Archive for December, 2009

  • 2009: The writing year in review

    2

    Like a snail on opium

    But first, a finger update. One thing I’ve realised is how much your fingers depend on all your other fingers when you touch-type. So, having my left index finger out of commission has been having an annoying ripple effect, yea even unto my right hand. Bollocks. After four days, I finally went to the doctor yesterday. He essentially asked me what the hell I was thinking, taking so long to see a medic (“It’s infected, lah!”), drained all the various multi-hued fluids, cut off about a third of my fingernail and bandaged the rest. He also injected so much painkiller into my finger that I felt it was orbiting the Moon by the time he was done. I liked that doctor!

    (And, may I say, the one thing I also like about visiting doctors in Singapore/Malaysia is that the dispensaries are attached to the clinic. So you get treatment then slip to the next window once you’re back in the waiting room to get your “loot”. In my case, it was the ubiquitous course of antibiotics, painkillers, tablets to control the swelling, ointment, a small bottle of antiseptic wash (twice a day) and a stack of dressings. You pay for everything at the final counter (as a foreigner, I paid an escalated total fee of RM196 / SG80 / AUD64 / EUR40 / US57) and you’re out. No indecipherable prescriptions to misplace. No frantic scouting for an open after-hours pharmacy if it’s night-time. Although I know it can (and has) been prone to abuse, I like the one-stop-shop approach they take here to medical treatment.) So I’m back, I’m slow, but at least I’m not cringing in pain. Huzzah! But, onto the actual topic for this last week — and post! — of 2009!

    Things move relatively slowly in a writer’s world. It takes months to write a book, followed by months to properly edit, followed by months to submit, maybe re-submit, and get accepted (or rejected) by a publisher, etc. etc. Or maybe it’s more correct to liken the process to the experience of a combat pilot; i.e. hours of tedium broken by seconds of sheer terror.

    So, in looking back at 2009 — which was a darned sight more externally productive than 2008 — here’s what happened, in a slightly particular order:

    + My space pirate novella, “A Pirate’s Passion” was released electronically by Total-E-Bound.

    – — – – Various short stories got rejected by Interzone, Clarkesworld, Strange Horizons and GUD, not necessarily in that order.

    + My very first action contemporary novel, “Guarding His Body” was released electronically by Total-E-Bound.

    + I joined the varied and very talented group blog crew at Novel Spaces.

    – – Neither of my hint fiction submissions made the cut for an upcoming anthology.

    I managed to interest a publisher in a novel but decided to pull out before signing because I was not completely happy with the (non-negotiable) contract terms.

    – – Two more literary romance short stories did manage to make the cut for an upcoming anthology, but then the publisher ran into financial woes, so the project has been shelved indefinitely.

    + My very first published novel, “Guarding His Body” was released in print by Total-E-Bound.

    Got a request for a full from a publisher, then the publisher folded.

    ? Got a request for a full from a different publisher; waiting on decision.

    many –s I failed to find an agent (general summary of positive feedback: like your writing, can’t sell the book if my life depended on it, what else you got? Admittedly, the last one was a minority-within-a-minority view).

    + Tangentially to writing, but not to books, I began a sideline in narrating ebooks. This looks to continue in 2010. Whew!

    + + Updated website and blog designs, but put podcast on hiatus because it takes such a damn long time to process each interview.

    Now, you may have noticed that there are more negatives than positives in the list. (I know people say you should always turn the negatives into positives but sometimes, people, when a rejection throws you into the pits of depression, you just have to take some time out to Wallow, know what I mean?) If any of you are thinking of becoming writers, please bear that in mind (the rejection bit, not so much the wallowing). Every year is probably going to have more negatives than positives. You have to ask yourself if you’re happy with that, because writing is a hard game and, in addition to talent, the willingness to learn, and many many mental and physical props (okay, much alcohol), you have to have a thick skin, a productive muse, and a sometimes ridiculous belief in your own self-worth.

