Measuring Up #3

The crazy kids of the French Revolution decided that, while everything was being overthrown, it might be a good time to get on with implementing the whole metric malarkey that Leibniz had been banging on about for so long.

And there was a bit of resistance, but on the whole, the people of France had plenty to be protesting about, and their pitchforks were mostly engaged elsewhere. And it looked like the whole thing would go ahead. It was a pretty sensible idea, after all. Dividing everything up into tens. We have ten fingers, after all.

Except then some smartarse decided that since they were doing metric measurment, they should really do metric time as well. And that didn't go down so well.

Suddenly, midnight was 10 o'clock. Midday was 5 o'clock. There were 100 seconds in a minute, 100 minutes in an hour. Oh, and they started the years again from 0.

So if they'd kept it, and we'd adopted it along with the rest of the metric system, today would be Decadi, 30th Prairial, 216. And it would be 5:65, instead of 2:35.

Needless to say, it didn't really catch on, and was abandoned after six months.

Measuring Up #2

Today I'm going to share some of my favourite units of measurement.

1. The mickey. One mickey is equal to the smallest detectable amount that a computer mouse can move.

2. Sheds, Barns and Outhouses. These are nuclear physics units, used to quantify the scattering cross-section of very small particle.

3. The nibble. One nibble is 4 bits, or half a byte.

4. The shake. 10 nanoseconds. As in "of a lamb's tail".

5. The jiffy. A computing term, measuring the duration of one tick of the system timer interrupt. About 0.01 seconds.

6. The microfortnight. 1.2096. Created by nerds to stop people whinging about how things that were supposed to take only a "second" didn't actually take exactly a second.

Measuring Up #1

I've been doing a bit of reading about measurement, and it's surprisingly interesting.

The metric system, for instance. Did you know there are only three countries in the world who haven't adopted the metric system? Liberia, Burma and the United States of America. What excellent company the US keeps.

Let's take a look at the battle of the measurments, Imperial vs Metric.

1 litre of liquid weighs 1 kilo. 78.9382 litres is 78.9382 kilos. This seems sensible.

But in America...

1 pint of liquid weighs 1.0431758 pounds. You want to tell me how much 78.9382 pints weighs without using a calculator?

Obviously not the best example of the many benefits of the Imperial measurement system. Let's try distance.

There are 1000 millimetres in a metre. 1000 metres in a kilometre.

And 12 inches in a foot. And 33/50 feet in a link. And 25 links in a rod. And 4 rods in a chain. And 80 chains in a mile.

Totally makes sense.

Senator Obama, if you're reading this (which I know you are), you might want to consider a bit of a rethink on the whole measuring-stuff front.

Shame on You, Fairfax

The A2 section of today's Age contained some great stuff. A fabulous article by Ursula Dubosarsky about darkness and the bleak life of Rudolf Těsnohlídek. A good (if short) review of Philip Pullman's Once Upon a Time in the North. A good start really, including these two profound and achingly beautiful voices in young adult literature.

Then, there was a review of Nam Le's The Boat, an adult novel that apparently contains no lesbian vampires (although why the reviewer chose to point this out, I'm not sure. A good headline, perhaps?). The review was by James Ley, can be found on page 31, and contained the following sentence:

"It reads like an unusually well-crafted piece of teen fiction, the work of a gifted imitator rather than a unique talent."

While I understand that hanging Mr Ley up by his thumbs until he squeals is probably not an option, I would like to take this opportunity to suggest that Mr Ley should try reading some teen fiction (like that written by "unique talents" Dubosarsky or Pullman, as an example). And perhaps The Age could, in future, think twice before publishing such patronising and uneducated drivel.

Silence in the Library

I don't know if anyone's reading this.

I don't even know if there is still an internet. Or anyone to read it.

It started last night. I was at home, with my Jane Austen Book Club. In the middle of a heated discussion about the rather dubious merits of Mrs Smith, my phone rang. It was J, although I didn't recognise her voice at first, she was crying so hard. 'It's over,' she said. 'It's over.'

Then A screamed, and started to cry. She scrambled to her feet and ran out of my house, sobbing. But soon she realised there was nowhere else to go and came back. K's mobile rang. She'd left the baby at home with her husband. As she listened to the voice on the other end, her face went white. Without a word, she got up and fled my house.

That was the beginning.

Everything is so quiet now. I'm at work - I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. I couldn't stay at home... the dark stains on the floor, the spatters on the walls. I can't bear it.

The Library is all dark. There's no one else here. I suppose that's probably for the best.

It took me two hours to walk here - no trains today. I took the back streets. Once, I saw a group of people in the distance... walking down the middle of Hoddle Street. But I ducked away and hid behind a lavender bush. Just in case.

There are no trams going past outside. No cars. No RMIT students. No buskers. Just complete silence.

I'm trying to think of something profound to say as my last words.

But all I can think of is...

Fucking zombies.

