gue sempat bercita-cita jadi penulis profesional atau novelis setelah menonton film 'as good as it gets'. karakter melvin udall yang diperani jack nicholson itu benar-benar membekas di memori gue. bukan soal sengaknya, tapi betapa enak gaya hidupnya. nggak perlu keluar rumah merasakan macet, mandi keringat dan berbedak debu, cukup duduk tenang - menulis, lalu uang mengalir masuk ke rekening dengan lancar .

gue memberanikan menulis serius di saat maraknya penerbitan chicklit lokal. siapa tahu gue bisa menjadi the next ayu utami, dewi lestari atau fira basuki. gue memperlakukan setiap karya gue dengan penuh rasa sayang. mereka adalah 'bayi-bayi' gue. dan mengarang membuat gue merasa seperti Tuhan, bisa memberi nyawa pada tokoh-tokoh rekaan dan kapan saja bisa mencabut nyawa mereka. kadang saking intensnya mengarang, para lakon itu hidup dalam otak gue, bergerak dan bercakap bak adegan-adegan film.  

sayangnya tidak semudah itu mewujudkan impian menjadi penulis. sudah berkali-kali naskah novel, cerpen dan puisi gue pulang kandang tanpa hasil. miris rasanya . sampai akhirnya rasa kecewa dan sakit hati yang menggunung dalam hati membuncah dan meledak setelah menerima 3 penolakan dalam 1 hari. untung saja misua gue sangat sabar dan suportif. tanpa banyak komentar dia hanya diam memeluk gue yang nangis sesenggukan .

setelah pulih dari patah hati, gue kembali menulis apa saja dan di mana saja. mungkin Tuhan iba sama misua gue yang sering menjadi tempat curhat yang penuh keluh kesah dan membosankan sehingga akhirnya ada beberapa artikel yang berhasil naik cetak dan diterbitkan. hasilnya memang tidak seberapa banyak namun kepuasan yang didapat jauh terasa lebih melegakan dan membuat gue sadar kalau selama ini gue terlalu serakah. ada hal yang tak kalah penting dari uang.

She reached for the keycard in his pocket, swiping the lock and pushing the door open.  Moving into the bedroom of the suite, he placed her on her feet.  His shirt buttons flew in different direction as he ripped the material from his chest, tossing it to the floor.  He reached for her waist, pulling her into his arms, and reconnecting with her lips.  The collision was head on with no turning back.  Removing the rest of his clothes from his body, he stood before her with an erection that was ready to do some serious damage.  Chauncey could only hope he had enough protection. It was going to be a long afternoon with several rounds of lovemaking.  They had the perfect outside setting with a storm taking place, along with a roaring fire going in the fireplace.  “Kyle, I have craved this moment, night after night.  There is nothing I want more than to feel all of you, inside me,” she slowly slid the straps of her bra off before turning her back to him and letting the material fall to the floor.  She felt a warm kiss run across her back from one shoulder to the other while she unbuckled her slacks, easing them over her curvy hips, and let them find there way to the floor. She kicked them across the room and when she turned around to face him, he was on his knees, placing a single kiss to her belly button. “Baby, I need to feel your tongue caress my body.  I don’t think I can wait much longer,” she placed her leg over his shoulder, running her hands through his curly hair, sending his head between her legs.  He didn’t waist a single moment.  She could feel him nibble through her silky thong before snatching the material off her body.  He replaced his mouth with two fingers, inserted them deep inside her.  The tremble of her thigh could be felt with rippling waves as he stroked her insides the way she liked him to with fast, deep thrusts. “Oh, yes!  Lick my clit, Kyle. Please baby, I’ll give you anything you want.” She said panting, breathlessly.  He loved it when she gave him orders. He had no problem pleasing her the way she wanted.  The more she begged, the harder his erection became.  He  was rock hard and at the point were he reached his hand to stroke himself until he came all over his hand.  The force of his semen was too much for him. “Oh, Kyle. Yes, oh, yes!” she screamed with liquid oozing from her insides, drenching his tongue until he couldn’t catch anymore.  Her knees started to buckle.  He pulled her body towards the floor, continuing his assault on her throbbing, clit. 

