Guardians of the Galaxy is one of my favourite films. While I failed to adore the second installment, I still found much to enjoy, but the trouble with any follow-up is the level of expectation and the pressure to surpass that first experience. It’s a problem every creative person understands too well.
That’s not the subject of this post. Most of us love Groot, but did you know he wasn’t always the adorable character you may think you know and love?
To celebrate 7 years of JMS Books grab a copy for just $1 dollar but only direct from the publisher on 5th July.
Should a writer have favourite books when it concerns their own work? That may be up for debate but while I have a fondness for many titles, there are a handful where no one can deflate my deep sense of a job well done. Hard Pressed is one such title.
Blurb:
Can absolution arrive in three little words?
When one man has the worst of reputations and believes any misfortune befalling him is deserved, it’s hard to feel worthy of love. Can absolution arrive in three little words?
Journalist, Phillip Drake, is beginning to doubt the career he’s chosen, his motivation, his whole existence. When an assignment arises to trail up and coming, and coming out, actor, Gary Caldwell, he’s well aware it’s his duty to dig for dirt…and when Caldwell seems less than co-operative, Phillip half-convinces himself he’ll be happy to do so.
Gary has always been attracted to the reporter and finds it difficult to maintain a distance. Something is going on with Drake, not least of all the surprising revelation when Gary realises Drake is gay, and the attraction is mutual.
After an intimate encounter, Drake disappears and Gary sets out to unravel a mystery that not only involves tracking down the reporter’s whereabouts, but may also explain why Drake has done the things he has, why Drake harbours more than a little self-hate and more than emotional scars, and why the one thing Drake doesn’t believe he deserves — love — is the one thing he’s worthy of.
Get the $1 dollar deal on 5th July.
Previously the editor’s choice when originally published at Musa (trading ceased).
Many have heard of the yearly Bad Sex in Fiction Award, which has been going since 1993 — the purpose to ‘honour’ an author for producing an ‘outstandingly’ bad sexual scene in what might otherwise be an excellent novel. The prize doesn’t include erotic fiction and mainly exists to throw light on often unnecessary sections of sex given a superficial treatment.
This is part of an old post where I drew attention to the 17th Annual Bad Sex in Fiction Award that went to author Jonathan Littell for some hilarious passages in his novel The Kindly Ones. However, some sentences aren’t as good/bad as they’ve been in some years and this is a translation from the French, which can affect some meanings. It’s also difficult judging for oneself when reading these lines out of context. Read more on the book and the award at BBC News.
Cringeworthy? Spiteful? Personally, I think it would be a fun award to win and, as they say, any publicity is good, although I’m not sure that’s always entirely true.
However, this I wish to put forward my contender/winner even though it’s for a book published some years ago:
“She kept a secret spring surrounded by sweet moss, and there he was refreshed.”
And the winner is…
Stephen King for this line in his 5th Dark Tower novel ‘Wolves of the Calla’. It read slightly better in context but made me roar with laughter, so unless that was his intention (and even if it was) this has got to be a dodgy euphemism if ever I heard one. Otherwise, I love the Dark Tower series and finally got to read the entire series in one sitting. I love the character of Roland, but my hero is Eddie.
I’m going to keep the award in mind when constructing such sentences.
I’ve had more than one run-in with ‘celebrity’, but this incident was my first. A few years ago, I was working in an office and answered the phone. When I realised with whom I was speaking, I experienced a ‘gulp’ moment where time slowed enough for ‘I really don’t want to be dealing with this’ to pass through my mind. I had heard enough ‘rumours’ to square my shoulders and straighten my spine, preparing for a not-very-nice-guy. Still, I am, if nothing else, generous, prepared to give anyone the benefit of the proverbial doubt… in this instance, short-lived. The moment of good grace passed with the first words to come out of his mouth, the ‘conversation’ something like this:
“Get ****** *******.”
“I’m sorry, she’s not at her desk right…”
“I want to speak to her.”
“… now. Maybe I can help, or take a message?”
“I am ******* **** so Go.Get.Her.Right.Nowwwwww.”
My cognitive reasoning instantly translated this to: “I’m a toffee-nosed blowhole who expects the world to bow instantly to my every whim. I’m so full of my self-importance, I kiss my reflection first thing in the morning and last thing at night because no one else is good enough to kiss me, at all… except maybe my feet, when they are down there grovelling.”
