The first Malaysian lit bloggers club (and other stuff)

I came to the first Malaysian lit bloggers' club (check out the wonderful poster design from Kenny Mah) to meet Yang May Ooi and other friends. I arrived late because I'd been stuck in the bank earlier, but just in time to hear Yang May Ooi wrap up with some words of wisdom. After that, Sharanya came on. I don't know much about poetry, but she sure writes beautiful and emotionally impactful prose.

After that, it was all networking and gleaning words of wisdom. Things I have learnt:

1. The UK publishing market - ah yes, they love Asian fiction. But they tend to pigeon-hole you. They want the exotic east. They want chinoiserie. They want the requisite English or semi-English guy caught in the middle of a war in a distant country. Write that well (see the 'Gift of Rain' by Tan Twan Eng) and you stand a good chance of being published in the UK.

2. Yang May Ooi's book 'The Flame Tree' has sold 10,000 copies worldwide to date. After H and D stopped reprinting it, she sought permission to publish it under her own imprint. She says "You can't make a living from writing, even if you're published in the UK." So she's gone back partially to do law.

This brings to mind John Grisham's first book, 'A Time to Kill', which only sold 5000 copies at first run. And Dan Brown's 'Digital Fortress,' which only had 10,000 copies in print at first go. And then 'The Firm' and 'Da Vinci Code' exploded. 'Digital Fortress' subsequently sold 10 million copies.

So hang in there, Yang May Ooi. It didn't happen for Dan until the 4th book!

You know what happens when a bunch of writers and editors get together? They talk shop and - wham! - ideas happen!

I was telling Sharon that after receiving 40 over entries for Dark City 2, when I gave feedback to the young, would-be writers on how to improve their stories, many of them were surprised. "No one ever told me!" "Oh, I didn't know I was doing this." "I didn't know we were not supposed to do this."

Sharon was very concerned over the quality of local writing. "We're not at that level yet," she says. When you pick up a UK book, you know it's gone through fire. It was picked against all that slush, and so it HAS to be good. When you pick up a Malaysian book, you're not sure if it's gone through that fire.

So the two ideas melded but the objective remains the same: TO RAISE MALAYSIAN WRITERS TO THE NEXT LEVEL, AND THEN THE NEXT.

What do we do about it?

ANSWER: We have a critic's/beta-reading circle. Aspiring writers can send their work to this circle, be critiqued and then set (hopefully) onto the right direction.

There are still so many common mistakes I find that writers make when they send their work in (having turned editor myself):

1. They send something that is not grammatically perfect
2. They fail to outline their plot, so it's all over the place
3. They fail to start at the most exciting part. (Only in Chapter 2 should the Back Story of how the character got there come in).
4. Their opening sentence fails to grip the reader.
5. They tell too much, not show. (Even the most experienced of writers are guilty of this, meaning we always need a fresh pair of eyes to look at our work.)
6. They meander, writing passages that have nothing to do with the story. They put in too many words and sentences, not realising that 'more is less.' And that you should tell the story in as few words and sentences as possible.
7. They pack overly complex sentences, thinking that as a writer, they are compelled to do this. (one sentence, Eric says, lasted an entire page!) They fail to understand that unless you ahve reached the level of a Faulkner or Fitzgerald, simple sentences work best.
8. They write out of their dept. They want to write about things they don't know that much about. The answer is research. For example, when you want to write about the Vatican, you'd best make sure you've either a) visited it, or b) researched it thoroughly in books.
9. They have characters throw tantrums and scream at each other all the time, not realising this is a no-no in fiction writing.
10. They are very cliched in their similes, comparisons or even building characters. A wife should not always be nagging. A boss should not always be snappy. A villain should not always laugh maniacally at the end of each threat.


There are many, many more.

And so, would you be interested in such a circle/cum writing class? There is one on the net, but it requires you to publish your work online. (Which might not be so acceptable to some publishing houses.) Because the only way to improve is to be critiqued. And be critiqued by someone who understands YOUR genre, who'd stack you against the best of the best. (And this can only happen in a CIRCLE, not with a single editor.)

Multi character story arcs

I must say I've gotten addicted to Heroes on StarWorld. The premise is simple - a selection of everyday people suddenly find they have superpowers. What do they do with them? Do they tell their best friend? Do they try to do good? Or are they more involved in using their newfound powers for their own gains?

As the series evolves, the heroes find they are not the people they started out as, and they are part of a greater evolutionary whole.

What makes Heroes so compelling is that you can see yourself or your friends in a bit of every character. You have:

1. characters who use their powers for personal gain - the funniest of them all, Hiro Nakamura from Tokyo, who speaks only Japanese (subtitled), teleports into a women's toilet and uses his time freezing abilities to cheat at casinos. But all the same, he genuinely cares about stopping
New York from Armageddon.

2. characters who are genuinely concerned about helping other people - the LA cop, Matt, starts off as a do-gooder. But his telepathy lands him into trouble instead. The other cops think he's the 
serial killer who has been removing people's skulls, otherwise how does he know so much 
about what's happening around him? Later on, he gets smarter, decides do-gooding is not all that it's cut out to be and uses his telepathy to help him understand his wife better (thus, personal gain.)

I like the way none of these characters are pigeon-holed into their niches.

So what can we learn from the multi-character arcs in Heroes?

1. Establish wonderful, identifiable characters, all with good points and flaws of their own. You reader must be able to identify with them - the worried mother (who happens to be a stripper), the cheerleader who just wants to be normal and to find her real parents, the druggie painter who chooses to do something about the future, the good-hearted hospice nurse and his sleazy politician brother etc.

None of them are larger than life a.k.a Batman.

2. Don't reveal too much about the backstory of each character from the onset. Part of the suspense for the viewer is discovering them. Heroes has an episode titled '6 months ago' where much of the backstories are explained. It only comes on after Episode 10!

3. There must be a central unifying character with all these other characters. In Heroes, this is the dishy Indian professor from Calcutta, Mohinder Suresh, who flies to New York to uncover the secrets behind his father's life and death. 
He introduces us all to the concepts and characters of Heroes so we're never lost.

4. After the 2nd episode (or chapter), your characters all have established themselves and you 
can fly them off on their own story arcs without worrying that the audience will be lost. Hey, this works too for the Amazing Race!

5. There must be one major overlying story arc for all the characters to work to. In Heroes, it is New York going into Armageddon on Nov 18th, 1 month after the story starts.

There is so much we can learn from hit TV series.

How would you establish your book with multi character arcs?

Are author appearances useful for marketing your book?

I'm still divided about this really. You see, the most useful marketing tools I have found in 
marketing my book are:

1. Bookstore display - you've got to get your books out there at shelf eye level.

2. Cover art and review snippets - goes without saying.

3. Newspaper exposure - not even magazines have the impact of a Star newspaper article.

I have never really sold very much from author appearances, such as from book talks or other gatherings. Lydia will blog about her book talks later (and oh, she's appearing today in MPH MidValley at 3 pm, so be there if you can).

