Aliya Whiteley's Blog, page 83
June 12, 2009
Gallivanting
I went into London today and had coffee with Alis Hawkins at the British Library, then met up with Neil to have fish and chips in a basement. Much fun was had. We talked about lots of writerly things, mainly to do with fear and unassumingness and whether we should try harder to be less wired and more hysterical. I mean less weird and more historical.
Anyway, Alis said to me - did I feel that there was a masterwork waiting in me to be written? The book I'm aiming for? It's a good question.
I perso
Anyway, Alis said to me - did I feel that there was a masterwork waiting in me to be written? The book I'm aiming for? It's a good question.
I perso
June 8, 2009
Veggie Books: Jude the Obscure
Early on in the book, Jude gets interested in the selfish and practical Arabella, who employs pigs in a lot of her flirting tactics. In this extract, the pigs have escaped, and she's instructed Jude to help her catch it:
He set himself to assist, and dodged this way and that over the potato rows and the cabbages. Every now and then they ran together, when he caught her for a moment and kissed her. The first pig was got back promptly; the second with some difficulty; the third, a long-legged creat
He set himself to assist, and dodged this way and that over the potato rows and the cabbages. Every now and then they ran together, when he caught her for a moment and kissed her. The first pig was got back promptly; the second with some difficulty; the third, a long-legged creat
June 5, 2009
Back with the madding crowd
This time last week I was returning from a big family holiday (there were thirteen of us, five under sevens) just along the way (a five minute jog) from the lovely thatched cottage Hardy grew up in. For a man who felt the need to pretend he was from grander stock than he actually was, I wouldn't have minded growing up in the lovely cottage surrounded by the beauty of rural Dorset. Besides, he only lived a twenty minute drive from Monkey World!
And today was a good day, as it was my littl'un's fir
And today was a good day, as it was my littl'un's fir
Help
What do you do when you've stared at and tweaked and worried away at your work in progress for so long that you can't see what the hell is wrong with it any more?
And don't say put it to one side.Buy Light Reading on Amazon[image error]
And don't say put it to one side.Buy Light Reading on Amazon[image error]
Straitjackets
The other night I watched a documentary about Metallica, in which the band suffered a few setbacks, such as having kids, admitting to drink problems, and generally getting older and not really wanting to party all the time. But they valiantly struggled on to produce an album with sufficient screaming, growling and lyrics that would only appeal to young people who imagine themselves to be disenfranchised by society yet pay out £12.99 for the album, £30 for the tee shirt, and £69.99 for the concer
June 2, 2009
Devon Strangeness #2
Ilfracombe has its very own Arts Festival.
Back when I was studying for my A levels, I had dreams of becoming an actress but no actual talent, so I usually became involved with the Festival in a helping capacity. This could involve watching that the loaned stereo didn't get nicked during a circus workshop (and being forced to attempt to juggle because the organiser said the way I was staring at the stereo was giving him the willies) or trying to give out directions over the noise of a thirteen pi
Back when I was studying for my A levels, I had dreams of becoming an actress but no actual talent, so I usually became involved with the Festival in a helping capacity. This could involve watching that the loaned stereo didn't get nicked during a circus workshop (and being forced to attempt to juggle because the organiser said the way I was staring at the stereo was giving him the willies) or trying to give out directions over the noise of a thirteen pi
May 27, 2009
I Should Have Said...
...Neil's on his hols this week. So you can stop worrying; I haven't bumped him off and hidden the body in some devious location like a landfill site or Lundy Island.
Honest.Buy Light Reading on Amazon[image error]
Honest.Buy Light Reading on Amazon[image error]
Please Identify This Herb
I was sent a packet of mixed herb seeds, and I grew them. The basil died, the coriander struggles on, and this little blighter thrives. But what the heck is it?Buy Light Reading on Amazon[image error]
May 26, 2009
Veggie Books: The Weight
'Ahhhh, those Greek myths. How sthuddenly they descthend upon the moorsth of Sthparta.'
No, not Jeanette Winterson, but me, in my first novella. I've always loved myths and legends and stories that don't quite add up any more because they've been told so many times by so many people for so many agendas.
Of course, Greek myths tend to be pretty big on fruit, so it came as no surprise to find apples in this retelling of the myth of Atlas.
In his garden, Atlas went to pick the three golden apples.
As h
No, not Jeanette Winterson, but me, in my first novella. I've always loved myths and legends and stories that don't quite add up any more because they've been told so many times by so many people for so many agendas.
Of course, Greek myths tend to be pretty big on fruit, so it came as no surprise to find apples in this retelling of the myth of Atlas.
In his garden, Atlas went to pick the three golden apples.
As h
May 24, 2009
Devon Strangeness #1
The weirdest things happen in my home town.
So I've decided to start relating the most unsettling stories to you. Gives me something to blog about. Here's number one. And no, it's not about Bob Marley.
I was walking home from school. I was eleven or twelve, I'm guessing, and it must have been October because it was getting dark at 3.30 and the view down the road to the grey sea was gloomy.
A man was standing on the pavement. He was wearing a bright red jumper - it looked as though someone had knit
So I've decided to start relating the most unsettling stories to you. Gives me something to blog about. Here's number one. And no, it's not about Bob Marley.
I was walking home from school. I was eleven or twelve, I'm guessing, and it must have been October because it was getting dark at 3.30 and the view down the road to the grey sea was gloomy.
A man was standing on the pavement. He was wearing a bright red jumper - it looked as though someone had knit
