Staying Lost

When I moved from Australia to the UK ten years ago, one of the biggest challenges was deciding what to do with my books and music. Like many collectors, I'd accumulated far more than I could comfortably justify, yet each item had seemed important enough to acquire in the first place. Even after a fairly ruthless cull, dozens of boxes departed for my new home.

Once we arrived, we moved into a small house and virtually all my music and books went straight into storage. They were there, in limbo, far longer than I would have liked.

We moved into our current home a few years ago.  I was able to unpack my vinyl, and realised immediately that several hundred records were missing. Somewhere between Australia and the UK, a few boxes had gone missing. It was immensely frustrating, and so I started a spreadsheet of the missing titles, or at least those I could remember.

As I wrote in my last post, I've finally been able to start unpacking my book collection. Now that the cataloguing is almost complete, I can see that half a dozen titles are missing. I therefore assume that at least one box of books disappeared as well.

Insurance can’t come into play, as I didn't discover the loss when it happened. I discovered it years later. Even so, I have managed to replace a fair number of the missing records. I pick them up when I see them at a cheap price.  That is, if I still want them.

That’s the unexpected realisation. Faced with the knowledge that certain items had vanished, I found myself considering whether I actually needed them back. Some, certainly. There are some items that still matter enormously to me, but I’m no longer the completist I used to be. 

There are still parts of my collection where I want it all. Not every edition, variation and release, but one of each. I don’t need five copies of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, or the French, German and Peruvian releases of Abbey Road, but Philip K. Dick and The Beatles, amongst others, are an important interest that has been constant for many decades.  These are authors and artists I adore, so I do want all their titles and I return to them often. As a result, some titles are on a wants list and have already found their way back onto the shelves. Others have remained absent, and I no longer feel any urgency to track them down.

Some of the missing items I'd owned them for years, perhaps decades, but if I was honest with myself I hadn't listened to them, read them or even thought about them for a very long time. Their disappearance was annoying at the time. Now, not so much.

That distinction has become increasingly important. As I continue unpacking, I'm finding myself making decisions about what stays and what goes. That's not a judgement on their quality. Some excellent books have left the house recently, while others almost certainly will. It's simply an acceptance that shelf space is finite.

The younger version of me viewed a collection rather differently. Back then, ownership itself had value. There was satisfaction in complete sets, in knowing that a particular series, author or artist was fully represented. I still understand that desire, but I now recognise that I don’t need everything. I just don't feel a need to replace all that is gone.

Age? Experience? A changing philosophical viewpoint?  I don’t really know. What I do know is that the collection emerging from those boxes and enduring my cull is much smaller than the one that left Australia. The shelves are becoming more relevant, more manageable and more meaningful. The books and records that remain are the ones I genuinely want to live with.

Everything In Its Right Place.

I've been organising.

Me, my things, my space, and my life.

I have catalogued my books and music, getting rid of things I no longer need, or want. And, of course, any duplicates. There always seems to be duplicates. Same with my music collection. All niceley catalogued on a database, and organised physically. It's a great feeling to know what I have, what I need, and getting rid of the things I no longer want.

I'm also going through my things - ticket stubs, concert programmes, badges - anything that doesn't fit elsewere. Now I know where they are. Exactly. I got rid of a bunch of things I'd kept, and wondered why they seemed important at the time.

I tidied my workspace the other day. Anything that didn't belong, went. It's not perfect yet. There's a bunch of letters, notes and bits in a bag that still need organising, but they're all together. The disorganised is now organised. And I will get to it, work my way through it, and the world will be a wondrous place once more.

It's good for my mind, my wellbeing, to have a space that is tidy. And that space is not only my relax space, but much of the time is my workspace too. It's more enjoyable to be in now it's all sorted out. A very pleasant environment indeed.

But I've been sorting my life too. I've cancelled a couple of magazine subscriptions that I realised were not as enjoyable as they once were. I noticed this because the unread issues were starting to pile up. I threw them out, and felt.... nothing. I continue with the couple of magazines where I am completely up to date. And I added a new one, which is cheaper than the ones I cancelled.

But I've also been working on organising my mind. I've started meditating, and I'm finding it extremely beneficial.