    So now that I’ve covered this year, let’s see what 2010 brings. Are you with me? Did anything happen in 2009 you’d like to mention? This blog doesn’t get much traffic, so your secret’s safe with me! Besides, this will be a miserable New Year’s — because, since I’m on antibiotics, I won’t be drinking any alcohol until well into 2010 (well, at least the 6th or so of January, if I counted the tablets right)! The horror!!! — so I need all the vicarious living I can get. Spill the beans, have a great time and I’ll catch you on Monday.

  • Adventures with a knife

    3

    Wow, that’s a lot of blood

    If you’re into cooking with any kind of zeal, you’ll come across the advice that you should always use the very sharpest knife during any cutting task. “It’s the blunt knife,” you constantly read, “that does the most damage.”

    When cooking, I tend to set up my prep area a particular way. Directly in front of me I have my chopping board, the type varying according to what I’m slicing and dicing. To my right, I have a selection of the knives I’ll use during the prep session, all laid out one beside the other — a boning knife for, er, boning, a black ceramic knife for vegetables, a chef’s knife for herb chopping, and so on. The sharpening steel is always the rightmost utensil. Beyond my chopping board is my “refuse dish”, where I deposit all peelings, skins, and ends. I may have two of these if I’m putting aside some peelings, say, for a stock. To my left, I have empty containers ready to receive whatever I’ve prepared.

    I’ll be honest and say I like my system. It’s what works for me. And so I chopped, sliced and filleted my way through the Christmas menu, sharpening my knives in between (all except the black ceramic which has to be specially sharpened by some Japanese samurai master in Kyoto during the full moon only when the cranes fly, or something).

    That done, I noticed that the cat’s meat also needed cutting. Unfortunately, this only occurred to me after I’d cleaned my prep area. You can guess what’s coming next, can’t you? I grabbed the first clean knife I had (not so sharp, no weight to it). And started laying into the sinewy buffalo forequarter.

    It took less than a second. One moment I was realising what a bad idea it was using an unsuitable — and blunt — knife, and the next, the blade slipped and cut my finger through the nail down to the flesh.

    As I type this, my left index finger is still throbbing. And it’s difficult to type without that finger in fine fettle — the letters r, t, f, g, v and b depend on it. So take it from me, folks, those righteous cookbooks are right. It really is the blunt knife that does the most damage. And that one’s from personal experience. Make sure you don’t make the same mistake.

    In other news, I’ll be touching on the festive season in Johor in my last Novel Spaces post for 2009. Look out for it after 6:00am EST today. Ow!

  • Selamat Christmas!

    0

    At least that’s what the security guard shouted out at 4am on Christmas eve as he was doing the rounds on his scooter. This was followed by a heartfelt “Yeeeee-hah!”.

    I can understand it’s boring being a guard at an ulu estate such as the one we’re living in, so let me do my bit by extending his wishes to all of you. Catch you Monday!

  • Apologies and Merry Christmas

    1

    Time sprints on

    Sorry for not posting yesterday but I had to go to Singapore on short notice and, as you know, a trip to Singers tends to wreck my entire schedule. But I had a very interesting conversation with the taxi driver, so I’ll cover that when I have some time.

    Which is not this week. Rather that keep disappointing you by not keeping to my schedule, I think it would be best if I took a break for this week. Should be back next Monday, raring to go, however.

    In the meantime, have a happy and safe Christmas/holiday season everyone!

  • I hate taking vacations

    1

    A week of crises rolled into one morning

    Do you know why? Because, no matter how well you plan things, something always blows up on the day you’re due to leave. This year, I thought I had things handled. There was a customer with an issue that they escalated on the Wednesday that NEEDED to be resolved by Friday afternoon. I don’t blame the customer as I completely understood their situation and knew they didn’t have any room to manoeuvre. Then one of the Support managers had a bright idea, pitched it, it worked, and everyone relaxed into their chairs, exhausted but happy, late Thursday afternoon.

