







What a lovely thing to wake up to on your birthday! I have somehow muscled out Justine Larbalestier for top spot on Copywrite’s Top 50 Australian Blogs for Writers. Thanks for reading and linking to me, lovely folks.
I will be writing more on NYWF/TiNA when I hit Bali (hopefully – depending on internet situation), or later today if I can. I have actually been keeping a low profile for most of the festival. For starters, I wasn’t feeling the best. Secondly, I had quite a few NSW natives to catch up with while I was here. I met up with Tahnee from Exisle Publishing; one of Australia’s best short story writers Ryan O’Neill, who has been an email buddy for a while now; and my folks, along with their good friends. Ryan also introduced me to Michael Sala – a really nice guy who is getting published in some big name journals as well as Best Australian Stories 2009 (out soon!). I look forward to reading some of his work.
The reports from my sessions have been positive, though one panel was a real learning curve – large, repetitive, unwieldy… I hope the audio turned out so I can upload it when I get home. I plan on writing a post down the track on things I’ve learnt about facilitating panels. Here’s one thing: the guests will come with one or two really important things they don’t want to forget to say. No matter what questions you ask at the start (trying to slowly lead into these things), they will give the game away early. They always make sure they say what they need to. There must be some way to let them know to trust you – that you will build a story together, leading to this revealing, interesting gem of information/experience.
Here are some reports on NYWF sessions by others:
Thuy Linh Nguyen wrote on day 1, day 2 and day 3, including some of my panels.
Estelle Tang has been doing an awesome job catching the atmosphere with interviews: here and here.
And Lisa Dempster has written on some of the local vegan fare in Newcastle.
I’ll also have to post more soon about some of the publications I’m currently floating around in! A small review in the latest Australian Book Review; I am interviewed in the latest Voiceworks; and am upcoming in the Emerging Writers Festival Reader and The Lifted Brow: Atlas. Details to come.
And now, a blog birthday present to myself.
‘All the nobody people, all the somebody people.
I never thought I’d meet
so many people’.
I’ve had three hours sleep, the internet cafe clock doth tick, and I may be wildly incoherent, but let me try and place you here in Newcastle.
I’ll go backwards.
The reason I didn’t sleep is because I have too much adrenaline, and though I was in bed by one I kept thinking about tsunamis and earthquakes and I thought the siren was an alarm. Obviously I’m just anxious about doing well on all my panels here and at Ubud and it’s manifesting as natural disaster fears.
Prior to the not-sleep, myself and several other people were ushered quietly into an exhibition space for the ‘Late Night Mystery Meat’ to draw the shadowed curves of naked bodies arranged under a life-size sculpture of f**king giraffes. I won a raw sausage.
Before that, a mixed-bunch of writers and drunks read letters (to celebs, unsent, and miscellaneous) and I got a bit lost in ginger beer/wine haze and was a bit shocked by an erotic love letter to Martin Bryant.
During the night I got to meet lots of people whose net-selves I have become fond of: Lorelei Vashti, Benjamin Law, Chris Somerville. I think I saw Derek Motionbut I wasn’t sure because I haven’t seen a whole photo of him. Only a dreadlock. Derek, was it you? We must chat.
In the Masonic Hall (the festival club) where we made up mysteries for the hole in the wall, bolshy girls in white button-up shirts no pants, and Clockwork Orange make-up, danced beside boys with concave stomachs and hats. The tang of young sweat, and some hip-hop beats and raps.
There was a man who looked like he’d ventured out from his Star Trek lounge room. Alone. Trying to make eye contact with someone. There were oily heads and knee socks and piercings galore and everyone here has that sweet edge of misfit, yet all fitting together.
Only one ladies toilet in the festival club, silver palm trees on the wall and girls adjusting their bums when they came out. Short-short girls in dangerous red lipstick.
For dinner, went to a Krishna restaurant, where the man lovingly and meticulously served rice and curried vegetables – just one more potato here, a blob of this sauce – with a genuine smile, welcoming you to come back for sweets you’d be too full for after the big meal.
The sun, the beach I ran to as soon as I came. Wanting the taxi driver to know I was a NSW coastal girl at heart. Why did I need him to know?
On the plane – nauseating bumps on descent. The alcoholic couple in front of me – weathered, bandy legged-and rough. I wondered where they were going and why. They kissed a lot. I wondered if they got violent too.
My first panel is today. I’ll try and get on when I can and give you updates. Do follow me on Twitterfor the occassional update or pic. Sorry if I take a little while to moderate or reply to comments. Good times. I need breakfast. (See how you’re my priority though?)
I’m about to embark on an adventure to two festivals – the National Young Writers Festival, and the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival. I want to learn something, many things. And, of course, I want to enjoy every moment. I’ll try and blog when I get a chance, though I’m not sure what the internet situation will be like.
