Mystified

Posted on | Thursday, December 29, 2011 | No Comments

"I need perfection
Some twisted selection
That tangles me
To keep me alive"

I'd love to claim the above as mine, but they're actually from "Mystify" by INXS, which I'm listening to right now. I'm gearing up to start writing for the day after cranking out an entire page yesterday. Music is my twisted selection, I think. It actually makes me feel alive, even on the days I don't feel like writing. Today I feel...I don't know how I feel, but I do want to write irrespective of what actually spews from my keyboard. Today, that's good enough for me. The rest I'll deal with as it comes.

Oh wait, before I sign off I must share a poem a friend quoted to me yesterday (you know who you are!) when I was in my depths of despair. May it give you the comfort and solidarity of thought it has blessed me with today: 

"A little learning is a dangerous thing;
drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
and drinking largely sobers us again."
Alexander Pope, An essay on Criticism


Category:

Where To Start With Scandinavian Crime Fiction

No Comments

There's more to Scandinavian crime fiction than Stieg Larsson, so say the "experts". This link (via the UK's Shots magazine blog) seems like a good starting point.

Category:

How Do You Handle Doubt?

No Comments

To a writer, there's nothing worse than doubt. That cold, self-cannibalizing feeling that no matter how often and how doggedly you do it, you can't really write. I've been struggling with this shroud for the whole of this week, and remain tangled amongst its threads.


The problem is of course, there are more "what ifs" than I care to have in my life right now. What if I fail at becoming a crime writer? What if my new teaching job doesn't bring me the satisfaction I am looking for? What if my future students are nightmarish kiasus hell-bent on making my life miserable? What if I become hell-bent on making their lives miserable?


Where is all this coming from, you say? A dinner conversation with my landlord, who until recently was a struggling cinematographer, may have something to do with my doubt. He's 50 and has been in his field all his adult life. Making it at FIFTY after struggling for years. That is a scary thought, considering I was hoping to publish my first work by the time I turn 35. What if I too, made it only in my fifties? What if I never make it? (Yikes!)

The result is that I haven't written a word since that conversation. I know I should, because I enjoy it. But my self-doubt stubbornly clings to me, pulling me away from what comes naturally to me. So much so that I almost believe now that I don't want to write. And that is making me miserable.


But wait, hang on a sec. Doesn't doubt have a shelf life? Does it not disappear when it's out in the open? Wiser writers continue to write although it's hard work. And why do I keep thinking of "Bee Movie" while I'm writing this? I've just remembered some dialogue from the movie which described how humans say that bees are not supposed to fly because they have bigger bodies than they do wings, but bees fly anyway.


What does that mean to a struggling writer, that I should write anyway while my brain continues toying with itself? Improbable, at this point, but not impossible I think. I'm going to sit on this for a bit and let it sink in. And stay away from career-related conversations with my landlord.


Category:

FAMILY TIES (PART THREE)

Posted on | Sunday, December 25, 2011 | No Comments

Part Three

Seth arrived at his uncle's just after eight. Ruben's car was parked on the front porch, but the gate was open. As he got out of his car he could hear loud voices coming from inside the house. It sounded like a heated argument going on between Ruben and his mother.

The front door was open wide, but he was too far away to hear what they were saying. As he reached the door, Ruben came rushing out and they nearly collided. He glared at Seth and brushed roughly past him to his car.

Inside, Seth's aunt was seated on the sofa, her face in her hands. She looked up when Seth walked in. her face was drawn and tired, but her eyes were dry. In fact, she looked surprisingly calm for someone who had just had a shouting match with her son.

“He'll come back after he's cooled off. He's just angry over money,” she said.

“What happened, aunty?” Seth asked gently, sitting down next to her on the sofa.

“Oh Seth, Ruben gambled away all his savings and wanted me to give him money to pay his loans, but I refused. I wish your uncle were here, he would know what to do,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

“Don't worry, Aunty. Everything will be all right,” Seth said, patting her hand comfortingly. He felt a little prick of guilt at visiting her under false pretenses. “I'll make you some tea,” he said quickly, before he lost his nerve.

“Thank you dear,” she said, smiling kindly at him.