The thoughts that were swirling through Chauncey’s head, sent her convulsions into overdrive.  Multiple orgasms were ripping her apart.  Her heart was beating a mile a minute.  If it wasn’t a storm outside, she would be back home, preparing for a full work week but in all her wildest dreams, she didn’t anticipate being devoured by the insatiable, Kyle Cruse.  Neither of them could have predicted what was about to take place but they had too much history to ignore the passion that erupted when their bodies collided.  Kyle intertwined his legs with hers as Chauncey nipped at his neck. She felt a surge go through her when he plunged his hardened, erection deep into her womb.  The joy that was felt at that moment made her cling to him even tighter, she ran her hands up and down his spine, resting them on the curves of his behind.  She grunted deeply into a painful groan, feeling the heat from his body as perspiration started to trickle down from his forehead, landing in a endless pool on her collarbone.  “Right there, baby,” she said, planting wet kisses on his neck, licking around his ear; she was being served a hefty dish of hot sex.  With a single move, she tugged his body until he tumbled over, landing on his back with her straddling his waist.  She had no problem taking the lead, lowering her heated, feminine flesh over his pulsating erection.  She rode the waves of ecstacy backwards and forward, swiveling her hips like a mad woman.

I can’t believe how people who managed such a hugely successful TV series for so long have consistently come up with movie ideas that have laid such eggs at the box office. And to think I dragged my friends to this film. They wanted to watch that Jesse James film. I argued fiercely against the plethora of good reviews it garnered, saying it was in the running for Oscars last year and that it was dud. Thankfully the same disregard for reviews held me in good stead while convincing them to go for the X-phillum. ’Cos that certainly didn’t get good reviews.

To put it in perspective, Chris Carter has tried to draw in X philistines with this movie. As a result he’s toned down the spooky stuff and also given the Mulder-Scully relationship extra dimensions. Ironically that’s what put me off the most. Come on guys, the reason I went to watch an X Files movie is I want to see more of the inexplicable paranormal stuff, not some tame organ transplant plot. And the Scully-Mulder exchanges just get mind numbing after a while. And the climax was such a damp squib.

I was sorely disappointed (The scathing looks my friends keep shooting me throughout the film didn’t help). I am a huge fan of the TV series. For years, I set aside everything else on Sundays just so I could watch an episode of my favourite show. I even lit candles on the day they aired the last episode. For many Sundays after that, I faithfully switched on the telly at the appointed time in the hope that Ten Thirteen productions had changed their minds, and was left with a feeling of emptiness when they perversely didn’t.

Anyway, to address another issue, I know I haven’t been writing regularly. I expect that will continue for some more time. The reason is that Diwali is coming up and everyone (most of all my creative director) is keen to take off during the holidays. Now I don’t want to spoil her plans because I really like her (she makes sure I get paid on time). But mostly I want her to have this holiday because she is stressed out and is making my life hell. As a result we have to finish a month’s work in less than half the time.

On yet another separate note, Kkrishnaa’s Konfessions is # 2 on the bestseller list, trailing only Sea of Poppies. At least that is the case in Landmark stores (and elsewhere, I like to think). Life is good.

Queen Betsy, book 7

As always, a quick read.  Thankfully Betsy is FINALLY starting to grow up, she's been a bit annoying the last couple books. Honestly, this is total brain candy and I can't think of a single meaningful thing to say about it tonight, lol.

The moment she saw me, the journalist looked mortified. I don’t know what she was expecting but a scruffy, unwashed person lounging around in a tattered tee and tracks was not it. She started to apologize thinking she had arrived too early. But when I reassured that indeed she had not, that I lounge around like this all day unless I have to go somewhere, her face fell. I have a vague feeling that I made everything worse by allaying her apprehensions. Like I had ruined some cherished fantasy in which writers (female ones, at any rate) dress in gossamer silk and drape themselves on sofas, sipping umbrella drinks and smoking slim cigarettes off a cigarette holder, waiting for inspiration to strike.

I hated having to disabuse her of the notion. But it is true that I often don’t bother to dress up before seven in the evening unless I have to go somewhere earlier. In fact, I am so fond of my ultra casual clothing that I resist all attempts to leave home before seven p.m. And then too I agree only if the proposed visit is to a pub. Okay, that is a joke. I also agree to restaurants and other such places that serve alcohol (another joke. I'm on fire!). During the day I only make exceptions for my bank manager and chartered account. Luckily most of the times I can get away with it citing reasons of the all-important but fleeting visit of my muse.

TO BE CONTD.... 

Nama Cecelia dikenal banyak orang lewat novel-novelnya yang selalu menempati daftar best seller di Irlandia dan Inggris. Novelnya diedarkan di 46 negara dengan total penjualannya delapan juta eksemplar.

