Author: Sara Crowley

This is not a best of the year with salt

Sara Crowley8 Comments

I usually like to post an end of year round up, I usually enjoy pondering on what were my years highlights, it’s a fun thing to do. This year I couldn’t think of any “best” at all. Matt’s death has cast a shadow over everything. In a what the fuck truth telling mood I don’t mind sharing the fact that just beneath my surface, for the last year, there have been tears and loss and sadness. There has been Matt; his illness, his death.

Matt and I were friends for over twenty years. He wasn’t perfect, neither am I. In fact I believe neither of us would want me to be overly sentimental just because he is dead. He drove me nuts at times, and in the 20 plus years we shared, we rowed, and bitched, and pissed each other off loads of times. We also created a shared history, layers between us, short hand. We watched each other grow, learn, evolve from kids to adults, and in the last years of his life (and if only I had known, god, how much more of an effort would I have made) he became my best male friend. It takes years to build the friendship we had. It was rare, unique, unlikely, wonderful. He was different from anyone else I have ever met. He was a stubborn genius, a musical giant, and an amazing, non-judgmental, supportive chum.

So, I was thinking about all of that, whilst I sat in a big bubbly bath, sipping champagne that my husband poured for me. Then I came and checked my emails. My twins had been on the pc, and their msn pages were still open. They are 10 years old and their pals have status’s that read like “Chelsea till I die” “Zac Efron is well fit” “2 weeks till diznee land”. Ted’s update reads “Love u mum, ur the best” and Dylan’s reads “I love my mum 2000000000 times to the moon and back.” Gulp.

Downstairs Simon is preparing New Years Eve dinner for us. He bought all my favourite things to eat, plus delicious champagne. Matt once said that he thought Si loved me so much he’d move planets to please me. If I sound like I’m showing off, well I am. It’s important that this year isn’t just about loss. It’s also about how my beautiful boys (Hubby and sons) have supported me and surrounded me with love. It’s about the friendship I had with Matt, the memories that I can dip into, and cherish. It’s about the friends I am blessed with, and the new friends I made this year too.

Thanks to the writers at the Fiction Workhouse and Zoetrope for sharing and caring. Thanks to my facebook pals (to all who slag off facebook, I am delighted that it enables me to chat with writing pals in India, America, France, U.S, and even Brighton!) Thanks to all who read this blog and comment and stop me feeling alone. Thanks to Tania for being lovely. Thanks to Jo for getting me up on a stage this year! Thanks to Lane for LitCamp and encouragement. Thanks to Rachel for Cella’s. Thanks to Sean for being my coolest commenter! Thanks to Kellie for being ace. Thanks to Lisa for everything always. Thanks to Mima for all the listening. Thanks to Si for my whole life. Thanks to you all for reading. I’m allowed to be soppy, it’s New Years Eve!

Happy 2009 to all.

XXX

Two real reviews, and one fake!

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Two reviews of mine have just gone live at Pulp Net. Kuzhali Manickavel and Tania Hershman have written very different debut story collections, but I can whole heartedly recommend both, and its not often I can say that!

I contributed a fake review to Jenn Ashworth’s collaboration with Tolu Ogunlesi. You can read the whole online dual blog story at Adore Adorna and here.

And the bad…

Sara Crowley7 Comments

If last Saturday was traditionally the busiest, this Saturday was the grumpiest. What the fuck was wrong with everyone? In they came in their hoards, searching out bargains, spending their chrismas gift cards, grim faced and utterly pissed off. I don’t get it. Nobody forced them to go shopping, presumably they have had a couple of days off work, and unlike me were still off. They had money to spend, and there were (still are) some ace bargains to buy.

Nothing was good enough. If a book was half price it still wasn’t a bargain. If it was hardback they wanted paperback, if it was paperback they wanted hardback. A man furiously jiggled a baby in a sling whilst firing questions at me, as soon as I tried to find the answer on the computer he would hiss “I have to go, I have a baby”, and then ask another question.

A stereotypical dirty old man mumbled that he wanted something I couldn’t hear, and finally spelled out E R O T I C. I took him to the erotic fiction shelf and left him moaning to himself. All this time a christian (yes, he told me he was) man circled my counter for over an hour, pausing occasionaly to tell me how much he appreciated the help I gave him. His breath was foul, and I recoiled each time he puffed more thanks my way.

My utter twunt of the day award goes to the woman who came in and asked to exchange a book. She had no receipt but it was a book we stocked she said, and she wanted to swap it for another by the same author. No problem. She told me I probably wouldn’t know the author, as she has quite unusual taste. Righto.

It was Murakami.

Murakami!

I know who he is, I told her. Which book did you want?
She said she didn’t know the title but that it was something running.
Oh, I said, that’s going to be on the third floor in sports.
No, she replied, it’s fiction. FICTION.
She ennunciated each letter.
No, it’s about running. I said. I felt myself get hot and red and pissed off. It’s called “What I talk about when I talk about running.” Running is a passion of his.
He is a FICTION writer she insisted.
Yes he is, but he has also written this non-fiction book, so we don’t keep it in the fiction section.
I have read lots of Murakami, he is a fiction writer.
Yes, and I sell fiction books, I work in a bookshop, and I know what I am doing! The book is in the running section in Sports.
Oh, well, I don’t want it then.
And she left.
No apology, no embarrassment.