Your friends turn up to support you, and they already have your book. (Or else they buy some more copies to support you, and then you feel pai seh.) But you don't really attract the bookstore crowd unless you're telling them about how to read face feng shui or Sudoku or if you're a famous children's writer. And even if you do attract a crowd, it's not guaranteed they buy.

Meanwhile, you end up spending more than you get. Don't forget, you have to drive to the shopping mall (petrol money $$), pay for parking, probably buy a few trinkets to give away. And you're doing this all to just earn 10% of the very few books you sold.

You can argue that the bookstore will give you more visible display for that day and order a whole lot more of your books. This is true, but then it comes down to DISPLAY again, and not your actual author appearance.

I don't know. I'm still terribly divided about this.

On the other hand, I have received over 25 entries already for Dark City 2. I'm taking some of them after fine tuning. Closing date is Feb 28th. Please keep them coming.
  

Lessons from Sidney Sheldon

There's a lot one can learn from the late Sidney Sheldon.

Study his earlier works: Master of the Game, If Tomorrow Comes, The other side of Midnight. He keeps the pages turning with action, plot and compelling characters. And most importantly, he leaves a cliffhanger at the end of every chapter to keep the reader burning the midnight oil. And even though some of his scenarios are not so credible, they are still astounding with sheer vivacity and page-turning 'now why didn't I see that coming?' flow.

This man, after all, inspired Dan Brown to become a novelist!

But if you are a writer, there's one thing you should focus on if you're 'studying' Sheldon. The BACKSTORY.

Sheldon is the master of the backstory. Each of his characters have a compelling and utterly interesting backstory of how he or she got to be that way. Sheldon is the master of 'show' , not tell. He expands interesting parts, shrinks and fastforwards the rest and focuses on life defining events in each of his backstories.

Most of us have trouble writing the backstory. We end up with too much tell, not show. Not Sheldon. Take a leaf from him.

Star article rant on my reviews

I wrote this for Star newspaper today about how I feel on being the receiving end for reviews:

http://www.thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2007/1/27/lifefocus/16562115&sec=lifefocus


On the receiving end
Pop quiz: You’re a first-time book writer and you get a slew of reviews. How do you separate the brickbats from the bouquets?

Nothing in my 12 years of writing newspaper and magazine columns and receiving numerous Letters to the Editor (some of praise, some downright scathing) prepared me for my first book review.

You see, I’ve reviewed books before. And I never thought much of the act itself: “Like it”. “Hate it”. “Jeffrey Archer has lost his touch.” “Stephen King is getting more verbose than Tolstoy.”

But what happens when you are on the receiving end?

It takes an incredible effort to write a book. You spend months on it, years even, toiling over every word, fussing, rephrasing. You want people to like your book, or at least to find something to like about it. And then you find out this is not grade school. You don’t get an “A” for effort. In the real world, book reviewers are as brutal as . . . well, you.

Nowadays, before any book is published, most established writers get what they call “endorsements” from their writer friends. You’ve seen them, even on foreign paperbacks.

“I couldn’t put it down!” Dan Brown screams from the front cover of a new writer’s tome.

But it was my first book. I didn’t have any writer friends then. If I wanted those little blurbs for my back cover, I’d have to do it the hard way – getting the book reviewed by every trade paper and magazine.

“You’re very brave,” one of my writer friends said with a shudder. Most Malaysian writers do interviews to drum up publicity for their book; no reviews “because most of our press has a reputation for tearing Malaysian writers apart.” Yes, even Tash Aw. Especially Tash Aw. No offence meant; really, they tear foreign writers apart too.

But I was a pseudonym. I refused photo shoots. No photo shoot, the press declared, no interview.

She likes it, she likes it not

I couldn’t sleep the night before my first review. I tossed and turned, wondering: “Will she like it? What if she doesn’t like it?” And when morning came, I rushed out to the petrol station to get my free newspaper copy.

“What, you don’t have it here?” I lambasted my way to the next petrol station, wheels screeching like sound effects from The Fast and Furious. “What? Not here, either?”

Finally, I managed to grab a copy and devoured every word.
“Ah, she liked it.”
And then, re-reading it: “Gee, I wish she had liked it more.”

You see, you always wish they’d liked it more. In fact, it’s every writer’s dream they should like it “ecstatically”, with accolades like “I was on the edge of my seat, I couldn’t put it down”. Or, “Hail the new Dan Brown”.  (Dan Brown, by the way, gets the most awful reviews from the high-brow press. Not that he cares.)

So far, in the six months since I’ve launched Dark City, I’ve had reviews ranging from the most excellent:

“The author . . . is a master storyteller, with a fine insight into the human condition. This is one of the best fiction books to come out of Asia in 2006.” – www.malaysiaoasis.com

“Why you should read this book: It’s really good, that’s why. Xeus has tapped into urban paranoia and everyday life in KL to produce situations that will leave you uneasy, yet are not too fantastic to be brushed aside as merely unrealistic.” – The Malay Mail

. . . to the “I liked most of it” variety:

“Overall, a good read. Some stories telegraph their ending but remain entertaining. Everything is familiar, yet not so. This is the KL you fear to imagine.” – The Sun

“Even though some of the characters are not so believable, Dark City is a fun read with plenty of thrills to keep you engaged.” – Galaxie

. . . to the downright scathing:

“Dark City was not quite the promised and in turn expected “howl”; in fact, it registered just a notch north of whimper. – The Star (Bookshelf)

Tomato-meter

You sail gaily with the bouquets. You are crushed by the criticisms, so crushed – in fact – you rant for days to anyone who will listen. There’s this insistent voice in you: “Why didn’t I please everyone? Why didn’t I please that critic . . . the one who mattered?”

Once upon a time, that critic was me. And I know exactly how I felt then about a book – nothing personal. It’s just my opinion about something.

“Look at it this way,” consoles my friend, “you can’t please everyone all of the time. Think of it as your personal Rotten Tomatoes (www.rottentomatoes.com). Out of 11 reviews, you’ve got nine positive (juicy red tomatoes), one on the fence and one definitely rotten tomato.

“That would’ve been 82% on your personal Tomato-meter. A heck of a lot better than most movies.”

And of course, that – like all critical reviews and even this article – is just someone’s opinion in a sea of opinions.

o Xeus welcomes short story contributions from would-be critics to the Dark City sequel. For more details, visit http://www.darkcityxeus.blogspot.com

 

MPH Writer's Circle yesterday

The audience for the writer's circle is shrinking. There were a lot more people at the
last one I attended, many months ago. Now, there are barely more then a dozen. What's
happening? Most people who were there, like me and my husband, were supporting the speakers.