I've always wanted to be more organised, and it's finally happening. The time is now. It feels right.

And All Went Well At The Book Club!

I wrote a while back that I would be attending my first Book Club meeting, and that I hadn't enjoyed the book we'd been set. But I survived it. More than that, I really enjoyed it. And went back for my second meeting a month later.

We met in an old pub in town, perhaps the oldest in Lincoln, as it dates back at least three centuries. I was about the fourth to arrive and sipped a fine ale as fellow members arrives gradually, including acouple of other newbies. Then there were brief introductions and it was on to the book.

As previously promised, I behaved myself and stayed fairly quiet. But I could see the leader glancing in my direction several times, and gently broke the news that I felt the book didn't live up to its promise, its reputation or its awards recognition. I also mentioned serious flaws in the narrative and editing, and that although there was a story there, it was in desperate need of a rewrite and serious editing.

And it was received well. And there was another there who also agreed with me.

The conversation was civil, people chose to differ in opinion with no snarkiness or efforts to "recruit" opposers, and at the end of the evening while most gave scores of 8 or 9 out of 10, a couple of us gave 5s, and that was fine.

Afterwards there was general conversation on a range of subjects, just "getting to know you" type chat, which was easily the most social thing I've done in the past two years, and I came home relaxed and content.

November's meeting was good too, with a broader spread of opinions on the book - I was somewhere in the middle in that I enjoyed parts of it well enough but not enough to follow on and read the sequels.

And then I made the terrible mistake of accidentally double booking for December's meeting, and much to my own dismay, was unable to attend.

But this reminds me. I need to get stuck into January's book. Now, where did I put it?

Book Clubs and Opinions.

Many years ago, I wanted to join a book club.

There was a sign in the local library advertising some, suggesting we ask the librarian about them. I did, and she shook her head.

"There are a few, but I don't think they're what you're looking for. Do you want to chat about the book for five minutes and spend an hour talking about grandchildren you obviously don't have?"

We had a laugh about that, and discussed the books these groups read. They didn't really suit my reading patterns. Now, I am very happy to read broadly, outside my usual choices and comfort zone, and I do. But I recall looking at the lists and thinking that after one or two of those books, I'd simply give up.

While I was thrilled there were book clubs which were well attended, and there were people reading, I was really disappointed there wasn't one locally that suited me. This was pre-Facebook days, and so we didn't have that avenue to explore. I kept my ears open, but nothing ever popped up in my area. And then I stopped thinking about it, stopped looking, moved to the UK and got caught up in life.

Occasionally I would watch the Book Group, a dark comedy series about, of course, a book club. Oh, how I wished I could have joined that group.

About a month ago, Lindsey mentioned she'd been told of a book club that might suit me. I looked into it, saw the broad range of books they had read in the previous twelve months, noted they met in a fine pub, and decided I'd give it a go. I also wanted to be straight in, and so with less than a week to go I bought a copy of that month's book, read it in three days, really enjoyed most aspects of it, and was ready to go and discuss.

The big day arrived and I couldn't go. That morning I was told my friend Jev had passed. I needed to stay home.

The next meeting is a couple of weeks away. The book is Shuggie Bain, which won the Booker prize and has been well received. I borrowed it, read it, and don't love it. In fact, I can't understand how it was worthy of inclusion in the shortlist.

There is a story in there, but it is flawed in many ways. Oh, and it needs a hard edit.

I'm pretty excited about my first meeting. But as the newbie I'll have to sit back and be restrained until I get a feel for the group. What if they all love the book? How do they feel about dissent?

I may just sit quietly for a few months until I feel confident I can have a different opinion that is received well. Even then I will have to be gentle.

In the meantime, that's me in the corner sipping an ale and listening with interest.

Write, Rewrite, Submit.

I submitted a story recently. It has been a while since I sent one out into the wilderness, but a market appeared before me, I had a story that suit and so off it went.

It's been a while since I wrote anything new. I wrote this story a couple of years ago, and never really sent it out. I received great feedback from a reader, who really liked it. I left it for a while and re-read it with fresh eyes, then re-structured it to make a better story. And then it sat on the hard disk for close to a year until a few weeks ago when I sent it on its way.

