I have a rule. This probably sounds evil, but after a traumatic experience a few years ago when a charity mugger chased me out of a train station and rammed me into a wall, I will not give money to people who ask me for it on the street. This goes for both charity muggers and homeless people. Before the charity mugger incident, I had a skinhead yell abuse at me for not buying his Big Issue. I was so scared, and came to the conclusion that it wasn’t safe to bring out my purse on the street in case the money-grabber turned aggressive on me. I must have that kind of face that makes people think I’m easy to intimidate.

The only time I break my rule is if I hear a good busker, or if I see a sweet old lady quietly holding a collecting tin, or if the Big Issue vendor is visibly non-threatening. Homeless young men, able-bodied and in prime health, do not get a cent out of me.

This was until yesterday. As I was pushing Kiko into the railway station, I saw a man in his twenties by the ticket machines. We passed him and I heard him ask a male commuter in a suit if he had any spare change for a train ticket. The commuter handed him a coin. I paid for my $4.60 fare with a $5 bill and since I had 40 cents left over, I decided to give this to the beggar on the way out of the ticket office. But as I was checking the display for my train platform, he approached me.

Man: Would you have a dollar or two to spare for a train ticket?

Me: does a double-take at “a dollar or two” but hands him the forty cents

Man: (visibly recoils, eyeing the two twenty-cent coins as if I’ve handed him a poo) Oh. (Extreme disparagement) Forty cents. Well, thank you very much.

I was so on the verge of whipping the coins out of his hand and saying: “Shite, then! You’re young! You’re able-bodied! You’re mentally-competent and wearing a smart anorak. Get off the drugs and go out and get a job!”

But I didn’t, and no doubt he put my measly forty cents towards meths and crack, or Jack Daniels and ice, or whatever your average alcoholic junkie is on nowadays.

I did have to wonder, though, he asked the well-dressed commuter, who could no doubt afford a few bob, for “spare change”, but asked me for “a dollar or two” and then gave me attitude. What is it about me? I’m always getting this. I must look like a soft touch.

Popularity: 1% [?]

I’ve talked about my favourite fantasy novel. I’ve listed my top ten science fiction films. But lately I’ve been pondering the question (especially when sat in front of the same page of redrafting for eight days solid) of which are the ten best science fiction books ever written.

Automatically I’m at a disadvantage because, even though I’m reasonably well-read in science fiction, I haven’t read everything and my tastes seem quite one-sided. I’m ashamed to admit that while I tore through almost every Arthur C. Clarke book as a teenager, I haven’t read a single thing by Isaac Asimov. There are also books that I remember not being able to put down - A Fire Upon The Deep by Venor Vinge for example - but now I can’t recall a single detail of the plot. Then there’s a book called Perseus something that I remember with crystal clarity (a man shifts sand around a spaceship cell in order to discover the meaning of life) but have no idea about the correct title or the author.

So I’ve decided to list books that had a big impact on me, and that fit a definition of science fiction as being about space, aliens and/or mad new technology, for example, time travel. I’ve also given myself the rule of having only one book per author on the list, to avoid it becoming an Arthur C. Clarke and John Wyndham bibliography… but as you can see, I have cheated… twice.

Helen’s Top Ten Science Fiction Books

1. Rendezvous With Rama by Arthur C. Clarke

Helen wins the prize for lack of originality. Surely this must be everyone’s favourite science fiction book? But Rendezvous With Rama made such a huge impression on me when I was fifteen. Science, suspense, amazing ideas. I held my breath, as I turned the pages, desperate to know who the creators of the spaceship, Rama, were.

2. The Time Machine by H. G. Wells

I read The Time Machine at age fifteen too, and remember being drawn in by the fast-paced plot and wild themes, then being astounded that it was written in 1895.

3. The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham

I like stories where the main character wakes up to find that their world has changed beyond recognition. Although perhaps finding a triffid in your back garden is a bit too much change in the wrong direction. John Wyndham is a writer I admire so much, and I could easily add The Chrysalids and The Midwich Cuckoos to this list. When I was in UK at Christmas, and looking around a bookshop, I overheard a group of friends talking about The Day of the Triffids and wondering who wrote it. Normally I’d be too embarrassed to say anything but I couldn’t resist turning round and saying: “John Wyndham!” I’m sure they must have thought: “Wow, that Mammy is a science fiction geek.”