A great pity too, because yesterday's topic "Blogging for Writers" was particularly interesting. David Byke, who brought his family along for support, did a great job moderating the panelists: Sharon Bakar, Nizam Zakaria and Lydia Teh. I was hoping to see Ted too, but he wasn't around.

Anywhow, these are the take away points from the forum:

1. If you're a writer, it makes sense to blog.

2. Your blog can be a forum for you to
a) create publicity for yourself and your book
b) get in touch with your readers
c) solicit comments for yout stories, titles etc
d) run competitions
e) solicit editors and publishers who might be interested in your work. Sharon Bakar got her Star column that way. And apparently, a lot of writers were 'discovered' that way
f) network with other writers who might later collaborate with you. E.g: I met Tunku Halim, Jennifer Tai and a host of others this way.

Other things I have learnt which are supremely interesting to me:
1) Malay girls who wear 'tudung' form the bulk of Malay readers
2) Malay boys don't read as much!
3) The Malay demographic is still largely undiscovered. We know romances sell well, but o9ther genres have not been tried and tested.
4) A lot of people on My Space are Malay girls who wear tudung.
5) They can pay as much as RM 45,000 for a Malay telenovella script, which apparently can take only 2 weeks to write!

It was great to meet Tunku Halim again, though he had to rush off. I asked him if he managed to talk to my agent Jerry, and he did.

After that, Lydia, Eric, my husband and I went off for lunch at the very place Eric and I had dinner last week. I think Eric is stuffed to the gills with Shanghainese food! We talked about future projects and stuff, including some with my husband, and checked out Lydia's life sized standee, now greeting visitors to MPH at the entrance.

Pretty cool afternoon.

Editors and editing

My publisher was complaining to me about an editor he had engaged the other day.
He says, "_________ doesn't really do full editing. He/she just makes some remarks on
the side of the page. That isn't good enough. What about all the grammatical mistakes?"

And you know, he's right. There are many layers of editing:
1. Conceptual editing - where the editor comments on the story, the flow, the relevance of
certain segments and characters etc

2. Grammatical editing

Both are extremely important.

I'm more of a conceptual editor than grammatical one. That's why I still need the publisher
to hire one who can correct grammatical and typesetting mistakes.

A friend of mine was commenting on how one of the writers in Malaysia (with an ego to boot)
was criticising his editor. "If (the editor) was a good enough editor, he/she would have
caught this, and then I wouldn't have to rewrite the whole segment."

I think that's extremely unfair of the writer. Editing, like writing and reading, is a matter of taste.

Then again, I have heard stories of some editors who won't go the mile. And yet they will charge you for going the mile!

Any experiences, either personal or through your friends?

My first royalty check!

Just got my first royalty check today! So exciting. I know what Yvonne Lee meant now
when she
said "It's an immensely satisfying feeling, more satisfying than anything you've ever earned 
in your whole life, even though it's not much."
  
Know what I'm going to do with it?

After deducting my agent's fee and the part of my medical bills not covered by insurance (transportation, flights etc), I'm going to donate to charity. I have already identified 2 causes, 1 for AWAM, because that's a cause hardly anyone wants to donate to,  and 1 for a friend who has been so brave and has struggled so much with medical bills.

I just feel I have been so blessed with so much, that I never knew what I had until it's been taken away (a.k.a being paralysed temporarily.) So I'm going to help others less fortunate
than I am.

Malaysia Oasis review and Blogger's Breakfast Club correction

Sorry everyone, I made a mistake. The MPH Bloggers Breakfast Club's first meeting will be held on Jan 27th from 11am-12.30pm at the new MPH outlet at Bangsar Village Phase II, 11am-12.30pm, and will feature Yang-May Ooi and Sharanya Manivaran, two successful bloggers-cum-writers.

I cut and pasted the message straight from the email I got from MPH without checking the website. Thanks everyone - Lydia and Anon - who pointed it out.

Anyway, after the WORST REVIEW I EVER GOT (see Star review below), I received a really nice one - yet to be put up - on www.malaysiaoasis.com . This is an extension of the Thai Oasis website I blogged about earlier, only they haven't put up their Malaysian fiction section yet.

This will be what they will put up:


Dark City: Psychotic and other Twisted Malaysian Tales (2006, ISBN 983-3526-25-X) is an apt description of the exceptional fiction of Xeus, the pen name of an MD who has been writing in Malaysia for over ten years. While unmistakably Malaysian in setting, the author draws on tortured minds common to all cultures. “The Scarlet Woman” is a funny, bittersweet, and ultimately Oedipal coming-of age story. Even more disturbing is “The Maid”, only superficially about low-paid immigrant workers. “Monster” involves a spoiled, badly behaved child who receives comeuppance that can only have been described by someone who’s spent some time dwelling on such children. The author, who chooses to remain anonymous for professional reasons, is a master storyteller, with a fine insight into the human condition. This is one of the best fiction books to come out of Asia in 2006. To discover more, visit Xeus’ blog at: www.darkcity-xeus.blogspot.com

Geoff Alexander, CEO
Oasis Media, LLC


And Eric Forbes was really adamant about liking my writing. I kept prodding him, studying his facial features and asking "Are you sure, Eric? I'm pretty low-brow for what you usually read and like. " But he remained stolidly gracious (what a sweetie) and gave me this blurb to put into my 3rd printing edition.

"Who says the short story is dead? Xeus has concocted a rich broth of a collection in Dark City. These stories are the stuff of everyday life, all written in her inimitable style and with a clarity that is both visual and visceral at the same time. She exposes the murkiness that lurks beneath life's apparent ordinariness."

Eric Forbes, Editor, MPH Publishing



 

Not dark enough, hmmmm, and other updates

My publisher just called to say he has to run an urgent 2nd printing to supply the National Library, and unfortunately, he has to use back the old cover, without all the review and endorsement snippets I want to put in. I asked him if he could wait...but apparently not. He has supply within the week, and making new films would take at least 2 more weeks.

So we agreed to limit it to the minimum print run - 1000 copies.

You see, I really HAVE to change the cover and the blurbs, to avoid not meeting expectations like these:

This came out in the Star today. Took me totally by surprise because it's so late.

http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2007/1/5/lifebookshelf/16473420&sec=lifebookshelf


Not dark enough

Dark City
Author: Xeus
Publisher: Midnight Press, 353 pages
Reviewer: Anu Nathan

I PROCRASTINATED ... hugely, with this book. My only excuse is that I was given the book during the month of the hungry ghost and due to the heavy diet of scary movies, Dark City was left to languish a lot longer than I had expected on the shelf.

