Can a book make you think: Who needs a writing course when you’ve got a cat? A lesson from Bulgakov – Installment 9 of the ‘Can a book make you…?’ mini series

Remember Behemot? The big, black cat in The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov? I do, even though I read the book as a teenager and a good few years have passed, how many I will not reveal, because real ladies never do, and I am one.

English: A sculpture of the cat Behemoth from the novel The Master and Margarita, on a wall in Andriyivskyy Descent, Kyiv. Français : Cat Béhémot, personnage de “Le Maître et Marguerite”, sur un mur de Kiev. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Back to the big, black cat, who walked on his hind legs, tried to board a tram in Moscow - offering to pay the due fare - and when rejected, boarded the tram by latching its paws on a back window’s pipe: his humanisation is simply delicious. It’s described as a cat, but its characterisation is strong and powerful, vivid and tremendous.

And remember Professor Minerva McGonagall in the first of the Harry Potter books?  She turns into a cat to better look over baby Harry as he is delivered to his odious relatives for safety. As a feline she proves a less devious and unsettling character than in Bulgakov, but still catches the attention of Harry’s bad uncle, staring at her from his window.

As a budding writer I wonder at the ability of writers to define and develop strong characters who are not human. It takes, firstly, some wild imagination. Stating the obvious, this is a useful weapon in the arsenal of writers. Secondly, it takes skill. Humanising animals in stories isn’t as easy as it seems. There are restrictions to the usual tools a writer relies on when dealing with humans. For starters there are no facial expressions of note. Sure, cats’ stare can be pretty intense, but cats can’t smile, or smirk, or turn their mouth sour, nor can they frown, or look preoccupied, or again excited, unless of course we are talking animated scripts, but this is not what this post is about.

I have a cat too, a rescue cat. I’m glad to say that he’s not the size of a pig, as in Bulgakov’s case! I observe his behaviour and wonder how much I’m learning from him as a beginner writer. I love the consistency of sounds he makes to ask for his desires to be met, pronto! (Heard of the saying: dogs have owners; cats have personnel?)

Take the husky rasp he breathes when he wants you to open the door and let him out…to avoid using the cat flap. I can picture an old man leaving the house direction nearest bar, dismissing his wife, who’s nagging him to stay sober.

Take the single high pitched alarm-like meowing announcing that he’s back home, more like a sheep’s harrowing bleat than anything feline (hats off to his lungs’ power). Can you not picture the same old man returning from the bar, far from sober?

Or the whining and pitiful and tiniest of sounds in the morning wanting to be fed. Now, that’s the sound you’d associate with a normal cat! Picture the old man, again, this time in pain in the morning, nursing a hangover.

If this is not a lesson in what voice to give characters (human!) in  your books, I don’t know what is. Consistency is the key, I guess. I.e., I wouldn’t understand my cat’s desires if he changed the pitch and tone of his meowing each time. But he doesn’t, and that’s how he gets me to obey each and every one of his selfish asks.

There will be a number of cat lovers amongst my patient and kind blogging friends who will have to agree: who needs a writing course when you’ve got a cat?

Have you ever looked at your pet and thought: I can learn a thing or two from you! Show me that little sound again you do when you want to be left alone? No, not the scratching!

A few WordPress posts on Bulgakov and Professor McGonagoll, if of interest:

• Only The Devil Knows What This Story’s About: The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov (rhapsodistreviews.wordpress.com)
• Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita, Animated in Two Minutes (openculture.com)
• Quote for Today: Mikhail Bulgakov (synkroniciti.com)
• Describing Russian intellectual life in fiction (rbth.ru)
• Minerva McGonagall (parentingharry.wordpress.com)

Thank Goodness for imaginary friends!

English: Paperback book with green cover. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve finished my tween novel – have I mentioned this? Oh, did I? What! You mean I can’t even brag a little in my own blog! Anywho, I’ve finished this novel, and I’ve got NO.BO.DY to bore about this, except of course you, kind and patient bloggers. But since you have the power and I can’t make you read all about it, I’ll summarise a conversation I had with my imaginary friend, a really cool girl. Although I suspect I’ve bored and disappointed her too, because she hasn’t appeared in my vivid imagination for a while. Psychologists call this growing up, or progress. I call this void.

