K.A. Laity's Blog, page 136

Year of the Owl

Don't I live in a gorgeous city?

First, a little importuning: I know, it's a bit much coming from someone who's had more than her fair share of luck lately. But I'd really like you to vote for me for best horror short story for It's a Curse . Pretty please? And as long as you're voting, you could also vote for the anthology I'm in, Dark Pages: International Noir, and for the Queen of Everything for best cover for Four Play and our pal C. Margery Kempe for best romance short, Dragger Ella . Thank you ever so. Only a couple more days to go. These contests can help boost sales and get a little attention. It's a constant battle against obscurity.



Full moon tonight. Where wolf? There, wolf!



Tip of the hat to my pal Mr B for pointing me to a post by Iain Rowan on "folk horror" inspirations from the past. Alan Garner's Owl Service has come up before. Probably Mr B mentioned (along with things like The Tomorrow People and Children of the Stones) the series made from the novel which looks amazing. Must track down the book: the library here doesn't have it, but I'm sure I can locate a copy. I don't know how I missed Garner's books as they clearly fit my own obsessions. More on this tomorrow.



I know in Chinese astrology the coming year will be the Year of the Dragon, but for me all signs point to it being the Year of the Owl. Yes, in part because of the forthcoming release of Owl Stretching (at last, at last), but there's something more. Everywhere I turn, it's owls. I know, birds a-plenty all around me: my magpies always, the swans of Galway, more rooks than you can shake a stick at. But owls keep popping up at significant moments. We shall see what that means.



So from Professor Elemental on Twitter this morning, a gift for you:

Setting Sail for Inishmore

Miss Wendy and I tried to do the overnight B&B trip to Inishmore. We got up early Tuesday to go get our tickets for the ferry and make arrangements. The woman at the ticket office said the crew were making a decision at 9. They decided not to go that day.



More timid folk would have decided then and there not to make a crossing in January.



Miss Wendy and I, however, were determined, so we went back yesterday and sure enough, the ferry would be sailing so we got our bus & ferry tickets, but decided not to do the whole B&B thing, which ended up being just as well. Remote islands in the Atlantic in January, it turns out, do not offer experiences conducive to relaxed enjoyment. Imagine our surprise.





We found ourselves back in Connemara on the bus, which took a bit longer than we had anticipated to get to the ferry terminal. Miss Wendy, as you know, used to work at the Coast Guard Academy and has been on whaling trips and whatnot. My family used to have it's own boat and I've been on ocean ferries before.



I have never been in water that wild! Miss Wendy said she understood now why Poseidon was the patron of horses as well as the sea as we plunged up and down in the waves. Arm rests have other uses than just resting arms, I discovered. I was trying not to think of things like The Poseidon Adventure and just roll with the waves. Even as I write this, I feel that strange sensation again. I didn't feel ill at all, just nervous.



Very very nervous.



It didn't help that all the islanders we met that day said, "Rough crossing?" and then proceeded to regale us with their own decisions not to take the ferry that week. The woman in the stone shop showed off her arm brace and said how she was supposed to go to her doctor on the mainland, "But I'll leave it until next week."



Our tour around the island brought us to seals (which I don't think either of us could make out) and lots of sea birds, which Miss Wendy found in her guide book. The ruins of the 8th century monastery and its cemetery were quite lovely and picturesque, living history.







The beauties of Dun Aengus were considerable but there was a bit of a problem; as the woman in the heritage office told us, "Be careful by the cliffs." What she might have said was, "The opening to the ring fort creates a kind of wind tunnel that combined with gale force wind will knock you off your feet." We discovered that for ourselves. Some dramatic footage of the cliffs.












The cafe where we warmed up before the hike up to the fort gave a lovely warm glow from the turf fire and the delicious food. The pub at the end of the tour proved a welcome sight as we tried to steel our resolve for the journey back. By the time we walked to the pier, the wind howled and the rain assaulted us. We got on board, but they warned us they were changing us to another boat. After about a quarter of an hour, we all decamped for the smaller, less swank ferry.



A few people had told us the journey back would be better, but coincidences added to our nerves. In the pub the telly showed a Raging Nature program on people dying in blizzards detailing how it feels to freeze to death and the woman sitting across the aisle from Wendy read a novel Dead Tomorrow! or something like that. I think we both blanched when one of the sailors, after staring out the fore window for a time intently, reached up to the row of life jackets hanging on a shelf above our heads. However, he was just retrieving his newspaper which he'd put up there. So we plunged on through the sea in the dark this time, rolling and pitching, rising to meet the waves and it was a bit better but still nerve-wracking, so we were glad to reach shore.



You can see all the Inishmore pictures at the end of the Ireland album. I think we're going to treat ourselves to a spa day today. I expect I may be back to visit the Aran Islands.



