Author: Sara Crowley

Hawthorn and Child by Keith Ridgway

Sara Crowley2 Comments

I picked up a copy of “Hawthorn and Child” a while back, when I hadn’t heard of Keith Ridgway. Blurbs on the back mentioned Eggers, Nicholson, Murakami, Eugenides, and it’s published by Granta, so seemed well worth a go. Now I can barely recall a time when the name Ridgway was unknown to me. There’ve been a lot of online mentions of this novel-in-stories. John Self championed it, people I think are super smart have raved about it (@seventydys I’m looking at you), and there are a fair few reviews around (I try not to read reviews when I’m planning to write one of my own). I’ve looked Ridgway up online and come across some scorchingly good blogs of his, including this:
‘Writing is running full tilt at a closed door with your shoulder down. And each time you write it’s another hit. And you hope each time that this time you will break though, into that part of yourself where all the skill is, where everything will be within reach, where it will all be easy. And you just keep on rushing the door. And you just end up with the skin gone purple and a shard of bone slicing a muscle, and you’re fucked. You are fucked by a collar bone trauma and the door is so solid that you are looking at the wall and you are starting to think that you might have been better a little to the right or the left, or that the thing that you think is a door is not a door at all and you are not supposed to go through it, it is a cliff and you are supposed to climb it. And you think, at your age, why don’t I try the handle? But it’s locked. Of course it’s locked. You’re sure you must have checked. At the start. At the beginning. Of all this.  And you think, over your grey tea and your cold toast, maybe I should ask for a key.
Writing is running full tilt at a closed door with your shoulder down. And each time you write it’s another hit. And you hope each time that this time you will break though, into that part of yourself where all the skill is, where everything will be within reach, where it will all be easy. And you just keep on rushing the door. And you just end up with the skin gone purple and a shard of bone slicing a muscle, and you’re fucked. You are fucked by a collar bone trauma and the door is so solid that you are looking at the wall and you are starting to think that you might have been better a little to the right or the left, or that the thing that you think is a door is not a door at all and you are not supposed to go through it, it is a cliff and you are supposed to climb it. And you think, at your age, why don’t I try the handle? But it’s locked. Of course it’s locked. You’re sure you must have checked. At the start. At the beginning. Of all this.  And you think, over your grey tea and your cold toast, maybe I should ask for a key.”
It’s not taken long for me to become a fan. His words resonate and sing with truth. 
“Hawthorn and Child” are “mid-ranking detectives” introduced to us in the first story while they investigate the shooting of a young man who recalls only, “A car. Shot me.” 
The ensuing investigation sets the tone for the rest of the book. The detectives question witnesses, talk together, wait in the hospital. A witness says the victim told him the car was “ochre” although Hawthorn and Child think he may have said, “old car.” As is often the case in life, there is no neat wrapping up of the mystery, no resolution. 
It’s a slippery read. The prose is so clear and natural, it flows beautifully, and yet there are gaps, missing information. Each story is linked, sometimes just by a glimpse of one of the recurrent characters. (As well as Hawthorn and Child, the criminal, Mishazzo recurs. He weaves in and out of the narrative; a shadowy danger.)
It’s a contradictory text, at once engaging and puzzling. There’s confusion and precision as  what is unsaid, the silences, the gaps, the missing pieces of information, add together to form a whole. And that whole becomes a curiously realistic portrayal of London, crime, and daily realities. There’s a mash up of sex and policing, there’s violence, and death. Yet it’s the quiet moments, the spaces between, that count most.

Something mentioned in one story reappears as the centre of another, Hawthorn and Child are not the focus. It’s a tough book to review – I find the idea of it being a detective novel quite misleading, and yet, it is ostensibly about police work. It’s an easy read because the quality of the story telling is so good, and yet it is not simple.

For me the stand out story is “Rothko Eggs”. It’s a pitch-perfect tale of a young girl and her relationships. From the misfire of the title (you’ll have to read to find out) to the gaps between her and her boyfriend, it’s skilfully done and I was left wondering how the fuck Ridgway was able to convey so much.

“He said nothing. She looked at him.
He was quiet. He had drifted off somewhere.”
It’s an excellent book. 