4. The Player of Games by Iain M. Banks

Just sheer brilliance. I could build a monument to this book, which is about a brilliant yet bored games champion in a far-future society, who takes on the challenge of his life to play a game with an alien species. I especially like Iain Banks’ spaceship names. The Unfortunate Conflict of Evidence was my favourite one here.

5. Doomsday Book and To Say Nothing Of The Dog by Connie Willis

Yes, I’m cheating. I love both of these books equally. They both deal with the theme of time travel into history, but are written in completely different styles. I’m impressed by an author who can do this, and love the way she presents a mass of details yet retains the fast pace. What I like about Connie Willis novels is that every character has their own agenda.

6. Glasshouse and Accelerando by Charles Stross

And I’m cheating again. The fact I can’t choose between these novels might seem strange - when I’ve read reviews of Accelerando on Facebook and Amazon, quite a few people have said that Glasshouse, a novel about a future society’s experimental recreation of twentieth-century life, is much better. Accelerando is set in the same universe in an earlier era and deals with the technological tipping point when human society becomes super-advanced. Never have I read a book so slow to warm up. The title Accelerando is certainly fitting in that, until page 100 or so, the pace is like wading through concrete . Then the story takes off and turns into absolute genius. Don’t knock Accelerando! Both books, to my mind, are just as excellent in their own ways.

7. Martian Time-Slip by Philip K. Dick

I like the way Philip K. Dick deals with the theme of autism.

8. Altered Carbon by Richard Morgan

I congratulate Richard Morgan. Altered Carbon cured my pregnancy sickness. Nothing else worked except for Richard Morgan books. Amazing! The man ought to patent himself.

9. The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell

Jesuit priest in space in an asteroid! What I especially liked about this book is the idea of how a society would evolve if descended from intelligent species that are predator and prey.

10. Keeper of the Isis Light by Monica Hughes

This was my favourite science fiction book when I was in primary school. I borrowed it from the library and was so impressed that the story revolved around a girl and that the author was female and that “pretty” was turned on its head. Later I found a copy for ten pence in the library withdrawn bin and still have it somewhere, although unfortunately not to hand.

What are your favourite science fictions novels? Does anyone have a recommendation for me that I’ve missed from my list?

Popularity: 2% [?]

On TV, two Olympic synchronised divers jump from the high board in slow motion. Kiko watches them intently.

Kiko: (about to crack up laughing) Oh! Silly!

That was even before we saw the two-man kayaks.

Popularity: 5% [?]

I suppose enough time must have passed between when I finished The Sky Pharaohs and now, that I have been getting one or two comments from well-meaning people outside of publishing that I might want to think about giving up. The vibe I’m picking up is that they’re breaking it to me gently that I’m doomed to failure. That doesn’t really make a change, does it? I’m always getting remarks like this. The difference is that once this attitude would have depressed me but now I find I’m more baffled than discouraged by it. The way I’ve been viewing my writing, and goal of being published, is that there is no final chance ahead of me, no Game Over sign that will flash up when I cross some predetermined finish line. I write because that is me, not because I’ve set myself six months to become J. K. Rowling and embrace fortune and international stardom. Whatever the eventual outcome is, however many rejections I get, I will continue to write and I will continue to learn.

I was beginning to wonder if I was crazy, if there was something I ought to see in the world that I was missing, when I heard this song, “The End of Time”, by one of my favourite bands, Ugly Duckling. I first began listening to Ugly Duckling in Japan, 1999, when I was plotting out The Sky Pharaohs and Surviving Kelly Tracey. I loved the science fiction feel of some of their earlier songs, like “Get On This” and “Everything’s Alright”. Those lyrics form the backdrop to my early Sky Pharaohs drafts. I almost feel as though if I hadn’t been listening to this science-fictiony hip hop, The Sky Pharaohs would have turned out differently, or maybe would have fizzled out halfway through the initial draft. Their music filled me with energy.

When I first listened to “The End of Time” yesterday, I was taken back to Ugly Duckling’s earlier music. This song is a classic. They’ve returned to their roots and have come up with something even better. Spookily enough, it could be The Sky Pharaohs’ theme tune. Not only that, the message behind this song is exactly what I need to hear right now.

“Now go and take control of your soul and your sanity.”

