Spoiled for Choice

I'm back! I very nearly gave up on this blog but then I thought, "No, keep at it. If you build it, they will come." It would probably help if I actually told some people about the blog but I can't bring myself to do it just yet. It's not ready! (Not sure if it ever will be.)

I've been living in Singapore for almost 4 months now. Hard to believe, really. I quite like it here. That may sound a little cool, but trust me, coming from me that's a ringing endorsement. I'm a low-key person and I tend not to be be super-enthusiastic about things.

I'm still not a 100% sure about the direction I want this blog to take. Is it a personal blog or is it about reading and writing? I don't know, but at this point it seems to be a bit of both. I guess I need to get serious about it if I want it to be anything.

For this post I think I shall talk about my first love, which is, of course, books. I came to Singapore with only a few books and now, after 4 months, I have over 70 books in my possession. How, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. In a minute.

I thought I would have a hard time getting hold of second-hand books in Singapore so I decided to join a library. Then I saw on the library website that they were have a book-sale, so I dragged my boyfriend there. All books $2! Who could refuse? I was impressed to see no less than 3 Peter Carey books for sale, so I snapped them all up, along with an Isabelle Allende and a couple of others.

After that I met a fantastic chick from Austin, Texas, called Emma. Her boyfriend works with mine (as all my Singaporean friends' partners do). Emma told me about a place in Singapore called Bras Basah, which has a lot of second-hand bookshops. So off to Bras Basah we trotted.

I did find some good books, including Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver (who at that point I had inexplicably not read), but they were quite expensive for second-hand, some of them being close to $20. I read the Barbara Kingsolver and it was rather good. The story wasn't the most enthralling, although it was still solid, but the prose was lyrical and lovely. I knew at once that I would like her writing.

You may recall from an earlier post that I bought her bestseller, The Poisonwood Bible, before I left, and then promptly lost it. Emma recommended it highly so, after finally joining the library, I borrowed it. I loved it. So beautifully written and well done; she really found a clear voice for her characters. Although the book head-hops between five different characters, there is never a point where you think, which character is this again? You always know which character is speaking because their voices are so clear and resonant. That takes some serious skill, people. She had me bawling like a baby at one point, more than I think I've ever cried while reading a book (and I was in public at the time, so a little embarrassed).

A few weeks ago we had some boxes shipped over from Melbourne, containing all Neil's art/animation books and about 50 books for me -- some mine and some my dad's. I have a habit of buying books (mostly second-hand) and then not getting around to reading them for whatever reason. Or reading part of them but not finishing them. So I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to finally read all those books that I hadn't gotten around to yet.

So that explains why I now have over 70 books here with me, although I brought little else from home apart from clothes. We may not have any pots and pans, but damn it, we've got books!

Also, Emma and I swapped a few, and I just finished reading a fabulous book that she lent me called Case Histories by Kate Atkinson. It was part mystery, part family drama, and all good. It was extremely well written, vivid and engaging, and I couldn't put it down. Almost all the characters in the book have experienced some kind of terrible loss and I could feel their grief and the sense of hopelessness. One passage that really stuck with me was this, from a man who is still utterly consumed by grief 10 years after the loss of his daughter:

"When Theo returned along St. Andrews Street the girl with the custard-yellow hair was no longer there and he worried that she might never be there again. Because that was how it happened: one moment you were there, laughing, talking, breathing, and the next you were gone. Forever. And there wasn't even a shape left in the world where you'd been, neither the trace of a smile nor the whisper of a word. Just nothing."

I wish I could write like that. I'm intrigued to read Atkinson's other books now, but I'll guess they'll have to wait until I've gotten through the other 70 odd. I've recently promised myself I'm going to read at least a book a week (which I really should've been doing already). Since I read Case Histories in 3 days, I've technically fulfilled my quota for this week, but I'm going to start another one anyway. Not sure what it will be yet, as I'm a little spoiled for choice, but I'll keep you posted!

Lost In Translation

So far it looks as though I'm averaging about 1 post a month, which is not too bad I suppose, as it means I've always got something to write about. A case in point will be this entry, as I have much to write about, and all of it interesting and profoundly significant. The excruciating minutiae of everyday life has no business being in this blog!