FRiGG Twitter issue

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The latest edition of FRiGG is a Twitter issue or, more accurately #TheTwitterIssue. A  collection of my rearranged tweets – “Life is Time Consuming” – can be read HERE alongside shiny tweeters Roxane Gay, Crispin Best, Erin Fitzgerald, Ravi Mangla, Scott Garson, Katrina Gray, Rusty McGee, Brad Green, xTx, Jules Archer, Danielle DuBois, Kima Jones, John Minichillo, Salvatore Pane, Russel Swensen, Kimberly Walters.


Thanks, Ellen Parker!

Kerry Hudson – woot woot! Tony Hogan Bought me an Ice Cream Float before he Stole my Ma – Blog Tour

Sara Crowley12 Comments

I am so chuffed to be part of Kerry Hudson’s blog tour. Her debut novel “Tony Hogan Bought me an Ice Cream Float before he Stole my Ma” was published this week and it’s an absolute cracker. Her characters fizz off the page and sear themselves in your mind. Her use of language is a real pleasure as she describes people, places, feelings and situations in vivid, fresh ways.

So, this is Kerry:

Bio
Kerry Hudson was born in Aberdeen. Growing up in a succession of council estates, B&Bs and caravan parks provided her with a keen eye for idiosyncratic behaviour, material for life, and a love of travel. Tony Hogan Bought Me an Ice-Cream Float Before He Stole My Ma is her first novel. Kerry now lives, writes and works in London. 
Blurb
When Janie Ryan is born, she’s just the latest in a long line of Ryan women, Aberdeen fishwives to the marrow, always ready to fight. Her violet-eyed Grandma had predicted she’d be sly, while blowing Benson and Hedges smoke rings over her Ma’s swollen belly. In the hospital, her family approached her suspiciously, so close she could smell whether they’d had booze or food for breakfast. It was mostly booze.
Tony Hogan tells the story of a Scottish childhood of filthy council flats and B&Bs, screeching women, feckless men, fags and booze and drugs, the dole queue and bread and marge sandwiches. It is also the story of an irresistible, irrepressible heroine, a dysfunctional family you can’t help but adore, the absurdities of the eighties and the fierce bonds that tie people together no matter what. Told in an arrestingly original — and cry-out-loud funny — voice, it launches itself headlong into the middle of one of life’s great fights, between the pull of the past and the freedom of the future. And Janie Ryan, born and bred for combat, is ready to win.

Just from the arresting cover image and the title this feels like a book you want to read.


I read an article about with Kerry at The Herald in which the interviewer reflects “What strikes one immediately is how unusual it is to find such characters in fiction – in the driving seat, that is, and written by someone who has lived that life, rather than parodying or mocking a class they don’t understand.” And I nodded whole-heatedly. The lit world does seem chock full of writers who are mainly white, middle class, and well educated. Kerry’s response was “I suspect the reason there aren’t any books (that reflect where she comes from) is that not enough people escape sufficiently with enough intact to then be able to write a book about it and get it published . Obviously I work for a children’s charity and I see it all the time: young people will just be crushed and futures absolutely destroyed by a bad upbringing or a neglected upbringing.” 
I have known Kerry in the internet writing world for several years now. We are twitter, blogger and Facebook pals. One of the things that has impressed me the most about her (apart from her ace writing skills, obviously) is how she just got on and did it. I asked her to tell me how! What worked for her in terms of motivation and discipline. And I asked how she manages to use social media without being sucked into its time wasting grasp. This is what she said:
Like most authors I work full-time as well as writing novels. I often liken the situation to bigamy, trying to split your affections painfully in half while reassuring both parties you’re not short-changing either of them, that it’s The Real Thing, just twice. 
It took me seven months to write Tony Hogan… from writing the first line on a sweaty Vietnamese train to sending it off to my now agent while living on a boat on the Thames. That’s obviously considered fairly quick but I had the absolute luxury of having each and every day to do nothing but recreate those swear words, council estates and egg, chips and beans dinners of my childhood. 
My second novel, Thirst, was written while holding down a full-time events job. I was back in London with all the friend and family commitments that go with that and also dealing with rounds of edits and pre-publication work for Tony Hogan… I did however get two months of full-time writing in thanks to a grant the Arts Council England through the National Lottery Fund. I finished Thirst in a year and half. 
Big difference eh? 
So, I’ve worked it both ways. I’ve squeezed writing sessions into ten minute slivers where before I’ve even written a word I’m mourning the writing time being over, and I’ve also had whole wonderful days stretching ahead to get down a measly 1000 words. Here’s what I’ve learned: 
If I want to write I can’t mythologise my writing: As soon as I start thinking about it as something as ‘proper’ as a novel  I freeze up. Instead tell myself it’s just a story. I tell them all the time in other circumstances; over a pint, when I’m late for work, talking about a really amazing gelato place I’ve found (it’s Gulupo in Soho, you should all go). They are just words, strung together to make descriptions, to explain something the way I intended to. Respect your writing but remember, at core, it is just a story same as any other. So especially for that first draft, just sit down and write it.
Which brings me to number two. When I’m writing my first draft I let my strange, often incomprehensible, mind do what it wants with no pressure to Fix Things. It goes without saying it’s impossible to make a table without wood or a sculpture without clay. That first draft for me is all about creating that ugly, shitty, unruly lump of raw material to make something with.
Set a target: The most productive writers I know set a daily target and stick to it. Make it 200, 500 or (my preferred figure) 1000 words but make it realistic and DO IT. Of course, some days you’d submit yourself to a Vajazzle than sit down and write that story. For me that applies to all but the rarest days, but once you get the first few sentences out you’ll be grand and when you’re finished you can look the world in the eye and say, ‘yes, I’m a writer.’ 
Social-media mumblings: I love me some Twitter but I know it could be easy to while away hours finding out what people ate on their toast that morning. Instead, I use the #amwriting hashtag and tell everyone what I’m planning to do that day and then report back on how much I actually did. I blogged my wordcount everyday when writing Tony Hogan… using that potential public shaming as a motivator works for me. I really don’t want to go back on Twitter two hours later and say I’ve watched two epic episodes of crime-writer-turned-crime-buster series Castle and written only three words.
Brace yourself…I don’t have a TV: I had one for years and years, growing up in our house it was on pretty much 24 hours, I love TV. And that is why I can’t have one. I watch box-sets or catch-up TV but no more than a few hours a week. I know, I know, it seems like eating a cornflake as your weekly calorie intake but honestly, I don’t miss it that much and I write a lot more.
Laugh: That is all. Just laugh. Writing is hard sometimes, there will be moments of disappointment, days when the words won’t come, when you want ceremonially burn your latest manuscript. So remember to laugh and, as much as possible, keep it in perspective. They’re just stories after all…