    That was it, I thought to myself, that was The Diabolical Issue That Haunts Every Leave’s Eve. For once, I had beaten the curse and was ready to slow and shut down (after writing the Support manager a heartfelt thank-you email) the following day.

    Nope. That was only the teaser, the Universe taunting me like one of our kids does with a feather on a stick in front of Fluff.

    Late last night, the real Diabolical Issue hit my Inbox. And, now, on the eve of my leave, I’m trying frantically to contain it. (Yes, this post will be short as a result.)

    But, you see, it never fails. If I didn’t take any leave, I could handle it. But, because of a tangle of conflicting circumstances, it’s big and ugly and I only have a few hours to bed it down before the customer goes screaming to my employer demanding my head on a platter. And I don’t blame them for that either (well, not fully), because they’re in a scary place and opportunities to set expectations have been missed. I could wish they’d be a bit more reasonable, but we haven’t been working together long enough for me to be able to have that conversation with them. I could wish they’d take responsibility for their own issues, but a bit of a dependence has occurred and now’s not the time to have that tough talk with them either.

    I hate taking vacations.

  • Why the dissing of Napoleon in historical romances?

    2

    A brief romp through history

    Some historical romances have been reviewed recently at the most popular review sites. And they include the usual Napoleonic smackdown. And it got me thinking. What is this huge romance (no pun intended) with English nobility that favours it above more Napoleonic egalitarianism? I mean, if you asked your average modern person which world they’d prefer, I think they’d actually like Napoleon’s a whole lot better than aristocratic England. Let’s go through the easiest (Wikipedia) references first:

    The metric system. Napoleon.

    (Margarine, btw, came at Napoleon III’s insistence, not the one we’re currently talking about.)

    Granting Jews rights to property, worship and careers. Napoleon. (Sorry, were you thinking it was the House of Frickin’ Lords??????)

    Meritocracy in jobs. Napoleon.

    Decriminalisation of heresy, blasphemy, witchcraft and homosexuality. Napoleon.

    Factor in the abolition of feudalism. Napoleon. This is where I get really confused with all these American authors thinking Napoleon is vile and the British are wonderful, when the British still laboured under a grossly inequitable feudal/aristocratic structure while Napoleon nurtured the very class that these American authors — and most of us — hail from.

    Going further afield through various books we own, Napoleon streamlined government bureaucracy. The cantons in France are an example of this because Napoleon didn’t believe that anyone should be more than a two day horse ride from a seat of arbitration or governance.

    Also, disgusted by the way his generals used to divorce their wives, take up with sweet young things and then die, leaving the trophy wives everything, Napoleon revamped inheritance law so that ex-spouses and their children also got a fair share of the deceased’s estate. This system is still in place in France.

    He instigated the introduction of the Civil Code, which gave equal treatment of the law to all citizens. Up till that time, laws differed from town to town and even from day to day, depending on the whim of royalty.

    He established the French secular school system that, for the first time, separated state from religion, something that USAians seem to bang on about all the time.

    So, in light of all this (and I know I’m only scratching the surface), why is Napoleon painted as such an unmitigated tyrant? Given their ideologies (his versus the British), I know whose side I’d rather be on. And I’d warrant so would most Americans. Even the sympathetic French characters in historicals think Napoleon is an ass. I mean, excuse me? Do you have any idea what the man did to completely revamp the political landscape of Europe that was then mired in the kind of feudalist claptrap that we seem to be in danger of sinking into yet again? I’m not saying, of course, that he was a saint, but a little more balance would be a refreshing change. Wonder if anyone’s up for the challenge?

  • At Novel Spaces too

    0

    It’s my turn at Novel Spaces. I talk about spreading the cheer of traditions you like. Do you do it?

  • Border crossings: Peter Watts and Singapore

    5

    Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts.