Semua itu bermula dari malam-malam melelahkan yang dilalui Cecilia di dapur rumahnya berteman bercangkir-cangkir kopi dan cahaya temaram. Cecelia yang saat itu berusia 21 tahun menulis dengan pena dan kertas nonstop mulai malam hari hingga matahari terbit. “Rasanya ide lebih mengalir kalau menulis dengan tangan sampai-sampai tangan tidak bisa mengimbangi ide yang mengalir deras,” kata penggemar penyanyi rap 50 cent ini.

Ketika novel yang diberi judul “PS I Love You” diterbitkan, banyak yang mencibir dan menuduh Cecelia mendompleng nama besar sang ayah. Tapi semua suara sumbang tak digubrisnya. “Tumbuh di keluarga politisi membuat saya siap menghadapi kritik paling pedas sekalipun,” ujar penulis yang menyumbangkan royalti antologi cerpennya untuk amal.

Cecilia tidak berpuas diri dan terus menulis novel yang ketika diterbitkan langsung melejit jadi best seller. Gadis yang pernah bekerja menjadi sales toko pakaian dan pelayan restoran ini mengaku ingin terus menulis karena sangat mencintai aktivitas ini.

Cecelia yang sejak berusia delapan tahun sudah menulis catatan harian ini menemukan jati dirinya lewat kelas-kelas menulis kreatif saat kuliah. Namun yang paling mendorong ia menulis novel adalah ibunya yang sangat tertarik membaca draf novelnya dan ayahnya yang meski politisi selalu membaca novel Cecelia yang bertema cinta.

Karena itu Cecelia sangat percaya diri dan cuek terhadap semua kritik pada novelnya. Tapi ia sangat keberatan kalau novelnya disebut chicklit yang dianggapnya istilah yang merendahkan dan membatasi kalangan pria untuk menikmati karyanya. “Hanya karena ceritanya hangat dan menarik untuk perempuan bukan berarti novel saya tidak intelek,” kata dia kesal.

Cecelia memang tidak pernah mengambil tema cinta yang sederhana dan selalu penuh dengan imajinasi dan bumbu dongeng yang menjadi ciri khas Irlandia. Dalam novelnya “A Place Called Here”, Cecelia mengisahkan tokoh utamanya mencari sahabat kecilnya di negeri tempat semua benda yang hilang berlabuh.

Kini Cecelia sedang menanti drama televisi dari novel A Place Called Here dan film musikal yang dibintangi Hugh Jackman yang diadaptasi dari novel “If You Could See Me Now”. Novel terbarunya “Hope Only Comes Once” akan diterbitkan April 2008 di Eropa.

Setelah semua kesuksesan diraihnya di usia yang sangat muda, Cecelia tetap dikenal sebagai gadis yang ramah dan membumi. Ia memang tidak pernah bermimpi menjadi milyuner dan hanya ingin terus menulis selama ia bisa. “Kata-kata dituangkan di atas kertas akan diingat dan tersimpan selama-lamanya,” ujarnya.

I genuinely don't know what I think of this book.  I ~loved~ the movie and have seen it several times, so I thought I should read the book.

Vianne is a rather shallow character in the movie. She is more complex in the book.  The bit about her potentially being a stolen child threw me off.  It was such a huge thing, and it was just mentioned & forgotten. As though anyone would forget a revelation of that magnitude!

I liked Anouk more in the book; in the movie she is a bit irritating. Caro of the book actually managed to be even more annoying than Carrie Ann Moss' portrayal in the movie.  I think now maybe she WAS acting.  All along I thought the stiff attitude was bad acting; maybe she's a method actress?

The prose was lyrical in some spots, in others it was heavy handed, kind of a bumpy ride. I am glad I read it, and I'll probably read the sequel.  I'm just not sure I liked it enough to keep my copy; I may give it away now that I've finally read it.

This was entertaining, but not at all what I was expecting.  The little bit of magical realism in it threw me off. It was also more of a romance than I was expecting.  Still, a fun little read.

A Stephanie Plum novel

There is no rhyme or reason to it, I just love this series.  I must admit, though, that this one had the least laugh-out-loud moments of any book in the series for me, including the holiday-themed "between the numbers" books.