What a fab response. Thank you. I also had a few Smash Hits style daft questions to finish up with:

Janie relishes her food so here is a wee food based bit:

What are your favourite crisps? 

Salt and Vinegar or Pickled Onion Space Raiders  

Favourite soft drink? 

…Coke-float!

Favourite cheese?

 Is it greedy to say all of them?

You write so convincingly of being a teenage girl My favourite line in the whole book is “Even though I was free dinners and didn’t have the right coloured uniform I still got to be boss because I didn’t have glasses or a plaster over one eye…” It sums up so accurately the hierarchy of school cool. Where did you fit in?

It depended on the school. Sometimes bearably in the middle so you flew under the radar if you stayed in shady corners, but mostly right at the bottom with the geeks and freaks. Funnily enough though it’s the ‘bottom of the pack’ kids who mostly went on to do cool stuff – revenge of the geeks indeed!

Who was the poster on your bedroom wall?

 Keanu Reeves

Who is the most famous person you’ve met? 

I once used the toilet after Angelina Jolie at a theatre in London. She queued like everyone else, was tiny and perfect and I swear to God the cubicle smelled of roses afterwards…I’m aware this is making me sound like a scary stalker. 

What’s your favourite colour? 

Red

What’s your favourite smell? 

The smell of toast

Favourite Cuss?

LOVE this question! I’m quite fond of Motherfucker at the the moment delivered with the emphasis on the Mo-. 
Thank you. I wish you MUCH success with your book. 

P.s Will there ever be a follow up?

I’d love to write a follow up and see what Janie gets up to next. I definitely wouldn’t be ruling it out! 

Hurrah! I want to know what happens next, definitely.

Kerry’s blog tour continues tomorrow at The Little Reader Library Blog 

Oh, and she is running an AMAZING competition that I totally want to win. (PICK ME PICK ME!)