Bring it.

Sharon Creech's Love that Dog is one of maybe two books that is always in my fluctuating top five. It is perfect. A perfect, funny, beautiful, sad, marvellous book.

And now there's going to be a sequel.

Tickled Pink

• pink noise
  
• pinking shears
  
• pink slips
  
• pink elephants
  
• pinkeye
  
• Pink Floyd
  
• Pink
  
• the Pink Panther
  
• your pinkie finger
  
• Pink, Oklahoma
  
• Mr Pink in Reservoir Dogs
  
• pink bits
  
• the Pink Ladies
  
• pink Cadillacs
  
• pink ribbons
  
• Pinky Tuscadero in Happy Days
  
• Pinky (friend of Perky)
  
• Pinky (friend of The Brain)
  

anyone like to add one?

Me in Pictures

What a good meme nicked from Penni!

How to play:

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd's mosaic maker.

The Questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name

Speaking of Doppelgangers

Maybe it was THIS Lili Wilkinson that edited Short. Not Lisa Wilkinson at all!

WHO IS SHE AND WHY IS SHE UNGOOGLABLE?

HowManyOfMe.com

There is 1 person with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

Books and Bears

(from English Russia)

Book Review Error-Spotting 101

Can anyone see the small mistake in this book review? Anyone?


(thanks to Judith for sending me this)

Short launch

EVERYBODY loves a book launch.

So come along to the launch of SHORT.

It's on Monday 26 May (yeah, that's THIS MONDAY).

At 6pm.

It's at The Little Bookroom (759 Nicholson Street, North Carlton)

aka, here:

View Larger Map

All are welcome!

Royalties from the sale of the book will go to Big Brothers Big Sisters.

liliwilkinson.com

I have a website. It's liliwilkinson.com (unsurprisingly).

If you read this blog through an RSS reader (which you should), then you don't have to worry about changing anything. If you have thinkingsofalili.blogspot.com bookmarked, then you have two options.

a) do nothing.

b) change your bookmark to http://www.liliwilkinson.com/a/blog.html, where the blog is exactly the same, but looks a bit prettier.

Escaping: Part 3

(this is a true story)

SCENE: CYL OFFICE, STATE LIBRARY OF VICTORIA

The PHONE rings.

LILI: (answering) Lili Wilkinson.

LADY ON PHONE: Hi. I believe you've got my son.

LILI: I'm sorry?

LADY: My son. You're holding my son.

LILI: Your son.

LADY: Yes. My son. You're holding him.

LILI: (looks around) I don't think I am.

LADY: I got a message. He's being held there.

LILI: Where exactly do you think this is?

LADY: The Victorian Juvenile Detention Centre.

LILI: Ah. No. Sorry. We're in the business of escapism here, not jailing.

Perfect Rainy-day Porridge

-two girl-handfuls of oats (real oats, not quick oats. i laugh in the face of quick oats. mwa ha ha.)

-some water (enough to cover the oats, plus a bit more)

put on stove, add a pinch of cinnamon and a splash of vanilla. heat and stir until it looks like porridge.

Then add

-Beekeeper John's Honey

-LSA

-some kind of stewed fruit (I recommend rhubarb or quince)

-milk.

Consume, while either dreamily watching the rain, or curling up with a good book.

JUST MAKE SURE you look out for blonde porridge-stealing strumpets. Eating porridge can be dangerous, especially if you're a bear.

Escaping: Part 2

Dr Mark Norman, Senior Curator of Molluscs at Museum Victoria, likes escaping too.

He says that non-fiction helps kids escape into the real world.

Which is a Good Thing to say, because lots of people say that non-fiction isn't really reading. Which is nonsense, but provides me with an exellent segue to provide you with a snippet from my talk from the Emerging Writers Festival last weekend:

David Fickling, UK childrens publisher extraordinaire, started out publishing Goosebumps. And although he has moved on to bigger and better things, he hasn’t forgotten his roots. Goosebumps, The Babysitter's Club, The Guiness Book of Records... David calls these books readermakers. They’re easy books, accessible books. They’re like the white bread equivalent of books – light, insubstantial, and without much dietary fibre.

But if you’re a young person, and you’re a bit scared of this whole Reading thing because you don’t really get it, and everyone keeps telling you how important it is, a Readermaker can be a great thing. Because you pick it up. It’s easy to get into. Pages turn. Before you know it, you’ve finished. You read a whole book. A whole entire book. And it was fun. So you read another one. This reading thing is easy! And because you’re breezing along, you’re a reading gun, you think about picking up something a bit longer. Something a bit harder. And your love of reading has begun. You've escaped.

Escaping: Part 1

At his keynote at the CBCA conference, Neil Gaiman talked about escapism and imagination. He said (in response to a previous keynote bagging Rowling for being a crap writer), that there is no such thing as a bad book, because reading is a contract between a reader and a writer, and when it comes to children's books, the reader does a lot of the work.