Having said that I will say that I celebrated a birthday in between now an my last post: I turned 28 on the 29th of May. Can't believe I'm nearly 30! I try not to think about it too much. It's not that I think 30 is old, I just feel that I should've accomplished more by this age. A psychologist once told me that I needed to remove the word 'should' from my vocabulary. Then again, this was the same psychologist who, when I told her that my best friend's cancer had spread to the lymph nodes near her liver, replied that it was "pretty much curtains for her then." As it turned out, she was right, but I think she could have put it a little less flippantly than that.

What else...oh yes! My friend Lisa, who is a photographer, asked if she could shoot me for a series she is doing called "Connections." The idea behind it is that she is shooting people who've had a significant impact on her life, and shooting them in ways which illustrate who they are, and how she sees them. Together we decided that the theme of mine should be books and or reading. We wanted to give it a kind of old-school library feel, so it was me sitting in a wing-back chair surrounded by piles of leather-bound books. It was quite cool even though I felt a bit awkward being photographed. My cat, however, had no such qualms, and decided to make herself the star of the show by hopping on my lap mid-way through the proceedings.

While this blog is ostensibly about books and writing - at least, that was my initial plan, it seems to have turned into an altogether different beast - my life has recently undergone a significant change which I feel the need to write about. The change I speak of is that I have left my beloved home of Melbourne, where I was born and have lived for all of my 28 years, and moved to Singapore.

I have now been in Singapore for almost two and a half weeks. I do like it here, but the constant humidity is so oppressive. As I write this, the temperature is 31 degrees and the humidity is at 70 per cent - that's a lot, in case you're wondering. A few minutes ago there was a huge crack of thunder and now it is pouring. This happens most days. In fact, there is very little variation in weather at all here, and no discernible seasons from what I've heard.

The food here is pretty great, and a meal will generally cost you no more than 5 Singapore dollars (about 4 dollars Australian). I must say I am getting a little sick of rice though, and I've hardly eaten any vegetables since I got here. It's all meat and rice, and if you feel like mixing it up a little, why not have meat and noodles? I'd give my right arm for a nice roast or a good spag bol - though this may be cheating slightly as I'm left-handed. And I've not even been here 3 weeks, imagine how I'm going to feel after a year or two!

From what I've seen of Singapore so far - and admittedly this is not a great deal - it mostly consists of malls, food courts, condos and more malls. It's basically a consumer paradise, which doesn't suit me on two counts, the first being that I don't really like to shop because malls confuse and frighten me, the second being that I have no money. Actually, that's not strictly true; I have money but the money I have has to last me a looong time, because my prospects for employment here are pretty slim. As I said, you pretty much need a degree to do anything here, and for jobs that don't require a degree they seem to want only Singaporeans or permanent residents. I don't mind not working if it means more time to study, but I can't even collect the dole so I need to be frugal.

Our apartment and immediate surrounds are very different to what I had envisioned, but that's because we have nothing comparable in Australia that I'm aware of. I had imagined a tiny shoe-box of an apartment in a single high-rise, not unlike the living conditions of Scarlett Johansson's character in Lost in Translation. This is not at all the case. For starters, we are on the ground floor, and our apartment has 2 bedrooms and a study, and is actually quite roomy - although for $2900 a month (!!!!), you'd hope it would be. The building itself is a mere 10 storeys, and is but 1 of about 15 towers in a gated complex. They are condominiums, though I still can't quite work out whether the word refers to each individual building or to the complex as a whole. The grounds are quite lovely, though for some inexplicable reason it has a Savannah theme (they're called the Savannah Condos), and consequently is full of rather tacky statues of various African animals including giraffe, antelope, lions and elephants. Aside from the random animal statues, we have a massive and quite aesthetically pleasing pool, a small gym, tennis courts and even a one lane bowling alley. So all in all it's not too shabby really.

Twice a month my boyfriend's company puts on a free movie for all employees and - providing there are enough tickets - their partners. Last night we saw Toy Story 3 and I must say it was brilliant. Great storyline, some brilliant new characters and lots of laughs. I even shed a few tears at one point! The animation was genuinely amazing. It's funny, I have such an appreciation for animation since meeting Neil (my boyfriend, who works as a 3D animator at Lucasfilm). Before that it wasn't even something I really thought about that much, but the amount of work that goes into a film like that is unbelievable.

