Favourite short story writer?

Who is your favourite? You are only allowed one.

I have been thinking about this a lot recently. I write short stories, I read short stories, I love well written short stories, I detest lazy, obvious twist in the tale short stories. I like to be made to think, but I don't like overly clever writing, I want the words to be simple, just right. I want to feel the story. It's wonderful to be moved...to tears, laughter, just a smile. I like that feeling of universality when a story makes you go, ahh, yes, I know that. I have several faves, but if I had to pick one it would always be Lorrie Moore. She's punny and clever and deep and frothy and her stories just slide along easily but every single word is the exact right one. Amazing.

Who is yours?

Rambles.

I have been away to my parents for half term. Had a horrid time. I came home Friday arvo, and worked yesterday. It's odd having a Costa suddenly appear in the shop. It takes up half of the third floor and smells good. However even with their offer of 10 percent off for us book folk it is still more expensive to buy from them than to nip next door to the Pret. Plus Pret has nicer mocha and almond croissants. But, yeah, there's the whole ethics thang, and Costa = good and Pret = big bad McDonald's apparently. Hmmm, my book store employee's wage just doesn't stretch so...
I wasn't the only one either, we guiltily tried to hide our tell tale take out bags as we walked by the coffee guys.
(We could always make our own in the staff room, but hey, it's my Saturday morning treat, I take lunch from home dammit, I will not be deprived.)
The other problem with it is that it's so darn noisy. Well of course, people chat over coffee, and they laugh too and yell and it's all good. Except that it sounded like a big party was going on every time I picked up the phone which didn't seem too customer friendly. Whatever, really I am all for coffee and book shop marriages.

I saw a new book of short stories yesterday that looked ultra enticing;
Magic for beginners by Kelly Link.
I am a little weary of some short stories, I have read so many that they often blend and become just more of the same, from what I could see this looked intriguing and fresh. Of course I haven't actually read them yet! But anyhoo, worth checking out I would say.
http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/displayProductDetails.do?sku=5567773

She also has an amazingly gorgeous site at http://www.kellylink.net/index.html

Book tokens competition.

I read about this over at Danuta Kean's blog (link on right).


National Book Tokens launch Not Yet Published, a literary prize exclusively for booksellers. The Not Yet Published prize celebrates National Book Tokens 75th anniversary and long association with the book trade. Inspired by Man Booker nominees Sarah Waters and David Mitchell, who were both booksellers before becoming bestselling authors, National Book Tokens is offering others in the book trade the opportunity to be published. First time authors are requested to submit an extract from the work, a proposal, an outline or a synopsis of no more than 10,000 words of either fiction or non-fiction. The winning bookseller author will receive a book publishing contract with Faber & Faber.Stuart Mathews, Managing Director of National Book Tokens comments:“National Book Tokens has been hugely supported by thousands of individual booksellers over the years, this prize acknowledges their expertise and commitment.”The prize is open to all booksellers from the UK and Republic of Ireland employed as of 1st February 2007, whether they work for a chain or an independent. The shortlist of authors will be announced in September and the winner announcement will be made on 14th November, to coincide to the day with National Book Tokens’ 75th anniversary.The judges are, Lee Brackstone, Editorial Director for Fiction at Faber, Julian Loose, Editorial Director for Non-fiction at Faber, Alex Clark, Deputy Literary Editor of the Observer, independent bookseller Patrick Neale, and authors Adele Parks and Francis Spufford.National Book Tokens continue to be a highly successful part of the books industry, with sales in excess of £30 million p.a. With the launch of an electronic book token scheduled for later this year, plans are underway for delivering sales well into the future.More information on the Not Yet Published prize, including the rules and conditions, can be found in the bookseller zone at www.nationalbooktokens.co.uk

Seems like a good thing. The only thing I don't understand is that you can send an extract or synopsis, wouldn't one want to submit both so that the extract makes sense. Sigh. I am so out of the loop when it comes to knowing such things.

Oh for fucks sake...

There was an article in yesterday's Independent by Frances Wilson entitled "True romance - private lives of the lady novelists." It begins with the line "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in pursuit of a literary career will never find happiness with a husband, particularly if she writes about love."
Per-lease.
The next sentence is "Consider the list: Sylvia Plath, left by Ted Hughes for another woman, penning her last desperate poems before putting her head in the oven..." She continues by mentioning Mary Wollstonecraft, Jean Rhys, Collette, Mrs Gaskell, The Bronte sisters and Jane Austen, and states "It is a subject that is increasingly fascinating us, the readers."
Hmmm. Is that true? Is any of it true?
It smacks to me of page filling, essay making bollocks.
Switch the title to "Private lives of the male poets" and state that it is a universal truth that male poets never find happiness with their spouses. let's site Ted Hughes as an example shall we, after all he married Sylvia but was unable to remain faithful and content, he left her for Assia Weevil and both of those unfortunate women gassed themselves. To lose one wife in that way is sad, to lose two is surely suspect. Let's discuss Dylan Thomas's alcoholism and abuse of the ladies, Charles Bukowski too. There we go, proof that it is not possible to be male, poetic and lucky in lurve. What utter piffle.
It makes me so cross to see misinformation set out as fact. What about the many happily married female authors? It is possible, of course. The first line is the one that bothers me so much "It is a truth universally acknowledged" by whom?