Last Christmas I gave my parents a gorgeous hardcover called Wisdom, which features photographs by Andrew Zuckerman of prominent over-65s, alongside their ‘wise’ thoughts. This year in November, Hachette are bringing out Wisdom ‘minis‘. I have the Life one on my desk at work and every now and then I just pick it up and absorb something. Here’s a little taste:
Or you could choose to receive Steven Seagal’s wisdom. Up to you.
Or you could seek advice from someone whose path was to get rich or die tryin’, in 50 Cent’s new motivational book (with Robert Green) – The 50th Law. I’m not shitting you. From the blurb: ‘Drawing on the lore of gangsters, hustlers, and hip-hop artists, as well as 50 Cent’s business and artistic dealings, The 50th Law offers indispensable advice on how to win in business – and in life.’
Is winnin’ really livin’ Fiddy? I prefer Judi Dench’s creed: silliness.
Shop assistant: Who’s that?
Me: Albert Camus.
SA: Who?
Me: He’s a philosopher.
SA: What?
Me: A philosopher.
*shop assistant stares blankly*
Me: He’s a writer.
SA: Oh. Does he write poetry?
Me: No.
SA: What does he write?
Me: Philosophy, fiction.
*very long pause*
SA: Ha,ha, I’m such an airhead!
Penguin New Zealand 2008
9780143008934
The Year of the Shanghai Sharkcharts a series of encounters, tales and incidents in one year of a boy’s life in Dalian, China. His immediate existence is determined by his Uncle, who possesses many big books and conducts dubious business, his best friends Po Fan and Xiao Wang, plus basketball, fast food and his many individual encounters. On the periphery of this story are the Iraq war, the SARS epidemic, and general themes of Americanisation, technologisation, history and a shifting culture.
This book is a light yet thoughtful, modern, coming-of-age story told in a warm, immediate voice. Some of the characters our protagonist Hai Long encounters during the ‘year of the Shanghai shark’ include Worker Chen, who steers Hai Long on the path to ‘a good mind’; Gambler Deng; the peasant/beggar Fish; a kid nicknamed Basketball (because he’s so good at the sport) whose Dad wants him instead to be a doctor; the Old Stone, who Hai Long reads to; Writer Liu, a thin man who likes to write about ‘the inner struggle’; Karl, the Canadian English teacher; troubled Sister Ling; arguing Uncle Zhang and Uncle Jiang; the ambitious Li Tong who wants to study economics in America; and Old Gao the poet. There are other faces along with the peripheral stories – such as Yao Ming – a Chinese basketballer who has made it big in America.
This is Mo Zhi Hong’s debut novel, unpretentiously showcasing modern China and all its mixed-interests, through the eyes of one boy. Zhi Hong is located in New Zealand but was born in Singapore, lived in Taiwan, Canada, China and the US – where he worked as a software developer. The author’s globalised experience is reflected in the novel as a generational nonchalance toward American influence, but Zhi Hong also embeds his older Chinese characters with rich personalities and histories – and writes some as characters vehemently opposed to American cultural influence – so our young character, and the reader, receive a wholesome mix of messages, easily and entertainingly absorbed.
Inviting the self out. Stuck inside. Curled up in cultures. Taken away and taken back by what I don’t know. And then what I know. What I can’t grasp because of stuckness. Knowing about Mohezin Tejani’s experience of Pink Floyd in 1973. But never having seen Uganda, India, Nepal, Thailand… Having seen the Grand Canyon but I was just ten. Memories of Prague, foremost. A mood. My city today – obsessed with a game, it’s a whole culture. Wanting to know that too. Wanting to know everything. So I am paralysed. Almost 25. Friends I haven’t called for a long time. People who think busy is an excuse. Taking on too much. Needing to write. November will be the writing month. Next year will be the year. But now is now. Absurd. Taste of tic tacs. Immediate craving – what? John O’Sullivan’s poems ‘Enlightenment/Or strait jacket’, I have often wondered. People I can’t wait to meet. But annoyed at the brevity of my visits. Newcastle and Bali, a few days in each. A million people to see, talk to, drink with. Will there be a chance to know? And work, all of it. My life is my love is my work is my passion. No time for long term things. No time to make people really happy. No time to see it all, really. I must know. Time to learn science, study other cultures? Philosophy? Politics? The point? To teach it to someone else? The point? Right now. Taste of tic tacs. Hole in stocking annoying my toes. Thoughts of sister working, nursing a hole. Expectations of self, funny fears, inadequacies, specific Western youth type-experiences. Wanting to write more about this one day. Note to self. Wanting to place them in the context of all I don’t yet know. So hungry for so much. Paralysis. Yet somehow always moving forward, always getting things done. But progress – euch, an ingrained, Western tendency. Is it progress when it’s to achieve knowledge? But then to make use of it… But then to not worry and soak up the moment. But then being too aware of the moment and becoming overwhelmed. And always that little bit of guilt – lingering in every choice, every action. Ingrained. Tic tac taste fading. Might eat another. Pen and paper in front of me. Reading on.