Critters Poll: still time to vote for me for best horror short, or as part of the Dark Pages: International Noir anthology; you can also vote for the lovely QoE's artwork as cover artist.

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: Brett's Holmes

We had thought to head out to the islands today but the winds put the kibosh on that idea. So we may head out to the movies, which reminds me it's time for Tuesday's overlooked films or in this case, television. With all the attention being given to the new Sherlock and the Guy Ritchie Holmes, it's well worth reminding folks of my fave version of the detective's adventures starring Jeremy Brett. Absolutely wonderful. If you're unfamiliar, do find yourself the DVDs or the stream and treat yourself.










And if you like things a little lighter, there's always Brett's fine turn as Freddy in My Fair Lady.










Be sure to check out the full range of suggestions for your audio/visual pleasure over at Todd's.

Mistaken Identity

Happy new year, everyone. It's been a cold and damp one so far in Ireland (shock!) but Miss Wendy and I managed to get out in the bit of sun yesterday for a little while to do some wandering and bird watching. New birds sighted included  chirpy little robin and moorhen up by Salmon Weir. It turns out that all the "crows" I have been seeing around the city are really rooks. Here's a dramatic shot of one out on Nimmo's pier who let me get quite close.



New Years Day gave us some good (if overlapping) television including Eddie Izzard's Treasure Island, a new episode of Sherlock and another AbFab. We only watched the first hour of the pirate yarn and then switched over to see Holmes and Watson -- and of course, Irene Adler. I wish I could say that Moffat & Co did her proud; for the greater part they did, but then by the end... sigh. Why do so many people have such a hard time seeing women as people, not just "not men"? If you haven't seen the "magic womb" Xmas episode of Doctor Who you might not find it as irksome. Then again you might. AbFab was amusing and gave Jane Horrocks a chance to show off her uncanny singing abilities. Edina's outfits were eye-searingly painful.



Bank holiday today: not sure what might be open. Sun's out at the moment. We're thinking of going to the islands tomorrow. More adventures! 

Connemara

Are you ready for Hogmanay? I understand you need a torch, some coal and a bottle of whisky (no 'e'!). I think Miss Wendy and I may just have a nice dinner out. We had a lovely trip through Connemara yesterday. Here are some lovely photos to show it. Cool and misty, but the landscape was so gorgeous.






 
 
 
 
 
 
 




See the whole Ireland album here. Happy New Year! By the by, if you feel so inclined to vote for my story It's a Curse as one of the best horror shorts of 2011, please do! And guess what's on Kindle now (thanks to Brad!)







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Dublin & Miss Wendy

I tried to post from the phone and kept getting errors. I am getting the photos up online so you can see the fun we had :-)

Boxing Day v St Stephen's Day

I'm packed and ready for the next journey -- meeting Miss Wendy in Dublin which ought to be a lot of fun, but makes it no less difficult to leave Dundee. A bus to Edinburgh Airport then a flight to Dublin and one more bus into the city centre. Hopefully Miss Wendy is having a chance to sleep off her jet lag as she should be there already. I leave the UK where it's Boxing Day and arrive in Ireland where it's St Stephen's Day. Will I feel the difference?



I'm over at the New England Horror Writers blog today with a little information on Dundee's Howff: drop by and enjoy!




A Writer Discovers the Famous Dundee Cemetery

by Kate Laity


The Dundee Dragon (picture by Kate Laity)




I have a lot of New England friends who enjoy exploring the
graveyards of the northeast and probing the histories behind them, so
it's a treat to be able to visit an even older cemetery here in Dundee
where I am spending Christmas. Of course the big holiday in Scotland is Hogmanay, but I have to be back in Ireland this year, so I'm going to miss it. Dundee also has a famous dragon as well, though it's best known for the three Js: jute, jam and journalism.
The jute mills once employed much of the population, until jute
production was outsourced to India in the 1920s. Orange marmalade
continues to be a staple of British tables. And Dundee remains the home
of DC Thomson, creator of The Beano, The Dandy and The Sunday Post... [read the rest]



Did you get a Kindle or some other reading device for your holidays? Need something to read on it? I have some suggestions :-)

Friday's Forgotten Books: Riddley Walker

Russell Hoban was a singular writer; when asked what kind of a writing I do, I have generally offered up Hoban as the "genre" in which I write. Sadly, his name didn't always resonate with people -- and that includes NY Times obit writers; though most memorials mentioned Riddley Walker, too many seemed to be speaking of his masterpiece second hand. While many of Hoban's works deserve the accolade of 'masterpiece' this is the one that resonated most deeply for me. I read Riddley first in high school around the time I also read A Clockwork Orange: these books cemented my love of languages in a fictional context, though when I re-read Riddley as an adult, it was as if I had never read it before. Becoming a medievalist brought a further level of amazement, and visiting Canterbury Cathedral to see the St. Eustace painting was the ultimate pilgrimage for me.