Well, this is how the conversation went:

Imaginary friend (IF): (do you like the reference to ‘IF’, as in: IF only she existed, or IF only all living friends and family members were like her? Hey?): ‘So, I hear you finished your tween novel. Congratulations. How has the public received it?’

Me: ‘The public?’

IF: ‘Yes, you know, THE PUBLIC. Usually that’s where books end up. In the voracious arms of THE PUBLIC.’

Me: ‘Gee, mmm, two big words there…’

IF: ‘All right then. What about your friends?’

Me: ‘Aw, should I ask my good old friends to read 60,000 words aimed at kids, and make notes? Ha, I have a social life I want to preserve, you know?’

IF: ….

Me: (Why is she looking surprised? And what with the slightly raised right eyebrow? I do have a social life, occasionally at least; work, weather and family permitting. I DO.)

IF: (breaking the uncomfortable silence): ‘OK. Ahem, your husband must be ever so proud. What did he say?’

Me: ‘Husband? Aw, you know, busy busy busy; work work work; long commute and tired tired tired! He may have a free slot next week, I think he said…’

IF: ‘Sisters? They’re the intellectual type. Aren’t they all doctors and such?’

Me: (I have a PhD myself, I’ll have you know, ignorant imaginary friend. She’s always liked my sisters better.) ‘Sure! One of my sisters has, actually, read it. But she’s still in the process of comparing it to all childrens’ literature masterpieces published since the 18^th century, this side and the other of the Big Pond. It might take her a while to produce a report.’

IF: ‘Mother? Mothers always like books, even the worst ever, no offence intended…’

Me: ‘Fell asleep during chapter 2…What! She was tired!’

IF:  ‘Your children? You said that the book would be aimed at your son.’

Me: ‘Ha, my son. He’s happy. Yes, happy. Real happy, you know? But he’s intending to read it once it’s been published in paperback format, just to make it easier on the eye. And to get a real sense of what it’s like.’

IF: ‘Published? In paperback format?’

Me: (That look again. Dearie me, next time I’m creating somebody, he or she will not be equipped with any sarcasm, surprised expressions, ability to raise eyebrows and irony.) Why, it’s not his fault! The publishing world is complex and extremely difficult to interpret. Can you actually say you know how it all works? Can you? Can you?’

IF: (Taking a couple of steps backwards): ‘I wouldn’t be as pretentious to admit I do, no! But to think that this first novel of yours is going to appear as a paperback seems, mmm, how shall I put it? Far-fetched?’

Me (Glaring. On second thoughts, she is the only one who is prepared to hear all about my novel, again and again. I count to ten and calm down): ‘OK, lady, you make sense, but nobody said that this would be easy. Writing is a solitary exercise, which can keep one company if one is lonely.’ (Why do I speak like the queen when getting emotional?)

IF: ‘How do you know it’s any good, then?’

Me: ‘Cheeky! My writers group checked out a couple of sections; offered constructive criticism – which I took on board – and it seems very supportive. Besides, I can spot a well written and gripping book from miles, and mine happens to fall in this category. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Although it would be good to get others to confirm my never dwindling self-conviction…’

IF: ‘Do something about it, woman! Get one of your blogging friends to take a look at this MS of yours. They won’t mind. They’ve obviously got more time than sense if posting and writing.’

Me: ‘Steady on! I won’t allow any sneaky stabs at my blogging folks! They are all extremely good at multi-tasking.’

IF: ‘Fine, ask one of those extremely busy but incredibly efficient bloggers you chat with in the ether to cast their knowledgeable eyes on this pile of…’

Me: Hold it! No swearing in my blog! But you do have a point – again. I may ask one or two, if so inclined.’

IF: ‘You know what? You better provide a concise synopsis next time you mock about on WordPress. It might – and this is speculative only - draw some interest, if you’re lucky.’

Me: ‘I might just do that, cool girl, I might indeed.’

END of IMAGINARY CONVERSATION. IF leaves my vivid imagination and the voices in my head stop. Thank Goodness for camomile tea and yoga. Thank Goodness for imaginary friends. Than Goodness for my blogging friends.