At the moment I'm reading 2 books: Paula by Isabelle Allende and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson. The former is a beautiful, harrowing work which has brought me to tears on several occasions. Allende is such a passionate individual and a wonderful writer; I look forward to reading more of her work, especially her novels. I haven't quite decided how I feel about the latter, but I'll say one thing for it: it has piqued my interest. I'm about halfway through and I'm definitely hooked, but I do find some of it quite frustrating. For instance, the constant descriptions of what the heroine is wearing I find unnecessary. It's like, ok,I get that she's an emo (or goth or whatever you want to call it), now get on with it!

I'm slowly catching up on my coursework but it's been tough because of the disruption caused by the move. Also, time management has never been one of my fortes, but I am trying (yes, very trying, as my mum would say). Which reminds me, I started out this blog with the idea that I would post some of my own pieces of writing and I haven't done so since my first post. I think it's time to add another one!

The following piece is a sensory monologue, prompted by these instructions:
Sit quietly where you are free from distractions. Listen to your senses. Take note of
how your body feels weighted in the chair. Are you warm, cold, just right? How does
your clothing feel on your skin? What can you hear? Are the sounds distant or up close and demanding? Are they irritating, intrusive, soothing, jangling, happy or sad? What can you see? Are you looking out the window? Is anything happening outside? How does this make you feel? What are the colours? Is the sunshine bright and glaring or is the day dull and grey? What does your room look like? Is your desk tidy and clear or a jumble of books,papers, dirty plates and mangled paper clips? As you sit what changes do you become aware of? Does one thought keep demanding your attention?

Obviously I've gone of topic a little, but never mind. So, here it is:

I sit in this worn out imitation period wing-back chair: once a shade somewhere between apricot and salmon - an odd choice, I always thought - now so faded and dirtied that the colour has become indefinable. I should be at a desk, but I am comfortable here in my tracksuit pants (Neil’s) and my hoodie (Craig’s) and my hot-pink-with-purple-kitties fleece dressing gown that was a gift from my dead best friend (I realise most people would have gone with ‘late’ in place of dead, but I never got that. She’s not late, she’s never bloody getting here).

I should be dressed, but why dirty clothes that will not be seen by anyone but myself and my cat, who is not very fashion conscious anyway? I am reminded of a time when I had finished high-school and deferred university, ostensibly to save some money to travel, but more because the thought of the responsibility of undertaking a degree frightened the life out of me. I spent many a day lazing around the house in my pyjamas, and after a time my father became frustrated and implored me to “get dressed, for Christ’s sake.”

“But I’m not going anywhere, so what’s the point?” I reasoned.

“How about self-respect?!”

I can see his point. However, I digress...where was I? Ah, yes: I was sitting in a chair in a tracksuit. I feel quite warm, despite the fact that it’s cold outside and the central heating isn’t on. This is largely to do with the hot-pink-with-purple-kitties fleece that envelops me. The fleeciness of my sexy tracksuit - which has never seen a track in its life - and dressing gown combo against my skin is comforting, like a big, warm hug (from someone dressed head-to-toe in fleece. I’d like to think they are wearing a Snuggie).

It is quiet here, but when I listen, really listen, sounds start to emerge from the silence. The buzzing of a small aeroplane overhead, the swish-swish of the washing machine going through its cycle, the occasional hum of a car going by somewhere close. The fridge chimes in with a little rattle, as if to say “I’m here, don’t forget me.” No fridge, I won’t forget you. In fact, I may just visit with you soon, as another sound I have just heard is the angry rumble of my tummy. Tummy has digested the two pieces of peanut-buttered toast I ate almost three hours ago and is ready for more. Patience is a virtue, I tell my tummy, mama’s working now.
This room is ridiculously dark, due to the fact that one metre away from each of the room’s three windows is a 2 storey-high wall that is the outer wall of our neighbour’s house. Hooray for Victorian terraces! Hooray for the fact that four of the last six houses I have lived in have had exactly the same lay-out! Hooray for dust and ridiculous discrepancies in bedroom size!
And goddamn that plane that keeps buzzing around my head like a mosquito!

Ok, so it's pretty pointless but it's what tumbled out of my brain.

Crazy Book Lady

I haven't posted in a long time because I've been so busy (read: a bit busy but mostly lazy) and because well, let's face it, nobody is actually reading this anyway.

Still, I'm bored at the moment because I'm all alone as my lovely boyfriend has gone to Singapore without me! But I'll be joining him on the 5th of June - I booked my ticket yesterday so it's all happening. Then I will finally have some time to concentrate on my studies instead of stupid work which I hate and which sucks all the energy out of me like a black hole (that's probably not a fitting simile but hey, I'm not a physicist).