Along with the art of "being friends with your head" Hoban's books taught me to trust in my muse and just write the stories I had to tell and trust that somewhere out there might be readers who would find resonance with them (and that they wouldn't do so if I didn't write them). Fans of Hoban might not be as numerous as those of more popular writers, but my experiences with the Kraken show me they are extraordinary and devoted.



My obsessions with storytelling and ritual feature here. The essay originally appeared in Puppetry International back in 2006, one of the first academic essays of mine to appear in a  non-academic publication that I nonetheless listed on my CV. At the time it seemed a bit radical (is it peer reviewed?!) however since then  I have continued my slide into publishing with abandon wherever my words might be of interest. No regrets there. I suppose I could blame tenure, but I only got that last year, so I suppose it's just my lax attitude. (>_<) I recommend picking up the issue of PI  if you have any interest in puppetry: fascinating publication. I think there's more I have to write about puppets, even more about Punch, but things leak out of my brain at their own pace.



Here's the opening: I've put the rest up on Scribd (restoring my original title which I prefer). Be sure to see Todd's round-up of this week's Forgotten Books (Pattii's taking a break for the holidays).







Future
Medieval Space: Performing "Punch" in Riddley
Walker






Although
he sets his novel Riddley Walker
(published in 1980) in a post-apocalyptic future, Russell Hoban makes
use of the medieval world to mark this future as a site of the
"primitive." For this stunted society, the most apparent aspect
of the Middle Ages is the explicitly medieval legend and wall
painting of St. Eustace, which still exists faintly on the wall of
Canterbury Cathedral. Perhaps more important is his appropriation of
the medieval mystery plays, which illuminate bibilical narratives and
are traditionally performed on mobile wagons. As performed in
Riddley Walker,
the "Eusa Show" (a garbled version of the St. Eustace story)
takes on many of the mystery plays' aspects, transmitting the
truths of the culture and entertaining people with education. This
modified Punch and Judy show conveys the only narrative that remains
after the apocalyptic devastation of
English society. The ritual of the puppet show picks up the
religious meaning of the mystery plays, but it also takes on a social
and governmental function that medieval dramas typically lacked.
Just as various dissenters from Lollards to Pelagians threatened the
orthodoxy of Christianity in the middle ages, the young protagonist's
discovery of a real Punch puppet sets off a chain of events that
destroys the carefully scripted Eusa show. Hoban's use of Punch
history gives this superb novel its authority, while the familiar art
of puppetry provides a vivid connection to this bizarre future world
for the modern reader...

BitchBuzz: Making Small Talk

The light begins its return today: a relief. It was beginning to seem like the sun had gone down before I'd properly gotten up. Then again, that could be due to my lazy schedule. I am getting some good relaxing in :-) and a bit of writing, too, as well as watching Allan battle angry penguins in cars (o_O).



It's Short Story Day, I hear. May I suggest my collection Unikirja ? Or if you like something more gruesome how about It's a Curse: Drunk on the Moon 7 . Guaranteed quality!



My column today may seem a tad ironic: who's less qualified than me to talk about conversational skills? Ah, but those who can't do, teach or so I'm told. Better than I used to be.






Dos and Don'ts for Holiday Small Talk

By K.A. Laity







Holidays bring the often trying task of making small talk
with people you do not really know, whether they are co-workers in
distant cubicles, business acquaintances you've never really had a
chance to develop a rapport with or relatives you can't actually recall
having met before, or at least not since the age of three. While Oscar
Wilde maintained that, "Conversation about the weather is the last
refuge of the unimaginative," I say any port in a storm when faced with
days of chit chat with unfamiliar people.




As a person accustomed
to spending the better part of her time alone, I find it taxing to make
conversation. Like most introverts, I am stressed by time spent in
groups.




While I have been able to develop extrovert abilities for
my professional life, the fact remains that I am not a good
conversationalist except with a few intimate friends (or online -- the
internet is a great gift to introverts). But it can be possible to make
small talk without falling into Eliza Doolittle perils...


Read the useful tips over at BBHQ. I guess penguins are the theme of the day :-) Yes, I was pleased to work in that scene from My Fair Lady as well as The Testing of Eric Olthwaite. Black pudding at the ready!

Glorious Yule

Hello from the swirling mists of the haar. Tonight is the longest night; by the early hours of the morning the light will begin its return. May the return of the light bring you new hope and inspiration. Spring will come again. These long nights provide a great focus for contemplative work and transformation, a crysalis of dark shadows. What will burst forth from yours come the sun?