BR - the accidental by Ali Smith

I found this book really good to read and really bad. I know that doesn't really make sense but it does to me. I would recommend this book to anyone but beware it is written in a style that make is difficult; that makes you question what you have read and re read again and again. Well that is what I did anyway. I really liked the end, which is unusual for me as I normally find ends a disappointment. There are parts of the story I guess I still don't get but other parts that just wowed me. They left me wishing I could write like this; wishing I could get anywhere near this standard.

I don't want to even start to explain the story; it would just sound crap in explanation so if you are brave or if anything intrigues you - read it.

Dix

Alone and blogging

I haven't really been able to blog for a while in fact there is so much in my life that I haven't been able to manage. I know I may have put this before but to explain my 30 year marriage ended 15 weeks ago now. He left me by sending a text message and ran off with one of my best friends. And it hurts so much. Every day I just hope it will start getting easier - and to be honest in some ways it is. I no longer want him back. I realise that what he has done is so bad and has hurt so much there is no going back. But still I wake every morning with them in my head and I go to sleep the same and in between I have moments of OK, moments of better than OK and moments of utter hell.

I ache inside, I ache with loneliness. I feel it like a pain. I know it is too soon to even be thinking about starting another relationship but I so miss having someone around. After 30 years, even though they weren't all good I so miss waking up beside someone, having someone to talk to, discussing the rubbish on TV, eating with and so on and so on. Some days I really believe that one day there will be someone else for me but most days all I feel is a great be empty hole of the future of being alone, of coping alone. And I absolutely hate it.

Today is a bad day, a really bad day - lots and lots of crying already, up at 5am because I can't bear lying there thinking of them, thinking of what they have done. I can't ring my friends crying anymore - I have had enough of me so I know they have. I want it to stop -I want the days to be better, I want to feel like I can cope with boy and just make a life for myself alone and not keep feeling like this. I know many many people live alone and they do just fine, they are happy and able to live their life to the full. I have done so many things to try and make this go away but it just wont. I am at college one day a week, I volunteer, I have got the house much tidier and have really cleared the clutter, I cook and I clean and I do the garden and I cut wood - lots and lots of things. But I still have so many days like today when I just feel so empty, so alone and can't stop crying.

I know if I just make myself then I should be writing - that may be the savour to my life - if I can write everyday and really get into it I might stop feeling like this but trouble is my concentration span is hopeless, my confidence lower than usual and my avoidance huge.

I have started to do some jogging, maybe physical exercise will stop the pain and help me continue to loose weight and help me see a future for myself.

So here is my first blog for a while and yes it is just me feeling sorry for myself - as another blogger puts it a proper visit from the 'self pity' gnome. I don't know if it will help but I have to try, I have to try anything to stop myself feeling like this. I know somewhere inside I have the means to move on but some days I just can't summon it up.

If anyone is reading this 'I am sorry' but if it helps me at all I am not.

dix

You have to believe

"You have to believe"

"You have to believe you can be a writer

to be a writer.

Contrasts

Contrasts

Joy, like a flower
sits in a place
right beside my
heart and blooms,
to happiness, love
and Joy.

Pain, like a wound
cuts in a place
right beside my
heart and stabs
incessantly with hurt, lies
and Pain.

Flowers bloom then
fade around the edges;
a knowledge gained from endings
and pain.
The sadness of
the summer gone.

Summer brings new
growth, and flowers,
bold and beautiful;
returning to
the joy.
The smiles and happiness of
warmth and laughter.

Waiting

What am I waiting for?

Waiting for what?

His return?

My acceptance?

I am waiting for my life to change.

I am waiting for change.

New horizons?

Fresh Beginnings?

Hope.

What am I waiting for?

Waiting for what?

The pain to stop.

The hurt to subside

End.

What am I waiting for?

Waiting for what?

His return?

My acceptance?

Hope.

Dix

WATER

I recently attended a summer school and attended a lecture about water problems in Kenya. I am sorry to say it was a tad boring and I found myself trying to stay awake and stay interested . So I began making notes that could be turned into something creative. This is what I was left with. Not sure if it is a poem or anything really - probably just a outpouring of a mind trying to stay focused.

