping teenagers do instead of their homework has inherent value. They’re not just giving an insight into the familiar petty distractions of teenage angst (although they do that spectacularly); these are writers, showing off how much they already know about structure, pace, how to use wit or shock to manipulate the reader. And some of them are only 13. We old fart fictioneers had better watch our backs. (Incidentally, I don’t know of anything similar that exists in the UK. Anyone else? It’s quite a tempting idea, if not…)

pencil_mini I’m in the keyboard-hammering stage with Biscuits & Lies: one day it’s going swimmingly, the next I dream of throwing it all out of the window and starting again. A first draft needs to exist before I can edit it into something less humiliatingly terrible, but it’s still frustrating to know how much of my still-puny word count is delete-worthy guff. (Today is a ‘throw it out of the window’ day: can you tell?) I’ve finally pegged the key difference between the main characters in Big Woo and B&L, though: Big Woo‘s serafina is fixated on how messed up she is; B&L‘s heroine has absolutely no idea. Now, if only I could find a way to respond to the note I’ve got pinned up above the laptop: NEEDS MORE JOKES.

rocrastination_mini Breaking myself horribly through yoga; becoming obsessed with The Apprentice, even though the last three firings have made no sense whatsoever (Lucinda FTW!); watching Atonement (good enough to distract from La Knightley and her Amazing Performing Back, even: remarkable); watching There Will Be Blood (possibly good in theory: could not stand it); avoiding chocolate, with great sadness.

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NOT fish fingers a la Portuguese

By on April 15, 2008 in big woo, biscuits and lies, books i've been reading, cooking, doctor who, kids' books i've been reading, other writers, telly

Fellow kid-novelista MG’s been torturing me all week with beachside Blackberry-blogging from Brazil, so when my Brazilian buddy Be pined loudly for the Bossa Nostra bistro in Brighton, I said ‘brilliant’ and booked a B&B. When the alphabet is that freakishly persistent, I say roll with it.

I’ll concede that Maracajau probably had the edge on the weather, but even in an April weathermunge (blue sky, sunshine, high winds, bloody freezing) I love Brighton: tacky seaside town reeking of chips, hipster bohemia, party town, shady underworld where Pinky might pop up with a knife and do you in down some Art Deco alleyway. Where else could you find a retro arcade on the prom, complete with genuine 1920s end-of-the-pier peepshow viewers, hand-cranked and run on George IV pennies? But the highlight was undeniably the food. I’d no idea what to expect of Brazilian cuisine – and being a somewhat gigantic country, there’s plenty of regional variation. But the national dish is Feijoada, and if you know anyone who can make it, equip your kitchen with manacles and kidnap them immediately. Black bean stew with beef and pork might not sound all that thrilling, but I would gladly make it my last meal on death row. Yep, even above bacon sandwiches.

feijoada

Feijoada: traditionally served with rice, farofa (ground manioc – a bit like maize), couve (fried greens), and a slice of orange (said to counteract the fat content: I do not entirely believe this bit). I’ll be trying to recreate it: anyone likely to come for dinner, be warned, you may be experimented upon…

* ‘Fish fingers a la Portuguese’ was what my Dad always threatened to cook us for tea if my Mum was otherwise engaged. I still have no idea what they might be. He does a good sprat, though.

book_mini Brighton’s North Laine has some nifty secondhand shops (not least Snoopers’ Paradise, which I very nearly left with a Man from UNCLE annual, several dozen plastic Lando Calrissians, and a top hat). Instead I wound up with some well-thumbed Dick Francis, and Knights of the Cardboard Castle by Elizabeth Beresford (of Womble-creating fame) which I remember loving. I don’t remember it being filled with people called Dickie, Ginger, and Mr Trumpet, though. It makes me wonder growing up in a second Golden Age of kidlit is depriving this generation of certain skills: I read so much Blyton, C.S.Lewis and Ransome that I developed an automatic socio-historical context filter, and contemporary characters who weren’t hopelessly gender-stereotyped and prone to adventuring parentless with gypsies and ginger beer were the aberrations. But Blyton still sells a million books a year worldwide, albeit under painfully misleading chicklit covers. I’m guessing the filter just comes naturally, the same way you know after a sentence or two whether something is literature, or just ‘pleasantly readable’.

