The Gift of Reading

I'm currently reading a book called The Gifts of Reading; inspired by Robert Mcfarlane and curated by Jennie Orchard. It is a series of short essays on the joys of reading, giving, and receiving books. I have been enjoying the differing perspectives immensely, what most have in common is a 'person'. This person gave them a particular book, this person (who happens to be a librarian in one story) guides the writer to the book or book(s) that inspired them, that started them on their journey of reading and writing and generally loving and advocating for the written word.

One of my favourite places. Barter Books Alnwick

This has given me pause to reflect, do I have a person? Do I even have that one book that started it all?

I recall being around eightish and the girl across the road was babysitting for me (that girl later became my sister-in-law). I don't know how or why it came about but she ended up reading a section of Charlotte's Web to me. I never did finish the book and she didn't read to me again but the warm feeling one gets from being read aloud to has never left me. I dream occasionally of having a man read lovingly to me, Jude Law maybe...I like his voice. Alas, I am not married to Jude Law, nor is my husband one to read aloud to me. I wonder if it is this feeling of being read to that inspired such a drive to build a home library for my children and to read to them every night, even when none of us were in the mood! 

Later in life, say around tenish, I do recall loving the Roald Dahl books and loaning my treasured copy of Matilda to a friend. She kept it for an inordinately long time and when the book was returned it was no longer readable. I was incensed and vowed never to loan another book again, I have since but only to fellow librarians or my Mum both of whom I trust implicitly with the books I give them.

A little later, or maybe about the same time I have memories of visiting the library. Never with my mum, who was either working or otherwise busy with single parenthood. No usually with my cousin or alone. These were the days of Nancy Drew, Point Crime, and Point Horror. The days of devouring book after book and being constantly jealous of my cousin who could always read faster than me and 'graduated' to adult books and a love of Stephen King way ahead of me, even though there are only nine months between us. 

Next came the teenager break from reading. I recall still reading something but nowhere near as much and often my memories are of college or University texts rather than for pleasure. Though I did still manage to amass a stock of books collected from all over the place. John Grisham featured here for a time and soon true crime books made an entrance.

My passion for reading didn't become inflamed until I gave birth to my first child. This was about the time I discovered Harry Potter and the need to have the next book in the series. I also discovered the joys of Julia Donaldson and Alan Ahlberg and Oliver Jeffers whilst reading to the munchkin. I soon became a little obsessed. Junior fiction became a huge part of my life as much for my enjoyment as that of my children. I discovered places like the Seven Stories Centre in Newcastle, the Discover Centre in London, and Bewilderwood in Norfolk. It was a few years after my second munchkin came along that a friend showed me a job advert for a library assistant position at a nearby library. I applied and the rest they say is history. It was like putting a child with a sweetie problem in the literal sweet shop. My obsession was stocked and now my children are teenagers and no longer need my input into what they read, so I read for myself.

Looking back on my brief life in books I can't say that there was one book that outshone the rest, there have been many books that have arrived at the right time and under the right circumstances, that is a post for another day. Nor has there been that one literary person that is responsible for my passion. I doubt I would love books and reading as much as do if it hadn't been for libraries and their openness to take in everyone and let them discover things by themselves, both as a reader and professionally. I also doubt I would love libraries as much as I do if not for my cousin and those trips to the library and sharing Point Horror and Point Crime books. Ultimately I suppose though my passion for books and reading is inextricably linked to my children. Without feeling the need to pass on reading and books to them I doubt my own love would have grown so much.

As for gifting books to others, I don't have a top-five books that I gift, I just give books. Whenever I can I give books. I am that Auntie and I am probably hated for it, but I figure that the more books are under people's noses the more likely they are to read and get the associated benefits from reading. If I can't think of the right book, book tokens it is. It seems like a cop-out sometimes, but then I remember how much I love visiting bookshops (about as much as libraries) and realise that I am probably giving a better gift in some respects.

I still collect lots of books, and I still use the library a lot too (and Netgalley and the library e-book borrowing service and kindle and audible) basically any way of getting hold of books and I'm in! Which is why I have no room on my bookshelves and also why I will never read all the books I want to. In The Gifts of Reading William Boyd wrote:

    "I say to myself as I look at the exponential growth of books in my house that if there is a circle of hell in a notional literary purgatory where the compulsive book buyer is obliged to dwell for a few millennia, then perhaps I will resign myself to my fate. As long as there is something to read."