WATER

Queue water,
Introduction water,
Community water.
Water from the tap,
Tap water,
Water from the shower,
Water for the shower,

Culture of water,
Time spent; time spent for water,
Time for water,
Tribes for water; water tribes,
Water transfer,
Water treatment,
Water pipe; piped water,
Water connection,
Transmit water; water transmission,
Water security,
Kenya water; Kenyan water,
Water pollution; polluted water,
Consumable water,
Water conflicts, conflicts of water,
Fetching water,
Irrigation, irrigate,
Well; water wells,
Rationed water; water ration,
Water charge, pay for water,
Water payments,
Water solutions; solutions to water,
Nomad water; travelling like water,
Following the rain,
Following the wetness;
Travelling water,
Certified water; water certificate,
Private water,
Managed water,
Government water,
Local water,
Provided water; water providers,
Conflict water, water conflict;
Water permits; permitted water,
Community water projects,
Failed water projects,
Failed water,
Benefits of water,
Water donors,
Waters fails,
Donors fail,
Oil like water,
Oil and water resource,
Water resource,
Female water,
Water for the girls,
Water by the girls,
Carried, collected, kept,
Harvested, owned?
Water for women,
Women’s water.
Dammed water; water dammed,
Dammed by the water,
Dam the water,
Dam water,
Coloured water,
Blue, green, black, brown,
Muddy, clear, murky, slimy,
Cold, hot, cool, warm,
Wet,
Wet water,
Dry water,
Live water,
Dead water,
Drowned.
Thirst quenching water,
Water for life,
Alive water,
Awake water,
Help water,
Rehydrating water,
WATER.
Laughing water; crying water,
Helping water; fun water,
Water, water, water
WATER.
Water to live; water for life,
WATER
Vegetable water; soup water,
Hot water,
Tea, coffee, and water,
Water economy,
Economy of water,
Money water
WATER.

Dix

BR - Farewell, My Lovely by Raymond Chandler

I have always wanted to read a Raymond Chandler book but for some reason, really unknown to me, I didn't want to buy a new copy. So I have trawled the second hand shops looking for a copy of anything really.

At uni we did read some extracts and a short story and this is what got me interested and lodged the idea in the back of my head.

It is not that this is a brilliant book, in fact there were times when I struggled to keep up with the story (this may have been because I mainly read it when I was tired and just about to drop off to sleep - a couple of times I fell asleep with it glued to me face!) but there is definitely something about the way he writes that is well just amazing. It is hard to think that this was written so long ago - published 1969 - and although it did seem old in some ways, obviously short of technology and such like but even so certain paragraphs, certain sentences, places where he has put words together in such a way as to take my breathe away. Sometimes he just writes so well, so beautifully that nothing else matters.

I am glad I have read a Raymond Chandler at last. I will surely read another some day. I particularly want to read The Big Sleep and or any short stories if they exist. Sometimes it is just so awe inspiring to read words so beautifully written, they catch at me with almost lust and desire. Such beauty that I feel that I can never hope to reach. But it is good to try.

If you have never read one, read a Raymond Chandler - put it on your bucket list as a to do.

Dix

Found Writings

I have just finished my notebook - the one I carry with me in my handbag and write down my thoughts, ideas and general info. This is a selection of those writings. Sorry - some may have been blogged before - some may not.

Cold Hard Cash

Why do the say 'cold hard cash?'

But not frozen solid money.

Yeah, cash is cold

but hard, maybe.

Hard to get.

Hard to keep.

Hard to touch? - Never.

Written 10/05/10 by Dix

The Financial Times

In times of credit crunch

and financial crashes,

unimaginable cash losses

and smashes,

futures are about gradualism,

time waiting and realism.

Written June 10 by Dix

Store

My grandmother-in-law

(if that makes sense),

liked to store food goods

just in case.

It's a habit she developed

during the war

and found hard to break.

Written 17/06/10 by Dix

Recycling Bags

Recycling bags

can't be stored -

they deteriorate

in the cupboard.