The End Of Time by Ugly Duckling

We talk about time, does it exist?
Or is it just a word that I can dismiss?
There’s a clock on the wall and it won’t stop ticking…
I try not to listen,
But it dictates everything little thing I do,
From when I’m waking up,
Until my day is through.
And I’m always hearing that life doesn’t last long,
And we better get it all in before we pass on.
Some people say that we came from an explosion,
That the door is closing, we’re only decomposing,
Rotting like the body of a pharaoh in a lost tomb.
Is that the end, or is flesh and blood a costume?
Cause other folks say life lasts forever,
That we’re all lost sheep looking for the Shepherd.
Thus it’s the question of time or the infinite,
Who’s in control, and where do I fit into it?
Is it all chance like the odds in Vegas?
Or should we be on our knees praying God’ll save us?
I take the rock of ages,
We struggle to define
When time means nothing.
The end of time.

There’s a clock on the wall and it won’t stop ticking…

What if…
We were the only specie,
And we all evolved from the ocean and the deep sea?
Was it part of a plan to put a heart in a man?
And the capability to build a heart with his hands?
Are we drifting through space,
Untied like a shoelace?
Running a race with very few who place,
Hitting hyper-drive, hope we don’t collide,
Going like a stone,
Time is on my side.
Imagine a place with no clicks from a clock,
Nowhere to jump off,
No cliffs and no rocks,
Feel the pull of gravity,
A hole or a cavity,
Now go and take control of your soul and your sanity,
It’s easy to do,
Count to twenty by twos,
No need to book a flight, look left, look right,
You can see the showers from the meteorites,
No television screens and no media hype.
I’ll climb Orion’s belt and grab a hold of his kilt,
And if my grip starts to slip I can yell for help,
Or I can just let go.
Who’s with me? Let’s go!
You gotta close your eyes and follow the echo.

Popularity: 6% [?]

After a three-hour battle with Filezilla, I have uploaded two new planning grids for writers in the fiction section of my website.

*The following two links will take you straight to PDF files*

The first grid is a Monthly Progress Chart on which you can write your daily word counts for the month. The second is a grid for listing your Character Names from A to Z, to avoid peopling your novel with confusingly-named characters such as Rose, Ran, Ruby, Roger, Rina, Richie and Rebel as I, ahem, appear to have done in Surviving Kelly Tracey. (Sadly, inventing this grid doesn’t appear to have got rid of any of them apart from Richie, who obligingly became Quentin. The others. Will. Not. Die!)

If anyone would like the Word versions of these documents, please e-mail me or let me know via my contact page, and I’ll send them to you.

And now I’m off to bed!

Popularity: 8% [?]

I won’t go into a graphic account of my various trivial ailments, but let’s just say I’ve not been feeling too great, and have been having some difficulty pepping myself up. I don’t seem to wake up each day until about four in the afternoon, by which time I’ve already been up for more than nine hours somehow taking care of His Tiny Lordship. Today, at around four, when my brain processes finally kicked in, I cast my eye around this tip of a house and wished I could fall asleep and wake up and discover that Magic had sorted out the mess, cleaned the bathrooms and made the dinner. That made me remember a passage from one of my favourite children’s books, A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett.

Spoiler alert - if you haven’t read A Little Princess and want the story to remain a surprise, then please don’t read any further!

In A Little Princess, Sara Crewe, the only daughter of Captain Crewe, a wealthy widower, is sent to boarding school in England. During Sara’s time at Miss Minchin’s Seminary for Young Ladies, Captain Crewe dies bankrupt in India and Sara is forced into becoming a servant at the school. She has to live in a freezing attic and wear inadequate clothes and often has little to eat. Despite this, she remains close to her friends at the school and one night they creep into the attic and Sara makes them imagine that they’re eating a banquet in comfortable surroundings. Miss Minchin, however, catches them and tells Sara that she is allowed no breakfast, lunch or dinner the following day - even though Sara has already gone without food for twenty-four hours. Sara wakes up the next morning, expecting yet more pain and misery…

At first she did not open her eyes. She felt too sleepy and - curiously enough - too warm and comfortable. She was so warm and comfortable, indeed, that she did not believe she was really awake. She never was as warm and cosy as this except in some lovely vision.

“What a nice dream!” she murmured. “I feel quite warm. I - don’t - want - to - wake - up.”

Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightful bedclothes were heaped upon her. She could actually feel blankets, and when she put out her hand it touched something exactly like a satin-covered eider-down quilt. She must not awaken from this delight - she must be quite still and make it last.