Gaiman told us about this book he read as a child. One part he remembered particularly clearly. The torches on the hill, the dark, terrifying night. The smell of smoke. The glint of firelight on the river below. The restlessness of men and horses, before the battle. On returning to the book as an adult, Gaiman was shocked to find the actual words that conveyed all of these pictures:

"Gosh, what a dark and scary night it is," said Margaret.

So, Gaiman told us, it doesn't really matter if the writer isn't doing her job. Because young readers will do it for her. And that we shouldn't try to prevent children from reading crap, because you can grow a lot of good stuff in crap.

It's not really an excuse for shoddy writing, though, and Gaiman emphasised how important it is to write good books for children. Think of how many people have only ever consumed cheap, nasty wine/whiskey/sushi, and then assumed that they didn't like it, and never tried it again. It could be the same for kids; if the first book they read is shit, then they might think they don't like reading.

Anyway. This isn't very coherent, so I shall finish by reminding you of Chesterton via Gaiman.

The only kind of people who complain about escape, and escapism, are jailers.

In case you're not totally sick of me

You can come and hear me talk at the Emerging Writers Festival tomorrow!

I'm on a panel called How To Find an Audience (without losing your soul). It's at 12:30 in the Yarra Room at Melbourne Town Hall, and I intend to say some fascinating and salacious things about commercial fiction, specifically Allen & Unwin's fabulous* new Girlfriend Fiction series.

__________________
* I has a bias.

Short

Check out Short, a new anthology edited by me!

It's lots of stories, pictures and bits by some famous people*, some new people, and some young people.

I really love the format of the book - it's pretty much pocket-sized, and it has a flip book of a jumping dog in each page corner.

It's a bit strange having a book with my name on it, when I didn't write any of it (except the introduction), but the whole process of curating the book - selecting the pieces, working on them with the writers, organising them into some kind of coherent flow - was a really amazing learning experience.

Available at a good bookshop near you, etc. Oh, and all royalties go to Big Brothers, Big Sisters.

_______________

*including Penni Russon, Andy Griffiths, Tessa Duder, Steven Herrick, Julia Lawrinson and Simmone Howell. Just to name a few.

Ready for my weekend

The last three days have been spent running around gossiping networking at the CBCA conference. I'm going to write a longer and more coherent post about it later this week, but for now, permit me some bullet points.

• My fangirl moment was only tangentially related to Neil Gaiman. Standing at the Allen & Unwin stall, looking at Bruce Mutard's new graphic novel, a tall man looking over my shoulder. 'Eddie Campbell!' I say, and he looks quite surprised to be recognised. We chat about graphic novels and a possible new TV show that sounds fascinating.
• Bernard Beckett is a great speaker and I can't wait to read Genesis.
• I am horrified that this man is starring in the film of this book (which I just devoured) ERIC BANA IS NOT A LIBRARIAN.
• There was a typo on a poster, proclaiming an "additive new series". Now with phenylalanine!
• Why isn't my job title as awesome as Dr Mark Norman's, who is Senior Curator of Molluscs at Melbourne Museum??
  

Things

1. I met Julia Gillard today. She was at the launch of the MS Readathon, and said some AWFULLY sensible things about how good it would be if Australia put as much effort into winning at reading, as we did into winning at sport. I have a girl-crush.

2. Boy Toy, by Barry Lyga, is a really good book. I heartily recommend. It's a story that I've read many times before, but never as well as in this case.

3. I am going to pinch two very interesting comments that JL Bell put on Oz and Ends, from a panel:

-"Teen books are like adult books, without all the bullshit." --H Jack Martin.

-"I thought I'd been condescended to because I'm an Indian. That was nothing compared to the condescended to because I've written a YA novel... because I've written a book about a 16-year-old, that means I'm a capitalistic whore." --Sherman Alexie, author of another very good book.

When Craft and Song Collide...

Don't ever let it be said that craft isn't awesome. If Architecture in Helsinki AND Tricot Machine are doing it, it's cool.

Architecture in Helsinki - Like It Or Not from helsinkids on Vimeo.

Tricot Machine - Les Peaux de Lievres

We used to DREAM of living in a corridor!

In honour of it being the Melbourne Comedy Festival, I present: The Evolution of a Skit.

Remember the Four Yorkshiremen skit from Monty Python? Well it turns out it wasn't originally a Python Skit. The first version was on the At Last the 1948 Show, and featured John Cleese, Tim Brooke-Taylor, Marty Feldman and Graham Chapman.

The Pythons did it some years later, and it's pretty much the same. Here's a live version:

And then finally, here's a more recent live version, with Eddie Izzard, Harry Enfield, Vic Reeves and Alan Rickman. They updated it a bit, but it is still full of lolsome goodness.

White Raven

Scatterheart has been selected as a White Raven book.