Recycling bags can't

be recycled

indefinitely.

Written June 2010 by Dix

Waiting Room

Sitting in the Doctor's waiting room listening to the banal local radio station mumbling in the background; not making eye contact with anyone. The ceaseless noise is interrupted by the ping pong of the intercom followed by a muffled voice calling out a name that nobody can hear and all wonder if it sounds like them.

The potential patients make their first eye contact, looking to see who owns the fluffed sounds. Eventually after much eye searching, it repeats and someone stands, hopefully, making their way through to door 1, 2 or 3.

They soon return, at the joy of those assembled waiting, clutching their green and white paper, wondering if they have the right diagnose; if they got the right prescription; if they spoke quickly enough or clearly enough to say what they needed in their allotted 5 minutes.

They leave the waiting room purposefully to complete the last part of the task. To dutifully queue at the Chemist and pay for their boxed or bottled prizes.

Dix

Found writings

I found these next two pieces of work whilst doing some tidying. The first one was written to my cousin who committed suicide last year. I didn't know him well but am so sorry he has gone so soon. The second piece comes from working nights.

Simon

A shining light,

a beacon bright

that fades.

A silent smile.

A wave goodbye,

today.

Brown eyes deep,

that rarely weep

at all.

I wish I knew you better,

I should have took the time,

I should have understood.

What haunted you.

What haunts us all.

Nights

I hear noises that at first just interest me; then become persistently annoying; then worrying. Shadows and light that flicker in the peripherals of my eyes and make me wonder. That reminds me of old friends, long since left who wonder the corridors at night, still searching for the life they never knew.

Squeak and Bubble

&

Bob said "I want bubble and squeak for tea today."

"But we only have bubble and squeak on Boxing Day?"

Bob though for a while.

"Fuck it, fire up the frying pan woman. It's bubble and squeak for tea."


Dix

Did you know?

Did you know -

it's the fashion for boys to wear pink underwear.

They have to have their trousers hanging down -

to show them off.

Dix

A poem by Miriam Dorothy Tripp

A bird now rests as high can be
On topmost twig of nearest tree
And watches, waits til red is grey
But still is loathe to go away
Both hardly sway uplifted twig
For birdies feet are not so big
And weight in grams so very low
‘tis hardly that the tree could know
Thy presence there; although dost bear
Thee, high up in the winter’s air,

Adjacent tree now bears a friend,
Cheep cheep and does she comprehend?
Appearing now that nearby tree
And birdie friend come sit with me
Uplifted wings – she’s come to thee
Together cheep contentedly
Then, off and up and swoop away
Perhaps they’ll come another day,

By Miriam Dorothy Tripp

I never met the lady who wrote this poem. In fact I never knew she existed until after she had died (she died in March this year). She was not directly related to me but was Boy's aunt. He (and I) were sad that we were never told about her, that he was never able to send her a card or meet her. We just found out she died and her brother sent a little money for Boy. She was in her late 70's so had a longish life. I know little else, or really nothing about her. Just a story that sounded like she had a sad life. Maybe her life wasn't sad, maybe really it was ok. I don't know.

This poem is strangely old fashioned yet I like it. It makes me think of the author and wish I had met her. I visualised a little robin or robin in a tree cheeping away contentedly. Apparently this poem was published in our local daily paper (I don't know when) and somehow I thought I must give it another chance of an audience, however small.

Hope you enjoy it; hope it gives you a little picture of nature; hope you remember the lady who wrote it if even in you minds eye.

Mog

End of Dream Time

I am fifty next week.

At the moment I am really unwell with the most terrible cold bug that will not go.

Bringing up boy is much much harder than I thought it was going to be.

My friend has moved away permanently.

In fact I don't really have much in the way of friends at all. I have made a list for my party and lots of people aren't coming - uhmm - are they telling me something?

I can't get a job - even one that I don't really want.

I am fat - really overweight, probably the biggest I have ever been and this makes me feel valueless and ugly and useless. It is probably the reason I can't throw off this dam bug as well.

So where am I in life.