Still, at least no-one soiled themselves this week!

Update with no cohesion

Sara Crowley4 Comments

1) I am saying “fecking Christmas” way too often.

2) Saturday (aka the busiest retail day of the year) the computer system at work was down. This meant that all enquiries had to be answered by the whirring of my own brain. It was rather amazing to see how much I did know, my mind must be utterly cluttered with titles and authors of books I haven’t read and have no clue about.

3) A customer poohed himself. He obviously was a man with some special needs, for which I have sympathy. The stench of his shit however was foul, and remained long after he left the shop. It set the tone for the day.

4) I was interview number 5 on Chris Killen’s blog.

5) I am reading DeLillo’s “White Noise” and getting on with it much better than the dreaded “Underworld.”

6) I am loving PathWords on facebook.

I’m kinda glad that I’m this book…

Sara Crowley8 Comments


You’re Ulysses!

by James Joyce

Most people are convinced that you don’t make any sense, but compared
to what else you could say, what you’re saying now makes tons of sense. What people do
understand about you is your vulgarity, which has convinced people that you are at once
brilliant and repugnant. Meanwhile you are content to wander around aimlessly, taking in
the sights and sounds of the city. What you see is vast, almost limitless, and brings you
additional fame. When no one is looking, you dream of being a Greek folk hero.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

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Ghosts

Sara Crowley7 Comments

When I was fifteen/sixteen I met Pete. He was a year older than me, and went to a different school. He had blonde hair, green eyes, lots of earrings, and was very cute. He was funny too, made me laugh a lot. He was kind, temperamental, gorgeous, flirty and smart. We dated for a while, then split up, got back together, argued, split. This went on for a couple of years. It was all very teen romance, full of tiny dramas and huffs. We stayed friends when we weren’t dating, still went round to each others houses, chatted on the phone, got drunk together, and occasionally kissed. He was my dependable guy, I accused him of being Mr Average, Mr 2.4 kids, a fortnight in Spain each year, that being enough. I thought I could see the shape of his life, so predictable. He died when he was 22 of meningitis.

His death changed me, stayed with me, shaped me. It’s the thing that I carry with me always. The knowledge that one can be perfectly fit, young, healthy, and still die with no warning.

When Matt was dying I kept thinking about Pete. Matt lived twenty years longer than Pete. His death was not a sudden loss, I had time to try to adjust to losing him. It didn’t help.

One rainy night I was on the train, coming home from work, and I looked out of the window at a girl on a platform. She had something, an essence of youth, an expression on her face, that reminded me of Pete. And I started to think about him, and Matt, and I wondered if I believed in an afterlife, and if so, would Pete be there and meet Matt, even though they didn’t know each other. Sunshine filtered through the rain, and in the few seconds the train stayed at the station, a rainbow appeared. And it seemed like an answer.

I have a short piece published in the latest edition of The Ranfurly Review called Way Down Like a Tidal Wave.
Page 59

Bookshop dialogues today

Sara Crowley4 Comments

Me “Do you have an email address?”
Customer “I don’t believe in them.”

Colleague ” We are offering 20 percent off all non-discounted books today.”
Many customers at different times “I’m not interested.”

Customer “Do you have the book Hickery dickery dock?”
Me “I can’t find that listed. Do you know who the author is?
C “No, but it’s just been published. You must have it surely? I mean this is ridiculous.”
Me “And it’s definitely called HDD? I can’t find that title listed anywhere.”
C “Yes. Oh for heavens sakes” Tuts. Rolls eyes.
Me “I’m sorry, but…”
C “Oh no, hold on, it’s not called that, it’s called Pop goes the weasel”
Me “Riiight. Yes, we have that.”

Customer “Have you got Maeve Binchey’s latest in paperback?”
Me “No, it has only recently been published in hardback, it’s not due to be paperback until next year.” (I did give a specific date)
C “Have you got Bernard Cornwell’s latest in paperback?”
Me “No, sorry, that has also just been published in hardback and isn’t due to be in paperback until next year.”
C “Have you got the latest…”
And so it went tediously on!

And a customer anecdote from a colleague. Every week a customer would come in and ask “Have you got any books about Toy Story?”
And the assistant would always show him the same couple of Toy Story books, and the customer would leave without buying anything. Then to coincide with a special Toy Story release the book buyer ordered in lots of Toy Story related books, and created a display case with them all in. When the customer made his weekly enquiry the assistant took him over to the case. The customer looked at it for a minute then said “Have you got any other books about Toy Story?”

Rejection

Sara Crowley8 Comments

I subbed a piece back in June, and heard no more until this week, a wait of 5 months. I got a strange rejection. It was kind, but maddening too. The editors said:

Many thanks for your submission. It was shortlisted and shortshort… and… sorry, it was unlucky. If the coin had flipped the other way… Pure bad luck. There’s not really any other way to explain the fact that it didn’t get in the mag. We get a lot of submissions and sometimes pieces miss out. There’s no perfect way of making the final selection…

Please accept our apologies. We hope you will send us something for a future issue.

All the best,

It’s nice that they took the time to respond, it’s great that it wasn’t a form rejection, it’s cool that they short listed and “short short” listed. But. It was bad luck that they didn’t choose it? A flip of a coin? Oh.