Filed under: Books
There is a certain emptiness within that I have been feeling, from not pursuing my writing for close to two months now.
Yes, my first novel has been published and distributed. I had started on my second and third, at the same time, but had to put that on hold for a while in light of the wedding preparations – which get intensely overwhelming sometimes!
Deciding to stop writing and focus on my work and the preparations seemed like the most logical thing to do – except I didn’t think I would miss it so much I even dream about writing my next book!
Well, that can’t be helped, I guess.
What I couldn’t put off though, was zooming straight for the bookshops the moment I found out “The Flea Market” had been delivered.
Two nights ago, my fiance Augustine and I skipped to town, peering at shelf after shelf of books at, first, BORDERS, then Kinokuniya.
We couldn’t find the book at BORDERS though upon enquiry, it was listed in their system already. And no wonder, because the books had only just arrived. That was how excited I was. 
We found the book at Kinokuniya, under “Local Literature”.
I can’t describe the feeling I had upon seeing that pretty red-coloured book that I had written into being, cradled and fretted over, then standing proudly on display in Kino.
No, I did not cry, as I had imagined I would. Neither did I scream for joy.
What happened though, was that I suffered immense hardship at leaving the bookstore.
In a nice way!
The next day, Tiff SMSed to share that she had pre-ordered her copy from the MPH downstairs of her office. She reported, “Apparently they’re unpacking your book from the carton now.”
Just that image conjured from what she said – of the shopgirl bending over to retrieve my book from a musty box – brought back the broad grin that had been sneaking up onto my face lately.
So, three more weeks to the wedding, and then I’m off to my honeymoon in Egypt – which I shall write about another time, then I’ll be participating at the Singapore Writers Festival on that very evening that I touch down in Singapore; after that, when I’ve settled back down, out will come the Microsoft Word files of my two upcoming stories.
I can’t wait.
Oh yes, I miss writing.
Filed under: Books
Hi all,
“The Flea Market” is now available at all major bookshops!
That is, BORDERS, Kinokuniya, Page One, MPH and Popular (only at the Bras Basah outlet).
Do pick up a copy!
Would appreciate your honest comments and feedback about the book too.
Lastly, I’ll be participating as a new writer at the Singapore Writers Festival on Thursday Oct 29. [More details later]. Do say hello if you’re there.
Happy Thoughts!
Filed under: Books
“Writing is the easiest part,” White Boy said to me a couple of years ago, when he published his first novel. White Boy is my colleague at CN and we’ve been working together since we joined the organisation in August 2005.
He published his first novel one year later, the first of a series of fantasy novels.
I looked at him and thought, “Really???”
Several years later, when I finally committed to write and publish my first novel (I have written many, many stories before, when I was much younger; I’ve even finished writing two books in my teens, but those were a long time ago…), his words came to mind.
There I would be, ploughing through the pages on my Microsoft Word document, taking smoke breaks and wondering why the story wasn’t unravelling the way I had planned, or why the words weren’t coming at all, and worst, why the entire story eluded me as I sat there, sometimes for hours, churning out pages and then deleting them, and I would think to myself that White Boy’s got to be kidding.
Writing isn’t the easiest part! I would scream in my head. Or am I just not as talented a writer as he is!
Both of these thoughts brought little consolation but much self-doubt as I felt myself sink deeper into confusion and frustration.
Eventually, I did finish the book.
And then, I finally comprehended what he meant.
Oh, writing is not easy… but compared to the business of producing the book, it was probably the breezier task.
Getting the book laid out properly was enjoyable and brought much fulfilment; watching August work at the various book covers was quite a thrill – an exercise that made me want to jump around excitedly through all the different designs until we settled on The One; visiting the printer and making sure the final copy was properly sent out only made the anticipation of holding the first copy of my book more unbearable… and of course, finally taking that finished copy in my hand was an almost surreal experience… one that was also very, very gratifying.
Approaching bookshops though, was a big pain.
There is way too much hassle with logistics between bookshops and publishers to hamper the entire process of producing a book.
Herein steps our distributor whom we thankfully get along rather well with. At least the process has been kicked into place and things are moving again.
This entire experience keeps bringing to mind NLB’s campaign.
I don’t know how many of you have seen the bus ads proudly proclaiming the slogan “Nurturing a Nation of Readers”, but while I agree with that sentiment, rather than focus solely on the importance of reading, I feel we are sadly neglecting to encourage local writers to publish as well.
Perhaps more encouragement is needed in that area such that we would be nurturing a nation of writers as well as readers?
To this end, I have to say I love etch publishing’s slogan. It’s simple, to the point and it says it all – “Read. Write. Publish.”
For those who are already bibliophiles and have that desire to tell the stories brewing within them, why not?
Besides the walk-in wardrobe that we all now have an image of in our heads, thanks to “Sex and the City” and the recent Heineken ad, that I have always wanted in my home, one other room that I look forward to furnishing is my personal library.