I've been busy with moving (I moved back into my dad's for a while after Neil left to save money) and now packing and organising everything.

My course is going well, though I'm still behind as usual (will I ever catch up? Only when I'm not working I guess). I've gotten a fair few assignments back now, and I've gotten mostly good marks and a few average marks. Of course, the average marks are the ones that stick with me, but I keep telling myself that I can't expect to be perfect straight away. It takes all my energy to stay posivtive and not be discouraged, because I know I have to have faith in myself, but I just don't want to be one of those people who keeps trying to be or do something that they're actually crap at. But then again, there's always Stephanie Meyer...

I've been reading Angela's Ashes for my Life Writing class, and also just for my own general enjoyment, if the word 'enjoyment' can be used when referring to this horribly depressing and bleak book. Books like this remind me of why I love to read and why I want to be a writer, the way McCourt is able to write as though he is actually there, and is a child again. Even though I grow up in totally different circumstances (thankfully!), I can completely identify with the young Frank and the constant state of confoundment he's in over the strange behaviour of the adults around him. Brilliant stuff.

Also recently read Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvis which was extremely riveting, disturbing and well-written. Yes, it is about vampires, but no, it is nothing like Twilight (not that I've read Twilight, but I've seen enough to know that I have seen too much).

I also made one of my beloved trips to the a second-hand book shop, this time one in Albert Park called 'Poets and Thieves' (how good is that name?). I had a very successful rummage and came home with my very own copy of Cloudstreet, which I have longed for for some time and have searched for it high and low in bookstores across the land (hyperbole, anyone?)

I also picked up Joan Didion's Where Was I From (I'm trying to read more memoirs for my life writing class) and the recent Sarah Waters novel The Little Stranger which was also on my list. So all in all, a very fruitful search which was mighty pleasing as I spent the better part of an hour in there perusing. The books were not alphabetised so I pretty much had to look and every single one to see if there was something I wanted.

Second-hand book shopping has to be one of my favourite pass-times. My all-time most memorable bookstore was the one I went to in Castlemaine on Easter weekend. I had to wait 3 days for it to open (visiting each day just in case) but it was so worth it in the end. This place was unbelievable! You could barely move for books in there, they were books piled high to the ceiling and the spaces in between were so narrow that you had to press against a wall of books to let someone pass by. The lady manning (womaning?) the store was in a booth of books too. I imagine she had to sell her way out of it or be stuck there forever.

On that trip I picked up 5 books if I recall, but I've packed them in one of my moving boxes and now I can't find them and I can't for the life of me remember the titles of them all. I know one was Wally Lamb's The Hour I First Believed (not sure how I managed to misplace that as it's bigger than my head) and another one was Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible, which has also been on my list for a while. When you find those ones you've been wanting for a while it's so satisfying. I'm stocking up now so I can have them all shipped over to Singapore because I'm not going to have any money to do anything but as long as I can read I will be happy.

I can picture myself as an old lady in a tiny room surrounded by books and nothing else. I'll be like crazy cat lady but with books instead of cats. Crazy book lady.

Free at last!

Ok, so apparently the creative writing piece I posted in my last blog is not actually 3rd person limited as I stated. It is 3rd person omnipotent, which I now realise should have been quite clear to me. I thought I knew this stuff, but it turned out I was overestimating myself! I'm pretty sure I've got it all figured out now though ... Stay tuned, I may be eating my words once again.

I have fallen behind in my studies again, which is disappointing (to me - obviously - but then I'm used to being disappointed in myself!). I wish I had more time, because everything feels rushed, when what I really want is to be able to just write; to do all the exercises and really practice. Not only that, but I was hoping to catch up on some discussion topics (for my course) over the Easter break, but I discovered today that some of the topics have been locked! Gah! To be fair, we were warned that this would happen, but I conveniently forgot (as I am apt to do with important pieces of information such as this).

Working and studying full time is just not for me, I don't know how people do it. This is why I am so pleased to know that in as little as 6 weeks, I will no longer be working at all! The idea is so freeing, now my only wish is that it was sooner. My boyfriend has gotten a job in Singapore, which means that I will be moving too.