But she could not - even though she kept her eyes closed tightly, she could not. Something was forcing her to awaken - something in the room. It was a sense of light, and a sound - the sound of a crackling, roaring little fire.

“Oh, I am awakening,” she said mournfully. “I can’t help it - I can’t.”

Her eyes opened in spite of herself. And then she actually smiled - for what she saw she had never seen in the attic before, and knew she never should see.

“Oh, I haven’t awakened,” she whispered, daring to rise on her elbow and look all about her. “I am dreaming yet.” She knew it must be a dream, for if she were awake such things could not - could not be.

Do you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back to earth? This is what she saw. In the grate there was a glowing, blazing fire; on the hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a thick, warm crimson rug; before the fire a folding-chair, unfolded, and with cushions on it; by the chair a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it spread small covered dishes, a cup, a saucer, a tea-pot; on the bed were new warm coverings and a satin-covered down quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe, a pair of quilted slippers, and some books. The room of her dream seemed quite changed into fairyland - and it was flooded with warm light, for a bright lamp stood on the table covered with a rosy shade.

She sat up, resting on her elbow, and her breathing came short and fast.

“It does not - melt away,” she panted. “Oh, I never had such a dream before.”

from A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett

What I liked best about this passage when I was a kid, was the wadded silk robe and the pair of quilted slippers. They reminded me of a dressing gown my mum made me for a school trip, which was quilted, probably not in real silk, but in a gorgeous greeny flowered material that felt like silk. I never got to show off this dressing gown because on the day of the school trip, I woke up with raging tonsilitis and couldn’t go! Since the school trip was to London and we were travelling all the way from Shetland, this was a major disappointment. I liked to think that Sara woke up to a version of my dressing gown, except in shades of red.

Reading this passage as an adult, I love the way that Frances Hodgson Burnett focuses on Sara’s feelings. She describes the scene but not before giving Sara’s response to the strange changes, through her sense of warmth and comfort, not just by what she sees with her eyes. I read some writing advice recently that if a scene sounds unrealistic, it’s often because the writer is describing objects first then reactions second. I have to keep reminding myself, in my own writing, to stay in the head of the character who is experiencing the events, and to feel her emotions.

A Little Princess had such a strong impact on me when I was little. It was a book I read again and again. Surviving Kelly Tracey, while different in plot, is a riches to rags story of a girl who has been brought up like a princess. I hope my writing can have half the power of that of Frances Hodgson Burnett.

Popularity: 11% [?]

Scene: Mammy and Kiko are out doing the food shopping, when Kiko spies a shop window full of lava lamps, plasma globes and novelty lighting and eagerly asks Mammy to stop so that he can have a closer look. He spots a pottery lamp in the shape of three rabid dogs with a mystical Native American behind them, apparently “driving the dogs on”. This delightful object is in shades of pastel, and if that wasn’t decoration enough, the paint is liberally sprinkled over with glitter. Even better, the “light” feature is that the dogs’ eyes are bulbs and flash through the shades of the spectrum, from red through to purple and white. Kiko bounces up and down in his pushchair he is so enthralled by the creation.

Kiko: (awestruck, handies drawn towards the window) Mammy! LOOK!

Mammy: (spies the price tag, $99.95, and cannot help but go into stitches laughing) Oh my goodness, that is the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen - and it’s a hundred bucks!

Kiko: (becoming stern) I need to hold it.

Mammy: The man in the shop wouldn’t like that, sweetums. It’s breakable.

Kiko: (mesmerised, continues to watch the dogs’ flashing eyes) Mammy, doggies need eye drops.

Mammy is laughing so much she can’t respond.

We spent so long admiring the rabid dogs that we didn’t get home until one! They must have had a strong impact on Kiko, because the next day, as I was getting him dressed, he remarked to me: “Mammy, doggies need eye drops, but they’re breakable.” Well, that was me told. Meanwhile, I’m wondering what his future home will look like. Souvenir plates with Elvis on them, and pictures of crying children?!

Popularity: 13% [?]

It’s time for another word list, and today I’m looking at weight loss foods that give you that sinking, dispirited feeling when you imagine them on a plate. I’m not listing these foods for real diet purposes. I personally believe that diets are evil, and I scorn the weight loss industry! Neither have I taken these foods from a particular eating plan, nor do I know the nutritional rationale behind them. Rather, what I want to do is to make a list of faddish, awful-sounding “healthy meals” to put at the disposal of a fictional character who is a weight-loss fanatic.