The International Youth Library in Germany selects 250 books from all over the world each year that they think 'deserve worldwide attention because of their universal themes and/or their exceptional and often innovative artistic and literary style and design'.

The list is called the White Raven catalogue.

Friday Things

My favourite book cover of the week:

My favourite headline of the week: Man charged after teen bashed with hedgehog.

My favourite cheezburger of the week:

And here's an old favourite, with a twist.

Come and see me!

I'll be at the Coburg Library on Thursday evening, talking about Me and My Books and My Job. I might even read from one of my New Books...

7pm, Thursday 10 April
Coburg Library
Cnr Victoria and Louisa Streets
Coburg.

To book, call 9353 4000

Trust Me

Oh look! It's a new anthology, featuring a creepy story by me!


Trust Me is published by Ford Street Press and edited by Paul Collins, and features such luminaries as Shaun Tan, Gary Crew, James Roy and David Metzenthen. It has an introduction by Isobelle Carmody, and can be found in the normal places where you find books.


The super-keen should come along to the launch, which will be at the State Library of Victoria Theatrette on Thursday April 10, at 4pm.


PS. I'm older! w00t!

Adelaide: City of Horror

My grandparents have guests, so Mum and I are staying in the house next door. It’s empty, because the Italian couple who used to live there died over two years ago. But the house is still full of all their furniture and clothes* and toothbrushes**. And crucifixes. LOTS of crucifixes***. Crucifixes and lots of fancy ornate furniture and a gold satin bedspread****.

Above the ornate bed and the gold satin bedspread, there’s a light-up picture of Jesus looking miserable.

I feel like I’m in the first scene of a horror film. I’m about to go and have a shower, and I know I’m going to come out, wearing a towel, and I’ll walk down the hall and it will be colder than I remembered. And I’ll open the door to the bedroom, and Mum will be lying on the bed, but she’ll be all wrinkled and grey and sunken, like she’s been dead for a hundred years.
I’ll scream (and, depending on what kind of horror film it is, my towel might fall down). Then sunken-dead Mum will open her eyes and draw a ragged, gasping breath...

______________________________________________

*dead-people clothes!

**dead-people toothbrushes!

***crucifixes? Should it be crucifices?

****PLEASE TELL ME somebody washed the sheets after they died.

Friday links

My oldest friend Jellyfish (who is now, thanks to the Powers of Awesome, my next-door neighbour) has requested that I post more entertaining internetty things on this blog so she doesn't have to trawl through all the dancing-hamster guff.

Jelly, this is for you.

(via Meg Cabot)

5 songs that don't work in Australia anymore

I Can't Stand the Rain

Why Does it Always Rain on Me?

Nothing Stops the Rain

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

Rainy Days and Mondays

Look out for cyclists

Diamond Wedding Anniversary

INT Thai Restaurant, afternoon. Adelaide.

LILI, MUM and GRANDMA are putting out place-cards at the table. A WAITRESS is doing something with prawn crackers.

GRANDMA

We can’t put Barbara and Ley on that side of the 

table, because they won’t be able to get out with

 their walking-sticks.

MUM

But if we put them there, then Auntie Peg won’t be 

able to talk to Mary.

GRANDMA

But if Peg is there, then she’ll have to sit next to 

Dennis, and she won’t like that.

WAITRESS

I don’t have a grandma.

LILI

If Mum and I are round there, we’ll have to clamber

 over everyone to get out and make our speech 

and run the slideshow.

GRANDMA

But if Kat and Brian are there, they won’t be able 

to go outside to smoke.

LILI

So?

WAITRESS

My grandma is in Cambodia. I never met her.

MUM

Put us on the end.

GRANDMA

Make sure you’re next to your Dad, Carole.

MUM

Wouldn’t it be better if you were next to me?

GRANDMA

Why?

MUM

Because you talk so much, and you’re stuck in the 

corner. Dad never talks to anyone, and he’s in 

the middle.

LILI

So why don’t we move them over there?

WAITRESS

You’re so lucky to have a grandma.

GRANDMA

No, because we can’t move Barbara and Ley. 

It can’t be done.

The WAITRESS starts to cry.

MUM

So let’s just swap you and Dad.

LILI

But then it won’t be gender-balanced! For the love 

of God, it has to be boy-girl!

SILENCE, except for the choking sobs of the WAITRESS.

Poetry

I'm not much of a fan. Oh, I like Aussie YA poets like Steven Herrick, alicia sometimes and Adam Ford. Sharon Creech's Love that Dog is one of my all-time-favourite books. I like e.e. cummings and Lewis Carroll and Walt Whitman and that guy who wrote the poem about eating all the plums. I can even recite all of The Lady of Shalott, and know that it's 'clothe the wold and meet the sky', not 'clothe the world and meet the sky'.

But I don't really like poetry. Mostly because of the way it's abused. In fact, the only way I would ever read a book about poetry, is if I found an audiobook about it read by Stephen Fry. Which I did, and so I am.