Although this sounds more like a version of heaven.

The Tea Shop

Hello there. At the beginning of March, I saw a post on Twitter. The gist was that instead of 'The Ides of March' writers could do the 'Ideas of March' and note down daily at least one story idea. So I shared it with the writer's group I am in and we decided to have a bash at the Ideas of March, with no pressure though because that's how we roll.

Anyway, so far I have actually managed to come up with a new idea each day and today I thought I would take an idea and play around with it a little and see what happened.

The idea I chose was "It's just an ordinary tea shop...or is it?" so here is the little flash of a thing for you, including my nod to the Bard this Shakespeare Week.

 A little Youtube music for you while you read.

Drink Me - Anna Nalick

The Tea Shop

The brass handle on the door squeaked a little as it moved to open, seemingly disconnected from the shadow you could see through the frosted glass. The bell above the oak door tinkled announcing the customer’s arrival.

Cary emerged through the beaded curtain that led to the private quarters. The owner of this establishment was not what one would consider to be conventional. Today she wore her standard working boots, a victorian style of heeled boot with button fastenings running up the side, combined with purple tights and a multilayered skirt. This was paired with a crisp white shirt and waistcoat, in the pocket of which she kept her pocket watch. Cary was never seen without one of her amazingly designed hats and today’s number was a purple top hat with a tulle bow and cascading tails down her back.

“Good morning, how may I…” Cary started her bright and inviting welcome as was customary for all visitors to the shop but stopped dead when she saw Julie before her. 

Rushing around the counter Cary caught Julie as she stumbled to the floor. Her clothes were torn and under the grime blooms of blue and purple were starting to rise on her face with a dribble of blood coming from the corner of her mouth.

“Harelson” Cary all but screamed, “Harelson, it’s Julie.”

“Oh, sweet Apothecary.” Julie sobbed into Cary’s arm. 

Harelson, Cary’s assistant, burst through the beads in his tweed slacks and waistcoat with his shirt sleeves rolled up and collar missing. A sure sign the delivery had already arrived.

“Get her in the back,” Cary ordered as she transferred the now unconscious form to Hare. Rising to action Cary flipped the closed sign on the door and twisted the lock before Hare had even had time to stand with Julie in his arms. Cary then yanked all of the blinds down on the door and the two windows of the double-fronted high-street store, if you could call it a high-street anymore, but not before glancing down the street looking for anything she needed to worry about.

In the comfort of the back room, dressed and designed like a Victorian ladies parlor, Cary knelt in front of the prone figure on her couch. “What was she playing at?” She mused under her breath.

“Hare I need some boiled water and clean rags.” 

“Already on it mistress.” Hare bobbed his head before backing away to finish gathering supplies.

“And Hare. Send a runner to get Rome, we don’t need him starting a war over this,” She sighed. “I’ll put a pot of tea on,” Carey said to no-one in particular. “I have a feeling we are going to need it.”

Say hi, let me know you're still around after this crazy crazy year.

2020

 The year that was awful on so many levels, in so many different ways, for so many people. I have really struggled when it has come to writing recently because writing means slowing down, looking inward, and exploring feelings...and since March 2020 I haven't wanted to look at them at all!

Generally 2020 made me feel useless. I couldn't tell my youngest why the Government thought it safe for her to go to school with hundreds of other kids and teachers but that she hasn't been able to see her Nana in over a year. I haven't been able to ease the depression that various aspects of the lockdown has exacerbated in my eldest. Due to my own disabilities, I was unable to care for my husband during an operation and recovery as I would like to. I have been unable to help a friend during the toughest experience of her life. And as for me, self-care was almost been impossible. I haven't wanted to slow down and take time to recover; I needed to stay busy, remain occupied, keep 'doing'; just so that I didn't have to notice the feelings creeping up inside.

As 2020 ended and 2021 started and things didn't seem to be getting better with the wider situation. I was facing turning 40 and to be fair I wasn't dreading this as much as turning 30, I have had ten years to come to terms with the fact I was seen as an adult. For me mentally things started to shift and I started to enjoy the things lockdown has forced: Family time, a slower pace of life, a focus on what is actually important. I have become quite thankful for the focus that I have developed over the last few months and I have this weird zen-like feeling, home-schooling aside!

