Lovetot in the way

Sheffield's iconic Castle Market is to be demolished to make way for a park. It shouldn't bother me, I live in New Zealand now, not South Yorkshire, England, and yet I feel a pang of nostalgia for the old familiar things. I bought my satchel there, on a shopping trip with my great aunt May.

I've always felt my satchel to be something of a lucky charm, despite the frequency with which the stitching has come undone, and last year I was proved right when a story it featured in won Short Fiction's Seventh Annual Competition, having been illustrated beautifully by Jo Davies.

 Jo Davies' illustration of my satchel for Short Fiction #7. 

Jo had not seen a picture of my satchel but drew her interpretation from the description in my story, "While Women Rage in Winter", and generously gave me the resulting art work, for which I'm more grateful than she could possibly know.

The Satchel of Castle Lovetot                     

What made you outlast all others, baby?

The tapestry and canvas were just fad.

But you I used and often pushed aside

because you had a broken buckle,

you snagged a hole in my cardigan,

and you had a habit,

when I ran, of flapping like a cancan,

losing things, yet still I clung to you.

Five pounds you cost in ’86.

The stall in Castle Market was hung

like a camel in a caravan

with dozens like you, but my heart

was set on you because I loved

the way your skin felt against my knuckles.

Old enough to appreciate you now,

I caress you. Daily, let you ride my hips.

There's a great history of Sheffield, including the lovely named origins of Castle Market, in Carl Lee's Home; A Personal Geography. 

Fun thing: part two

Having found our bearings, Fox and I ventured inland to explore the beautiful city that is Dundee.

 Who's the man leading the kids through the centre of town? Could it be the Bash Street Flasher?

It's only Desperate Dan marching past Caird Hall. Still, best to remain at the rear, just in case.

Then it was time for morning tea and lemon drizzle muffin at the Folk Cafe, thanks to Fox, followed by a snout through the second hand stores - oh, the delightful smell of fusty books! - before lunch, also courtesy of Fox, who also brought me shortbread and generally kept me well fed and in fine company until I went to hear Kevin Barry read.

Barry is a consummate performer and he read with great flair as I nervously sketched him because I was too shy to take a photograph and risk my camera making inappropriate noises. Imagine being the cause of Kevin Barry's embarrassment. Actually, you needn't imagine; let me describe it for you.

Here is Barry, dutifully and effectionately signing copies of his books - yes, plural, the man has multiples of proofs of his talents.

You wait in line only to realise you haven't your copy of his short story collection on you then dash to buy one and return, queueing long enough to appreciate the logo on the tablecloth. He seems affable, gregarious, though a tad more shy than when he was reading to a packed room. Strange, you think, there's only you left in the queue. Then what do you do? 

Do you ask him about depictions of patriarchy in his fictions and if he consciously and deliberately champions flawed women via the narrative voices of men who at first seem bent on scorning them? No. 

You rip a sketch from your day book and stuff it at his face, muttering something like:

"This is you."

And you don't win the Dundee International Book Prize, but you've got the biggest smile on your face at the gala dinner....

Perhaps I was smiling because Amy Mason was lovely, or because Stuart Kelly and Cargo Publishing said wonderful things about my novel and my reading, perhaps it was because one of my readings was broadcast on BBC Radio Scotland, or perhaps I was smiling because I had the honour of Jenny Brown's company at the dinner table.

....which is probably a good point to shut your trap.

But just before I do shut up, I'd like to thank Literary Dundee and the NZ Book Council once more for making my trip to the Dundee Literary Festival possible. I'd also like to thank everyone I met at teh gala dinner for your hospitality and warmth, and for al the encouraging and lovely things you each said about my novel. Thank you.

Fun thing: part one

My sincere thanks to the New Zealand Book Council for awarding me an International Travel grant and funding my flights to and from the UK to attend the Dundee International Book Prize gala dinner and Dundee Literary Festival. Thanks, too, to Literary Dundee for funding my accommodation at the Apex City Quay Hotel & Spa. I am grateful for your generosity, my trip would not have been possible without your assistance. 

And what a trip!


The Courier headline on the morning of the Dundee International Book Prize gala dinner:

I promptly took my person to the Street of the alleged incident.

Perhaps the alleged flasher misread the To Let sign for ToiLet.

It was in this state of naivety and openness to learning that I experienced Dundee.

On one's first visit to Dundee, one must have a room with a view, and this was mine:

from the Apex City Quay Hotel and Spa. And look right, a lighthouse on a boat. It would be easier to see if its light were on. The sun hadn't quite got its act togeether by 9.30 am, jet lagged, obviously.

But by mid norning it was a glorious day in Dundee, and how better to see the city's sights than in the company of local writer and blogger Rachel Fox, affectionately known online by moi since 2009 as T'other Rachel.

 Fancy, travelling betwixt antipodes to discover the Discovery had done it first. 

The Discovery expedition to the Antarctic was led by Robert Falcon Scott, of course, whose name I filched for my nom de plume the year I was shortlisted for the Royal Society of New Zealand Manhire Prize.

The Discovery appeared to have brought back a few unregistered passengers:

I don't know how long the penguin's been staring at that compass, but I think someone ought to say it isn't working.

 

Are we nearly there yet?

Fore word

Before I ramble on about being the runner-up in the Dundee International Book Prize, please make do with a comic about such things and associated feelings.

Tim to go

Last week, I participated in the first part of the NZ Book Council's Graphic Novelist Exchange Residency in conjunction with the NZ Publishers Association and the Taipei Book fair, at which New Zealand is guest of honour in 2015.

I'll be posting from my journal about the experience, so won't go into too much detail just now as I'm about to head off to Dundee for the International Book Prize gala dinner and prize giving, but I'll leave you with a taster of the residency from Tim Gibson, who, along with Ant Sang, made up the NZ contingent of the residency at Vaughan Park and was invited to talk about it on National Radio.

Awe some

I've started to post mini-profiles of some of NZ's women comics creators, artists and cartoonists on the Three Words blog - Judy Darragh, Giselle Clarkson and Olga Krause so far - just tasters of their work to give a flavour of the anthology I'm working on - and I am having the best time finding out about these inspiring and frankly bloody awesome women!

Ire on he

Two men talking about three women, asking why the New Zealand comics scene is a "boys' club" for "competent boy comics"*, why only 13% of the comics creators featured in From Earth's End; the Best of New Zealand Comics are women, and why NZ's women cartoonists are angry; on NZ National Radio, Adrian Kinnaird in discussion with Bryan Crump about Three Words, the anthology of women's cartoons and comics I'm editing with Sarah Laing and Indira Neville.





*A term coined by Indira Neville.