Where’s Bill Oddie When You Need Him?

This afternoon I was sitting in the lounge and a bird flew into the window. When I got up I saw that it was on its back and it was flapping its wings a little. I was about to ring Bill Oddie to ask for some help but then I remembered he’s on holiday. I would have phoned Kate but she’s doing Springwatch in Wales and I can’t remember the RSPB number off the top of my head so I had to watch it die. Anyway, it didn’t take too long. Just a few leg twitches and it was gone.

I took a photo of it. I guess it’s a bit gross. It’s talons look massive to me.

 

Bookshops

I found myself in two bookshops today. One was good. The other was okay.

The best thing about the one that was good was that it had most of my favourite writers; specifically Carver. I’ve read his collected works, but still, when I see him on the shelf I have to pick him up – every time- and read the first paragraph of a favourite story. It makes me happy. There was also Hemingway and McEwan and Desai and a bit of García Márquez.

The bad thing about the good bookshop was that most of the best books were new and I didn’t want to pay full price. Still, they have a fairly comprehensive second hand section and I found Richard Ford there. There was also plenty of hardback Rushdie – there always is – I got one for £4.

The okay bookshop only has second hand books and it didn’t really have what I wanted. Which is why it is only okay. Although I did get 2 books. So that saves it from being bad. Maybe next time it will have more books. That would make it a better bookshop.

Rain Rain, Please Stop Getting My Washing Wet.

Blewog managed to complete the trio of great writers with greater moustaches. See his comment.

That saw an end to that.

In other news: spring is here and my washing is getting wet by an unexpected downpour.

I finally finished reading Raymond Carver’s collected short stories Where I’m Calling From. It only took 5 months. It is long. But good. Well, I think it’s the best actually. So it was worth it.

I’ve spent time doing what every good/bad unpublished writer does and scoured the Writers & Artists Yearbook for all its advice. Watch this space.

Ernest Hemingway

 

Also had an absolutely cracking moustache.

I think there could be something in this.

Writers who have moustaches.

There is something distinguished -

about a finely combed moustache.

Gabriel García Márquez

 

Has an absolutely cracking cracking moustache.

I mean: his face is the moustache.

His eyebrows are the moustache.

I bet he was born with it -

and his face grew around it.

 

 

Chestnut Hill, Pennsylvania, 1961

I like this house.

It’s complex and simple and open and closed and big and little.

It represents diversity and inclusion.

It’s not nervous.

It has tension.

It’s elemental.

It’s contradictory.

It’s fragmented.

It does not achieve ‘easy harmony’ (LESS IS MORE) said Le Corbusier.

 

Battle for Los Angeles

standard hollywood schlock

Midnight’s Children

I finished reading Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children this week and it only sucked two weeks out of my life.

I suppose it’s a small price to pay to say you have read Midnight’s Children.

It was quite good. These things tend to be that. Quite good.

aprettygoodread/arealpageturner/worththeread/popularbook/ect/ect

On Hemingway

I think he is a great writer. Some people differ on this. He was certainly a good writer. That’s what he would have said anyway; I think. But I like him.

I read a collection of quotes and transcripts of his, written up by someone, anyway, the book is called Hemingway On Writing. In a way it is a kind of biography.

It’s stimulating and I enjoyed it. It didn’t take long to read. I was particularly impressed with his consistency of opinion on writing/writing process/life (that’s general) ect… I also think he was quite wise for a young man. Which can be unusual.

There is also an interesting correspondence between him and Scott Fitzgerald. I would like to read more so I will get the collection of letters that has been put together. I think it is still in print.

There was also a Pinter Posse meeting this morning. I seem to be able to blog after a Pinter Posse meeting. I like it. I think there is something in that. I haven’t written too much on the blog recently. That is because I have been mainly writing short stories which is not a bad thing.

But now I feel like writing and the blog is the quickest way to write.

Zap. Zap. Pow. Pow.

When I was at school the in thing for semi-middle class white boy gangsters to do was to make a gun with their fingers and go: braaaaap braaaaap! to each other in a effort to seem bad man init while busting bare low batty blad.

And it was all quite ridiculous.

Lupe Fiasco’s new album is called Laser.

Will the new thing to do be: zaaaaaap zaaaaaap!    ?

I hope so. It could see the resurgence of Star Trek.