Fry points out the problem with poetry, using another highly-structured art form as an example. Music, he says, (and I paraphrase because I was on the train and couldn't write it down) may provoke an intense emotional response in the listener. But an intense emotional response is not enough to make music.

You don't come home from a crappy day when your boyfriend got runover and your cat ran off with a supermodel and think - I'm going to write an emo symphony about how nobody ever really loved me. You need to have some sort of learned skill that involves reading music or playing chords on a guitar or knowing what a 3/4 time signature is.

So it's not that all poetry is crap. It's that most poetry is crap. Your average amateur poet thinks that because poetry is constructed out of language, and language is something they have a grasp on - they can do it. Most of the time they are wrong.

This is the same kind of logic that made Heather Mills say that she thinks she'd be good at writing children's books because she has a daughter.

In other news, I'm planning a new career as an entymologist, because there are moths in my pantry so clearly I'd kick arse.

renovating

things might look a bit weird for the next few days. i'm getting me a website!

Five Awesome Things

Yesterday there was an unpleasant incident involving a very large dead possum, and a picket fence gate. It also involved me, some rubber gloves, a garbage bag, and the knowledge that I will never be the same.

But after having had multiple showers, I'm feeling much better about the whole thing, and am ready to focus on the good things in life, namely:

1. The Baby Formally Known As Figgy.

2. Cool Changes.

3. Long Weekends.

4. Hot Cross Buns.

5. YouTube (thanks, B!)

iPod shame

Today, for the first time ever, I experienced iPod shame.

Now, I'm generally quite proud to have some unusual things on my iPod. I have a large collection of songs from Sesame Street, for instance, that I treasure*. I'm even willing to admit I have a couple of George Michael songs on there.

But recently I've been delving back into the 90s. Why? Good question. It's certainly not because it was an era of musical genius, that's for sure. The reason is because I'm writing a book that contains elements of autobiography, so I'm trying to remember what it was like being 16 year old Lili. This process has also involved reading lots of old diaries and letters (the POETRY! save me from the POETRY!!!), and watching TV shows like this on DVD.

So I managed to get my hands on some Top 40 hits like this one. And this one. And this one. Oh, and this one.

So this morning I was sitting on the bus. Listening to my iPod. And a new song came on. And I looked down at my iPod, and saw this. And I quickly turned it over to hide the screen, because I Had A Shame. Please don't judge me.

Oh, and just to make you feel old: that baby, on the cover of the Nirvana album up there? His name is Spencer Elden. He's 17 now. Doing his final year of high school in LA.

_____________________________
*Who wouldn't want Steve Tyler singing I Love Trash? Come on, people.

The Crafty Wench Strikes Again

A cosy flowery scarf for winter... Pattern here.
A not-turtle* for Not A Turtle's Birthday. Pattern here.

And some elfin boots for baby Figgy. Pattern here.
___________________________
*because it's a tortoise.

Well done, sister suffragette!

Today is International Women's Day.

It's also the Centenary of Women's Suffrage in Victoria.

New Zealand came first with the whole women-voting thing, in 1893, followed by South Australia in 1902.

In Victoria, the issue was kicked off in 1891 when Premier James Munro said that he'd introduce a bill for Women's suffrage if ordinary women demonstrated they wanted the right. They did. They created the Monster Petition, with 30 000 signatures, in six weeks. The petition was 260 metres long, and several attendants were needed to carry it into Parliament. For some strange reason it took 19 bills and 17 years to actually give women the voting stamp of approval, but that's what happens when all the politicians are men.

The UK gave women the vote in 1918, but it had restrictions until 1928.

The US did it in 1920.

Italy gave women the nod in 1948, as did Belgium, Israel, Iraq and South Korea.

Switzerland didn't have women's suffrage until 1971, nor Lichtenstein, until 1984.

The most recent nation to grant their women the right to vote was the United Arab Emirates. There are still restrictions, which will be lifted by 2010.

We've come a long way, but while you're munching on your purple-iced cupcake and admiring your fancy new blue stockings, spare a thought for the women in the world who are still disenfranchised.

A Short Comprehension Test

NEW YORK (Reuters) - Billionaire Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling would feel "exploited" if a fan's unofficial encyclopedic companion to the boy wizard series was published, she said in court papers made public on Thursday.

QUESTION:
Who's side is Reuters on, the billionaire, or the fan? Explain your answer. (full article here)

Anniversary

I have worked here for five years. How very un-Gen Y of me.

Garfield minus Garfield

What is reading?

I was listening to the audiobook of Barack Obama's The Audacity of Hope this morning on the bus, and I thought Is this reading?

My immediate thought was no. Reading has to have words printed on a page. Then I thought of Shaun Tan's The Arrival, which has no words, but is definitely read.

But you don't read a painting in a gallery. Do you?