The prize draw is open to anyone who hosts or comments on a Tony Hogan post. There is no purchase necessary. There is no limit to how many times a name can be entered i.e. if you comment on three blogs you have three entries but it’s only possible to win one prize per person. The winning names will be drawn at random on Wednesday 1st August and announced on my Tumblr blog and on Twitter.
1st, 2nd and 3rd prizes consist of: 
1st prize – A three chapter or synopsis critique plus afternoon tea at Beas of Bloomsbury, London (at a mutually beneficial date and time) with Juliet Pickering from the AP Watt Literary Agency to discuss your critique. Plus a personalised copy of Tony Hogan Bought Me an Ice-Cream Float Before he Stole My Ma.
2nd prize – A  literary hamper containing a personalised copy of Tony Hogan Bought Me an Ice-Cream Float Before He Stole My Ma as well as three of my most recommended writing theory books and Hotel d Chocolate chocolates to enjoy while reading them.
3rd prize – A personalised copy of Tony Hogan Bought Me an Ice-Cream Float Before He Stole My Ma.

You can keep up with all things Kerry at 

   
  


www.kerryhudson.co.uk

Short story goodness

Sara Crowley2 Comments

Today is International Short Story Day. (It does sometimes feel as if there’s always a short story day of some description taking place.) There is a list of events and stories up here. It seems like the perfect time to draw your attention to a wonderful story which was recently announced winner of the Commonwealth Short Story Prize. It’s written by Emma Martin, who I’m proud to say is a pal of mine. I have that delicious feeling of having known an amazing writer before everyone else twigged and I’m truly delighted for her. Whooooo hoooooo, Emma!  You can read her story at Granta.

100 RPM

Sara Crowley1 Comment

Caroline Smailes has put together an anthology of 100 tiny fictions (each 100 words or less) inspired by music. All monies from sales of the ebook will go to a charity called One in Four. This week only it is available for the bargain price of £1.02 from Amazon – LOOK!

It has an introduction from Nik Kershaw (Nik Kershaw!) And features stories from lots of ace people. I wrote a wee story called With a Kiss which was inspired by “You’ll be Mine” by The Pierces.

So, it’s totally cheap, rather cool, and helps a good charity. What’s not to like? Plus, you can play along by YouTubing each song as you read.

The Panopticon by Jenni Fagan

Sara Crowley2 Comments

A novel that leaves me ignoring everything I’m meant to be doing, in favour of compulsively reading on, is a rare treat; The Panopticon is one of those novels. I became utterly absorbed in the world of feisty and smart Anais Hendricks. She’s 15, has never known her parents, and assumes she’s been created by the shadowy “Experiment” who she feels watching her at all times. The book opens with her arrival at the titular Panopticon – a young offenders institute, one step away from prison. Anais is accused of assaulting a police officer who is now in a coma. She doesn’t think she’s guilty – despite the blood on her school uniform and the memory loss caused by her drugs binge. Shown to be more than capable of violence and cruelty, nonetheless Anais is a character with her own moral code, and someone we root for. Trapped in a care system that has proved to be anything but, her reliance on alcohol, sex, and drugs to help blur reality makes absolute sense. Fagan’s prose, somewhat inevitably, reminds me of Irvine Welsh with its depiction of Scottish youth painted in vital, realistic language. Various story strands emerge as Anais forges intense friendships with her fellow inmates, texts her jailed boyfriend, ponders her birth mother’s identity whilst mourning her adopted mother’s murder, as well as outwitting authority. She has a lot to contend with (I’m barely scratching the surface here) and we get to see her many complex layers and understand and empathise with her.
The heart of the novel is a depiction of a society that not only demonises children in care but dehumanises them as well. It’s a thought provoking debut by an exciting writer. 

Available to buy here, and of course, elsewhere.

Happy National Flash Fiction Day!

Sara Crowley2 Comments

Calum Kerr has done an a-may-zing job of creating, curating and directing the first ever National Flash Fiction Day. There are events and doings all over the country, see here for further details.

 FlashFlood is a journal to celebrate the day with, erm, a flash of flood. You can read a daft little story of mine there – The Key – which combines two of my passions – book selling and Buffy. There are heaps of fab fictions from flashers all over the world appearing throughout the day, so, lots to read.

I am really thrilled to be in Jawbreakers which is the official National Flash Fiction Day Anthology.

Isn’t it gorgeous? There’s a full list of contributors (including Ali Smith – squee) and details of how to order here, it’s available to download for the kindle, or as a delicious real book. You can also buy it from Brighton Waterstones (which is where I took the photo). Aces!

Tonight I’ll be reading, chatting and generally being flashy (harhar) at Southampton City Library.