I went to fetch the person in question (the toilet of all places) because it was my job and because unfortunately she was on the other side of a similar coin. They deserved to work together. She had the art of obsequiousness down pat when it served. Alas, in the real world, people-management escaped her skill set.
“You got the photocopying done?” she asked one morning, staring at the pile in my arms. “You got it done ‘today’?”
“Yes,” I replied, somewhat puzzled.
“However did you manage that? ***** never does the photocopying for me that quickly. She sometimes makes me wait days.”
To clarify, some offices have had photocopying departments, particularly if they regularly sent a lot of duplicate documents or leaflets .
How did I get my photocopying done in a blink where this other person couldn’t? Compare her, “Get this done,” to my “Good morning, *****. How are you today? How’s your daughter?” In reply, I’d listen (and I mean pay attention) to how well the woman’s daughter was doing, how proud she was of the young girl’s latest achievements, all of which swiftly concluded with, “I’ll put your work up next.”
No, I did not wish this woman a good morning in order to get my photocopying. Her doing so was an amazing bonus, but that was not in my mind the first time I said hello, or when I asked how she was. It’s called respect and being polite. I didn’t see her as the ‘photocopying woman’, as did so many. I saw her as someone deserving the same regard as anyone — a lesson the other two people of this blog could have done with learning before anyone gave them a job.
No one is more important than anyone else. If I were famous, I would not expect someone to hurry off the toilet barring a life or death situation (that call… was it important? No, not at all). I wouldn’t turn up without warning and expect to jump the queue. It’s a crazy world where a recognisable name or face expects preferential treatment, particularly if it’s to the detriment of others. It’s odd we give such care, not on a nurse who maybe saved a life that day, but on people (famous or not) who treat others with rudeness and arrogance. Respect should be earned. The person who does the photocopying or served coffee that morning, are all the same. My father served coffee for a time, and though he might have ended up in the Tower of London, had the Queen turned up, he would have expected her to pay and to wait in line. He would have been polite, he would have been respectful, but he did not like any individual having privilege over another. Maybe the picture he painted with this declaration was more allegorical than actual, but, as a child, that was something I would have been tickled to see. I never knew if he exaggerated, but the principle sure stuck in my mind.
Couldn’t resist sharing. Think you know Shakespeare? Or maybe you think you’ve never read him, never watched a play, and don’t care to. Maybe you think you don’t know any Shakespeare at all. Think again.
Love or loathe, Shakespeare influenced our language like no other writer. My personal tip is, if you can, visit The Globe (or any theatre) and watch a live performance. His work are plays and meant to be watched rather than read. The Merchant of Venice was one of the many fantastic performances I’ve seen, and yes, I was lucky enough to see it at The Globe on a balmy summer evening. Watch for a fast and fun whirlwind tour of how Shakespeare has influenced our lives:
This week I’m simply highlighting some more Amazon Shenanigans. I, too, was fooled by cheap books in the beginning, but this steamroller is now out of control, and is no less damaging. Alas, some writers and even publishers have to rely on Amazon these days, but they’ve done nothing for writers or the book industry overall. I’m not telling anyone what to do, or where to buy, and in some cases there is literally ‘no choice’ but, please, open your eyes. Search online for more related articles.
This week, I’m re-blogging a post I wrote for one of my publisher’s blog (when I was writing for Musa). I think it’s timely as the sale of printed books is on the increase.
I’m here to discuss a friend’s point of view — one that hadn’t occurred to me before. I’m going to wander a bit because I’m also talking books, but it all comes down to love for the written word.
Some people love e-books, some loathe them. I know some hate the term ‘e-book’ and I take that argument on board. A ‘book’ is a bound set of pages. Maybe it would be more accurate to call the electronic file of a book an e-novel or e-story because I don’t feel the presentation affects the content. The story ‘exists’ the moment the author penned it. When one used typewriters or even quills and ink, that didn’t make the story exist any less, although by no definition could hand written or typed pages be called ‘books’.