pencil_mini As well as Brazilian food, Brighton also possesses a bakery in the Lanes that produces cupcakes to die for. These were necessary for important book research. Expect multiple loving descriptions in Biscuits & Lies (though, you know, I might have to go back just to clarify). In other news, there’s a rather spiffy micro-site accompanying a competition to win signed Big Woos over at MyKindaPlace. They’re giving away chocolate with the books: think I might have to enter myself…

rocrastination_mini Eating my words about Catherine Tate on Doctor Who (where do I sign up to the Donna Noble fanclub?); missing the old Skins cast already, even though they’re dead right to reshuffle; rediscovering the route to the gym at long last (feijoada, cupcakes: not exactly diet food); playing ancient PJ Harvey very very loudly indeed.

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Apples and Oranges (and Daleks)

By on April 6, 2008 in big woo, books i've been reading, doctor who, kids' books i've been reading, other writers

It’s Oxford Literary Festival time, so yesterday I put on my cunning ‘humble punter’ disguise and trundled off to see some Important Successful Writers in action. Meg Rosoff (Rose-Off, apparently: who knew?) was every bit as relaxed, witty, and insightful as you’d hope a favourite author might be in person. I say a favourite: the book she was there to talk about, What I Was, was a disappointment to me – but perhaps only because her first two, How I Live Now and Just In Case, are quite so brilliant. And I have enormous respect for her disregard for doing the expected thing, despite it presumably driving her publishers nuts. She’s a YA author here and in Canada: they’re marketing her as an adult writer in the US, and she says herself she imagines her most obvious readership to be middle-aged women. (From the front row I detected the sound of a PR person quietly expiring.) Certainly she seems brilliantly unbothered by the demands of the market to put authors in a neat convenient pigeonhole: her next two novels are an adult-sounding period romance (complete with ‘sexy poacher’), and a contemporary tale of a 19-year-old God. File under: Uncategorized.

She also says she’s rubbish at plot, and recommends stealing other people’s. I too am rubbish at plot, and plan to put ‘Meg Rosoff said I could’ at the end of all future books, just in case the lawyers come knocking.

I then couldn’t resist a panel of chaps who write the current Doctor Who tie-in novels, despite never having read any of them. It wasn’t exactly earth-shattering (Do you hide behind the sofa? Yes. Which are your favourite monsters? We like Daleks. etc), but the audience was almost entirely made up of excited small children (and their excited nerdy dads), one of whom was in costume as Patrick Troughton’s Doctor, and that made me grin all day.

book_mini Split by a Kiss, by Luisa Playa (10+, contemporary, girls). Josephine, new Brit arrival at an American high school, snogs the cutest boy in the school, and finds herself split in two: cool Josie, who wears the right clothes and hangs with the popular girls; and Jo the nerd, trying to remain true to herself while also struggling to fit in with the ‘alt’ kids. It’s Mean Girls meets Sliding Doors – except that Playa cleverly manages to keep both versions sympathetic, no matter which one reflects your own teenage status. (And on the nerdy writer front, I was really struck by how what sounds like a tricksy complicated structure is perfectly easy to follow: she makes it look effortless, and I’ll bet it wasn’t.) Throw in oodles of Buffy references, a genuinely touching sub-plot involving Jo’s mum, and a simply lickable love interest, and you have a gem that’s pitched absolutely perfectly at the target audience. If you know teens that eat up Louise Rennison, Jacqueline Wilson’s teen books, Joanna Nadin et al, they will consume this with equal glee. (And if they’re looking for further inspiration, they’ll find plenty at www.chicklish.co.uk, Luisa Playa’s own website, which is stacked with that sort of thing. You might come across a rather fabulous review of a certain Big Woo while you’re there, too…)

pencil_mini Publication Day! Well, it will be tomorrow. And actually Big Woo appears to be available EVERYWHERE already: I keep spotting it on tables in bookshops. (Possibly this is because I’ve been going into bookshops to look for it. Ahem.) I ought to do something special to mark the Official Release, I know, but I’ll just be having my usual Monday: being taken out for lunch in old London Town, and buying myself some posh underwear. *sighs theatrically*

rocrastination_mini Chuckling over the Guardian Apprentice blog, which is still every bit as entertaining as Siralan and co; continuing to marvel at eclectic DJs (China Crisis followed by Outkast, anyone?); boggling at the wacky snow ‘n’ sunshine thing happening outside.

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