Saying that, I must say I do like most of the foods on this list, for example I’d love to have half a grapefruit for breakfast, only with a steaming bowl of porridge made with full-fat milk and a pile of toast slathered in butter. Yum.

Depressing Slimming Food

breakfast

bulgar wheat toast
egg white omelette
half a grapefruit
miso soup
unsweetened puffed rice

lunch

boiled lentils
skinless chicken
watercress soup

dinner

apple-tuna salad with cottage cheese dressing
grilled sole with grapes
mung bean stew
tofu and brown rice with lemon juice and ginger

fruit, vegetables and side dishes

alfalfa sprouts
blanched asparagus
cabbage with yoghurt dressing
crudites
grapes, no more than six
grated radish and daikon
okra
olives, no more than four
plain yoghurt with celery
raw sunflower seeds
spinach
sour green apples
walnuts, no more than six

desserts

skimmed milk blancmange
unsweetened brown rice pudding with rice milk
unsweetened carrot-bran muffins

drinks

soy milk
rice milk
water
green tea
herbal tea
wheatgrass juice
lemon juice in boiling water

Any ideas to add to this list will be gratefully received!

Popularity: 14% [?]

I found this meme on Lilian’s blog, and the surprise is that while the original is meant to have forty items, I have, like Lilian, only done thirty-seven because the remaining three were weird. This sort of meme reminds me of the grammar exercises I used to make for students when I was teaching English. I found them fun. I wonder if the students did?

1. My uncle once: gave me this cool bendy rubber three-headed dog toy that he brought back from Australia.
2. Never in my life: have I smoked a Montecristo cigar.
3. When I was five: I was pleased because my hair had grown long enough to do into plaits.
4. High School was: diabolical.
5. I will never forget: my Grandma.
6. I once met: Babes in Toyland.
7. There’s this girl I know who: is going to have a baby any day soon.
8. Once, at a bar: this guy smashed a bottle at my feet because I wouldn’t go out with him.
9. By noon, I’m usually: living in hope that Kiko will have a sleep so that I can get some writing done.
10. Last night: I felt sad, then watched Flight of the Conchords and laughed.
11. If I only had: believed in myself at age eleven.
12. Next time I go to church: I’ll no doubt get struck by a bolt of lightning.
13. What worries me most: is falling from a height, even when my feet are flat on the ground.
14. When I turn my head left, I see: a beige-painted wardrobe door.
15. When I turn my head right, I see: some letters Kiko’s Daddy has arranged on the floor in some no doubt meaningful sequence…
16. You know I’m lying when: my nostrils dilate.
17. What I miss most about the eighties: is living in Shetland.
18. If I was a character in Shakespeare, I’d be: Viola.
19. By this time next year: I will surely have taken over the world.
20. A better name for me would be: Captain Lou?
21. I have a hard time understanding: long division.
22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: appreciate the experience more.
23. You know I like you if: I tell you about my writing.
24. If I ever won an award, the first person I’d thank would be: my mum.
25. Take my advice, never: ignore your instincts when you’re pregnant or in labour.
26. My ideal breakfast is: McDonalds pancakes at the airport when I’m about to go somewhere exciting.
27. A song I love, but do not have is: 19 Long Time by Blak Twang.
28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest: you put on a coat.
29. Why won’t people: love one another. We’re all trapped in this world, man.
30. If you spend the night at my house: I will make you lots of cups of tea and serve cakes at regular intervals.
31. I’d stop my wedding for: Michael Dasgupta.
32. The world could do without: prejudice.
33. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: eat asparagus.
34. My favorite blonde is: Sindy.
35. Paper clips are more useful than: junk mail.
36. If I do anything well, it’s: explain English grammar.
37. And by the way: I need to get back to the redraft right now.

Popularity: 16% [?]

…the picture is so cool! Except instead of phone I’d be holding a hot facecloth to my ear. Ooh-ya!

Your Personality Cluster is Introverted Intuition

You are: Multilayered and complex Inspired and driven to achieve your goals A visionary with a complete life plan Intuitive enough to understand difficult problems, ideas, and people

I have to say, unfortunately, I am not very complex and I do wish I was a visionary - and while I have planned out my next five novels, I’ve yet to be struck by the complete life plan!

Popularity: 16% [?]