    BoingBoing is on fire at the moment with the case of Dr Peter Watts, a Canadian scientist and s-f writer who was held, beaten up and charged with assaulting a federal officer at the US-Canada border while on his way back to Canada after helping a USAian friend move house. For the record, he was beaten up by US guards, although Canadian authorities can be equally brutal, as the case of Robert Dziekański clearly attests.

    BoingBoing are putting together a fund to help Dr Watts’ defence, and you can contribute via Paypal if you are so inclined. As a sideline, it’s an interesting observation that the USA is a place that makes a big deal about what “rights” a person has, until the time comes to actually exercise those rights (whether medical, economic, or judicial). At that point, you find out that the person with the most “rights” happens to be the one with the deepest pockets. Nobody else need apply.

    What has been equally interesting to me have been the comments on BoingBoing, including a fair few that imply that Watts had it coming because he was probably “lippy” or “uppity”. And that got me thinking back to an incident at the Malaysia-Singapore border almost two years ago.

    Lets face it, stalwart reader, you may think that being a writer is a cool thing but writers, by and large, really don’t fit into the normal, quiet mainstream population. They may seem quite okay from the outside, but there’s always some kind of dysfunction that separates them from the rest of the herd. And that dysfunction mostly manifests itself as questions. Writers need questions the way we need air. Without questions, quite simply, we wouldn’t exist. What if human civilisation dominated our galaxy? (Stories set in the Republic.) How would a romance work between a female bodyguard and the male she’s assigned to protect? (Guarding His Body) Is it possible for me to even think of a likely steampunk story and thus jump on the latest trend? (Alas, no.)

    So, when questions are like life’s blood to us, it’s obvious that we will start asking them whenever something interesting happens. And therein lies the problem, because our Neo Dark Ages™ world doesn’t like questions. It doesn’t like anyone asking them or otherwise being lippy. Used to be that only applied to niggers, wogs, slopes, kikes, spics, etc., and women. But now, it doesn’t like anything other than silent subservience from anybody who doesn’t wear the appropriate uniform, period.

    I’m reminded of the time our family crossed from Malaysia into Singapore. There were five of us, two adults with two kids, and J’s mother, who was visiting with us at the time. And it was also the time of the Mas Selamat flap. Singapore is very proud of Mas Selamat because he is their very own Muslim terrorist, and is thus like a badge of honour Singapore can wear and be inducted into the Western nations’ Hall of Countries Who Are So Wonderful That Everyone Else Wants To Have A Piece Of Us Out Of Sheer Jealousy. Unfortunately, this short man with a noticeable limp had escaped the detention centre by climbing out the bathroom window.

    Anyway, the security at the border was pretty tight after he fleed (I believe he also threw spare rolls of toilet paper out the window before he jumped, to help cushion his fall) , and everyone had to submit thumbprints via an electronic reader, ostensibly to check against the thumbprints of Mas Selamat that Singapore had on record. They let our kids pass without any comment, but I had to wonder when they insisted that my mother-in-law submit to a scan. Yeah, I muttered to J, because Mas Selamat is so obviously hiding in the skin of an older, white woman from Europe.

    If you tell me that this was not the smartest thing to do, especially within earshot of the Immigration official, I’ll agree with you. But, you know, it’s that question thing again that I was talking about. You think, “why the hell are they fingerprinting someone who so obviously isn’t Mas Selamat?” and, before your brain has time to answer “because it’s their job, stupid, just shut up”, your mouth opens and out comes some smart comment.

    At this point, we were directed to another office, had our passports confiscated and were left watching a blank wall while the rest of the border world went on behind our backs. After twenty minutes, an officer came out, smiled, handed us our passports and told us we could go. No explanation was given, although she was very courteous. You’ll be pleased to know I kept my mouth shut that second time.

    In retrospect, and after reading what Watts and others have gone through, we got off very very lightly. Which is scary when you realise that the courtesy in newly-developed or developing countries actually currently exceeds that in fully-developed countries. We may rant and rave about lots of things, but I wouldn’t want to be in the line entering the USA, Canada or the UK. In contrast, Singapore was an absolute cakewalk, despite my overt sarcasm. Terrifying, isn’t it?

