And now time for a round up

Today I handed in my first essay of my post-grad career. It's OK, nothing outstanding and will (hopefully) do well enough to pass me and no more. My energy levels feel zapped and nothing seems to lift them.

Last night I went to the Glasgow's NaNoWriMo kick off party night. Due to my own stupidity I thought it started at 6pm and was wondering around looking for potential writers. Turns out, it started at 7.30pm, the time I had arranged to meet Him Indoors for a romantic meal at China Buffet King. After meeting some other NaNos I politely made my excuses and left.

My writing class this week was *ahem* interesting. I took offence to someone using rape imagery in their assignment and no-one agreed with me, in public anyway. Of course someone has the right artistic freedom but they don't need to be so smug about it. Interestingly, my poem received different interpretations from the age groups in the class. It's a poem aimed at Remembrance Day and about letters being censored from the front line. Older members of the class got that. Some of the younger members thought it was someone reading letter revealing someone was having an affair. Was very puzzled by that but appreciated the criticism. So I have re-written parts of the poem which I will also post here. At some point. If only you could scan a notepad into the computer and it would automatically convert it into Word.

Yes I am Insane

Yes, in the year I am doing my MSc, ya know something kind of important, I have decided to try and write a 50, 000 word novel in one month. In the same month that I have a cataloguing placement with a possible 2 hour commute each way, 2 essays to hand in and a creative writing class to do battle with as well.

I have a vague plotline in my head involving Soviets, zombies, oven gloves, hockey sticks and other useful tangents to explore. And now I need to go and get some sleep so I can edit my 1st essay due in on Friday. And possible find out a way to steal some strong drugs that will allow me to work 24 hour days during November.

The Beauty Is In The Tea

On Thursday I went to see White Tea, a fantastic and very intimate show at the Tron Theatre. Reviews for this production had included the advice that members of the audience could sit on the stage, wear paper kimonos and drink white tea. On its own this sounded extremely cool to me and I tried to see it at the Edinburgh Fringe. Obviously, due to the small audience numbers needed, it was always sold out. My heart leapt when I found out it was coming to Glasgow. Tickets were booked and I fully expected my cup of white tea.

I had a vague understanding of the plot. Something about grief, loss, mother-daughter relationships and general human emotional pain. My cup of tea, if you don't mind the pun. I certainly got my physical cup of tea when I arrived at the theatre space. We sat on hard benches (which did become uncomfortable after a while) and the hostesses passed out pristine china cups of white tea to us. Both were dressed in kimonos made of thick white paper. The audience had their own kimonos to wear with a small tag asking us to kindly re-fold them after the performance. Bizarrely it made me think of the showers at Auschwitz - "Remember your peg number."

As I looked around the set, it appeared it be almost entirely constructed out of paper. The walls acted as a projection screen, with news screen footage of the nuclear bombings in Japan in 1945. My eyebrow was slightly raised at this. However it all made sense later. And it probably added to my thoughts of concentration camps.

I really want to avoid too much time on the plot for fear of ruining it for other audiences. Naomi is living in Paris, almost the other side of the world from her mother and is happy with that situation. Until she receives a phone call saying her mother has suffered a stroke. As Naomi debates whether or not to go, Tomoto, her mother's nurse, arrives on her doorstep and brings her to Kyoto via a plane and Tokyo. On the way, secrets coming out, the usual occurrence when a family member is on their deathbed.

Parts of the performance were inter cut with sound bites with a Japanese woman, later to be revealed to be Yoko Ono. Again all dealing with concepts of grief, her mother having an accident in Japan and Yoko being in America, too far away to help. What her and John were talking about before he was shot outside their apartment building.

Grief, unfortunately, has been a large part of my life for the past year. I found some comfort in the Japanese representation of this emotion. I wasn't entirely sure if it was Shinto or Buddhist philosophy they were presenting to us, the audience. One attraction I do have towards Shinto is the idea of honouring ancestors, an important reflection of Japanese culture. Honour and ritual, from burying the dead to the act of making and drinking tea.

