I wrote "A realistic and informative piece"

Sara Crowley3 Comments
There is a review of Writer’s Market UK 2009 at The Crafty Writer
and in it they say some good things and mention me. Hurrah. Although they call me a not-yet-published person, I assume because I was short listed for the Not Yet Published Award but it made me feel a bit, hmmm, well, I do have some things published actually mumble, mumble…

Anyway, you should all buy Writer’s Market Uk 2009 because it is jolly useful and I am in it.

Weird…

Sara Crowley3 Comments
Matt loved William Burroughs. Matt loved cut ups. I don’t really understand either. Matt was hugely enthusiastic about Burroughs, and frequently referenced him. Rubbishly I have never read him myself so pretty much all I know is what Matt has shared with me. Matt also used cut ups throughout his life, musically (literally splicing tape), creatively…I’m not sure exactly.

Anyhow, I haven’t told anyone at work about Matt, I’m too wobbly, too likely to dissolve, so I just go in and get on. Yesterday my colleague shoved a book in front of my face and said “It’s Burroughs, it’s cut ups,” or some such, and then he said “It’s Matt isn’t it, look, it’s Matt” which was really the most bizarre thing. I think I must have looked a bit stupid, he then elaborated “The cover was all shiny, now it’s matte.” 


Struggling, not writing, grief

Sara Crowley2 Comments
I don’t know if I should write this or not.  I pretty much keep feeling that. I have so many thoughts and emotions spilling out of me because Matt has died that I clamp my lips shut and don’t speak at all. I am nervous what may pour out, I can’t distinguish between what must stay private and what it is appropriate to say. This is my writing blog, not a place for personal woe. But fuck it eh, in my description over there it says writer, mother, bookseller, human. Death is part of being human. And I feel as if I have to let some of this out before I explode messily with it.

Thank you to those of you who left a comment here, at our LJ, or sent an email. It honestly meant a lot to me that you took the time. I know there’s not much that can be said, but saying something is good, definitely.

I feel so much more lonely now that he’s not here. There are things that have happened that are darkly funny, and I would like to share them with Matt, because he’s the person that would find them amusing. 

Even opening my Mac is a lonelier experience because Matt and I emailed so frequently or left comments around the net for each other, that the absence of his words baffles me. I click from email to internet, site to site, click, click, but I don’t settle because I can’t find what I am looking for.

I try to write, that is always my way of dealing with anything, but although my mind is writing, fictionalising as I go about my day, when I sit and try to type words there’s nothing there.


I ♥ Lorrie Moore and A.L Kennedy – aka the big gushy review of Charleston

Sara Crowley6 Comments

(Argh…I wrote a lengthy post for this, and then somehow lost it. Grr doesn’t cover it. This version will no doubt be far sloppier as I am running out of time. Oh well, you will just have to imagine how fabulous the previous version was, as I set about this in a hurried bullet point style.)

1. I am an out and out Lorrie Moore fan girl. I have been since I first read her debut collection of short stories back in 1985 (fux sake, 23 years ago!) Her wit, shine, talent and word play enthralled me then, and now.
2. She was making a rare UK visit to publicise her Collected works, and appearing alongside AL Kennedy at an event in Charleston yesterday. 
3. I first read AL Kennedy fairly recently, beginning with Paradise which thrilled me with its perfection. She was there to promote her latest novel Day.
4. Squeee!
5. For a more measured recording of the event you may be best served by reading Vanessa’s account.
6. OMFG Lorrie Moore is so…poised, articulate, smooth, self assured, fantastic, unflustered, intelligent and gorgeous. Plus, she had a great bag! 
7. OMFG AL Kennedy is so… warm, open, intelligent, sparky; like some genius working at a faster speed than the rest of us – trying to slow down.
8. The extracts read were wonderful, I will read both of their books gleefully and relish every word, before reading again, trying to pick them apart to see how they work, see if I can learn.
9. The conversation with Di Spiers was absorbing. Sigh. I really felt so happy sitting listening to these two women who I admire so greatly. I would like to be friends with both of them, although I would be the quiet, dull friend with nothing to offer. 
10. Both of them are funny. And very smart. 
11. They are different, entirely, and yet there is a core which is similar. They were a good pairing. 
12. The short story needs to be perfect, said AL Kennedy, there can be no room for flaws in craft, voice etc. She flicked a glass to illustrate the point that only a perfect one will sing the note. A novel on the other hand is more forgiving.
13. A novel is a place one has to stay for a long time, maybe several years. A short story is more of a quick visit, in and out, leaving a body bag said Moore.
14. Why should stories be happy when life is not? Kennedy does not “Do puppies”, and Moore said that even the luckiest of lives will end in death and so it is hard to avoid the dark.
15. Moore sung the Star Spangled Banner. That was a surprise.
16. Erm…
17. Wow.

Bang Crunch by Neil Smith

Sara Crowley1 Comment

The collection opens with Isolettes and the arresting line 

Blue tube, green tube, clear tube, fat tube.

However, perhaps the author is not sure enough either of his own voice, or of the reader’s ability to get it, so follows up with A Dr Seuss rhyme. Yes, thanks, got that. Never mind, he continues with an image of a premature baby that is so entirely unexpected and yet spot on, that I was astonished. That is just the opening page. 

There is so much here, sometimes too much. The text of Isolettes is thick with puns: 

Nick U Nick off 

The pent-up suite 

If marriage is an institution married people should be institutionalised. 