  • Cats – 0; Sausage – 2

    2

    She’s not as stupid as she looks

    J and I have always been cat people. I think that’s because of three things: (1) they are low-maintenance; (2) their trust is a precious thing, and once you’ve earnt it, you feel on top of the world; and, (3) they’re low-maintenance.

    Sausage’s appearance has — as Lennon put it — tossed a Spaniard in the works when it comes to gauging feline intelligence, however. Here we were, thinking that Fluff and Squeak were members of the smarter species when evidence to the contrary seems to crop up at the least expected moments.

    The cats, for example, take an extraordinarily long time to figure out how to get from A to B if their favourite door is closed. Sausage? No problem, she says, just whip in through the guest bedroom, down the passage and into the kitchen. Taa-daa! So, do you have some food for me or what?

    And we’ve had an interesting experience with, er, food. We buy our cats slabs of frozen meat in handy 900g (2-pound) lots. The problem is defrosting it with two hungry cats around, so we normally pile on things to stop our darlings getting at it. I use an overturned cast-iron pot, but J has been a little slack by using only three wooden chopping boards arranged artfully over the meat in the sink.

    Somehow (and this is more motivation for me to get a webcam in the kitchen rather than anywhere else), the cats have managed to navigate the maze of boards, hook the meat and drag it onto the kitchen floor. (They are big cats.) All well and good. They start tucking in … and are rumbled by a keen-eared Sausage with a perennially empty stomach. Or so she makes out.

    Now, I haven’t seen this so I’m speculating here but, based on how the story plays out when I am around, I imagine she does her little bolshy stiff-legged strut up to the cats, snuffling near their heads, they scarper…and she’s left with 2 pounds of glorious red meat, all to herself!

    The first time this happened, Sausage was a puppy, and I only rumbled to what happened when she came into my office and regurgitated entire slabs of meat behind my black rucksack. The cats were miserable…and still hungry.

    We had a good laugh and moved on.

    Well, yesterday, it happened again. The exact same thing. Only in the meantime, Sausage had grown and, this time, managed to internally retain her prize. Of course it made her look exactly like an overstuffed sausage on four chopsticks, she wasn’t quite so sprightly going up the stairs at the end of the night, and all she wanted to do was lie some place comfy and, legs akimbo, go to sleep, but the cats still ended up hungry and indignant. (Not a speck of remorse from our feline companions regarding their meat-bagging, but lots of emo-angst. Maybe I should suggest their casting in the next Twilight movie?)

    J looked at them with a jaundiced eye. “You’d think they’d learn,” he told me, while the kids fell about in laughter around us. In the kitchen, the patch where we cleaned up the blood was still damp with the dregs of detergent and water, Sausage was gamely trying to wag her tail and look innocent at the same time, and the cats were lined up against the cabinets, looking disconsolate and complaining in loud voices.

    “They know she has excellent hearing,” J continued, “and it isn’t as though this is the first time it’s happened.”

    But now, in relating the story to you, I wonder if there are two lessons here? Yes, certainly, the cats have to get a bit more crafty if they want to purloin their provisions ahead of time. But I also think J should abandon his three-board model. It seems both the cats and him need to devise alternative strategies, or Sausage will triumph again. I’m not saying boo to the cats but may I suggest a cast-iron pot to my husband? I figure, if the cats can get under that, they deserve whatever they can get their thieving paws on. What say you?

    Ah, the joys of a multi-species household. Have a great weekend, folks, and I’ll catch you Monday.

  • Getting ready for Christmas

    4

    I have PLENTY of time. Not.

    It never fails. One minute, I’m regarding the calendar and snorting because I have so much free time it’s laughable. The next, it’s the day before Christmas Eve and I haven’t done A Thing.

