Hello thar!
So essentially, I'm back in Brisbane. Before you shoot me for not posting my tremendously witty [sarcasm hand raised] ramblings sooner, I will just say - whilst holding an adorably cute puppy in front of me - that lately stuff has been going down, that probably shouldn't be shared to the general blogosphere.
Anyway, to start of tonight's ramble, let's make a shout-out. To my 7 followers and any random Internet stalkers, I introduce this guy:
Mr Max Quinn, no title that I'm aware of.
Max is a guy I know, pretty vaguely, but we were tossed into the same school and you kinda learn people's names after that sort of thing. Digressions aside, Max is in a competition (oh, those wondrous things!) where he blogs. About music.
Come on, you've got to admit that sounds pretty darn appealing, right?
The point is, Max is not like other music bloggers. Max specifically focuses on little-known bands and things that amuse him. I don't know about you guys, but I am about a million times more drawn to something if the person has created it happily. And so, you should go read Max's blog. I command that you sign his petition using all available email addresses that you own, because if he wins, Ballina - oh little town of prawns and swamp - gets Birds of Tokyo, and I may just take you with me*. Max winning would be pretty swell, too, for him. I imagine so, anyway.
*Conditions apply.
Now! Onto other news.
I have recently been asked by Dymocks to review a book. This isn't out of the blue, Oh My Gosh Hey We Heard You Write sort of thing, but stems from a previous review I did, of Anne Fortier's Juliet. I was able to do such an awesome thing via Facebook, through a competition they ran there, and when I emailed my review, I told Elaine (the kindly lady at Dymocks) that I was able to do any more reviews they wanted. Apparently, Dymocks enjoyed this review, because I was then personally asked by Elaine to review another book.
Expect to see Deborah Harkness' A Discovery of Witches out next February. Meanwhile, I'll lazily stroke my uncorrected proof of it, and may give you a review a little closer to the release date. So far it seems okay, though this is after reading 3 pages and my opinions may change either way.
There's little else to say, except I currently am missing home something chronic.
However, I am not allowed to go back for a while, as my mother fears I will turn mentally instable or something.
The water down home is sweeter. If you live in Brisbane, go taste the water in the Northern Rivers. It is nom to the nommiest degree.
...oh man, and I'm supposed to be a writer.
("I shot out of it like..." "A shooter down a shooty thing?")
Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Friday, October 8, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Hey, look! Another follower!
Hi over there!
[Am not responsible for your emotional wellbeing after this as my rants are quite ridiculous.]
OK. Fine, I have started reading Atonement. Even though I said to myself, “You know, Tash? Don’t. Stick to the list. It is a quality you are trying to sculpt in yourself and if you don’t, you will regret it. REGRET IT, I tells ya! And that study nook where your sewing machine currently sits, well, you’ll be quivering under that in regret.”
I have no regret so far. Anger, yes, but that’s natural. Any time I watch and/or read Atonement, I start getting the angry shakes like no other. My response is generally, “EUGH BRIONY! Honestly! Why can’t you just grow up a little bit and stop being such a snooty 13 year old! I hate you alllllllll.” To show how common this emotion is, I refer to me a couple of years back, before I was forced to get a blog (I love it here, fans) and I wrote in a lovely pink book which I rebelliously used for writing rather than drawing. Oh, and smearing various makeups on to see what picture I could get.
There was a tad more, that’s the gist and nub of my emotions back then.
So yes, I am on yet another anger-filled surge when I read this book, but I’m one of those weird people who, then, closes the book, and goes, “THAT WAS FLIPPING RADS.”
And beams widely for the next month or two.
Hence the going-through-Atonement… when I should be printing and blogging about something else.
Ahem.
Oh dears. [rushes off to print]
[Am not responsible for your emotional wellbeing after this as my rants are quite ridiculous.]
OK. Fine, I have started reading Atonement. Even though I said to myself, “You know, Tash? Don’t. Stick to the list. It is a quality you are trying to sculpt in yourself and if you don’t, you will regret it. REGRET IT, I tells ya! And that study nook where your sewing machine currently sits, well, you’ll be quivering under that in regret.”