You do read:
-sheet music
-tea-leaves
-braille
-moods

Wikipedia says: Reading is the cognitive process of deriving meaning from written or printed text. I am not so sure.

Saturday morning rant (story v language)

I've been thinking a lot about the war that is being fought between story and language.

It shouldn't be a war. Language and story should work together. But people don't seem to want to let them, and so they fight.

I heard someone say recently that they didn't like books they couldn't put down. This person felt manipulated by a gripping plot. I found this astonishing.

It goes hand-in-hand with the snobbery towards mass-market fiction, chicklit (see Maureen Johnson's awesome post for more on that) and, of course, YA.

Nick Hornby has this to say:

“In a way, I think all books should be teen books. I can read them quickly without getting bogged down, and feel I’ve read something that was meant in the way literature’s supposed to be. They’re very digestible, designed not to bore people.”

But if you have a look at the kind of books that win the Miles Franklin and the Booker, it seems pretty clear that the literati don't agree. Literature needs to be dense, beautiful and obfuscating.

I love beautiful language. Writers like Margaret Atwood (pre-Oryx & Crake), Jorge Louis-Borges and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. And of course the beautiful-language YA writers Ursula Dubosarsky, Margo Lanagan and David Almond. But as well as having a truly magical control over language, all these writers also know how to tell a cracking good story.

Making stories is an art. It's difficult and complex and there are rules and structures, and if you don't want to stick to those rules and structures, then fine, but you'd better have a damn good reason. In my four years of studying creative writing at Uni, not one class mentioned the importance of structure, except of course, for my screenwriting class.

The story vs language brawl spills over into visual media as well. Film can be loved by our intellectual elite because of its 'language' - the cinematography, metaphor and mood. Television, however, is much more reliant on story. Smaller screens, heavily prescribed time limits, and a need for continuity mean that TV shows have more rules and structures.
But that doesn't mean they can't be art, too. There is often more thought, care, craft, put into an episode of The West Wing, Six Feet Under or Veronica Mars, than into a feature film of the kind that our intellectual elite favour.

I'm not really sure where this rant is heading. I suppose it's a plea. Don't be ashamed to read The Da Vinci Code just because it's mass market fiction. There are plenty of other reasons to be ashamed (ie: it's crap). Embrace your love of chicklit (and its cinematic equivalent, the romcom). Read a fantasy novel. Watch Battlestar Galactica.

Yes. There is bad chicklit. And bad fantasy novels. And books like The Da Vinci Code.

But here's a revalation: there's a lot of bad books, full stop. Some of them have won prestigious literary awards.

You will judge a book by its cover - everyone does. I certainly do. But I try not to judge books by what section of the bookshop they are shelved in*.

Send in the peacekeepers! End the war! Give story a chance.

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*This isn't entirely true. I tend to avoid self-help and true-crime. But in terms of fiction, I'm showing the love for all shelves.

ZOMBIE IDOL

Over at insideadog, Maureen Johnson is putting to the test the theory that all books are made better with a zombie.

And you're invited! Transform a work of existing literature by adding a zombie. You might even win a prize...

Here's examples from Maureen, Justine and Scott. And here's mine, with apologies to Walt Whitman:

O ZOMBIE! my Zombie! our fearful trip is done; 

Our bodies weather'd every whack, the brains we sought are nom nom nom; 

Our lunch is near, the bells I hear, the people all screaming, 

While follow eyes the zombie reel, our onslaught grim and daring: 

But O brains! brains! brains!

O the bleeding drops of red, 

Where on the deck my dinner lies, 

Fallen cold and dead.

Sorry

Today we honour the Indigenous peoples of this land, the oldest continuing cultures in human history.

We reflect on their past mistreatment.

We reflect in particular on the mistreatment of those who were stolen generations - this blemished chapter in our nation's history.

The time has now come for the nation to turn a new page in Australia's history by righting the wrongs of the past and so moving forward with confidence to the future.

We apologise for the laws and policies of successive Parliaments and governments that have inflicted profound grief, suffering and loss on these our fellow Australians.

We apologise especially for the removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families, their communities and their country.

For the pain, suffering and hurt of these stolen generations, their descendants and for their families left behind, we say sorry.

To the mothers and the fathers, the brothers and the sisters, for the breaking up of families and communities, we say sorry.

And for the indignity and degradation thus inflicted on a proud people and a proud culture, we say sorry.

(the rest is here)

Writers + Editors = Love

Santos for President!

Er, I mean Obama. Are they actually different people?

There's been much Debate amongst the troops about whether we like Santos Obama or Hillary better. And I know there must be many Americans who are also struggling with this decision. So, for all of the THOUSANDS of Americans that I know read this blog, here is my helpful guide:



Candidates as gaming consoles (Hillary is the well-funded and experienced Xbox 360, Santos Obama: "Yes Wii Can!")

Candidates as D&D characters.

Candidates as Muppets (thanks, Snazzy!)