“From 6.30pm, an evening of flash-fiction, reading, talking and celebrating the first ever National Flash-Fiction Day, with Calum Kerr, Vanessa Gebbie, Holly Howitt, Sara Crowley, Tim Stevenson, Gail Aldwin and more. Complete with the launch of the first NFFD anthology and, we hope, some technical wizardry. Come along and help launch the Day.”

Finally, in honour of the day, I’ve created a rather nifty National Flash Fiction Day display at Brighton Waterstones – looky looky:

Weekend Nature Ramble by Matt Kinnison

Sara Crowley5 Comments

I am kinda astonished that it has been 4 years since Matt died. It feels both long ago and very recent. I send my best wishes to Matt’s friends and family, and I send huge, squishy love to Matt. This is a piece he wrote for our joint LiveJournal:


Yes, time again for my weekend nature ramble. Regular readers will note that i was right in my last bulletin about the early pine cone migration. Mr.C. of Whitford reports seeing them as far afield as the bus depot where they were scamming tourists for change. Two words: Global Warming!! In happier news, the stone lions outside the library have flown away by themselves…i don’t believe that they suddenly became light and decreased in mass, but favour the now rather old fashioned theory that everything else got much heavier. I don’t expect to see them again until the leaves turn yellow. Or Autumn, whichever comes first.
I wonder if anyone else has heard the unmistakable song of the Albino Plate Finch? You have to get up very early, but your dog will appreciate the walk without a lot of other dogs about. The Finch has a unique high trilling punctuated with bull like roars and old fashioned car horns.

?????? ~ DID YOU KNOW ~ ??????
i) Sea horses have no internal organs but are filled with a rich putty that hardens like iron on contact with the air. Their only natural predator, crispy ducks in an orange sauce, drag them to the surface of the pond but are unable to return to their nest of larval young with the catch as the increased weight makes it impossible for them to fly.

ii) Ears are a natural Macaque repellent, as are melons, if thrown with sufficient force.

iii) Keep cats off your lawn by living at an appreciable distance from any cats.

iv) Before bullets were invented, soldiers used to shoot snails from their muskets.

v) Horses are colour blind. That sofa with those curtains!!!

vi) Komodo Dragons used to walk about on their hind legs like retired sea captains, but the paucity of tables and plethora of large newspapers in their natural environment forced the remarkable evolutionary change that sees them flattened “For Broadsheet”, to use the Naturalist’s lingo.

vii) Henry VI, Henry VII, George III, Anson Williams and Pope Gargantua II were all hatched from eggs. George III kept the bits of shell from his and consulted them about matters of state.

viii) The Italian word for Cuttlefish translates as “Shoes”.

ix) In marked contrast to sea horses, the stately Tree Almond has far too many internal organs, the surplus of which it carries in a pouch.

x) Cat skeletons can still walk, given sufficient motivation.

NEWS ~ EVENTS ~ NEWS ~ EVENTS ~ NEWS ~ EVENTS
Congratulations are in order to Ms. Phlegniss for her convincing win in the Potato Salad Dressage event at last month’s Fish Wash. We couldn’t fit mention of it in last week, with the sad news about Roy “Gate” Arnold taking up so much space, but no less do our envious thoughts turn on her like a tank turret.
It seems that back bacon is back in local schools. The “I’m Backing Back Bacon” campaign has bought back back, backed by local councillor Roger Bax. The slogan “Bax Backs Back Bacon” and the Backing Back Bacon campaign itself raised awareness and made bringing back bacon back an issue, particularly after so much streaky.
Errata: This story appeared last week under an erroneous headline which actually referred to the return of a kidnapped toddler (“Baby Got Back”).

MARCH DIARY:
Those of us lucky enough to have the soil for growing “Living” Cucumbers should start talking to them now, as it is nearly pox season, and they will need to be got under polythene and lectured about naval history until late May. While you’re doing that you might want to re-seal the beading on the chicken whips, as the frost will have taken it’s toll, and tie up the pie husks, noting that bundles of THREE are now standard. Thank you, Europe!
Finally, the night sky. Mr. V. has contacted me to point out that the constellations “Donkey” and “Supermousse” are both high in the east around midnight. They are immediately below and slightly to the left of the planet
Asda, which is very bright at the moment. Note this year’s “Flapper’s” Moon is three quarters full early on account of the extra season added to the calender. Thank you, Tadjikistan!

NEXT WEEK :
Comforting and ultimately infantilising nostalgia masquerading as post modern, corroborative and knowing irony:
“The 70’s : Aren’t Spangles Funny?”


Matt Kinnison 2006