The positives for me; my reading has almost tripled compared to previously, I finished my crochet jumper (a project about two years in the making), and I am well on my way with my 40 in 40 challenge (a challenge to complete 40 things during my 40th year).

I am looking forward to lots of things when life starts to re-open: I want my hair cutting (desperately), I can't wait to go to the cinema to see a great film, I want to sit in a cafe and have a brew with my mum. But equally, I don't want to lose the lockdown life feeling, I want to keep things slow and focus on the important things in life.

 

I won't call this post literary brilliance, but for the sake of the 'Life' part of the blog title, I really couldn't skip this chunk.

How has lockdown impacted you? Are you itching to get back to 'normal' life or will you be trying to maintain some of the lockdown life as things re-open? What have you achieved during lockdown that would probably still be sat waiting if Covid had never happened?

Keep safe folks xx

Light and Dark

I've been wondering today, what exactly is it about the Fae and fiction containing them that fascinates me? Out of all books, the ones that, more often than not, drag me in and get me addicted to the story are about Faeries. 

I'm not talking about the twee fairies, the delicate and tiny beings we discover as kids. No, I am totally fascinated by the vicious beings of old tales; Seelie and Unseelie courts, Light and Dark, Summer and Winter. 

Most of the stories I read introduce you to this darkness and the light that is supposed to counter it. However, the story generally takes a turn somewhere showing you that the darkness is not always what it seems and purity of the light can be dazzling and vicious just the same. The constant images we are fed by society and the media, that we are good OR we are bad, that we are evil OR pure. These images are torn apart in these books and the hapless human in the picture, seemingly mundane and useless, usually ends up surprising everyone. 

I think it is this recognition that we are all light AND dark, and that we are all useful that I latch onto. That there is this in-between where it is ok to be a bit of both. It never really hurts that there is usually a very lush male to read about and the Fae are unapologetically perfect.

It's not just that though, there is an underlying message of loving people for who they are and not judging the "flaws" that others see. Can we love the darkness in someone as well as their light?

Which are my favourite Fae stories? Hmm, Holly Black is the queen of the faeries, Marrissa Marr and Julie Kagawa are two other favourites. Maggie Steifvater has penned some lovely Fae books (though my favourites of hers are the Raven Cycle). A little more on the adult side of things L K Hamilton and Sarah J Maas have both written series that I have loved.

No One Died Today - The Paradise in My Mind.

I was looking at writing prompts on Pinterest...ok so I have been looking for a prompt for over an hour. No characters were talking to me and I was just about to pack things in and go read in bed. Then I saw this one:

"How's your day going?"

"Well, no one died."

"Those are your standards?"

I will admit that this is a phrase I have used, on more than one occasion and sometimes yes a day can only be held against these standards. Then I thought for a moment longer and just how much this exchange has taken on a much graver meaning of late.

Other countries are celebrating or at the very least hoping beyond all hope that Covid has left them behind.  That this statement is truer than ever and a relief. We are not there yet and for some this exchange could be too close to home and a little macabre.

In other places, for other members of the human race, this could well be the standard by which they live. None of their neighbours have been persecuted or been killed just for being the colour they were born as, hopefully!

Mostly this last few weeks I have been torn and conflicted and down-right disheartened that as human beings we could treat each other this way. My brain has areas that so easily slip into a sarcastic exchange like above, but my brain has also built a little walled off paradise, and this paradise is under attack.

My paradise is one where everyone believes as I do. ALL LIVES MATTER. I struggle to differentiate in this little paradise; black/white/Asian/disabled physically/mental health conditions/LGBT+++. I just want to scream 'WHATEVER, you are human'. Here you don't get extra points if you are one colour or another. Here society works to make sure disabled people are treated with equity, not just equality. Here you love who the heck you want! And we embrace any difference, not persecute people for their difference.

I am aware how naive I sound and I am aware that life is not like this. But my brain tries to keep this idea protected. Surely I am not the only person to think like this and surely at some point with enough will power this could become reality. I had hoped that the Covid crisis would be that thing to bring us all together, as only a global event could. Again still so naive. 

It is startling how in less than six months the reality behind a throw-away comment can be made all too real. Amazing how things can change in so little time and yet not change at all.