The coffee jar was half full when he opened it. It wasn't surprising as his uncle had been the only one in the house who drank coffee. Ruben and his mother hated the stuff. Seth spooned some of the powder into the plastic bottle. He replaced the lid and tucked the bottle back in his jacket pocket. He then put the kettle to boil on the stove and grabbed a mug from the cabinet.



“Sorry I took so long, Aunty,” he said easily as he handed his aunt the mug of steaming hot tea.

“Thank you dear,” she said, giving him a tired smile. After a few sips of the hot tea, she leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes.

He let her relax for a few more moments before speaking. “Aunty, there is something I need to ask you,” he said, looking intently at her.

“What is it, my dear?”

“It’s about Nathan, your gardener. Mrs. Veloo said he visits you often when you are alone in the house. She seems to think…” he hesitated.

“…that I am having an affair with him?” She looked at him with some amusement.

Seth raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“My dear, that lady may be my oldest friend, but I am used to her tricks. If you really want to know, the boy is studying at the university. He is only doing gardening to finance his studies. I help him with his English on his off days. I didn’t tell Ruben or your uncle because I knew they wouldn’t approve,” she explained.

Seth felt slightly abashed, but he wasn’t convinced of gardener’s innocence just yet. He tried a different tack.

“Aunty, of course I believe you. But that’s not all Mrs. Veloo said. She saw Uncle arguing with Nathan the evening before his death. She said that he gave Uncle an envelope before leaving. Did Uncle mention anything about it?”

His aunt shook her head, looking bewildered. “Did she hear what they were arguing about?” she asked.

“No, they were too far away but she said that Uncle looked furious after reading something from the envelope. Aunty, I noticed an empty envelope fitting her description on Uncle’s desk. I’m not sure that he died from a heart attack,” Seth said.

“What do you mean? You don’t think that Nathan killed him?” His aunt looked shocked.

“I don’t know that for sure, Aunty. But I did find mud on the window sill of the study and footprints outside just under the window. They were made by men’s worker boots and I noticed your gardener wears similar size boots.”

“You’ve met Nathan?” His aunt looked at him in surprise.

“Not exactly. I stopped by to visit you and saw him coming out of the garden shed wearing worker boots,” he explained. “It doesn’t look good for him right now,” he added.

She shook her head incredulously. “I still cannot believe he had anything to do with your uncle’s death. Why they barely even spoke to each other! Ruben was in charge of the help as your uncle was too busy running the business. What could Nathan and your uncle possibly have to argue about?”

Category:

When Authors Turn Fans

Posted on | Thursday, December 15, 2011 | No Comments

What would happen to Elizabeth and Darcy's world without Wickham in it? And what happens when Sherlock Holmes and Watson get mixed up in an international scandal?

The above is not wishful thinking, but two separate novels by famous authors who are fans of Jane Austen and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle respectively. P.D.James' latest novel is called "Death Comes To Pemberley", which investigates the murder of Wickham. Antony Horowitz (famous for writing "Midsomer Murders") has written "The House of Silk", a new Sherlock Holmes novel that has received the nod of approval from the Arthur Conan Doyle estate.

Read the rest of the story here.

Category:

Off Topic: 10 Satirical Novels that Could Teach You To Survive the Future

Posted on | Wednesday, December 14, 2011 | No Comments

I'm not one to over-ruminate the future; living in the present is more my thing. But I love a funny read and despite this list not containing any works of crime fiction, I thought I'd share it anyways. Enjoy!

Category:

An End To The Hiatus

Posted on | Monday, December 12, 2011 | No Comments

Starting a new career and moving back to the city has taken up more of my time than I'd like. As a result, this blog and my writing have taken a backseat to the humdrum of daily life. I was chatting to a friend about it today (who said rather pointedly) that work is taking precedence over some aspects of my life.


I realised then that it is not what I do for a living that alone defines me. There are other sides to me that need nurturing, namely my writing self. It reminded me of a post I read recently in Writing on Wednesday about "using the moment". I won't go into details, but if you want to read the post visit the link via my blogroll.


On another note, The Seattle Times has published their list of best mystery novels for 2011 (yay!) It'll give me an excuse to shop come January. (Never mind that I have a pile of Rebus novels that remain untouched). Read the Seattle Times' list here.



Category:

Search This Blog

Followers