Then one day, it dropped from the bookshelf onto my foot, reminding me of its existence. This, I thought, was spooky enough to get me to turn the pages. (If this were a movie, here is where the howling wind sound effects would be played to great effect).

Tagged as “12 psychotic and twisted Malaysian tales”, Dark City promised more by saying, “expect only the unexpected.” The back cover meanwhile screamed, “Tightly plotted with sophisticated savagery, this is a homicidal descent into a labyrinth of bizarre dimensions.” After this quite over-the-top introduction, it was with some trepidation that I flipped the page, only to ... yawn ... because Dark City doesn’t quite live up to these lofty guarantees.

The twisted here didn't necessarily mean warped. In some cases, it was merely an ending with a twist but to those of us (in this case me), weaned on a diet of Edgar Alan Poe and Roald Dahl (his short stories are the epitome of twisted tales, plus September was Dahl month which meant I had been re-reading a lot of his stuff), Dark City was not quite the promised and in turn expected “howl”; in fact it registered just a notch north of “whimper.”

Xeus is an adept writer, weaving the darker elements of society, serial killers, the dangers of a woman walking alone at night, to greed, lust and their five accompanying sins with great effect to tell her “tall tales.” Unfortunately, it didn’t thrill me that I could guess the endings to some of them, in particular the one about the dog and that of the crippled beggar boy. These seemed the likely two that the author had alluded to in her introduction as the ones based on urban legends. I was also peeved by spelling errors (what on earth is “nice dugs” in reference to a woman with ample mounds) and verbose text.

Still, the author deserves credit for trying to tackle a particularly difficult genre, because it is not always easy to work a credible twist into a story, especially in this era where we are inundated with first class movies like Sixth Sense and a mountain of excellent literature in this popular genre. Plus, Xeus gets an extra bonus for publishing her collection, which is in itself a brave act.

I may have not bonded with all of the stories in Dark City, but I did have my personal favourites and these are “Psychotic” – never mess with a lady with a big bag, “One if by Land” where a prisoner finds that his sure-fire way out of jail only leads to another sort of internment, and even though I knew how it would end, “Coup of the Century”. Now, you’ll just have to get the book to see if you agree with me.





Hmmm, I can still take some quotable quotes from this, but there really is such a term as 'dugs', just in case anyone out there doesn't know. It's a vulgar term for breasts. And there are NO spelling mistakes whatsoever, that I can ascertain. (Typesetting mistakes, yes, but not many.) Right, my esteemed editor?

Then again, you see how important the cover and blurb is to manage expectations? That's why I really got to get that 3rd print run sorted out. If there ever will be a 3rd print run after this review.


On to other news:

1. MPH really is going for the Bloggers' Breakfast Club.

This is what I got from them:

The Bloggers Breakfast Club is a support group for book bloggers. Each session is held every fourth Saturday of each month from 11am-12.30pm at our new MPH outlet at Bangsar Village Phase II. This meet will be an informal session where book bloggers can get together and discuss latest happenings in the book world. The first meet is scheduled on 27th Feb, 11am-12.30pm, and will feature Yang-May Ooi and Sharanya Manivaran, two successful bloggers-cum-writers.

So, go for it guys!

2. Malay translators needed!! Since my 2nd Malay translator fell through, I've phoned in a few Malay friends to help with the DC Malay translation. And apparently, my publisher is also looking for one for his other books. Anyone interested? It's quite good pay, so I'm told, especially if you're looking for a little sideline.

Honk! is a success!

Went to 1 Utama yesterday, and Lydia's book had already sold 20 copies within its 1st week! 
That's 4 more than I did during my first week. Honk! is on its way to becoming an superbestseller!!

Congrats Lydia! I'm so proud to be associated with your book. My blurb for it would have been:
"Lydia writes with satirical wit and humour on situations that are clearly recognisable to any Malaysian, or indeed, any family. Particularly poignant and hilarious are her family scenes."

Anyhow, head over to Lydia's blog because she's running this contest http://lydiateh.wordpress.com/

1. If you have read Honk! If You’re Malaysian, say a few nice words on your blog. If they’re not so nice, please make them constructive. If you don’t have a blog, post your mini-review in hercomment box.

OR

2. Just spread word of this contest and provide a link back to this post.

Prizes galore at her blog!

Closing Date

Friday, 19 January 2007. Winner announcement will be made within a week of closing date.

So what are you waiting for? Head on over. 

How mature do you have to be before you write?

Note I said mature, not old! There are very precocious little kids out there, and very old
people who have the mentality of a 2 year old.

I'm referring to Eragon, which is loudly panned by most critics for its atrocious acting and
yes, plotline. Folks on the Internet everywhere are calling it juvenile. And to quote someone
from Ain't it Cool News: "The trouble is the author was only 15 years old when he wrote it.
I have nothing against 15 year old authors, but at that age, they tend to produce something
that mirrors Star Wars or Lord of the Rings."

And then the reviewer goes on to blatantly compare Eragon scene for scene with Star Wars.
And he has a point! Eragon is a rip off from Star Wars, only it's set in a fantasy world.

Which comes to my point: how mature do you have to be when you write?

I can certainly say I'm producing better things now than I did 20 years ago. Experience (not
necessarily age) broadens your perspective and it comes out in your character development.
You can be 60 and not have experienced anything of note. You can be 15 and have gone through
more life experience than most 40 year olds.

Another thing is: the more you read and write, the better you write. It's not enough just to read.
You have to put it on paper and let the words flow, and you get better and better that way.

Other things of note:

1) Ted, Yvonne and John have a new book launched today called Write Out Loud! Karen Ann Theseira IBook Project 1 and 2) is the editor and it's published by Oak Publications. Wish I could be there. But after said nasty abscess, now I have saliva leaking from my wound! Sigh. Anyway, not sure I want to present myself with half a paralyzed face just yet. Why is nerve recovery so slow?

Double sigh.
Anyway, congrats to all involved in this book!! Great success to you.


2) I now have 4 (maybe 6) stories for Dark City 2 out of about 10 or 12 I have received so far. A couple need to be reworked so I have sent them back to the writers concerned about rewrites. A writer to look out for is Jennifer Tai, who has a very easy style and prose which makes you want to go on reading to find out what happens next to her characters.

For those who haven't yet submitted, keep them coming. If I think your story has potential, I will write back to you to suggest how you can make it better. As always, as those of you who have received mail from me know, I'm very constructive in my criticism.

Making a story out of a bad personal experience

I make a very bad patient. I tend to ignore everything about my own body, the very things 
I ask others to seek immediate help for. Last Saturday, my operation wound swelled up 
and turned red, but I ignored it because I thought it was part of the normal healing process.

Today, I have an really huge abscess that is suppurating out of 3 holes in my wound. No 
wonder it couldn't heal. 