Grrr, and yeah, argh too.

Barenaked ladies are men.

I have added a little Ace Music doo dah over there on the right. Click it, go on... I did have the option of setting it to play automatically but I thought that could quickly get tiresome. However, I like it, and as it is promoting my favourite band I am happy to have it there, for now.

It is a beautiful live version of "Maybe you're right" from their latest album "Barenaked Ladies are Me."
They are an amazingly talented band, much misunderstood. It pisses me off that many view them as a kind of novelty act, remembered for their biggest hit "One week". In truth they are a cynical and depressive bunch of guys, but they wrap their caustic wit in layers of sparkling pop/rock and gorgeous harmonies. Smart and bitterly funny, able to free style and dance, elequont, sincere, political, caring, Eco friendly and just darn hawt! Plus they have set up their own "Desperation records". So indie! How can you resist?

What is the point?

I have several short story ideas bubbling around. Plus of course, my novel is always in my head (never on the page, such fear!) The two email fiction things I did have broken my inertia a little. I sat down yesterday to write, and instead of one of the story ideas I have been brewing something entirely different came out. Or at least, half of a story came out. I have no clue what to do with it, the whole thing seems rather pointless, not in a woe is me what is the point way, more a what the fuck is the story then way? Hmmm. I have a character, who has a flirtation with a work colleague that we follow over the course of a few work do's. My title is so far "Six work do's" although that's a guess. So far we have had 3 of the do's. I know that there has to be at least a fourth and fifth. And I can't think of any climax at all. Ho hum, I suppose it's a writing exercise and at least I am pulling words out of somewhere and sticking them down.

A bit of what you fancy.

Reading. It's ace right? Never a chore to sit with a book. (Except, hmmm, when it is a chore. Which would be, say, when reading up for work or a course or something.) I adore reading. Of course. However right now, I just can't find anything that I want to read at all.
This is ultra bizarre. Unheard of in my life. I don't even want to read the paper. Sheez.

A few weeks ago I wandered around work and saw a few books I thought looked intriguing, I ordered them from the library and was delighted to be the first person to get one of them. Lovely, pristine book. On opening it though I just slid right off the page. I tried several times, but nothing stuck. No interest.
Same with the second book.

I turned to the pile beside my bed. Nope. Don't care.

I was given a damaged copy of Charlie Brooker's "Screen burn", surely those bite size witty, vicious telly reviews would suit my scattered mind. Hmmm. No.

Actually, the only thing I fancy reading right now (as in this very moment) is an Elvis biography. The definitive bio, whichever that may be. ( Possibly, it is the trilogy by Peter Guralnick, but I don't think I care to wade through so many words. Give me the juice, the dirt, the sorrow, and make it snappy please.)

Things to do vs things I want to do vs life.

In my brief "About me" bit on this blog I have a list; mum, wife, writer, friend, woman, sister, daughter, bookseller, bitch. They are the describing words I came up with to sum me up. They tell a tiny bit about me, but not much beyond the roles which I have at the moment in this world. This is a writing/reading/bookish blog of sorts, and I did once have a Live Journal as well, in which I dumped the daily stuff. I have ditched the LJ, and carried on with this. I like the fact that the day to day of my life has no place here. Only sometimes there is nothing but the day to day in my week, and so there's nothing to say. It seems futile to mention that this week I have read nothing, written nothing, achieved nothing. But that's a version of the truth.

The other version is this; illness, pain, sadness, behavioural difficulties, need, cleaning, washing, emailing, phoning, attempting to soothe and ease and assist and nurture and help, eating, drinking, sleeping, wiping, hoping, loving, talking, hugging, kissing, holding, nurturing, crying.

I am exhausted, and I have a headache and I really must clean the bathroom and Dyson because I've got work tomorrow, and I've got forms to fill out and paperwork to do, and all the niggly stuff that crowds my mind. But whilst I do those things, in my head I shall be working on a story idea I have, about a woman who is not me, a woman who is nowhere near as lucky as me. And next week I may just get the space to write it.