1999-2009

A lot can change in ten years. Hell, a lot can change in a year. And believe me, it has.
This is me. Ten years ago to the day. Eighteen years old. At my friend’s girlfriend’s house. My best friend and I were rather proud of sorting out the drink and food, hence the picture. Honestly, I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember the pub, the trip to the supermarket. I remember the boys buying cigars. I could even tell you the brand. I remember my then girlfriend and those cocktails that went in the freezer and I remember the music we listened to. It was a good time. I was happy. 

And here we are. Here I am. Ten years on. A whole decade’s slipped by and I didn’t really notice. But at the same time, so much has happened. I’ve made friends and lost friends. I’ve done stuff I regret and I’ve been treated horribly at times. I’ve become a writer and an author. I’ve grown. I’ve learned. I know better what I think about things now and I know to listen to my gut more. I’ve fallen in love with the wrong person. I’ve had my heart broken. I’ve been lonely, but I’ve been elated at times too and I’ve achieved things I quite simply didn’t think were in my league.

Such a lot can happen in a decade. Such a lot can change. I know I have, hugely, and I like to think I’m less annoying now.
So I’m feeling a mixture of things as we’re on the cusp of a new decade. I’m excited about what’s in store for me and my friends and I’m also kind of sad about all that’s been lost.
But tomorrow is another day. Another opportunity. The start of the next ten years.
That’s exciting, no?
Friends, Happy New Year.

Crazy Glue

Those regular vistors among you will know how much of a fan of Etgar Keret’s work I am; a lot of things have changed this year but that certainly hasn’t. Last year I signed off with a video of his (I’m still dying to see the film) and I see no reason why this year should be any different (assuming there’s nothing I have to say before the new year that is).

So, enjoy. And, in case I’m not back before this year’s out: Happy New Year.

(And it was lovely to read that someone else is a fan now too – reading that made me very, very happy.)

The Elegance of the Hedgehog

It’s a shame I’ve already listed my books of the year because The Elegance of The Hedgehog, by Muriel Barbery would certainly have featured in it. (It’ll have to go into next year’s list.)

It’s a remarkable book. Translated expertly from French it tells the story of two people who live in a swanky Parisian  apartment building; Renee, the seemingly grumpy, prickly concierge, and Paloma, the 12 year daughter of a wealthy family. Renee is desperate to hide her intelligence and love of art from everybody and Paloma, again hugely intelligent, has decided that there’s nothing in life worth living for and so has decided to kill herself on her thirteenth birthday.
The book is a wonderful, delightful, mix of philosophy and observation and subtle humour, but most of all it’s book about not fitting in, about being different. And it’s about beauty, more specifically, about the beauty of friendship once any preconceived notions of class have been stripped away. It’s about seeing people as they are, not as we expect them to be.
It is beautifully written and a book to be read when one can give it the attention and concentration it deserves. 
I loved it. Even though it made me cry.
(It’s published by Gallic Books, who specialise in translating French books to the language I can read, and I’ve already started The Suicide Shop, another of theirs. I shall let you know how I get on…)

Lists

It would have been around about this time last year when my then girlfriend and I were having dinner at some place up in the hills and we got to talking about what we wanted to do the following year. It was exciting. It was going to be a year of Doing Things. Of going places. And, for me, of short stories. I think I’d only just got comfortable with saying that I was a short story writer back then; I’d not long read Aimee Bender and Etgar Keret and those sorts of wonderful, brilliant people, and I felt, finally, that I knew what I wanted to do and I was (reasonably) comfortable in the doing of it. It was going to be a great year.

Best laid plans, and all that. 
As you’ll know too well if you’ve been reading this blog for a while it hasn’t turned out to be an exciting year of doing things. Early in the year it transpired that my then girlfriend had a list of her own and we split up. It was painful. And then I got ill, which was painful too. You know, I’ve spent a fair amount of time moaning about these sorts of things on here, and I’m not going to now. My point is that I was a little dubious about making any sort of plans for 2010.
But I did.
I wrote a list the other day. There are the obvious things on it, things like doing more exercise (I recently lost the beard and discovered I’d gained a flabby neck) and maybe giving up smoking, but there are other things on there too. Things like doing more stuff. I’ve spent most of this year writing and it’s tired me out, to some degree, and to a greater degree it’s kept me in my office and on my own. I’ve not done as much by way of workshops as I could, which I’d like to change. So those are the sorts of things that have made their way onto my list.
But this is the most important one, I think:


And it feels that I’m on the right course to achieve that. This year my stories have appeared in some really cool places (so I’m doing something right) and it feels like I’m writing well and still learning. It’s all about learning.
Which has been another big feature of 2009. I’ve learned a lot about writing and about the industry, and I’ve seen what brilliant people there are in it. People who genuinely care about stories and books and writers and literature and I’ve learned that most of those people are great and lovely and cool. And I am incredibly fortunate to be able to call some of those people my friends.
And I think I’ve learned a lot about people as well. I’ve learned (sadly, but it has had its benefits) that some people aren’t nice. That some people are selfish. That some people will use you. That some people are hypocrites. That some people are chronically wrong and that some chronically don’t care. And I’ve learned that there’s a lot of rubbish on the internet and in the papers and that, actually, there’s nothing I can do about it no matter how much I shake my head and scream ‘that’s just not true’ at the computer screen (mostly it seems to be things about short stories). (And yes, I do count myself among those who aren’t always nice – I can be (more than) an arse at times.)
But. Here we are. We’re at the end of the year. Outside there’s snow falling, and in the street lights it sparkles; that could be magic. Some of it’s stuck. Christmas is just around the corner. And after it, January and the whole of 2010. A whole new year. To do stuff in. To be happy, or at least try to be. To write. To make stuff up. To make mistakes and to learn from them. To learn more.
Now that it’s almost here, in a reserved and cautious way, I’m quietly excited. 
(And while I’m talking about lists, here’s a very short story I wrote about one.)

Book of the Year 2009

Right. I’ve thought long and I’ve thought hard about this. I even went back to some of the books listed yesterday and dipped into them for a reminder, in case I’d missed something.

 

And I have come to my decision.

 

Here are my top 3 books of the year.

 

 

 

 

At number 3.

 

Black Boxes by Caroline Smailes. 

 

I read this right at the beginning of the year and it’s stayed with me since.

 

Haunting, heart breaking, brave, believable and brilliant.

Number 2.

The Girl on The Fridge by Etgar Keret.

 

Along with Aimee Bender, Keret’s work has changed how I write and what I write about. This is an amazing collection of short fiction. 

 

Different, funny, sad, brilliant and written by someone with the most wonderful of imaginations. 

And the winner is…
1.


Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut.

 

When I finished this I remember saying that it could be my favourite book ever. So, well, it must be my favourite of the year.

 

Brilliantly imaginative, in terms of story and structure, brilliantly written, moving and funny. It’s a classic.

***

 

And a few honourable mentions.

 

An A-Z of Possible Worlds, by A C Tillyer for being a brilliant short story collection and brilliantly packaged.

 

Heaven Can Wait, by Cally Taylor for being funny and incredibly moving and for making me love it despite it being outside of what I normally read.

 

Elephants in Our Bedroom, by Michael Czyzniejewski, for having superbly crafted stories, written by someone with an imagination up there with the best.

 

Dear Everybody, by Michael Kimball, which could be the American companion to Black Boxes.

 

And Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout for being a brilliant and moving story about a life and having just about the perfect opening chapter I’ve read.

***

So there you have it. Anyone else going to share?