The Silver Stopper published in Harlem River Blues

My short story about Colette, The Silver Stopper, is published and available for purchase! It’s in the wonderfully-named anthology “Harlem River Blues”. You can buy Harlem River Blues from Fish Publishing at www.fishpublishing.com — it’s a fantastic collection of award-winning stories, and a snip at only 15 euro!

I suggested to my Kiwi friends that they buy it online, since Fish are in Ireland and it’s a long way to go to pop into their bookshop — another one of my ever-subtle hints! Some people were disappointed not to be able to read the stories online, but that’s the point really — if you could read all the Harry Potters online, no one would buy the books. It would be a bit like working at your job for five years and then politely saying, “Oh no, it’s all right, you keep it,” when your boss offers to pay you for your five years’ work.

I haven’t received my gratis copies of the anthology yet, but Fish did get in touch with me to let me know that they’re on their way across the world. I’m so excited — I can’t wait to see a jiffy bag postmarked Co. Cork, Ireland, in the post-box. I go bounding to the post-box every morning as well as after work, like a slightly mad, enthusiastic puppy. It’s like expecting a parcel from Amazon, only much better. The anticipation is agonizing!

Alors, ça vient, le livre avec mon histoire, enfin, oui? J’ai tellement hâte de le voir, et le tenir, enfin, entre mes mains! On peut l’acheter chez Fish Publishing… c’est une collection formidable, bien sûr!

The art of accepting rejection graciously

Why is rejection so painful? Goodness knows I should be well versed it by now. With each competition I enter, I am so hopeful, so sure that this time I will win! I am getting closer — runner-up isn’t bad — but it’s never good enough. When it was the Sunday Star Times short story prize-giving (a big event with champagne and media, even lovely Helen C) and I won third prize, the runners-up crowded around me with congratulations. I was determined to keep smiling graciously even if it killed me, but all I wanted to do was burst into noisy, heart-broken sobs. One nice lady exclaimed, ‘Oh, you must be delighted!’ It took a super-human effort to stop myself from snorting, ‘Delighted? I’m devastated!’

There’s a scene in Fame (remember that ’80s programme?!) where the beautiful swan-like dancing teacher throws a girl out of her class for not having passion. ‘But I only want to dance in the third chorus line!’ the poor girl pleads. ‘That’s the problem,’ the teacher says, ‘just to get to the back of the stage, you have to want to be the star.’

Four rejections in one week — it was rather harsh, and I was a bit blue for that week. But never mind, it just makes me even more determined for next time. As Liza Minelli sings, so earnestly hopeful, in Cabaret, ‘Maybe this time I’ll be lucky, maybe this time I’ll win’. It’s all about the taking part — what utter nonsense. Don’t be so soft. It’s all about the winning.

Pourquoi ça fait si mal d’être rejetée? Je devrais être habituée. A chaque fois, je suis absolument certaine de gagner. Cette fois-çi, ça va marcher, ça ne peux pas rater! Quatre concours ratés en huit jours: aïe! Mais il faut toujours re-essayer: il faut gagner.

Taking Colette’s masterclass in writing fiction

I’m still working on the Nights in Paris novel as well as the short film. I’m very pleased with the beginning of my next Colette chapter; it can be hard to know how to start a new chapter. It’s a bit like the daunting task of stuffing a duvet into its cover: you have a clear picture of the end result, but how do you know which corner to tackle first? I’ve taken a tip from the great master — or rather, great mistress — herself: Colette, of course.

Colette often begins her chapters with a conversation, or an action; in that respect, many of her novels are like plays. She acted on the stage for many years, and I think this second, theatrical job helped to hone her shark-like instinct when writing: straight to the point, never deviating, pared down to the absolute essentials. Reading her novels is like taking a masterclass in writing prose that is watertight and incredibly focused: I’m thinking especially of Chéri, Julie de Carneilhan, La Retraite Sentimentale, and Duo / Le Toutonier.