    Gads, I’m a bad parent sometimes. You know those parents who have a ritual around putting up a tree and decorations? Who have stories about special ornaments handmade by their great-great-aunt with arthritis from ration coupons they saved during the war? Who have lovingly preserved each and every recipe so as to reproduce faithfully a banquet from the nineteenth century? Yeah, nope, not me. After giving our last two artificial trees the thumbs down, we haven’t even bought a new one yet, and Christmas is just a couple of weeks away. Yikes!

    (Then again, we don’t even have curtains for more than half the house, so what’s a tree between friends, right?)

    One thing we have decided to follow is the Christmas Eve dinner thing. Because it’s so hot here in the tropics, you’d have to be a lunatic (are you listening, Australia?) to have a major food-fest at lunchtime. Interestingly enough, it’s also the same on the Continent. So, Malaysia and Poland are in agreement and a Christmas Eve dinner it is.

    J abhors carp, the traditional Polish main dish. He tells me he’d rather eat wet tissue which, interestingly, resembles the texture of carp … or so he says. I wouldn’t know, having never eaten giant koi-type fish (hey, we keep them as pets!), but I’ll take his word for it.

    On my side of the fence, it’s Portuguese Eurasian roast chicken. This is a family favourite, and is something I can make in my sleep, so it’s definitely on the menu. Vindaloo and devil curries are also traditional, but the kids still aren’t that much into the chilli-hot food (yet!), so I have to make a choice.

    I like vindaloo because of the adventure. I say that because it’s not like the Indian curry of the same name at all. It’s fresher, a lighter red and quite vinegary (no surprise, as it’s based on a Portuguese dish cooked in vinegar sauce). The thing is, it’s also a finicky dish. Just add one spoon of vinegar too much and you’ll ruin the entire curry you’ve been slaving over for more than an hour. This is a curry that demands you taste CONSTANTLY! Eurasians have normally cooked this with chicken, but I like the texture of pork more, so that’s what I use. (And then I discovered that — hey! — pork was the traditional meat for the founding Portuguese dish too. Fantastic!)

    The traditional salad I remember from my childhood days was An Abomination Of Nature. No other words for it. It put me off salads for decades. The basic ingredients were okay — lettuce, hard-boiled eggs, onions — but the dressing was, not to put too fine a point on it, the spawn of Satan. My mother used to make up some concoction that combined condensed milk with powdered mustard and enough water and milk (almost a cup) to form something with the consistency of swampy water. This would then get poured over the basic ingredients and let to soak for hours before serving. Believe me, it’s worse than it sounds.

    Nowadays, we do a green salad with a freshly-made vinaigrette although, as we’re having a party this year, I might also add a pasta and asparagus salad.

    In deference to the cold of the Polish winter, we’ll have some mulled red wine in addition to other, non-alcoholic refreshments. It goes down to about 25-27 degrees Celsius in these here parts around this time of year (in the evenings), so I think our fake fireplace (we lugged it all the way from Australia) will look very nice in the corner. We’ve had it on before (just the flames, not the heat) and visitors have loved it! And I’m trying to talk J into cooking his most excellent chicken briyani.

    Dessert is where we all fall down. From watching Jacques Pepin, I know how to do a bulk order of Crepes Suzette in one go. And thanks to the Juniors’ cookbook (that’s Juniors of New York), I can whip up a mean NY-style baked cheesecake. Both are good do-ahead dishes. Some bought, good-quality ice-cream for those who want it and I think we’re done!

    So, our menu is shaping up as follows:

    • Chicken liver pate and one other dip to start (pesto? pimento? pumpkin? p-sour cream?) plus other cheap nibblies, like crisps and mixed nuts, and so on
    • Roast chicken
    • Pork vindaloo curry
    • Something from J: chicken briyani or roast leg of lamb
    • Potato dish, maybe a gratinée
    • Two salads
    • Rice
    • NY baked cheesecake
    • Sorta kinda Crepes Suzette

    What about your Christmas do, for those having one? Care to share what you’re having? Are you going traditional, iconoclast, hybrid?

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