I will go to Kyoto one day and there I think I will feel at home.

The Truth is I Know Nothing

Last week was the dawn of my MSc course (I still cannot believe I am doing a course that is considered a Master of Science. My Chemistry teacher from 10 years ago would be pissing herself laughing). And it's bloody hard. Already I can think of at least 4 presentations I need to prepare or 'leading the discussion'. Why does the discussion have to be on ISAD(G) and not the contents of last night's Hollyoaks? Joking aside and to repeat my above point: it's bloody hard.

Apparently postgraduate teaching relies on discussion from the students (which must be a bit cheeky for those students who have forked out almost £4, 000 for fees alone) and this has been the basis of this week's classes. Despite working for a year in an archive, I am coming to the conclusion I know nothing. Well, nothing about the theory of archives. Point me at a pile of boxes and tell me to go box list, I will go box list. Ask me to tell you about the theoretical approach to this? Nah, can't do that mate.

Yes, we need to be taught theory. Understanding the theory allows us, as records managers, archivists and so on, to make the weighty decision of deciding which records are to be preserved for the "historians of tomorrow". And it is a tough decision to make. Some decisions are easy such as chucking out bank statements, junk mail (that actually comes through a physical and not a digital letterbox) and other rubbish. It is a common occurrence for someone to be clearing out their house, decide to donate to an archive and dumping a lot of rubbish into the boxes. Though I did make a nice sweep of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles badges which were going in the bin.

But, cynically, I can't help wondering about the practicalities of the job. In the first archive I volunteered in, the archives team was very small and the Archivist had a lot of other tasks lumped onto their daily 'to do list'. Worrying about theory can come to second when faced with the physical job. One fellow student worked for a corporate archive, whose first and foremost role is to serve the company, and remembers the entire office dropping everything one day to retrieve records for the CEO who wanted them like yesterday.

This is the job I want to do. Despite lacking tidy skills in my domestic life, there is a sense of achievement following the cataloguing process from start to finish. There is a cataloguing placement in a couple of weeks time and I'm looking forward to it. One option may involve getting the hell out of Dodge Glasgow for a bit and that's an attractive solution.

Enough naval gazing. Despite not having classes until Monday, there's still a hellva lot to do.

Sunday Salon: Lack of reading

This week I started my long awaited Masters. Granted, this has been an induction week and the 'real' work will start tomorrow. But it was still rather tiring and we had to prepare a presentation in a matter of days. The topic could be on anything we liked and I chose Bookcrossing. Despite nerves it seemed to go down well and everyone likes free books, don't they? However, the commute and change in hours has meant I have been quite content with sitting on the bus and listening to the contents of my iPod. One day I forgot to put a book in my bag and didn't realise until I got home, the cover picture staring at me, accusingly.

On Friday there was a course meal and I had a rather interesting conversation with an American girl. Obviously a lot of people had guessed I was interested in books due to my presentation. She found it rather interesting that I was "so well read" (ha! I have friends (who know who they are) that would wet themselves laughing at that description of my reading habits) compared to her friends back home. Many of them did not view reading as a leisure activity but as a means to an end. Read this book, write a paper on it, pass the class, end of.

I will admit studying English in my last year of high school did kill reading a bit for me. The over analytical approach to literature seems to forget the key concept of enjoy what you read. Or, at the very least, have some personal reaction to the text even if it's "I hate this book and I hope it burns".

Today I am reading. Unfortunately it's not for my pleasure but hopefully I will learn something from it. And, failing that, I still have the second Steig Larsson book winking at me from the coffee table. Oh yes.

Sunday Salon: Shameful how it has been

One of my new year resolutions was to try and update my blog each week to contribute to the Sunday Salon which a fellow blogger introduced me to. The idea is simple (like all good ideas). Each Sunday imagine you're bustling about a busy reading room and sharing ideas about what you have read that week.