Every job I have ever had, even when I have really enjoyed them and more importantly been really good at I have left, got bored, fed up, felt I wasn't good enough and moved on - or tried to. Now I don't really have a job (well bringing up boy is a job but I ain't doing to well at that at the moment). I really want a job and I want to stay in it, be reliable (another thing I ain't too good at) and have a job that I can see and make myself have a future in.

How am I going to make this happen?

I think it is time to stop the dream. All my life I have wanted to write, think that I am good enough to write and be published. Trouble is even when I have the time I don't. I just don't. There is always an excuse. My life is full of excuses for not doing, for not being.

Well it has to stop.

I don't write, I only dream about it. Yes I went to University and got a degree in Creative Writing and what has that achieved. Basically nothing. If I really wanted to write I would, I would stop making excuses. I would stop using it as an excuse for not getting on with my life, getting a job and being a successful, useful person.

If I had a job that paid OK I could go and see my friend in Scotland, I could afford to get the things done on the car. I could do a bit more with my time outside work instead of sitting and dreaming.

Today the dreaming is stopping - I have to get on my life and leave it all behind. I think I will be happier for it. I know I will be happier for it.

Dix

Postcard Exercises

Dear Jean

The weather is glorious; company is fine! Can't believe I haven't done this before. You were right, as always. Just what I needed. I will be home later than planned though. Your William Billy xxxx

Snooze

The phone buzzes and trembles; Paul Simon calls me Al. I stretch and grapple to find the silence button. I am momentarily awake. I curl back into my warm space. 5 minutes to be in any world. Flying around blue skies, swooping and watching, or swimming across green oceans and floating forever. Or maybe just doing and being whatever, whoever I want.

Dix

This is an exercise I did recently on writing a piece of postcard fiction. Two ideas that I hope give an idea of a story.

Dix

Self Loathing (by food)

All I do is eat and eat and eat and Eat. Past full. A whole packet of cheese sandwich biscuits, quantities of fruit and chocolate too. All I do is eat and eat and eat and Eat. Past fat. Milk chocolate Button Easter Eggs, devoured whilst driving, untasted, un-enjoyed, gone. All I do is eat and eat and eat and Eat. Past life. Mature cheese, broken lump by lump from vast blocks; chewed and savoured unobserved. All I do is eat and eat and eat and Eat. Past morbid. Crap food nags carbs and sugar, momentarily ease my stress and sadness. All I do is eat and eat and eat and Eat. To death. Dix

Silence

He wished he hadn’t spoken those last words.

He wished he could take them back. In his head they were reversing back into his mouth like an old 45 record being pushed backward against the needle.

But he couldn’t.

Her face creased, momentarily. Her eyes were full of hurt and pain. She was staring at him then looked down, her head and shoulders beaten and drooping.

The room went really really quiet, not that comfortable silence of two people secure in each others presence but a ‘cut the air’ almost menacing feel that left him wanting to escape.

They both just stood, still. Neither appearing to know what to say next. He shuffled his feet, noticing the grey green scuff on his white trainers and mentally noting to clean them soon.

Still nothing was said.

He looked over at her feet; they were naked, clean and beautiful, beautiful in a way that only female feet can be. Each toe nail glazed with a pearlescent pink varnish, immaculately done, no chips or messy edges.

Her feet were still, unmoving as she was, head down, body slightly stiff but controlled.

He just wanted her to speak. If she got angry that would be his punishment. She should scream at him, unfurling the hurt into him. He would accept it happily; he would welcome her anger. He would look up and listen, blinking in all the right places, accepting of whatever hurts she would stab at him – just to make it ok. She could list his numerous faults, his physical abnormalities, his weaknesses his tactlessness. He knew them all so well.

She just had to break the silence, to make it be alright.

Maybe he should list them himself; maybe he could throw himself at her mercy, beg and plead for her anger. Maybe he could say he didn’t mean it. That he was sorry.

He just needs her to break the silence.

Dix

This is the result of a writing exercise I did today. I really enjoyed it and felt I had created something I liked and has potential. The exercise started with He wished he .... and we wrote for approx 15 mins.