Pushing through though is a tender understanding for character that gives heart to this and the majority of the other stories. 

Green fluorescent protein is a bittersweet tale about a 17-year-old boy coming to terms with his sexuality. At home his alcoholic mother talks to the ashes of his dead father, at play Ruby-Doo, the skinny bookish science fan he befriends, confuses his feelings. There are more of Smith s accurate descriptions: 

…Ruby-Doo does the fake crowd roar – the hushed wahhhh – I taught him. 

These are people that we meet again in Funny weird or funny ha ha? and whilst I am a huge fan of the short story form it felt like there was such warmth and depth to this trio of unusual characters that I would welcome reading a novel about them. The B9ers are a support group for people who have had benign tumours. Bang Crunch is the story of the extraordinary Eepie Carpetrod, whose rare syndrome makes her live her life in fast forward, aging rapidly, racing towards death. 

Occasionally it seemed to me that Smith thought of a witty phrase and then wrote a paragraph around it.Extremities is an idea that failed in my opinion as he writes of gloves that yearn for a particular hand, and a talking foot. 

The last story, Jaybird is also the longest. It centres on a group of Montreal-based actors. Benoit Doré, a man whose “…laid-back look was a lie. His mussed-up hair came courtesy of a mud putty that had set him back twelve bucks”, mentors a woman who works at an agency looking after actors’ interests, and she uses the opportunity to take revenge on her clients. The story twists nastily along and I read, wincing. At the end though, there is much needed possibility and hope. Like so many collections, the quality is up and down according to the strength of individual stories, but this is a good introduction to Neil Smith, and I look forward to reading more of him.

(I wrote this piece for The Short Review)

Matt Kinnison 1965 – 2008

Sara Crowley15 Comments

Love, loss.

Matt Kinnison died on May 7th.

My world is a much lonelier place.

He was a musician of enormous, astounding, jaw dropping talent; seriously amazing with whichever instrument he chose to play (Bass, Trumpet Marine, Yayli Tanbur…) He was in bands (Bunty Chunks, Cindytalk), but also worked alone (His beautiful album of Yayli Tanbur “Evenings of ordinary sand” is due to be released.)

Music was his passion and focus, but he was multi talented, had creativity in abundance, and was also an artist, and a writer.

He took great care and time over all his work. He designed his cd sleeves, handmade birthday cards, penned elaborate hieroglyphs and strange cartoons, he made his own wrapping paper, scanned images that caught his eye.

He was sharply smart, uncompromising, stubborn, and hilarious.

He loved coffee possibly more than anyone else ever. He drank so much of it (from beans that he ground himself) it was ludicrous. He was also keen on dinosaurs, buns, soft toys, elephants, robots, komodo dragons, Lindt chocolate and The Hoobs.

He was an intellectual who managed to get hooked on “Neighbours” for a while.

He was very stiff upper lip, but sang songs to his toys.

He was super polite, but could be ultra withering.

I love words, and his, spoken and written, were extraordinary. Emails from him were a joy: lengthy, thoughtful, fiercely funny and witty. He had a real way with words: as clichéd as that phrase is, for him it rings true.

We had a joint Live Journal for which he occasionally wrote bonkers pieces that made readers who didn’t realise that we were 2 different people assume I had lost the plot.

I also had him open a Facebook account, just so that we could play scrabulous. He became rather addicted to it; we often had a couple of games on the go. We still have two unfinished.

He had a pain in his shoulder which got increasingly severe. The doctors thought it could be a strain. We assumed it was too much time hunched over that bass. They sent him for physio, acupuncture, blood tests galore. It took them several months before they discovered it was in fact a tumour on his lung. He endured radiotherapy and chemo. Then more pain. The cancer was aggressive and fast, it invaded his bones. 

I thought we had more time, but it all sped up. 

He was so supportive of me, my life, my writing, he was my very own cheer squad. He was insightful, helpful, and generous. 

I really wanted to try to honour him here, but I have no words for this loss, this ache. 

He was truly unique, quite eccentric, and it was a real privilege to be his friend.

In one of his emails he told me that “We must clang on, sad faced or not.” And he is right, we must. But I am so sad faced, and so sad hearted. 

He has been part of my life for over twenty years, it is going to be very strange without him.

I will miss him always.

Rest in peace and in love Matt. 

X

Don’t forget!

Sara Crowley5 Comments

I was tagged last week by Kay Sexton
She was asked by Patti Abbott to nominate a title as a Forgotten Book. Or as Patti herself said of the idea “This is the first of what I optimistically hope will become Friday recommendations of books we love but might have forgotten over the years. I have asked several people to help me by also remembering a favorite book. I also asked each of them to tag someone to recommend a book for next Friday. I’m worried great books of the recent past are sliding out of print and out of our consciousness. Not the first-tier classics we all can name, but the books that come next. “

It’s a wonderful book describing a woman’s grief and unravelling life. It feels familiar and yet illuminates with such precision that it astonishes me. It melds wit with empathy and employs trailing sentences and playful typography that all work towards the creation of a very ‘real’ character in Joy (ho ho).


I was deeply moved when I first read it, and still feel surprised that it doesn’t seem to have the recognition it deserves. Galloway is a superb writer who inspires me greatly.

I get to play tag now, so next Friday I will be very interested to read which book Kirsty recommends us.