Hello bloggers! It’s nice to be back!

Forced exiles are the best, EVER. I left this wonderful world of books and reading advice to finish off my book -  popping in every now and again just to check out on the latest gossip, but this doesn’t count. The day I decided to get back I found not 1 but 2 awards, plus a third one which I was notified of as I waited for our flight to the US a few weeks ago.

3 awards in a matter of a few weeks. Mmmm, something’s telling me that I’m more popular when I’m NOT posting than when I AM…are the awards a subtle message to keep away? Go on, blogging friends, you can be frank with me, I’m an author now, you know? I finished my tween novel and it’s looking pretty decent too, all 240 A4 double sided pages, roughly stuck in a black folder, but more on this in future posts.

Dearie me, where are my manners? All awards, regardless of the REAL motives behind them (exiles breed suspicion) call for appropriate thanking rites and expressions of gratitude, so here we go.

Award 1: the Liebster Award, for which the rules of acceptance are as follows:

* Answer the 11 questions provided. * Create 11 questions for the next nominees to answer. * Link back to the one who nominated you. * Choose 11 people and link them in your post. * Go to their page and tell them. * No tag backs!

Questions answered – thank you Danielle @ Ever on Word http://everonword.wordpress.com/ , it’s going to be tough to match their originality! Here’s my list of new questions for my nominees, mostly yes/no questions so not a hard task to answer:

1. what was your first record you bought?

2. what is your favourite dish? (if you cook, if not just one you pick out of a take away menu!)

3. do you bite your nails?

4 do you sleep well at night?

5 out of the following books, which one is your favourite, or which one would you buy? The Hobbit, Catch 22 or the latest by Sophie Kinsella? 

6 are you fed up with electronic devices?

7 if you could choose your ideal day, what would you do without for 24 hours? your phone/s, TV or car?

8 would you eat steak for breakfast?

9 did you ever tell somebody they looked nice but secretly thought they didn’t, just to make them feel better about themselves?

10 ….bringing the animosity down a touch: what’s your favourite colour?

11 if you were to pick a book genre right here and right now, what would it be? Children’s books, YA, comedy, horror, thriller, detective?

As for my nominees, here they are, and apologies to those who have already been nominated for the same award – you obviously deserve a double!

The amazingly productive and humble detective creator Maddie Cochere of Breezy books http://breezybooksblog.wordpress.com/

The not at all Mediocre Mum @ http://confessionsofamediocremom.wordpress.com/

The young and beautiful Briana @ http://whenibecameanauthor.wordpress.com/

The very funny but seriously intellectual Nick of Call of the Sirens @ http://nickowchar.wordpress.com/

The Oragon Mike I have great chats about natural dialogue with. Mike @ http://oregonmike98.wordpress.com/

And also of course to:

http://parentingandstuff.wordpress.com/

http://espressococo.wordpress.com/

http://library4delinquents.com/

Anna @ http://funkwithdunk.com/

The girl who makes geekyness cool @ http://doingdeweydecimal.wordpress.com/

Emily @ http://snottingblack.com/

Congratulations to all! And to anyone who didn’t get nominated, I will nominate you to one of the other awards I was nominated for. Everybody’s a winner @ Ofglassandbooks, so there, another post, another happy customer!

All the best,

Ofglassandbooks

Can a fiction book make you hot? I wish…Instalment 8 of the Can a fiction book make you…mini series

It’s cold in England. Real cold. We are into day 3 of a snow blizzard and temperatures hardly creep up +2 degrees in this town of ours.

My precious and valued followers may recall an early installment of this mini series, titled: Can a fiction book make you cold? I toyed with the idea of metaphorically pouring a jug of piping hot water on that post and watch the metaphorical steam raise to my frozen nostrils whilst producing a nasty laugh worthy of a 007 baddie.

I’m cold and it’s time to talk about books that make you feel hot – not the type of ‘ooh, sexy time’ hot – difficult to go down that route whilst wearing a knee long hooded fleece with the picture of a snow man singing Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

I’m talking sweltering heat here, where sweat pours down your back and makes your throat so dry you are hallucinating drinks; the kind that makes your face glow for all the wrong reasons.