My last post was in January (!) so instead I shall be content with updating about the two recent reads that have made an impact on me, The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larson.

The 19th Wife was a misleading book. From the blurb on the back, it looks like a book dealing with a murder in a contemporary Mormon sect that still follows the laws of polygamy. Actually it's a comprehensive book dealing with 'manuscripts' from the 19th century, centering on Ann Eliza Young who was the 19th wife (well, not exactly, there appears to be a lot of debate on that topic) of Brigham Young, who lead the Mormon movement after the death of its founder, Joseph Smith.

Esbershoff flits between manuscripts, letters and archived documents (no doubt with their basis in truth but something he's allowed his imagination to run riot with) as well as the modern day story involving Jordan. The book opens with Jordan, an outcast member of this sect, reading on the Internet his mother has been arrested for the murder of his father. Jordan was outcast from the sect a number of years before for holding hands with one of his many sisters, although it is later revealed in the book that Jordan is gay. Another no-no for this sect. At first, I thought this book would fail my 50 page rule. The sections with Jordan seemed clumsy, that anyone could have written then. Without the story to unravel, there was nothing to keep me here.

Then Esbershoff moved onto the manuscript belonging to Ann Eliza and from there I couldn't put the book down. He paints a very vivid picture of individuals involved with the initial stages of the Mormon faith, the fragmentation of the faith (and before everyone flames me, yes I do know that the section that believes in multiple marriages is in the minority. Alas, that story sells more newspapers) and very believable female characters. I tend to find female characters written by a male writer don't always ring true but Esbershoff hit the nail on the head. Also, the added introduction 'written' by Harriet Beecher Stowe was a nice touch as well.

This book was a real page turner and I was almost disappointed when we returned to the present to Jordan's story. The manuscripts chapters provided an interesting contrast between the hopes of the founders of the faith to what people have warped it into. Certainly a book with food for thought and will certainly spark a lively discussion.

And now I have poured my coffee, turned the washing machine onto to spin and Him Indoors has been roused from his slumbers, I shall turn to my next book, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson.

I picked this book up out of mere curiosity and the hype surrounding it. Larsson died not long after he completed his third manuscript in this series (called Millenium) so it has that edge of sadness over a living author (especially one that died so recently). According to his bio, he was a leading authority on right-wing politics and this shines through in this book.

The story opens with Mikael Blomkvist, a Swedish journalist who has been charged with libel against a Swedish industrialist suspected of foul play. He is offered a chance to get away from it all, by Henrik Vanger, another Swedish industrialist. Mikael's 'cover' job is to write a biographical history of the Vanger family, with all its skeletons, including many colourful right-wing family members who were part of the Nazi movement in Sweden. In reality, he has been asked to investigate the disappearance/possible murder of Harriet Vanger in the 1970s. What follows is a roller coaster ride as Mikael battles to solve the mystery as well as attempting to save his floundering magazine, Millenium, which is suffering badly after the libel case.

I really don't want to reveal too much more of the story apart from two elements. One, the twist had my jaw drop open in disbelief, I simply sped through the final pages and was not disappointed. Two, Lizbeth Salander is a fascinating and troubled female character. Some of the scenes portraying some of the sexual abuse she suffers is horrifying but a small part of the militant feminist inside me cheered when she got her revenge.

A small warning: some parts of this book are extremely graphic and did turn my normally strong stomach. But Larsson is not merely using them for 'shock value', these incidents gel well within this story.

That's my lot for the week. My current read is continuing the Frost In May series (which I only discovered earlier this year) and whatever my course throws at me (starting tomorrow - weeeee!).

Lessons in Writing 101

Don't save two Word files with the same name and roughly the same content. Because you'll update one file with a great and amazing piece of writing.

And then save over the updated file with the un-updated file.

*slams head on desk*