BR - One Day by David Nichols

I have looked at this book many times over the last couple of years and thought it would be something I would like but not got it. Then I saw it recommended on My Life in Books (can't remember who by but loved the sound of it) so was in a proper bookshop so got it.

It is wonderful - one of those books that you can't put down, one of those books that has moved me in so many ways - at times I felt depressed by the female character because I could understand her life and the male character reminds me of someone I once knew well.

I loved the dialogue between them, their thoughts and feelings hit home so much. The words carried me along with them.

This is a wonderful book, modern, alive and just well, wonderful. I kept reading and reading desperate to get to the end but never wanting it to stop. These were real people to me, real people in my life who I was watching live their lives, making mistakes and doing the right thing, having a great and awful time.

And then, as per normal the problem arose. The ending. I often have a problem with endings and I knew 100 - 150 pages towards the end that things weren't going the way I hope, expected or wanted. Then it happened, someone died and I didn't want that. I didn't want it to end this way. This isn't how life should be (and these people were alive to me).

Where is the happy ending that I so long for; or even the satisfactory ending.

Now I have a dilemma - I loved the book, it is definitely a keeper but it is the whole 'killing off Dobby' thing all over again - as a wanna be writer this ending doesn't feel right - it isn't what I wanted but is it what I would have done. I finished the book Tuesday and have had a day to think about it - how else could it have ended - happy ever after - them getting everything they wanted - dull but satisfying. Not happy ever after because certain wishes aren't fulfilled. Yeah that would have been OK. Not being together - making new lives apart remembering the good time - this might have been what I would have done. But death, hmm not at all sure.

I know I will read this book again someday - I will see different aspects of the characters, perhaps it won't be so relevant to where I am today - who knows. Will I feel different about the ending - not sure - maybe, maybe I do a little already.

What has it really made me think; wish I could write like this; wish I could make a reader connect the way I feel I have. Maybe then I will understand about endings, how difficult it is to satisfy the reader at the end - who knows.

Whatever though - read this book, enjoy it; hate it; love it but read it. I really really recommend it.

Dix

Off to the Dump

My task for today is to take stuff to the dump. Not very exciting I know but quite cathartic as it means more stuff is got rid of. I am probably making a mistake going on a Monday as I suspect lots of people will be queued up to dump their stuff after the weekend.

I have stuff that has been sitting outside waiting to be disposed of for a couple of months so getting rid of it will be a positive thing. Trouble is I think I feel like my life is a bit in the 'dump' right now. I can't get a job that I really want and just get rejected, rejected, rejected. I don't seem to be getting any where with my writing. Sometimes I sit down or just before I go to sleep and I have the most wonderful words inside my head but every time I try to write them down they just seem like crap - crap to be dumped.

I know I am feeling like this because I am struggling to get a job I want, something that has not really happened to me before, because I am being so lethargic about my creativity, because my mind is still full of worries about money and bills and how to find the money to get the car serviced and on and on and on. But somehow I have to snap myself out of this rubbish and get back to the positive.

I am 50 soon, something I am looking forward to, I have a job that is OK, the people I work for (with) are great just the cuts making it seems so depressing. I get pleasure from my work some days - more than some people can say.

So what have I got to do now; eat less, overeating is making me feel like crap, move more - I love my daily walk with the dog (about 1 1/2 walking) but maybe I need to exert myself more, write something, doesn't matter what but do it, sleep less and do more, be happy with my lot and optimistic about finding solutions to my problems.

Easy yeah?

Dix

Passionate TV

Firstly, excuse the photo of Anne Robinson - I am not a fan of her style and never will be - but I am a huge fan of this program My Life in Books. It is a half hour program shown on BBC2 at 6.30pm where famous people (I am careful here not to use the word celebrity because I feel they are not celebrities but people who have become famous for lots of reasons, not just TV but politics and writers etc. They come on the show and chose books that they love and talk about them; introduce them to the audience and in away introduce themselves to the audience.

There has been a wide variety of people on the show who have all been interesting and have all had something to say. I would be a liar if I said I wanted to read all the books that they recommended but certainly there are many that I would like to read; many that I have already read and many that I wish I could read (different from wanting to read because some of them seem like books I would struggle to get through but wish I had the stamina).