What better read to make you feel that way than Ice Cold in Alex, by Christopher Landon? Picture yourself ploughing through the desert, with a nice cold beer as your only incentive to make it alive, and voila’ your hands and feet feel warmer and, why not? you take off that dreadful snowman’s fleece and turn the heating down a few degrees.

Outside the snow is falling, and your cat has been hibernating on one of your children’s bed for the past 24 hours, but YOU are HOT. And yes, it is only 10 in the morning but what about a nice, cold Carlsberg to celebrate summer?

What’s your ‘please make me feel hot’ favourite book?
Your comments, as always, will enrich both my soul and this blog.

So long,
ofglassandbooks

Can a fiction book make you think, Hey how come he ignores capital letters and still gets published? Installment 7 of the Can a fiction book make you…mini series

Simple, because he’s Charles Bukowski and I’m not.
How could I get to the age of…well, to my age, and not have read any of his books or poems? And I call myself an accomplished reader?
I’m making up for it with Tales of Ordinary Madness, although I just HAVE to get Women and Post Office soon; before next Saturday; at the latest!
Back to the issue of capital letters. Interestingly the pronoun I remains in capital format, I wonder why. All other capital letters are ignored, as if affected by a terrible disease.
Wouldn’t it be great to write a book, work hard to edit the content and submit it for publication in a similar style? The sheer sense of liberation (and freedom for our left hand’s little finger, constantly pressing the shift key to change the caps size).
Picture the scene in an undefined publisher’s office in London or New York:
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ he or she would say, reading the first 3 lines of the unsolicited manuscript which landed on his/her email account a few weeks earlier.
‘Is this a joke? My time is precious, and these clowns think they are being funny by
pretending that the English grammar is a pick and mix box of sweets? For f***’s sake, DELETE, DELETE, DELETE…Actually,’ he/she presses the ctrl Z keys, ‘with hindsight, who is this f****** joker? Ah, these are her details, and this is the secret BLACK LIST. She will never, NEVER, be published in this part of the world. NEVEEEER!’

So, how come Charles Bukowski got away with it and I couldn’t, I ask again.
The answer is still the same: because he’s Charles Bokowski and I’m not.

Have you got a favourite book by Bukowski?
Does the absence of capital letters irritate you?
Do you secretly dream you could get away with doing it yourself?…i do, i do, i do. even after a full stop, i still do.

Your comments will, as always, make me really happy.

The bookcase dispute: the Art of War pales in comparison

I have this lovely husband who’s as voracious a reader as I am. Our bookcases, which cover two entire walls in our living room, are so heavy that we had to screw them to the wall. Nevermind health and safety! What I could not accept is the travesty of writing a blog called ofglassandbooks and being crushed under a ton of my own books and shatter like glass.

Over the 20 years spent together as a couple, my husband and I had numerous debates about who owns what shelf and – by default – what books on that shelf. The Art of War pales in comparison to the scheming and plotting that went into the final agreement.

The agreement is largely harmonious. I chose ‘largely’ for a reason: how large is large? Take it or leave it, I’d say it covers the main principles but certainly not the detail.

I’ll give you an example. We moved house a few years ago. This opened a narrow and strategically invaluable opportunity to re-negotiate which shelves belonged to whom. Take the very top one, next to the ceiling. Did my better half really think his 5 foot 4 wife would climb up there? No, Sir; Madam fought for the middle shelves for herself and her books…well, OK, for the sake of peace in the family I did end up with half of the very bottom one, equally inconvenient to reach, but a little safer. The compromise was uncomfortable but necessary. This shelf is a bit of a no man’s land. His half is devoted to film, travel and music reviews; mine has diet and exercise books, Sophie Kinsella writing as herself and as her alter ego, and a few second hand books that look a little tatty.

Take example 2: the ‘neighbourhood’ dispute. You really think Madam was going to accept her foreign language collections near his whole Donna Leon series, when Mrs Leon herself refused to translate her books in Italian for fear of her Venetian hosts turning nasty against her? (It seems Leon’s books make unkind remarks about certain traits of Italian society…) An alternative bookcase was purchased to host my French, Italian and German books, although this too has become territorially challenged and suffers wars of conquest more frequently than not.