BUT SERIOUSLY

This is a really useful website that has a QUIZ to match your priorities against the candidates'. Environment and Education make me squarely on the Santos Obama train.

Overheard in Melbourne Central

Skanky Teen Girl #1: Ohmigawd, have youse read that book Twilight?

Skanky Teen Girl #2: Huh?

STG #1: Twilight? It's Stephanie Meyer? It's the BOMB.

STG #2: Books? Yuck?

STG #1: No, I know that, you know, teachers say you fall in love with a character in a book? And I'm all like gross? That's so dumb? But I swear, chapter one of Twilight and I just... you just... he's so...

STG #2: Shut up. Let's go to Supré .

Inky in the flesh... or at least in the plush

Look at who arrived on my desk at work today!

It's my very own Inky Mascot. Even his newspaper skin is made from dog-related newspaper articles!

Many thanks to Rochelle and her crafty madskills for brightening up my Wednesday.

Lili at the Gym

So I'm doing my sumo squats (VERY flattering, let me assure you), sweating, and listening to my iPod. The thing that I'm listening to makes me laugh, and the middle-aged woman doing lat pulldowns nearby glares at me with a 'oh the young people today and their gizmos, never get to play outside with the other children, shutting themselves off from the world with their LONG HAIR listening to these BEATLES and it's not even SPELT right DEATH OF CIVILISED SOCIETY' kind of face.

My question is: would she have been more or less disapproving if she'd known I was listening to the audiobook of Christopher Hitchens' God is Not Great?*

_____________

*interspersed with high energy, low quality numbers like Avril's Girlfriend.

More Awesome

1. US author Sherman Alexie, author of Diary of a Part Time Indian, is awesome. And he has a boner.


2. Oedipus, in 8 minutes, performed by vegetables.

Five Reasons why Mexicans are Awesome

1. Mexican food.

2. Corona.

3. The way that whenever characters on TV go to Mexico, everything is shot with a yellow filter.

4. 2006. All police officers in Nezahualcoyotl are required to attend a fortnightly book club in order to keep their jobs. This is a two-pronged approach: firstly, it broadens the minds of the cops (most of whom didn't stay at school past grade 5). And secondly, it proves to the public that not all cops are scheming low-lifers. "The principle is that a police officer who is cultured is in a better position to be a better police officer," says Jose Jorge Amador, the head of public security.

(replace the words "police officer" with the words "human being" and I reckon we've got ourselves a Charter for Life)

5. 2007. The reading program (it's called Literature On Alert) is still going strong. And still amazingly creative. They've translated some of the best works of Spanish literature into... into Cop. Like this, from Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude:

Many alfas later, in front of a 44 squad, Col. Aureliano Buendia had a 60 about that distant afternoon when his father 26 him to 62 ice.

They're police radio codes. They're giving this new version of the book to new recruits, who then, astonishingly, ASK FOR MORE BOOKS. In normal Spanish. And then they go home and buy books for their CHILDREN. One cop has published a novel. Another is studying Law in his spare time. They have creative writing classes and group storytelling sessions.

I think I want to be a Mexican cop.

Can you IMAGINE what life would be like if everyone, in every job, did this? What the world would be like? Sigh.

The Story of Beekeeper John and the Bees

On my summer holiday, I helped my Dad liberate some honey from his bees. These bees live down at our block of land at Glenaire, although we do have 2 hives on the roof in Clifton Hill as well.

Step 1: We approach the hive, with some trepidation. The Bees* are very suspicious.
Step 2: Beekeeper John puffs some smoke onto the hive, which calms the Bees.
Step 3: Beekeeper John takes 2 of the 8 frames from the hives. This is where the Bees make honeycomb and fill it with honey. Special Helper Lili stays in the car and observes.
Step 4: The Bees** get REALLY REALLY ANGRY because Beekeeper John is stealing their honey. It's lucky he's wearing his special Beekeeper Suit (btw, it's white because Bees are less likely to attack white. Except obviously in this case, as he gets five stings.)
Step 5: With a heated knife, we break the seals on the honeycomb.
Step 6: The frames are put into a centrifuge...
Step 7: ...and Beekeeper John spins them round and round so the honey flies out and drips down the sides.
Step 8: Then we just open up the tap on the bottom of the centrifuge and all the honey comes out. We strain it to get rid of the wax.Step 9: Nom nom nom. We got about 3 litres off those two frames.
Step 10: Then we go replace the empty honeycomb back in the hives. The Bees*** are still pretty pissed, but they are enjoying their lovely view.
-----------------------------
*Nerdy Bee Fact #1: Honey is the only natural foodstuff on earth that doesn't perish.

**Nerdy Bee Fact #2: Bees dance at each other to communicate the location of nectar sources.

***Nerdy Bee Fact #3: Taxes were paid with honey in Ancient Egypt.

Christmas at the Wilkinson House

8am. rinse turkey and season with lemon, garlic and herb butter.