The doctor today: "Why didn't come as soon as you knew it was red and tender?"
Me (sheepishly): "I thought it was part of the normal healing process. You see, I've never had 
surgery before. 
Doctor: "You've forgotten everything you learnt in medical school. Go look up your anatomy 
again. 

So as it is, I have an infected wound abscess compounded on my facial nerve problem. I think I was so focused on the facial nerve problem (I can't close my right eye or smile on my right side and I have to sleep with an eye pad on), wondering when it would get better the way everyone said it would (Dr said 2 weeks, most patients say 3 - 6 months) that I forgot everything I knew about wound healing.

Sigh.

So, I'm thinking of making this experience the first chapter of a new book (already commissioned after I finish a couple of projects) called "So, you want to be a doctor." This one is targeted at everyone who's curious to know what's it like to go through medical school (in this country) and to work as a doctor in a government hospital. Yes, it's a humorous collection of hospital anecdotes.

I even know how to end this first chapter. "I only wish I had gone through all this before I became a doctor because it would have made me a better and more compassionate one."

So, if you have had a bad personal experience, you can store it, internalize it and then write about it the way actors are asked to reproduce an emotional moment by reminiscing about something they have been through. You also have to disassociate from it a 
little.

Then again, I'm getting an itch to write about strange beings that come out of suppurating abscesses to invade the world.
  

Lydia's launch and MPH initiatives

Lydia had a most successful launch of Honk! if you are Malaysian today at the MPH Share a Gift
Carnival in Crowne Plaza Mutiara. There were children (some of them her own) tooting the 'roti'
horn and toting huge placards of her book cover. I thought the launch was extremely well done
and her book cover and endorsements by other personalities like Adibah Amin, Yvonne Lee, Kevin Cowherd and Phua Chu Kang were absolutely fabulous.

(I couldn't endorse it myself because I'm a pseudonym. Anyhow, I am credited for helping edit it.)
All photos at her blog.

Next, I had a long chat with Dato Ng (CEO of MPH Publishing) and Eric Forbes (Editor of MPH
Publishing) and these are some of the things you might be interested in:

1. MPH needs more editors! They are expanding, publishing more books than ever before. So please submit your name to Eric if you're interested. His blog is linked from here.

2. They also need more illustrators! Ditto the above.

3. MPH Online can deliver within 2 days to your home! And guess what, they will also deliver overseas. So anyone who has been asking where to buy Dark City (or any other Malaysian book) can go to http://www.mph.com.my/welcome/welcome.cfm

4. Calling all you book bloggers. Are you interested in meeting up once a month?
MPH will have a new store at Bangsar Village Phase 2. They're thinking of hosting this meeting, and throwing in tea! Interested?

5. Quill, the MPH magazine, is looking for more articles about writing. Interested? Submit to Renee Koh, who addy is in the mag.

Anyway, the chat was very fruitful and the outcome was that we might be having several book projects going with MPH. So much to do after I get back from my surgery on Monday!

 

How important are book covers?

Very important apparently. And doesn't Honk's cover just make you want to pick it up?

Be sure to head to the MPH Share a Gift carnival in Crowne Plaza Mutiara this Saturday, and in 
the afternoon, Lydia Teh will have the all-important launch of Honk! If you're Malaysian. 

On the subject of covers, compare and contrast Tash Aw's original cover (previous post) with 
the newer cover (the one with the pretty girl half looking over her back). Now, which one 
are you more likely to pick up? Most writers underestimate the importance of an arresting cover, the one that makes you want to drop everything you have in your bag and go, "I MUST ahve that book. Now!"

Seriously though, your cover has to make the reader pick your book up above all the other 1 million titles in the shop. And your back cover has to be equally good, with blurbs that sell and a killer sypnosis that makes you want to read on.

Dark City's 2nd edition will also be getting a new cover plus a lot of backpage and inside page newspaper blurbs. Finally! I know some of you guys really hate the present DC cover and have been bugging me to get it changed.

Tash Aw doing Malaysia proud....

...but what do you really think of his book?

http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2006/12/8/lifebookshelf/16105385&sec=lifebookshelf

THE Harmony Silk Factory by Malaysia-born Tash Aw is among the 138 novels nominated for the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award 2007.

The first time novel – set in 1930s and 1940s Malaya – has already bagged numerous accolades including winning the 2005 Whitbread Book Award for First Novel and one of the 17 to make it to the long list of the 2005 Man Booker Prize for Fiction.

The Harmony Silk Factory, nominated by the National Library of Malaysia, is told amidst the background of World War II, exposing the cultural tensions of the era. Others in the long list include works by many accomplished authors like Tariq Ali’s A Sultan in Palermo, Nick Hornby’s A Long Way Down, Salman Rushdie’s Shalimar the Clown, Amy Tan’s Saving Fish From Drowning, Paul Auster’s The Brooklyn Follies and Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go.


Yup! Tash is certainly doing Malaysia proud! You go, man!

Now, to ask you all a honest question. What did you really think of his book? Those who have read it, of course.

Me, I thought the first part was unputdownable fabulous. Then the 2nd part (that of Snow) was a little....hmmm...let's just say I didn't get into the character. (I think Tash writes men better than women). And the third part - I really thought it was too verbose and too filled with long digressions about gardening. But since I'm not literary and like my stories told straight without straying too much away from the beaten path (that is, that the story should matter most of all and not the flowery digression), it's just my taste.

Aside, I've been diagnosed with a benign tumor and have to have it taken out. Going off to another country for the consultation on Monday. Sigh. I did so want to finish writing Billy Lang (now in Chapter 23) this year too 
because my agent is so bugging me for the finished manuscript.  I really need an Englishman to beta all the English idioms and Cockney tongue later.

Also, my publisher reckons he might have sold 2000 copies of DC to the National Library (and its 200 branches nationwide), which makes it a total of 4500 copies sold so far. 2nd edition printing is due in Jan with a new cover. Ah! I can now totally pay for all your submissions to Dark City 2!

Call for Dark City 2 submissions in Star

And this is what appeared in the Star today.  So far I have got 3 confirmed stories I am taking - all 3 so far are from established famous writers. But it really doesn't matter. 

If you're a first time writer and you've got a twisty story to tell, do write in. Remember, this is one of the few anthologies that actually pays. Your twisty story can be from any genre - Trashcan Child itself would fall under the category of fantasy/science fiction. And if I think your story has promise, I will write back and ask you for edits.

But before you write in, read as many twisty short stories as you can and adhere to the rules of storytelling: Show, don't tell. Conversations must be in separate paragraphs. Build suspense until the very end. Always mystify the reader, don't reveal everything at one go. The ending must be a shocking punchline.

For twist in the tale kind of stories, I advise you to pen an outline beginning with the twist at the end, and then work backwards to start at the beginning.