Conveniently (for me, not for my boyfriend) it looks like it will be very difficult, if not impossible, for me to get a job over there, as the market is very competitive and I don't have a degree. At first I was despairing a little over this, but now I see it as a good thing; it will give me time to really concentrate on writing. I think this is what I need to get the juices flowing: no other clutter; no distractions; just writing. The life of a true artist (dare I call myself that?... Dare anyone, though, right?). I imagine myself holed up in our tiny one-bedroom apartment, slogging away, or wandering through the strange city trying to pass the time while my boyfriend is working. As long as I can adapt to having hardly any money, I think I am going to enjoy it.

Of course, I could be completely wrong. I might actually hate it and feel horrible and want to come home. I hope not!

We're All Mad Here

I've wanted to start a blog for quite a while, but have not had the impetus until now.
The impetus being that it is a requirement of the course I'm doing, which is Certificate IV in Professional Writing and Editing.

The requirement is to start a blog, and only requires that I post once, but I'm going to try to keep it up. I cannot make any promises though. Having said that, I am a world-class procrastinator, so who knows, perhaps I will find myself contributing to this blog rather than doing the work I'm supposed to.

In this blog I plan to post some of my own original writing, as well as discuss books and other pieces of writing, topics of interest to me, and things that inspire me, written or otherwise.

I've found that since I started this course, some 3 weeks ago, that all I've wanted to do is read, read, read. Of course, what with studying full-time and working full-time (for now, hopefully I can go to part-time soon), I have little time to read. To sate myself in the meantime, I've been making lists of the various authors, topics and titles I plan to read when I do have time (whenever that may be!)

Some people/topics/authors that have piqued my interest of late (some through my coursework, some through other means):
Wittgenstein, Voltaire, Kierkegaard, Russell, A. C. Grayling, philosophy, atheism, Anais Nin, L.M. Montgomery... the list goes on.

I just finished this (very) short piece for my subject on Writing for Children: Picture Books, so I thought including it here would be a good start. For this piece we were asked to take a memory from our children and develop it into a self-contained story. It was suggested that we write this using 3rd person limited point of view, which is what I chose to use.

White Christmas.

Lainey was excited. Her prep class was going on its first ever excursion, catching the train to Hurstbridge for a picnic in the afternoon.

Christmas was fast approaching, and the children were wrought with anticipation. Earlier in the day they had made White Christmas, a hideous slice made from copha, rice bubbles and glace cherries.

The slice was sitting on a table at the front of the classroom. Children were milling around it, waiting for the teacher to announce that it was finally time to head to the train station.
Lainey couldn’t say why she did what she did, because she didn’t know. In a moment of weakness and with little forethought, she reached for the unappealing-looking White Christmas and snapped off a single rice-bubble, popping it into her mouth.

She looked around guiltily, only then realising the seriousness of what she’d done. She saw Leesa Jackson’s narrowed eyes staring back at her, accusing. Leesa Jackson- who had big buck-teeth and didn’t know her ABC’s- looked like she was about to burst. “I’m telling on you!” she declared, and that is exactly what she did.

As the rest of the class filed out of the room in pairs, holding hands happily, Lainey was asked to stay behind. She stared at the floor, heavy with shame, eyes brimming with tears. “Did you eat the White Christmas?” Her beloved Mrs. Dennis asked. “Tell the truth or you won’t be able to go on the excursion.”

This thought was unbearable; not only had she disappointed her much adored teacher and been humiliated in front of her classmates, now she may have to suffer the indignity of such a harsh punishment. She truly was a naughty child.

She thought carefully about what to say; on the one hand, Mrs. Dennis had said that if she lied she wouldn’t be able to go. On the other hand, it seemed to Lainey that if she told the truth, then she would surely not be allowed to go. Finally, she decided to do the right thing, whatever the consequences. “Just one bubble,” She admitted.

At the picnic she was offered some White Christmas, which she politely declined.

The End

The work I've done for this subject has reminded m how much I loved picture books as I child. I've found myself imagining reading to my own, as-yet unborn chidren, thinking of all the books my children simply must have. I almost can't wait to have kids just so I can read to them (Neil, if you are reading this, please note that I said almost).

This combined with the recently released film, reminded of one of my greatest loved books growing up: Alice In Wonderland.

I will leave you with some of my favourite quotes from this simply enchanting classic Children's book.

Alice: If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?

Alice: I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir, because I'm not myself you see.

The Cheshire Cat: We're all mad here.