8:30. toast and tea. open presents. 

9:15. turkey in oven. baste every 15 minutes for the next three hours.

9:30-11:30. make bread sauce and stuffing, prepare veggies, put pudding in to boil. shower, tidy, set table.

12:30. turkey out to stand. make gravy. crank up the oven for the veggies, stuffing and bread sauce. steam veggies. cut ham.

12:45. open the wine.

1pm. eat. crackers, more wine. terrible jokes.

2pm. swear you'll never eat again.

2:30. pudding. soak in rum on the plate, and then heat rum in a ladle, set on fire and pour liquid fire onto pudding. nom nom nom.

3pm. swear you'll never eat again.

4pm. chocolate santas and mince pies. pictionary, chinese checkers.

5pm. walk to the park (SLOWLY).

6pm. small nap.

7pm. turkey and stuffing sandwich.

7:30. swear you'll never eat again.

8pm. maybe one more mince pie.

8:30. It's a Wonderful Life on TV (or a Muppet Christmas Carol). Graze on nuts, chocolate santas, ham, leftover veggies. Try and learn the difference between port, muscat and tokay by having one glass of each.

11pm. Bed.

Merry Christmas, blogosphere!

Real or Fake? The Christmas Tree Dilemma

I love Christmas. I love everything about it. I can even tolerate a tiny bit of Jesus-lovin' at Christmas time (as long as it's the Away in a Manger kind of Jesus-lovin', not the 'Jesus wants me to carry a gun' kind).

And one of my favourite things about Christmas (apart from the food) is a Christmas tree. But there is the dilemma: real or fake?

Real is nice because it's... well, it's real. It is a tree and it smells nice. But there are a couple of things that are problematic with real ones, namely:

1. They go brown very quickly, and don't last until twelfth night.

2. Things live in them. Like snails who eat wrapping paper.

3. I am violently allergic to them, and can't be in the same room as one without medication.

and

4. Monterey pines, which are the only kind of Christmas tree available in Australia.

These are Christmas trees:

This, however, is not a Christmas tree:

It just isn't.

So I've gone fake. If I could get a Douglas fir or a Fraser, then I might be prepared to deal with the snails and the vast amounts of Claratyne. But not for a Monterey Pine.

Takadanobaba

We're staying in a ryokan in Takadanobaba.

The REALLY nerdy among you will know that Takadanobaba is the birthplace of AstroBoy (or Tetsuwan Atom, as he is known in Japan). When you get off the train here, the station PA plays the theme song. 

Also, me and AstroBoy share the same birthday.

Flying

If you ever have the opportunity, fly from New York to Tokyo*. The route goes north, up though the very top of Alaska, over miles and miles of pure white snow and frozen lakes, with absolutely no sign of people. Then a short stretch of ocean and then down through Siberia. This time with enormous cliffs and mountains of snow that drop dramatically into the ocean.

It was perfectly clear the whole way, and as we were flying west in the late afternoon, we had a perpetual sunset for most of the way. It was amazing.

------------------------------------

* But don't fly American Airlines. Ever. No matter how cheap it is. It's like being in jail. But I'm sure you get better food in jail. There isn't even any booze! Not even to BUY!

The True Story of a Squirl who Loved a Soldier

So I'm standing in line, ready to get on the ferry to Ellis Island. It's a long line, I'll be here for an hour and a half. It's also outside, and about 1 degree. Brr.

There's a gruff-looking soldier standing, supervising the line with disinterest. A Swedish guy goes over to him and asks in broken English where to buy tickets. The Gruff Soldier stares at him, and does this irritating thing where he refuses to anticipate what Swedish is trying to say, even though he's struggling, and also even though Gruff must get asked that question about a million times a day. He doesn't even smile or nod to indicate that he's listening. He insists on waiting until Swedish has managed a complete sentence before he jerks his head and mutters a few words.

'Nice,' I think. 'Very courteous. Bloody Americans.'

There is a Squirl* sniffing around the park, eating all the things that the tourists drop. He stops near Gruff and looks up at him, its Squirly nose all twitchy and adorable. Gruff looks down at Squirl and continues to look gruff.

Squirl is clearly disconcerted that Gruff didn't acknowledg

e him. So it shuffles a bit closer, and puts a little Squirly paw on Gruff's khaki trouser leg. Gruff exhibits no discernable emotion.

Squirl is just plain pissed now. Can't this stupid man see how CUTE the Squirl is? The fluffy tail? The twitchy nose? The adorable wide eyes?

Squirl does a little shudder of the tail, and then runs up the outside of Gruff's military issue trousers, grabs his belt, and fixes him with a beady and slightly pugnacious eye.

Gruff looks down at the adorable ball of fur attached to his hip pocket.

And he winks at Squirl.

--------------------------------------------

*Squirrel. Like this one:

Snow meets Squirl!