Posted by: Steph | | July 15, 2010


I apologise for the lack of updates. The reasoning is as follows:

1. Last minute assignments
2. Exams
3. Returning to work
4. Cramming as much social activity as is humanly possible into my days in hopes of seeing as many people as I can before I leave for Canada
5. I haven’t really been doing anything worth reading about.

So what can I tell you? I picked up a book for the first time in months and loved it. I read “Meridian” by Amber Kizer which I’d been eyeing off on for ages.

Behold the precious

Apparently it was FINALLY released here in Australia, because I happened across it in K-Mart when I was shopping with mum (we were purchasing winter clothing for Canada because it came to our attention that I don’t own any… I just never get cold here XD). Mum very kindly bought it for me. The literary equivalent of a chick-flick, but surprisingly well-written and surprisingly more original than most of the teen crap I’ve been reading (and loving) lately. However, I also decided to get a start on my plans to start reading “real” books (i.e. get the hell out of the young adult section in the book stores and start reading things that are actually going to improve my own writing). As a result, I’m currently reading “The Raw Shark Texts” by Steven Hall (another one I’ve been eyeing off at thebookdepository for a long time).

The only picture I could find of the version I have. It's so tiny XD

I’m very early into it, but I can’t seem to make up my mind as to whether I love it or am repulsed by it, and whether I find it brilliant or completely pretentious. I’m leaning towards loving it and thinking it’s brilliant so far. Either way, I’m pretty sure LSD was taken in the process of writing it. I’d explain what it’s about, but frankly it might cause your head to implode just a little bit.
… actually I totally have to tell you.
Essentially it’s about a guy who has a dissociative disorder (for those of you who haven’t wasted three years in a Psychology degree, that basically means that he doesn’t remember a single thing about his life), except he’s a bit weird because instead of recovering from it he keeps starting all over again and forgetting everything again. Only it turns out that he’s not mental. It turns out that… creatures… have found a way to live in the environment created by human communication. They have a very complex way of explaining it, but essentially the easiest way to put it is to say that they’re “conceptual” creatures… only alive and totally capable of doing damage. So what’s this got to do with the main character?
He’s being hunted by a mother-freaking existential shark. It’s eating his memories. That’s why he keeps forgetting everything.
I’ll give you a minute to absorb that.

Yep. I have to say though, if you can get passed the total weirdness of it that only an English student could love (and oh how we do <3), it’s incredibly well-written. I’m not far into it mind you, so it might end up being awful -shrugs-

He may not be real but he's totally gonna getcha.

So what else is new? Eh various things I’m too lazy to think about right now. Instead, have a portfolio piece that helped me get a decent grade in my creative writing subject this semester:

“I’m watching as he falls out of the lemon tree. His hands are scraped and he’s telling the young me not to worry because his mum’s a nurse and his dad’s a cop so he knows how to take care of himself. The young me grins stupidly, shyly, as though trying not to show the unforgotten concern.
She, or me I suppose, is seven. Already far too tall for her age and encased in puppy fat that will disappear one day but that she will never really believe is gone. I step out from my hiding place and hand the bewildered boy a band-aid. They both stare, this boy Shannan and this younger me. She is not pleased because she sees how Shannan looks at me, and knows immediately that a woman of twenty holds far more appeal to a fourteen year old boy than a seven year old girl ever could. I shoot her a sympathetic smile. I remember that jealousy.
“Better get used to it.” I think, but keep it to myself.”

and have some more jibberish, unmarked and unedited, from my onepageperday nonsense:

“I’m waking from a dream. Consciousness is tearing at the corners of my eyes, violently criss-crossed and red and burning. A voice is screaming in my head.
“Wake up.”
It must be me I think. A strange jumbled accent that everyone is forever telling me I speak with as they guess where I’m from; America? England? Canada? I purse my lips and crush my eyelids tighter together. No, not yet. I don’t want to wake up yet. I’m beginning to feel the world around me, all of it rapidly coming into focus in my waking mind. I don’t want it. I struggle, fighting back the softness of my mattress pressing into the small of my back, fighting against the vague brightness of the morning light burning through my closed eyes. Please no. Not yet. ”

Awww why not one more:

“She blinks. She waits. She bites her lip and shifts her feet.
“I need to go.” she says, but she doesn’t explain why. She never was any good at being clear. I stare blankly and I know that she knows I’m annoyed. My arms are folded and I’m looking down at her like she’s a child. She’s unperturbed. It’s not me that’s making her nervous.
“I’m going.” She’s more forceful this time. I cock an eyebrow, just one, as though I’m daring her to do it. To take that step in the opposite direction.
“You can’t make me stay.” And there’s the girl I know. There’s the Nella I know. She’s stood up straight finally, eyes defiantly looking straight into mine. Now she looks real. Now she looks like the immoveable object I know her to be. I wave a hand, gesturing that she can leave. She doesn’t move. Remains perfectly still in her ballerina posture. This time it is her who arches a brow curiously at me. I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to me, echoing off the bookshelves surrounding us.
“You need to learn to get on without me.” Nella purrs, smiling deviously. Her shift in tone throws me. Now I’m the one looking down and shuffling my bare feet in the thick carpet. She’s right. She often is. It never ceases to drive me crazy, but I can’t pretend I haven’t noticed. She’s far too aware of it for me to deceive her on that point. She clucks her tongue and shakes her head at my refusal to answer. She wants me to defend myself and frankly I just can’t be bothered. I dare a glance up at her and am invariably met with an angry stare. I open my mouth to speak but she’s tired of waiting. She turns and walks away, heels clicking as soon as she’s far enough away to hit the tile. I breathe out, unaware I’d been holding my breath.”

And now sleep!


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