Take example 3: I like my books arranged by edition, not just author – one can’t judge a book by its cover, but hundreds of covers need some kind of colour scheme! Hubby’s happy with themes. Themes don’t do colour schemes, they look ugly.

I particularly like example 4 titled ‘The recommending and lending debacle’. It goes something like this:

We buy our own books.

And? How’s this contentious? I hear you say.

You obviously don’t know us. We love each other, this is how it’s contentious, and when you are in love you are occasionally prepared to recommend and lend your own books to each other. Hubby accepts my recommendations; he reads them; I feel tremendously proud of my own good judgment; hubby ends up liking my recommendations too much; he shifts the position of the borrowed books from my shelves to his with Machiavellian dexterity; I put the books back where they belong; they disappear again; and again…

 

This is the most recent list of ‘borrowed’ books that disappeared from my shelves and reappeared on his:

The 5 people you meet in heaven, Mitch Albom (Ha, he clearly hasn’t read Tuesdays with Morrie!)

The Autograph man, Zadie Smith, incredulously (but also luckily) leaving behind White teeth and On beauty

The Curious incident of the dog in the night, Mark Haddon (Why ever not A spot of bother?)

The Buddha of Suburbia, Hanif Kureishi

The Shipping news, Annie Proulx (Postcards, and Out of range stayed in my territory)

Love and nausea, David Wilson, unjustly underrated book, that’s all I have to say, but nevertheless mine.

 

The debate: should I continue to recommend good reads from my shelves to hubby?

Please vote. A simple yes and not will do.

 

Can a fiction book make you scream: WOW, Haruki Murakami and I are like two peas in a pod! Installment 6 of the Can a fiction book make you…mini series

I love short stories. It’s 2013 and I’m in luck. Critics – you know, the real ones, of the serious and knowledgeable type – have observed a revival of the genre.

Happy to surf the new big wave, I’ve been looking out for short stories I haven’t read. Half way through ‘The second bakery attack’ by Haruki Murakami my heart skipped a beat. You what! One of the greatest authors in the world and I both get itchy ears when we are nervous? This is completely and utterly magnificent! A discovery of momentous significance! Me and him have sooo much in common! The realisation that I’m not alone in needing to scratch my ears when experiencing a surge in adrenaline is also reassuring from a physical and mental health perspective.

I hear you say: ‘How do you know that Haruki Murakami himself gets itchy ears when nervous? This could have simply been a quirky trait of his fictional character in the short story.’

Oh, COME ON! How would Murakami ever include such detail into his story if he didn’t experience it himself?

Before reading this story – note the ‘before’! I don’t do plagiarism! – I included the same detail in my yet to be finished tween novel. The main character in my book gets itchy ears when scared, or stressed, or nervous. I wouldn’t have been able to conjure up anything this strange if I didn’t have to reach for my ears myself in similar circumstances. So there’s your answer.

But enough itchy ears. The important issue is that I discovered an evident bond between me and Hurakami, and this is sufficient reason for celebration. So cheers to me and a world famous author: two peas in a pod; true soul mates; two of a kind…

Perhaps I should ditch my tween novel and jump on the short stories bandwagon. After all, writing competitions cry out for contemporary authors’ work as long as the reading is over and done with in a few minutes.

Short stories have been around for ever – note the subtle and slick avoidance of exact historical detail – but they appear to lend themselves particularly well to our society: we are impatient; we live in the immediate; if an internet site takes longer than a couple of seconds to download we are on the phone to the information technology ombudsman and take the provider to court.

All this considered, should I really bother to finish my 55 thousand words book?

Only kidding, of course I should. I will finish it, soon. Today, after the two peas in a pod momentous discovery, I am walking on air; I am untouchable! My tween book will be simply magnificent, and Hurakami will get extremely itchy ears just looking at its cover in all Tokyo’s bookstores.

Do you get itchy ears when experiencing strong emotions?

Have you got an author you feel strangely connected to?

As always, drop me a line. I will be delighted to read about your experiences.