I have no regret so far. Anger, yes, but that’s natural. Any time I watch and/or read Atonement, I start getting the angry shakes like no other. My response is generally, “EUGH BRIONY! Honestly! Why can’t you just grow up a little bit and stop being such a snooty 13 year old! I hate you alllllllll.” To show how common this emotion is, I refer to me a couple of years back, before I was forced to get a blog (I love it here, fans) and I wrote in a lovely pink book which I rebelliously used for writing rather than drawing. Oh, and smearing various makeups on to see what picture I could get.
I was inwardly screaming (or so I thought), “NOO BRIONY!! DON’T! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!! THE VASE BROKE, HE’S NOT TRYING TO SEE HER NAKED!” Then my brother turned away from HeliAttack* and went, “I don’t care about Briony and who she’s seeing naked.”
…
“No! Briony! Put the letter down! I’ll explain everything!!”
…
The movie would not exist were I in it, coaching Briony. So it’s for the best, I suppose.
There was a tad more, that’s the gist and nub of my emotions back then.
So yes, I am on yet another anger-filled surge when I read this book, but I’m one of those weird people who, then, closes the book, and goes, “THAT WAS FLIPPING RADS.”
And beams widely for the next month or two.
Hence the going-through-Atonement… when I should be printing and blogging about something else.
Ahem.
Oh dears. [rushes off to print]
Reading Marquez en Español
At the Brisbane library, there’s a section where you can get books that are the awesomes. I flock mainly to one row, because that’s the only part that affects me. This section - the foreign language one - makes my happiness meter shudder high into the sky.
I have a basic knowledge of Spanish - I can hold up a conversation - and I’m trying to get better, so as to not hold the stigma of ‘the white chica’ in all my family’s conversations. So I frequent this section, hopefully scanning for titles that a) I don’t know the story very well, and b) aren’t Wilbur Smith.
I now have borrowed a copy of El Amor En Los Tiempos Del Cólera - come, Spanish speakers, unite: Love in the Time of Cholera, my favourite of Marquez’s, and my favourite Spanish-speaking author, excluding the ever-so-poetic Neruda. They did a film version of it in 2007 which spawned my love, lying home sick one day watching movies a friend had dropped over. I hunted through my Tata’s shelves, and lo and behold, it existed in Spanish. Then, I had not known any Spanish. Now, I do.
It’s disconcerting opening a book and having it in a foreign language. Your brain takes a moment to adjust, and in my head, I read it aloud, sounding the words. Kind of like a child. Para Mercedes, por supuesto: for Mercedes, of course.
After flipping to the first page in a near panic (honestly, I have forgotten so much, that Leandro Diaz’s quote nearly drove me insane) I’m relieved. It makes sense. And finally, I’ll be able to do it… accomplish book 1 on my list.
Books to include on the reading list?
I have a basic knowledge of Spanish - I can hold up a conversation - and I’m trying to get better, so as to not hold the stigma of ‘the white chica’ in all my family’s conversations. So I frequent this section, hopefully scanning for titles that a) I don’t know the story very well, and b) aren’t Wilbur Smith.
I now have borrowed a copy of El Amor En Los Tiempos Del Cólera - come, Spanish speakers, unite: Love in the Time of Cholera, my favourite of Marquez’s, and my favourite Spanish-speaking author, excluding the ever-so-poetic Neruda. They did a film version of it in 2007 which spawned my love, lying home sick one day watching movies a friend had dropped over. I hunted through my Tata’s shelves, and lo and behold, it existed in Spanish. Then, I had not known any Spanish. Now, I do.
It’s disconcerting opening a book and having it in a foreign language. Your brain takes a moment to adjust, and in my head, I read it aloud, sounding the words. Kind of like a child. Para Mercedes, por supuesto: for Mercedes, of course.
After flipping to the first page in a near panic (honestly, I have forgotten so much, that Leandro Diaz’s quote nearly drove me insane) I’m relieved. It makes sense. And finally, I’ll be able to do it… accomplish book 1 on my list.
Books to include on the reading list?
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