Here is a photo of one of my two bookshelves from IKEA that I built myself. I yearn to furnish one entire room with these shelves.
That desire was fuelled once more when I stepped into Kinokuniya yesterday and allowed myself to be intoxicated by that smell that only books (real books made of paper!) emit.
The sight of the rows and rows of shelves that cover just about every single topic that can be written about never fails to ignite that great thirst I have to pick up one book after another and immerse myself in the different worlds they offer.
The year I polished off the most books in one seating, was the year that potato left for Boston, and subsequently broke off with me.
I remember that period well. For no other reason than that there was little reprieve from the brokenness I felt within. And there was no saving grace because everything I did, everywhere I went, every movie I saw, only served to remind me of him and to point out to me, the possibilities of a future I no longer had with him.
It was the world of books that took me in and provided the sanctuary I needed from the big, bad world around me then.
I was still afraid that I might read about some great love between two characters that would rip me apart all over again, but picking up the first book then was merely an escape I needed to make, to an all-time favourite pastime.
I never expected my old friends to offer me the shelter that I needed.
That year, I polished off about 25 (or 50?) books in half a year or so. I got a Kinokuniya loyalty card where I started collecting stamps for every book purchased. Initially, I did that for fun but as it turned out, I couldn’t stop reading.
The books did more than provide me a shelter. Once more, they offered me havens where I was restored in mind, spirit and soul once more.
It was an interesting journey I made. One of complete healing. While I initially abstained from reading any book that had even a hint of romance in it, as the months went by, I learnt to pick out the various themes that I needed at any given time.
Eventually, I even dared to read about love again. Not trashy romance novels (oh no, not since I quit that detestable habit in secondary school for drowning me in a false belief of the existence of that perfect man who would go to any great length for you!) but any book that concerned LOVE.
And I found myself sitting down on the couch, eager to consume the words written, laughing and crying with the various events that unfolded in the lives of the characters.
In that process, I learnt to let go of my own pain… and believe that I can love again.
Books… they have always accompanied me since the very first fairytale and Enid Blyton I read.
To what do I owe books?
Walking up and down the aisle at Kinokuniya yesterday, that period of my life flashed intensely before my mind’s eye once more, and the answer dawned on me – my sanity.
Filed under: Books
The book was purchased from BORDERS on 8 April this year (2009).
It sat forlornly on my shelf next to “Good Omens”, book jointly written by Teri Pretchett and Mr Gaiman himself. But it was only last week that I picked it up and started to read it.
In my opinion, it was a delightful read for adults and an exceptionally wondrous adventure for children to partake in.
The best way to describe this was put forth by Garth Nix, Australian author of young fantasy novels: “I wish my younger self could have had the opportunity to read and reread this wonderful book, and my older self wishes that I had written it.”
Honestly, I don’t think this is the best book Neil has written. Not that I have read a lot of his books, besides his Sandman (graphic novel) collection.
But the other one that I had read, “Neverwhere”, blew me away. That story is about an entire underground world that exists in London, where good and evil reign and their age-old battle continues. That one brought me to a different realm altogether and I highly recommend that to anyone who enjoys a good parody, allegory, and concrete reality being mapped onto ever-mystical fantasy.
This one, “The Graveyard Book”, is about a young boy who was taken under protection by an old graveyard and its inhabitants – ghosts of hundreds to thousands to time infinite, years ago – when he was being pursued by the killer who murdered his family when he was a mere babe. The story continues with his adventures in the graveyard and how he unravelled the mystery of his killer…
And of course, with Neil Gaiman, he introduces whole new worlds together with that.
It is a delicious book to read. Some chapters a lot more than others. He is the master of creating tales of fantasy – all kinds. When you read his book, you don’t read words. You travel. Not just to faraway lands but to lands that exist only in a distant memories that you absolutely have no recollection of ever experiencing, in dreams that are ever familiar but you don’t remember ever having, in the boundaries of your Imagination you never knew you were capable of reaching.
Highly recommended for those who need to unwind with a good read, but without wishing to be too emotionally drawn into the tale.
And at the end, when I read his acknowledgements, I was thrilled to stumble upon his thanks to Audrey Niffeneggar (author of “The Time Traveller’s Wife”), the one whose book I had laughed, cried and spent huge amounts of emotions on! She is an amazing author and it was after her this first novel that I started to look out for first-time novelists.
(I should probably write to her to get some form of commission cos to date, I have physically bought four to five copies of her book as gifts to my friends and pushed a lot more others to get it! It was named “Tomorrow’s Classics” by BORDERS. I think that speaks for itself.)
Two of my favourite contemporary authors.
Tantalising, captivating, enchanting and wondrous.
Waiting to open accounts with bookshops is turning out to be a more trying process than writing the book, or publishing it.
Due to the many administrative procedures behind this process, all I can do is to wait for the bookbuyer to give his OKAY before our book(s) can be put on shelves.
And waiting, for me, essentially means non-activity, inactivity… something that’s entirely out of my hands, which outcome cannot be determined by anything I do or not do.