I have found the writers particularly passionate (well I would, wouldn't I) - they talk about books in language that I use, with the passion that I feel. They hold and smell and caress books in the way that I do, and remember the characters and plot like they are old friends. They talk about the memories evoked by reading this book and how they changed their lives or how their lives where changing when they read it. They talk about memories of family, of lovers, of children, even of world events and politics. They talk about love.

I record this program and watch it at least twice - just to feel the joy of the reader - the joy of their language - their joy for books. I feel that this is my program, this is something that I can totally connect to and love (not so much on the TV for me like this anymore).

I hope the BBC keep this program (maybe once a week). Its OK if it is on at a later, even obscure time, those of us who love it will find away.

The program is part of World Book Year (Week?) and has made me think about which books I would talk about on the program - so here is my list of My Life in Books (in no particular order).

The Colour Purple by Alice Walker - I studied this book and though to some it may be obvious this is the first time anyone told me that Jesus may not have been white, he was not the white man with beard and long hair that I had seen on the cross all my childhood. It made me think about what faith was really about - how we all fit in the world of God. It made me think about status and position and pain and suffering and survival and love. It made me think and for that I will always be truly thankful.

The Sea by John Banville - I love this book because of the way it is written, the pure beauty of the writing - I read it with just pure jealously and wishing I could write words this beautifully. I have to say I never really loved the main character, not sure he is really that nice a person, not sure I totally thought the plot and storyline were brilliant but all that is forgiven for such beautiful words. Just to read with pure envy and admiration is an amazing experience.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig - I read this book when I was a teenager and loved it, I guess maybe I wasn't totally sure what it was saying, that I didn't have the knowledge or experience to truly understand his words, but I read it again whilst I was at Uni and really understood why it had impacted on my so much. A basic story weaved around a philosophy for life, a philosophy of loss and love. I tried to explain this book to my college classmates and failed dismally - something I will always regret.

Rebecca by Daphine Du Maurier - I am not really a huge classics fan, really not into the angst and annoying women of many of the Austen, Bronte clans but I love the second Mrs De Winter. (Think that is right???). I love her outsideness, how she lives in the world she feels she doesn't understand and doesn't fit with. Her gentle soul that is so easily hurt and bruised but yet in the end is strong. The wonderful picture of the awful first wife, written so well she appears in the readers mind like some awful beautiful witch, the weak husband, the wonderful scenery and house. I revisit this book often to remind myself of its beauty.

The Essential Spike Milligan - I love Spike Milligan, I particularly love his poetry. I wish I had got to know his work when he was alive, had been able to watch him on TV and explore his older work. I didn't. I read his poetry as much as possible, I buy anything of his I see second hand and am trying to get a full catalogue of his work (particularly his poetry). It makes me laugh, it makes me cry, it makes me think about so much. To me he was so underrated, possibly so misunderstood by his peers and certainly be later generations. I think readers will return to his work in the future and see something new, something wonderful. That it what I see.

Amy Johnson Queen of the Air by Midge Gillies - this is a very personal book and one which I will never forget. Amy Johnson flew with my grand father - we have family photographs of them together and family stories of their relationship! I never really knew who she was, and still might not (this is a biography) but read this book to see if I could understand how my grandfather got to fly planes, what got him there. It was so interesting and I searched the pages for what might have been a clue to him, a mention of him, a feel of him. (There is a piece that might be about him but I can't tell and the author was unable to identify this man either - that I believe is a story for the future). This book is well written and interesting and helped me try to understand a man I never knew, who died in his plane crash in 1936 but has always seemed so exciting to me.

At the end of the show they are asked which book is their guilty pleasure, which of these would they take on holiday if they could only take one. Of course I would take them all but I suspect my guilty please is the Spike Milligan because he can evoke some many emotions and I can see something different each time I read them.

There are many more books I could list here (the obvious omission being Harry Potter) but these are the ones I have chosen here and now.

I would love to know what your life in books is, what is your little list of books and why? Care to share?

Dix