More information in the sidebar.
 
http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2006/12/3/lifebookshelf/16124764&sec=lifebookshelf

Chill and thrill them

AUTHOR Xeus is calling for short story submissions for the sequel to Dark City: Psychotic and Other Twisted Malaysian Tales (Venton Publishing), scheduled to be published next April.

Each story should be between 3,000 and 8,000 words and must have a totally unexpected twist at the end. Writers of stories selected for publication will be paid RM150 and will receive four free copies of Dark City 2.


The closing date for submissions is Feb 28, 2007.


E-mail stories and enquiries to dark.city.xeus@gmail.com. For more information about Dark City, go to darkcity-xeus.blogspot.com.
 

Star serialisation Part 2

Trashcan Child - Part Two

http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2006/12/3/lifebookshelf/16124605&sec=lifebookshelf

Do we get second chances?


In the final part of the condensation of Trashcan Child from Dark City: Psychotic and Other Twisted Malaysian Tales, author Xeus reveals the shocking twist in her tale.


ANOTHER year passed uneventfully. Patience grew up, learnt to run, stumble and fall. She learnt how to count and read, and with that came a period of books, toys and demands. Ida bought picture books for Patience by the dozen. Each night, before the toddler went to bed, Ida would read her a story.

August thirteenth dawned hopeful. Once again, Ida dressed Patience in her best clothes and waited for Pearl to come.

But once again, as the day waned into sunset, no one showed up to claim the child.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

The ball whizzed through the open window and struck the Ming dynasty urn full force, shattering it to pieces.

“Oh!” Patience gasped. Her hands clapped over her mouth. Mama would be so mad. She loved her vases so and Patience had always been so careful not to lay a finger on them.

Almost not daring to look, Patience tiptoed into the house, where the precious urn lay in ruins at the back of the cabinet. Was there a way to glue the pretty blue and white porcelain pieces back? Was there a way to roll time back? And what was that grey dust scattered all round the shards and on the floor? Patience knelt to finger it. The Ming urn wasn’t empty after all. It was a vessel for what felt like –

“Patience! What have you done?”

Patience jumped back guiltily, cringing. “I didn’t mean to, Mama, please, I’ll pay you back.” At the back of her eyes, she felt hot tears begin to pool.

”Go to your room, child.”

That’s it? Patience peered from between her fingers. Her mother was kneeling, sifting through the grey ashes in her hand, the expression on her face pensive.

Her face was shrouded in such sadness that it struck Patience harder than any physical blow.

“I said go.” Her mother’s voice was flat, without affect.

Patience fled to her room.

Oh, but Mama was so good to her. And she was always disappointing Mama. She could see it in Mama’s eyes, as though she couldn’t quite measure up, no matter what she did.

The bedroom door creaked open. Wiping her eyes, Patience looked up. Her mother stood at the door, face wary.

“Oh, Patience.” Mama just stood there, as if afraid to come in. “The urn doesn’t matter. Really, it doesn’t.”

“But it does! I know how much you love it.”

Patience held out her arms, willing Mama to come to her. And Mama did. They hugged, and she knew all was forgiven. But as always, she could feel Mama holding back.

“What is it, Mama?” she whispered.

“Nothing. It’s your Special Day, that’s all.”

“Is it my birthday?”

“Sort of. Only better.”

“Why do I have a Special Day and not a birthday like the other kids?”

“I don’t know,” Mama said into her hair. “But one day, you and I will find out.”

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

She was being followed.

Behind them, furtively ducking behind street corners and into shop entrances, hiding behind throngs of pedestrians, always keeping a good distance away, Patience could glimpse the woman with the haunted eyes. The eyes mesmerized her, even from this distance, and an odd sense of déjà vu wormed through some submerged memory. Where had she seen that woman before? And why were such strong emotions associated with the memory? In all her eight years of life, she had never felt this way.

“Mama.” She tugged at her mother’s hand. “There’s a stranger following us.”

“Where?”

“There. That one.”

Mama looked long and hard at the woman, who was now unsuccessfully trying to merge with a lamppost. The woman was dressed in a baggy T-shirt and faded jeans, ripped at the knees. She had a mouth like a splash of wet paint against pale, pale skin, and she looked as though she hadn’t eaten well in years.

“Do you know her, Mama?”

“No. But she’s only a girl,” Mama murmured.

“Who is she?”

“I have no idea.”

“Why is she following us?”

“I don’t know, but we should keep walking.”

Later that night, Patience awoke to low voices from the lounge downstairs. Mama was having a rare midnight visitor. Creeping silently to the top of the landing, Patience bunched up her knees and sat on the top stair, peeking through the banisters and cocking her ears to listen.

“... couldn’t keep her,” the stranger from today stood at the door, barred from entering by Mama. “I was a mess. I had no money, no prospects.”

“That’s no excuse. What you did was very, very cruel.” Mama’s voice was severe.

“I know,” the stranger replied miserably. “That’s why I’m here now. Like you.”

“Don’t compare yourself to me. We’re not alike.”

“I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. I was just a child.”

“You should go.”

“I just wanted to see her, to see how she’d turn out.”

“Well, you saw her.”

”Can I talk to her? Just to tell her how sorry I am?”

“I think it’s best you didn’t. And now, you really should go.”

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

“I think I should take up nursing.”

Her mother looked up from the porcelain teacup she was sipping. “But why?”

“I want to help people.”

“I’d rather you be a doctor. You can help more people that way, and make a better living out of it.”

The sixteen-year-old Patience pursed her lips. They had had this conversation many times.

“Mama, I told you. I’m not interested in being a doctor. It’s not the only noble profession out there, okay?”

“It pays better.”

“But I’m not interested in money.”

“You think you’re not now, but –”

“Mama, I mean it. I’m really not interested in money.”

Patience looked so serious that Mama ruminated over this.

“No, I suppose not,” her mother said thoughtfully.

“I suppose none of it matters in the end.”

Patience sat down on the sofa next to her mother. “It’s not that bad, Mama. I’ll be helping a lot of people. You’ll be proud of me, you’ll see.” She laid a hand on Mama’s belly, where she knew the old scar lay, bunched up like an overgrown keloid gash.

“I’ll be able to help people who have cancer, just like you once had. You were lucky to be cured of it. But there are plenty of cancer victims out there with no one to support them, and I believe that’s where I can make a difference.”

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

As the years tumbled into one another, Ida watched from the sidelines as Patience graduated from nursing school, scored As in her class, landed a posting in the General Hospital’s oncology ward, and become – in her superior’s words – the nurse “most likely to make a difference in people’s lives”.

Now Ida understood why it could be such a joy to have children, to watch them grow from rough-edged saplings to worthwhile people on their own. But I wouldn’t have just any child. It could only have been Patience. And indeed, Patience was the sweetest, most tractable daughter anyone could wish for. Ida had brought her up well. When asked the secret of her success, Ida would say, “It was easy. I didn’t impose my will on her. I simply let her be.”