I’m not against electronic files of books, but I still love paper books, and always will. I admit there’s nothing like a physical book that can I can hold in my hand. It’s nostalgic. If a gift, we may recollect when we opened a brightly wrapped package, the moment we first set eyes on it, felt that fission of pleasure, and spare a moment’s thought for the person who gifted it. An electronic file, mostly, lacks the personal touch. An old book, even when it deteriorates with time… Well, those creases in the spine and cover could have developed over many years of handling and love. I don’t see a scruffy book as one someone has necessarily or ill-used. Also, for someone like me who spends a great deal of time in front of computer screens, then the printed page is a departure from that, although e-readers are improving all the time and this may not always be an issue.
Saying that, there’s room for both formats in my life simply owing to practicality. For one thing, I write e-books and would be a total hypocrite then to say I hate them. I don’t hate them, would love to live in the library the Beast gave to Beauty in the Disney film — just push my bed and a chair and table into the middle, I’ll be fine — but so far I’ve yet to stumble across any enchanted castles even if I’ve found my Prince Charming. I love all sorts of books, from the classics to children’s stories, fantasy and horror, and yes, some romances. Though I can be fussy about my romances more than any genre, I read them along with all the other genres that I love — to call my book collection eclectic is an understatement.
Unfortunately, I simply don’t have room for all the books I would love to read and own. I’m one of those readers, who, if I love a book, I struggle to part with it. I’ve relatives who don’t understand this. They feel a book read, or a film seen they’ve finished with. The story has been told; the reader/viewer knows what will happen, so why read/watch it again? I understand the point, but I disagree with it. A much-loved experience can be enjoyed again. We can enjoy it more because often one can miss things on a first pass, same as an author can during the writing process.
Among my many ‘wants’, I would love to own an entire library of classics. I’ve an abiding love for them. It amazes me when I hear someone say today that they’ve read none of the literary greats. Black Beauty, Heidi, Pride and Prejudice, Gulliver’s Travels, Oliver Twist… all these books and more were among my childhood reads. I cannot even remember them being referred to as ‘classics’ — they were simply books and they were adventures. They took me to different worlds and gave me experiences I would never have had otherwise. I read them alongside stories such as The Water Babies, What Katy Did, Ballet Shoes, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and I never differentiated. Now people regard them as stuffy and dry, the language outdated. I cannot help feeling that people were better educated, more eloquent and literate when they read such books at a younger age. I was born when almost all parents read to their children, where they gave me books for children older than my age, and if I couldn’t read them right away, well I wanted to, and it made me strive to learn. If I didn’t know a word, my parents handed me a dictionary and told me to look it up, and yes, I took the time to do so. So these books have remained with me, ingrained.
The electronic format has allowed me to revisit some of these classics I’ve lost through moves, through lack of space. I am grateful. They are adventures and memories revisited, and I can keep them in virtual ‘space’. Although I still often buy my favourite authors in print, I have branched out and discovered others owing to electronic formats. I would prefer a world where there wasn’t an argument for or against, but where all can live in support and cooperation. In an advanced society, life is about individual choice.
It personified my thinking when speaking with a friend of mine. This friend is in his seventies and he recently bought an e-reader… and adores it. His reason is simple — he has struggled to read a book for some time. His eyes aren’t quite as they used to be and there may be other factors in his health, but whatever the reason, he can ‘see’ the words better on his reader as opposed to looking at a printed page. He can also increase the font size if need be, or zoom in. His reader has made his whole reading experience come alive again, and where he had as good as given up reading, or took a long time to struggle through a single novel, he’s reading again… devouring books, and what I saw in his eyes as he told me all this was joy.
So I’m just putting this thought out there for those very much against. Maybe e-books and e-readers aren’t for everyone, and for some, they may never be, but I think this proves that it’s pointless to criticise the needs of another person and that none of us can know what we may one day need ourselves. Should there be anyone saying they’d rather give up reading than commit sacrilege and read electronic books, then I can only think nose, spite, face. I could never give up reading. I’ve never heard such venomous arguments over audio books, which many people enjoy who aren’t blind and who don’t have seeing difficulties. The argument may stem from fear — a dread that the production of printed books will one day cease, and I understand that emotion well. Without printed books, this would be a poorer world, but one cannot ignore the increase of electronic formats — something I knew would take off long before someone ever conceived of the first e-reader. Simply, e-readers exist alongside things like audio books and are commonplace, they’re a lifeline for some, and — just as someone brought books into my life to enrich it — in my ‘book’ that makes their existence tolerable and even worthwhile.