My latest chapter of Nights in Paris starts with Colette opening the door of the marital apartment, apprehensive and afraid of seeing her husband because it is the morning after the night before, and the night was spent with Missy… luckily I have some (dusty) memories of this kind of sordid melodrama, so while I’m writing I can relive the emotional turmoil… oh joy!

Par où commencer un nouveau chapitre? C’est comme empailler un duvet dans sa housse: on le prend par quelle bout?! On trouve la reponse en lisant Colette. Chéri, Julie de Carneilhan, La Retraite Sentimentale, et Duo / Le Toutonier sont des romans d’une précision admirable, dont les chapitres commencent souvent, comme des pièces de théâtre, en pleine conversation.

music and food to write to

The days of patiently waiting for the muse to arrive are over, or I would never get anything done! In lieu of the muse, the essentials are: my computer, of course (the one luxury I would take onto a desert island); a soundtrack chosen from several ‘writing’ CDs: something dreamy — Liszt or Satie; haunting and beautiful — Madeleine Peyroux or Jane Birkin; or mesmeric — the Gotan Project, chillout or Deva Premal; and my ultimate, the Henry and June soundtrack. I have only five or six CDs which allow me to concentrate on writing at the same time. The music has to have a fairly constant volume (no pounding beats or dramatic sonatas), and be something I can drift in and out of, as opposed to actually listen to. I save Joan Armatrading (her new album is fab), Natasha Atlas and ‘the L word’ compilations for when I’m doing the washing up!

I also need a large thermos of green tea and a generous supply of sugar-free chewing gum or Polo mints from Cool Britannica, the UK import shop. I sometimes feel as though I should be smoking those fancy French cigarettes with the white filter, especially when I’m writing descriptions of Paris, or naughty bits, but seeing as I don’t smoke, I need to do something with my mouth so I don’t grind my teeth to powder in an adrenaline-fueled writing frenzy!

Colette and the exotic 1900s Parisian scene

The Colette chapter of my Nights in Paris novel is flowing along nicely, I am so excited about it and so into the whole daring, exotic, early 2oth century Parisian scene! 1909 wasn’t as daring as 1931 (the Anaïs chapter), of course, but because women were more hidden, in a way they had more freedom. (Obviously, not where it really mattered and not if you weren’t moneyed — real life is never as rosy as it seems to a tourist). I do feel lucky to be a tourist — able to dip in and out of 1909, enjoy all the wonderful parts and bypass any ugliness. Well, not quite bypassed, but you’ll have to read the chapter to see what I mean!

The bit I’m writing now is about Missy — or Max, to more intimate friends. She was very brave and lived in drag, at a time when that was illegal. I’m reading Colette’s ‘The Pure and the Impure’ as research and just love the bit about how horsewomen strut around in their leathers smelling of perspiration and horses, and how wonderfully sexy they are. You can’t get the same thrill from driving a poncy car, Colette says. I’ve never had the chance to get into horses, being a city girl, but she’s certainly persuaded me about the erotic allure of people who ride them!

It must have been quite something, in an era where most bourgeoises would allow themselves to smell only of lavender, lemon verbena or violets, to meet a woman who not only wore trousers and smoked cigars, but strode around smelling of the fresh outdoors and of horses, and was rich enough not to give a stuff about conventional femininity. Meeting someone like that (Missy), would have been exciting, fascinating, and erotic.

I’ve wondered if there was anyone else who should go in the novel, and I thought about Katherine Mansfield and Daphne du Maurier…. I’m not sure, will have to put that thought somewhere and just let it ferment for a while. I have also discovered Kiki de Montparnasse (Alice Prin), Man Ray’s stunning muse. There’s a wonderful photograph of her in the 1920s, resting on a cafe table which is littered with cigarettes (Gitanes?), a bottle of wine and half-filled glasses. But she was a model and artist, not a writer, so I must stop myself from getting carried away. If I weren’t limiting myself to writers, I would love to write about Josephine Baker, Lee Miller, and a hundred more, equally fabulous women!

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