The vague fondness she had felt for Patience in her formative years had now deepened into an unshakeable bond between mother and child. Why, Ida realised, tears in her eyes, this is love. I love that trashcan child more than her own poor junkie mother could ever claim to.

One day, Patience came home, breathlessly flushed with excitement. “Oh, Mama, he’s asked me to marry him!”

“Who? That nice doctor you’ve been dating?”

“The one and only!” Patience flung her arms happily around Ida. “Oh, I’m so happy!”

Ida hugged her back. She would be alone again, free to carry on with her life before Patience had come into it.

Suddenly, Ida couldn’t bear the thought of going back to it.

“I’ll come home every week, I promise,” Patience assured her.

Patience kept her promise to visit every week, and she brought along her new husband to brighten up Ida’s days. And then Patience got pregnant and gave birth to a daughter of her own, whom she named after Ida. Later on, a son was added to the ensemble. Both children were spunky, opinionated and individualistic.

Instead of losing Patience, Ida had gained an entire family.

And then one day, it came time for her to die.

Ida was eighty-five years old. The baby Patience had come to her when she was fifty and was now thirty-four, a beautiful mother in her prime. “I’ve done well by her,” Ida thought as she lay in her hospital bed. “I really have. I have no regrets this time.”

Now, the sun was rising outside. The door yawned open, and Ida looked up, expecting the morning nurse.

But it was a visitor she had not seen in thirty-five years.

A little too late, Ida realised it was August thirteenth. Pearl stood beside her bed, as unchanged as the day Ida first saw her.

“You’ve come for her,” Ida stated.

“Actually, no,” Pearl said, her eyes smiling. “I’ve come for you.”

“It’s time then.”

“It’s time.”

Ida laughed softly. “I never thought I’d get a second chance.”

“All of us get second chances. Even the ones who don’t think they need one.”

“So have I – passed?”

“It’s not a test, Ida.” Pearl sat gently on the bed and took Ida’s hand. “How do you feel this time round?”

“Dying a second time is never easy. The first, so many years ago –” Ida shook her head “– the cancer ate at me. I was riddled with it. I asked to be cremated then because I wanted to burn it out.”

“But you kept the scar, to remind you.”

“I kept the scar,” Ida agreed. “Will she ... live on?”

“Until she’s ready to go, yes.”

Ida looked around her. “This place you guys have created. You can tell your boss it isn’t half-bad. Could do with better Darjeeling though.”

Pearl smiled. “Tell her yourself,” she said, closing Ida’s eyes one final time.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

“Oh, my goodness me. You poor baby. Who could’ve put you in a trashcan?”

Pearl lifted up the dead baby, letting the soaked blanket fall from it back onto the garbage bags.

Someone had drowned the poor little thing and cast it aside like yesterday’s trash.

“Don’t worry, little one,” she crooned as it opened its hidden eyes to smile up at her. “We’ll find you a home yet. You’ll get your second chance.”






 

New blog look and call from Thailand

How do you like the new blog look? I spent 3 hours shuffling things around and it still looks a little
off! 

Anyhow, I got this call from an American guy called Geoff, who runs a website at http://www.thaioasis.com/literature/bkkbangkokfiction.php . This one previews all the Thai books. He wants to review Dark City for the Malaysian part of this website for expats and visitors to our neck of woods.

He really loved Dark City, especially Scarlet Woman and The Maid, and he asked me, "How did you get into the mind of such low-lifes?" To which I replied something like, "Uh...it takes a low-life to know another low-life, so it was kinda easy writing about them."

Anyway, look out for Yvonne Lee and her new Malay translation of 'A Sky is Crazy.' Sure to skyrocket to the Malay bestseller charts soon, and I can tell ya, Malay books sell by the hundred thousands.

Star serialisation - Trashcan Child

Ah, here finally comes the first part of one of Dark City's Star serialisations. I had a hard time choosing 'sanitary' stories for newspaper publishing, I can tell you:)

http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2006/11/26/lifebookshelf/16124577&sec=lifebookshelf


Trashcan Child

When a woman who doesn’t want to be a mother is given a baby nobody wants, things can take a macabre turn. This is the first of a two-part condensation of Trashcan Child, one of the stories in Dark City: Psychotic and Other Twisted Malaysian Tales, by Xeus.



AS the most splendid sunrise ignited the universe, lighting treetops and their slumbering winged tenants into an explosion of birdsong and morning, the baby awoke.

The first thing she did was to stretch herself, bunching up her fists to strike at surrounding objects; her little hand encountered a soggy wetness, a mushiness alien to anything she’d ever felt before, and she withdrew it sharply.

With the smells came a more familiar sensation, the belaboured effort to breathe, to fill her lungs with deep, pungent air and her starved brain with oxygenated clarity. Her little chest rose up and down rapidly as it worked itself up, sparking little black and gold stars in her vision as a wave of dizziness swept across her. Yesterday was a struggle too, when she had been half-submerged in that sticky fluid; she had inhaled it, and the insides of her windpipes had been seared with a sudden agony. Through her watery prison, a woman’s shadowed face rippled, with hooded eyes, quivering mouth in a semblance of weeping. The baby had smiled up at that face, held up her arms to be embraced (but couldn’t, because they were pinioned), and so she opened her mouth ‘O’ style to eke out a like-shaped bubble, which rose lazily to dissipate at the surface.

The baby waited, and she wasn’t disappointed. Along came the crunch of footsteps on gravel. A shadow fell across the edge of her bed, and a face peered down, framed by blue sky. Pretty smiling eyes accompanied by dimpled cheeks.

“Oh, my goodness me. You poor baby. Who could’ve put you in a trashcan?”

The words were unintelligible to the baby, but she smiled anyway, sensing rescue and possibly a whole new world than that which she had been born into. . And indeed, firm hands clasped her shaking body and lifted her up, holding her close. Warm, warm flesh and the soft smell of flowers.

******************

From her paned windows upstairs, Ida could see the woman approaching, bundle in her arms.

But I don’t want this.

It’ll be good for you. To have someone to care for other than yourself.

Can’t you find someone else? Someone more ... appropriate? Someone who actually likes children?

Ida. We’ve talked about this.

The doorbell rang, a booming chime in the blessed stillness of the house. I still don’t want this, Ida thought as she made her dignified way downstairs, past a child’s bedroom with a freshly painted cot (her old baby cot, kept by her late mother in the hope that she would have a baby of her own some day). Carefully chosen landscape paintings hugged the walls of the hallway and landing, alongside carefully displayed vases, crystal and a potpourri of fragile collectibles.