On the other hand, Jojo has finished reading “The Flea Market”. And she, has been a great affirmation to me as a writer.
She loves the book! Been telling me as she reads it, how she feels at certain chapters and how the book has drawn her in. She’s cried at some parts of the book and told me how she could not put the book down though she loathed reaching the end.
Ego trip aside, I am deeply grateful that someone else enjoyed the book as much as I did – and for me, I enjoyed some parts more than others!
Then again, I must have read the book more than ten times.
I have to admit, reading the manuscript – printed on A4 white sheets - and reading the actual novel, is quite a different experience entirely.
When I read the book (as I still do now, in between reading Neil Gaiman’s “The Graveyard Book”), I still get a sense of wonder that I actually did this.
I wrote a book. Something that I have always wanted to do. And did, in my younger days, but this time, it’s a “real” book.
There is a sense of accomplishment, of course.
And for now, that’s all I have, until the bookbuyers give their OKAY.
So, back to waiting.
Filed under: Books
It has not been easy writing this book. I am at a point now where I have lost count of how many times I have read it and not often that looking forward to how many more times I have to read it!
Each time I think I am done, something else happens within the story. And the cycle repeats.
Stories grow on their own, I swear.
Oftentimes, I have wondered if stories are really our creations, make-believe that we think through on different levels, feel about in varying degrees of attachment, mull over (and then find ourselves trapped in a cycle within a cycle) or if they already exist out there, just waiting for someone to draw them out by their wisps of a trail they leave behind and pen them down.
Over the course of writing stories all my life, “The Flea Market” being one of the latest, I have come to think that it is the latter.
We don’t create stories. We merely tell them, if they let us.
August and I went away to finish reading through the first manuscript. It was amazing because we spent almost two full days from morning till night – straight after a hearty breakfast buffet until noon, when it got too hot. Then we moved to the pool bar and dangled our legs in the water while we continued work. We took breaks by dipping into the pool when we needed a break. And we did this till the sun set and night fell and they said the pool bar was closing.
We didn’t eat lunch for two days. But we ended up smoking too much.
It was the first time I was in Bintan without experiencing it.
And it was worth it.
It was a journey that began in August 2006.
If you ask me now, why I chose the theme of a flea market as I did, I tell you honestly, I don’t remember.
But I’ve always liked the idea of taking a journey to discover yourself, learn new lessons and see new perspectives to the same issues in life that constantly plague you.
Life’s like that, isn’t it?
And I suppose I’ve always been fascinated with the idea of a flea market, a bazaar… where energy abounds and the atmosphere is one that pulsates with the heartbeat of life in activity itself.
But the story moved really slowly.
Then in June this year, I went to Seattle for Jerry’s wedding. Jerry has been a good friend of mine for the last ten years and he finally wedded the woman of his dreams, the one he had fallen deeply in love with when we were in college.
While there, I had the chance to visit Seattle’s Pike Place Market, which literally stole my breath away with all its vibrant happenings – conversations between stall-owners, interactions between customers, the mix of peoples literally from all walks of life.
I returned to Singapore, more determined than ever to complete my book.
And I did.
The process of writing this book has been my own journey through my own past as well. Some bits are much too real while others are of course, created. But I did spend a few chapters weeping over certain memories or feeling the tug in my heart when I recall other fragments of my own history to meld together with other creations of my imagination.
Strangely enough, while writing the book, I stopped blogging almost entirely. It was just near impossible to write and blog at the same time. I have not yet uncovered why, though I thought it might have to do with writing-fatigue, especially since I write for a living as well. But I don’t think that’s all there is to it. Maybe I couldn’t blog because I was almost fully immersed in the story in my mind that if I were to blog, it would mean setting down that story and tuning into real life.
Let me figure that out.
I am now in the process of making my final edits of the book before it gets sent out to my editors. Then comes finalising the design of the book cover.
I don’t know how this book will turn out. But for now, it’s more than enough for me that I’ve finally written a book of my own, a dream that I’ve long nurtured.
“The Flea Market” will be out on shelves next February. Do look out for it!
Filed under: Books
A girl whose sole passion is to write, and who thinks of herself as a collector of life’s memories, decides to write a story about a magical flea market and an old man who arrives at it.
This flea market occurs at every full moon, on a plane quite different from ours, one that’s visited by all kinds of folk – fairies, humans, creatures… One night, an old man arrives with a bag of his personal items that he intends to sell. Reason? So he can let go of the things that have bound him up and ‘shed’ himself off in the process, just to reclaim his lost ideals and innocence.
At every flea market, the old man picks one item, tells his story about it, and sells it. And he does grow younger with each item sold.
To write this story, the girl decides she should experience for herself how it feels like to let go of some of her personal possessions. But how does one, who holds so tightly to memories and everything else that makes them, do that?
And so she does just this, as she embarks on four weekends of a flea market with a friend. In so doing, her own journey unfolds, as does the story she’s writing, and she too, learns to be free.