Touch Me

Let's talk about the elephant in the room. Covid-19, Coronavirus, lockdown, this situation, self-isolation, this shizzle...whatever you call the last few months it doesn't matter. It has been strange, weird, and sometimes downright scary. But what has it meant for you?

For me it has meant having my family at home, all together, no international travel taking my other half away for weeks. No running around with the kids to whatever social occasion is this week. We have chilled and watched tv, we have finished making our new house a home, we have cooked and eaten together, baked, tried new foods, garden DIY projects as a family. I will not pretend it is all sunshine and roses but if this is what it takes to save lives and make sure our health service could cope, I'll take it gladly. I had nightmares about a situation like this when I was a teenager and the reality is nowhere near as bad!

Its been about three months of distancing from friends and family. Of only going out to shop and walk the dog. Of working from home and not seeing my amazing work colleagues. Its taken three months for me to seriously miss one thing:

I miss touch, not in a creepy way, but I miss that human physical connection. I am luckier than a lot of people, I have my family at home and I don't live alone. But I am a hugger! I am that work friend that greets you every morning with a hug. If I know I'm not going to see you in a while you know that a squeeze is coming to tide me over as much as anything else. I need that physical connection and that is what I miss from this lockdown...hugs!

Initially, it was just another thing, then I was talking to people through windows and started to feel it more keenly and it has taken three months for me to feel it physically. I find it so hard to keep that distance and not jump on in and squeeze you to know all is ok. And so if I avoid seeing you at a distance please don't be offended, if I divert conversations and interaction to zoom calls and messenger chats please don't think it's because I don't want to see you...It's because I don't trust myself to maintain that 2m distance, I do it to protect yours and my personal space!

And know that as soon as the all-clear is given I will be catching up on hugs!!

For now, stay safe, stay smiling and hug those that you can!

Library of Life

"Good evening madam." The librarian behind the desk said with a smile as Betty walked in. Betty smiled back wondering how the girl with the pink hair had managed to smile around so much metal.

"Deposits to the left. Loans to the right." she shouted cheerily over as Betty headed to the stacks.

She had intended to pick up a couple of romances on her way home from the grocery store, but left and rights were never her strong suit, her driving instructor had taken to writing a little L and R on her hand when she was driving. Heading down the left aisle and rubbing her hip that was giving her jip again, it would probably rain later, the paperbacks turned into dusty old tommes that she would never be able to lift. Betty made to turn around but a strange light in the gloom ahead made her stop.

"Hi Betty." 

The voice made Betty's blood run cold. She had not heard it in such a long time.

"Am I dying? Have you come to get me? Is this how it works at the end?" she panicked.

A booming laughter came from the gloom, "no my love. Come closer and then I can explain."

Betty took a few tentative steps and then the form of her first love took shape in the strange blue light and she couldn't go any further. "How?" Was all she could whisper.

"I came across this place a few years back now and I made an exchange for a new lease on life. Don't panic there is nothing devilish going on here, I am a virtual avatar. Wherever possible I try to take the form of someone you recognise, it makes the process so much easier. With you two it's such a dream as your memories cross-referenced."

Betty touched her head, had she bumped it? How could this thing that looked like Bill know her memories?

"Again please try not to panic, it is a simple memory scan to see if you are viable for download. You are currently in the Library of Life. It is our mission to try and record as much of history as it happens from the memories of the times older population. In return we can give you years back to live again."

"I'm sorry, I've never heard of any of this hoo-ha or download doohickies. You sound worse than all these youngsters that wander around with their machines pinned to their ears." Betty turned to leave and started down the stacks.

"You should know, " the avatar began, "he always regretted it."

"What?" Betty paused.

"Not kissing you when he had the chance."

Betty paused and touched her lips, she knew the moment he was talking about. The moment that could have been, save for it being the right people at the wrong time.

"You could have that chance again."

"What do I do? Will I be a baby again?"

A chuckle came from the not-Bill, "No, our standard is to return you to your twenties, memories intact. All we do is make a copy for the archive."

"Oh what the hell. It's nearly the end any way, let's give it a whirl." She had no idea how she would find Bill if this worked, but it was worth a shot.

What seemed like only moments later Betty staggered down the aisle looking slightly like she was wearing her grandma's old dress. Out in the sunshine everything was so bright, colours seemed to pop everywhere.

"Quite something, ain't it?" said a perfectly familiar voice.#