Will the editor like it as much as I do? I can never be sure unless they buy it. Even if they reject it, they may add a note about what they thought of it. And it might be one they love but it doesn't fit in with the collection they are preparing.

On the other hand, I might receive a standard for rejection, which leaves you none the wiser as to what they thought of it.

Ultimately it makes little difference, apart from the bruising to your ego and your own hurt feelings. And this can really hurt when you read the final product (from which you were excluded) and really hate some of the stories.  "Why?", you shriek as you raise your fist to the darkening sky and curse the editor, the publisher and the other authors.  And then you get on with your day and make your toast for breakfast.

But hopefully I'll hear soon, and the bonus will be an acceptance.

Reading Again.

I'm not sure how this happened. I am busy still, and seem to have less time than before, but I'm reading again.

Not that I ever stopped reading. Reading is hardwired within me, and I always have a book on the go. But recently I seem to be back into the same quantity of books I read a few years ago.

Of course I long for my teenage years, or into my early twenties, when I devoured books, reading in bed until all hours and coping daily on a few hours sleep. But those days are long gone, and I simply cannot manage like that anymore. As you get older, you need your sleep.

I've been reading a real mix of books - new authors (to me, anyway) and revisiting books from a few years ago - even a couple from my teenage years. And yes, for the most part, they are still as wonderful as I recall.

I re-read all my Thursday Next books (Jasper Fforde) and then forged into the latest few which I had never gotten around to picking up. I started back into the Saga of the Exiles quadrilogy (Julian May,) which I first read back in the early 80s. I read a wonderful collection of short stories from Alice Munro. Another from Martin Amis. And yet another from Jeanette Winterson. And even more. Brilliant stuff. There's also been a few anthologies, both old and new, from mainstream (SF) publishers and small press. I've done my bit to get to know the local UK small press market.

And my 'to be read' stack is looking healthy. Ann Leckie, more Andy Remic, Thoraiya Dyer, Cat Sparks and others.

In the middle of all this, and around it and through it, I've done my fair share of academic and non-fiction as well.

If only there were more reading hours per day.

I love reading. I always have and I believe I always will. This is one of the main reasons I became an English teacher - to share this love and try to enthuse others.

And if you haven't read a book in a while, stop reading this and go and grab one off the shelf. Now.

On Receiving Expert Advice.

Today's the day I interview three YA authors in front of an audience of teens.

I saw this done last year at the Melbourne Writer's Festival, first with Morris Gleitzman and then with Andy Griffiths. Gleitzman was really interesting. He held the audience well, but Griffiths turned them upside down. He was like a writing rock star. A few bum jokes, a few gross stories and he had an autograph queue that was so long it had to be culled by his minders. No copy of his book, no signature.

At Continuum, I'll be interviewing Jim C. Hines, Tracy Joyce and Mary Borsellino. That can't be too difficult, can it?

Well I made this task a whole lot easier, last week, when I sought expert help. I asked a class of teenagers what they would ask their favourite writers.

I was pleasantly surprised by how thoughtful their questions were. Generally, they were about the creative process, about how ideas are developed and how stories are constructed. Of course, I then used that data to reflect on how I teach writing. And to write my questions for this afternoon.

I'm looking forward to this session. And should the audience get unruly, I have a book of detention slips with me.

Back On The Shelf.

Decided to go into IKEA yesterday morning,  We had the cheap breakfast there, and then went shopping.

We went to get a couple of bookshelves but I've never yet been there and not bought more than we planned to get. And I can honestly say we've ever bought anything at IKEA we didn't really need or use. And so it happened again yesterday.

This morning, I put the shelves together, attached them to the wall, and finally unpacked a whole stack of books that have been languishing in storage for the longest time. It was wonderful to see some of those books again - many I'd completely forgotten about. Books should be out, not hidden away in boxes or stacks.

So I've got a lot more reading to do - lot's of treasures were rediscovered, as well as a few that need to be thrown out. I have no idea how some of them ended up in my library. But they'll be gone soon enough. I'll get a bag together and send them off to a charity shop. 

I mean, really a biography of Kylie? Possession of a book like that should be illegal.