The most blockbustery blockbuster of the year found its way into my lap and with curiosity piqued (and a break needed from festival preparations) I indulged in one solid reading session – cover to cover – and was mainly intrigued, despite a few small snags.
In The Lost Symbol, Harvard Professor Robert Langdon is called to give a last-minute talk at the Capitol Building in Washington DC. But soon the severed, tattooed hand of his mentor is found, pointing at a painted ceiling; and a short bossy CIA agent becomes involved. Then come vaults and passageways and codes and clues and of course, danger.
Quite a few cornball descriptions snagged me (‘Then, like an oncoming truck, it hit her’) and I couldn’t help but be annoyed by the bland, asexual symbologist Professor Langdon, but this book is a rich puzzle of connections. Langdon’s purpose is to play out the reader’s fears and their scepticisms. From planted clues early on in the novel emerges a mix of Masonic myth and history, humanist thought, new age mind ’science’, technology, art, and a really fun, despicable phoenix-tattooed eunuch villain.
Brown’s books contain oft-far-fetched but worthy conceptual considerations. In The Da Vinci Code it was the notion of the sacred feminine which kept me reading, despite the clunky writing. His writing here is smoother, though the (albeit interesting) bits and bobs about historical figures and information are still a little intrusive. Better than having them be expositional though. Though even with limited exposition, the dialogue is pretty cringeworthy. So many of the characters call men and boys ‘son’. People just don’t talk like that.
What isn’t amateurish is the phenomenally rich plot. And there is much that is original about this book, and about Brown’s work. I still think he’s nothing on Clive Cussler, if you’re going for far-fetched adventure (with a much more charismatic lead, in Dirk Pitt). But there are a few sequences in this book, which I really did not see coming. Brown’s other skill is connection – not just between plot points, but between concepts. ie. modern science and ancient mysticism, the similarities between different religions and belief systems (and the similar misunderstandings), the connection between this odd ‘science’ of Noetics (literally mind over matter) and computer metasystems, art and mathematics – plus concepts of language, knowledge, enlightenment, truth and power.
This book really is great fun and much more stimulating than a lot of the big-publisher-faff out there. I know it’s lame that some authors clog the shelves with their massive print runs and you get sick of seeing their covers in the hands of commuters everywhere, but I’ve never understood the weird logic of choosing not to read something just because it’s popular. I’d be interested to hear your thoughts.
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Editor: Jonathan Green.
Publishers: Eric Beecher, Diana Gribble.
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UWRF: Folklore, myth and the new millenium
I started the day yesterday with a plunge into the pool, and then a 45 minute walk up to the festival venues. I will not do this again as the swim + walk, coupled with the heat, just about made me a zombie for the entire day! I am giving myself permission to chillax.
Here’s a sample of one of the sessions I attended yesterday:
Folklore, myth and the new millenium
Michelle Cahill
Dian Hartati
Yonathan Rahardjo
Chair: Wayan Juniartha
The Left Bank Lounge venue is the only air-conditioned one – and features several comfy couch chairs. It is not a good idea to sit on them in the sleepy afternoon, as I later found in another session. The man beside me actually snored.
But I digress. Michelle Cahill spoke about her manuscript themed around Hindu deities and other myths. She said, in myth ‘time can be distilled’ and that ‘myths also contain the inner struggles we all negotiate in our lives’. She said ‘myths can be found, renegotiated and regained’. In this modern world most of us possess multiple identities and a hybridity of traditions. Cahill lives in Sydney but has a Goan-Anglo-Indian background. Find more about her and some of her work here.
I was immensely interested in Yonathan Rahardjo’s book Lanang, but unfortunately for me, it is in Indonesian. Hopefully one day it will be translated. He spoke about the influences on the book – the mish-mash of cultures and religions in Java – animism, Hinduism, Islam, Christianity. Java represents a mix of developments but is also contradictory and confusing for the locals. The Javanese and Balinese share a common ancestry, but it has become much more muddled in Java. What is preserved in Java is the spirit or ’soul’ of the ancient culture. His novel takes mythology and makes it a scientifically viable thing, in the world depicted in the novel. The main theme is the shift of colonial influence from direct, to the hegemonic infiltration of Western products – ie. medicine. Man, I wish I could read this book.
Dian Hartati is interested in the idea of myth vs history. She shared with us a romantic poem of two lovers with the historical backdrop of two kingdoms in Java. The poem was inspired by a cultural event, where this ‘historical’ event is retold to the public. There are many myths associated with the story – eg. with the grave of the princess in the story. Women try to see their reflection in the rock. I didn’t quite catch what it meant for them, but Hartati said these myths remodeled the history and reinforced certain values of the West Javan society.
I also attended an enlightening session on the short story, which I will try and write about later. And about last night’s spectacular Mexican-Indonesian dinner. And about the roosters and the dogs. And about the people I’ve met from every continent. I’ll try! But now I am running off to more sessions…