Of particular reverence, at least in terms of holding centre court, was a beautiful Ming Dynasty urn in the living room display cabinet. This was surrounded by lush Italian furniture, embroidered in red and gold thread, upon which were now draped objects unfamiliar to the house: a new child’s blanket, several diaper bags and a hamper of baby clothes.

Through the frosted glass panels of her oak door, Ida could see the geometrically distorted head of Pearl. She opened it.

On the terraced steps leading up to the door, alarmed by the sudden intrusion, the baby in Pearl’s arms began to cry. Ida’s mouth immediately flattened into a firm, thin line.

“Oh, come now, Ida, don’t look like that. You were a baby once. I’ll bet you cried too,” Pearl admonished.

“I’ve never liked babies. I told you that. Never liked children or teenagers either. Can’t abide the noise and the fuss. Always crying. Always demanding something.”

“Not all children are like that. It’s how you bring them up.”

Pearl handed her the baby. “Here. Hold her like this. That’s right. Support her neck like this. She can’t hold up her head yet.”

Ida clasped the crying baby to her chest, grimacing as she tried to get a comfortable fit. How did one hold a crying baby?

Were you supposed to coo or ignore them till the noise went away? The baby felt alien in her arms, like a guilty burden that weighed too heavy for its own good.

“How do I get it to shush?”

“Now, Ida, it’s a ‘she’, not an ‘it’. Talk to her a little. Hold her close to your bosom. She’ll calm down after she gets used to you.”

The baby wailed louder. Ida held it away from her body in distaste. “Here. You take her back. You’re better with babies.”

“No, I won’t.” Pearl back-stepped lightly. “You’re going to have to get used to this all by yourself.”

“But I don’t know anything about babies!”

“You have the books. You have everything you need. Like any other new mother, you’re just going to have to experience it for yourself.”

“I’ve never wanted to be a mother,” mumbled Ida beneath her breath. “I’m too old.”

“I’ll come back on August thirteenth, at half past seven am.”

August thirteenth! Almost a whole year away. “But I can’t look after her all this while. She’ll need a proper home.”

But Pearl had already turned tail. She was walking abruptly down the drive.

“Wait! What shall I call it ... I mean her? What’s her name?”

“She doesn’t have a name! You’ll have to find her one. And remember, I won’t be in contact till August thirteenth!”

“But what if I need to call you or ask you something about the baby? How will I get in touch?”

“You won’t need to.”

And with that, Pearl disappeared, leaving Ida all alone with the baby.

******************

The sound of crying once again wafted from the baby’s room at the other end of the corridor. Every night for the past two weeks, the infant had woken up at two-hourly intervals, as though she was a clockwork doll designed to torment.

Why couldn’t the cursed child stay asleep? Surely she couldn’t be hungry again?

As she wearily got up, Ida reflected on the reasons why she had remained childless. The Australians had a term for this: she was not “clucky”. She had no desire to be a mother hen, and if she had a biological clock, it was in need of greasing. But it was precisely this: the nighttime terrors, the profound weariness which she suspects will worsen as the months take their toll, and the sense the rewards would not commensurate with the effort put in. She had always seen babies as a chore, an extra mouth to feed (and at ungodly hours), a little wriggling bundle to zap her away from her precious interests: like collecting antiques, reading and sipping tea on the terrace, going to the spa and having a facial.

Indeed, for the past two weeks, she had neither the time nor the energy to do the things she liked. The book she was reading, Paulo Coelho’s latest, remained dog-eared at the very spot she’d left it when she had been waiting for Pearl and the child.

In the cot, the baby’s face was puckered a furious red. As Ida forced the bottle into her open mouth, she began to suck lustily. It was still “she”, Ida had not progressed to naming her yet. She finished the entire two ounces, spat out the teat and burped on her own accord. Then she promptly fell asleep on Ida’s shoulder, drool spooling down her guardian’s silk pyjamas.

Drat. If I put her down on the cot, she might wake up and start crying again. Ida couldn’t bear the sound of crying; it grated on her nerves, like squeals on a chalkboard. And yet, she retained a sense of responsibility to the child. It came from long-standing penitence; she would never be an intemperate caregiver, like so many guardians are wont to be.

Brain numbed from accumulated fatigue and half-conscious of what she was doing, Ida shuffled back to her own bedroom, baby still slung like a sack of potatoes across her shoulder. She crept into her rumpled bed and lay down flat, the baby still tucked into the angle of her back and shoulder. Before she knew it, she had awoken. The sun was streaming through the windows and it was high morning.

The baby had slept for a good six hours.

The next night, Ida dragged the cot into her bedroom. But the baby never slept as well as when she was next to Ida in bed. Just the nearness of Ida alone seemed to calm the child down, so that she slept through the night.

At the end of the month, Ida named the baby Patience, for their shared experience of that certain virtue.

******************

The year passed uneventfully. Patience learnt to crawl, walk and say “Mama”. Ida marvelled at each milestone even as the baby doubled in weight and size.

“Don’t call me Mama. I’m not your Mama. And this is only temporary, lest you get too comfortable.”

“Mama,” insisted Patience.

“On your Special Day, you’ll have a new Mama.”

August thirteenth became the Special Day, the eagerly awaited hour when Ida would gain her redemption and Patience would be carted away to a better home. Ida was not sorry Patience was leaving. It was time for a new beginning. There had been satisfying moments, like when Patience took her first step and said her first word. But Ida was not mother material; she retained no firm attachments to the child other than a vague fondness, like that of a nanny or governess. She felt no kinship. Perhaps what the old wives said was true: one could not love a child unless the same blood flowed in their veins.

But still, there were moments of bliss. Like the pure unadulterated look of joy on Patience’s face each morning when she cried “Mama”. Of being the centre of the child’s (someone’s) universe.

On August thirteenth, the two of them woke up early. Ida dressed Patience in her best baby frock, the one with the pretty blue bows, and topped it off with the cutest white bonnet.

“Someone will be coming for you. You’ll have a new home, and new clothes.”

“Mama,” Patience said, holding out her arms to Ida.

Maybe I’ll kind of miss the little tot, Ida mused. But it was time to move on. Thinking of tomorrow, she was almost filled with dread. But there’s nothing to worry about. You’ve earned it.

Half past seven came and went like a bee cruising through their home. As Ida and Patience waited, the sun rose high, evaporated the dew and wilted the flowers, and still no one came. At midday, they ate sandwiches and mashed peas on the terrace. At twilight, as the shadows grew long and the sky turned to dusk, Ida took off Patience’s bonnet.

“Home,” Patience said.

“That’s right, we’re going inside.” Time for bed. “Maybe they’ll come for you tomorrow.”

“Mama,” Patience retorted, and grabbed fistfuls of Ida’s hair as she was carried inside the house.

Part Two of ‘Trashcan Child’ next week.