For those of you with a MMORPG junkie in your life, imagine them taking it to the extreme & dressing the part 24/7 and tagging (spray-painting) magical game symbols on everything in sight.  Then imagine them getting your 80yo great-grama and her friends doing it too.  For those scenes alone it was worth it :-)

This appeared in The Hindu.

Ignore the th in Smitha and it's fine :-). And as you can probably guess, the cutout is where my picture goes.

But since it is not exactly the great literary novel it should be cheesy as well. And funny. Basically smartassy. Maybe something like, "There are three shots on my body - two lead and one bourbon."

Except it is also a female PI, so maybe something chicklitty. And Not something like, "I didn't know whether flutter in the pit of my stomach was him or just me ovulating."

For those of you who keep procrastinating, I got a nice one for you guys. But before I get into it, a little bit of background. Sinclair Lewis was supposed to lecture a bunch of would-be writers. For those of who don't know, Sinclair Lewis was a famous American writer and I think, the first American to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Anyway, when it came Sinclair Lewis's turn to speak, he staggered to the podium, gazed drunkenly at the crowd of eager faces, and said, "You dumb sonsabitches wanna write? Well, g'wan the hell home and write"!

There is only so much guidance anyone can give you. At the end of the day you have to write, trash, rewrite stuff. You have to develop your own style. And go easy on yourself.

Let's face it, If you haven't written before, it's hardly likely that you will write scintillating prose. Notice I don't say won't write scintillating prose. You never know when someone might just do so on his/her debut attempt, just to make you eat your words.

Fred the Mermaid, book 2

*sigh* I wanted to like this one, but it was, in fact, worse than the first.  At least it was a quick read.

To read the more legible online verison, click here.

Back up a moment here. Ladki lit?

"You know, Indian chick lit," she clarified.

Ye gads!

But when I think about it, I kinda like it in a reverse snobbery kinda way. You know, like we all liked Govinda-David Dhawan comedies. Someone. Anyone!! NO ONE????!!!

Okay, so that was just me.

So far, chick lit had been sub categorised into Mom lit, Mystery lit, Wedding lit, Latina lit, Teen lit and so on to give every woman what some snobbish anonymous editor claimed in Boston Weekly Digest, ‘a chance for women of every colour and age to be portrayed as annoying, shallow twits.' Methinks, this is editor is also one of two things:

• a) An unpublished author who masterpiece was rejected in favour of a chicklit novel, or
• b) A published author whose literary masterpiece failed to garner a quarter of the sales of say a Marian Keyes or Helen Fielding.

(There is a reason this editor chooses to remain anonymous)

But I digress.

Coming back to the point, it's only natural that the term would find an Indian avatar. And it does. I'm just thankful it's not laundiya lit.

My opinion is colored by my own experience in a creative writing program (what my local university had before they developed an MFA program).  I was ostensibly a literature major but took writing workshops because I wanted to develop my writing.  So much of what I observed during the two years in that program are captured in Rabb's story:  the favoritism, the unskilled (and thus worthless) workshop critiques, the sexual games among the students, the competition.  

I was lucky in that most of the students in the program treated me kindly.  I had so little confidence in my writing that I obviously wasn't a threat to any of them.  I also was happily married at that time (and still am ... to the same guy even) and avoided the after-class bar and bed hops.   What disappointed me about the experience--and why I would loathed to attend writing workshops again--was the fact that I came out of it with no more confidence in my skill as a writer than I did going in.  

Yes, I did receive praise for a couple of my stories from one of the more highly regarded workshop professors, and I even won a graduate student writing award (although that was for a literary essay, not a short story).  But what has unfortunately stayed with me was the high ridicule expressed over one of my stories during one workshop, a story that had an autobiographical basis.  I didn't know how to deal with the humiliation, nor why I had to be humiliated, no matter how bad my story was.  Like the narrator of Rabb's story, I wept bitterly.

The fallibility of the workshop professor was also a disappointment.  His overt favoritism toward some students sparked ill-will within the group, and his was always the "last word" in the workshops.  One time I strongly argued on behalf of another student regarding a technique she had used in her story.  I said it worked; he said it didn't.  His opinion squashed mine, which could have been OK if only I had been allowed to make my argument in full.  

So I guess I still have some grudges--15+ years and counting.  But since then (and most recently), I've engaged a paid writing mentor who provided criticism and support, and found myself writing more in these past three years than I had in the previous ten.  I've also shared my stories with friends, again getting needed criticism but also much needed support.  I think my former professor would consider me delusional to rely solely on the feedback of friends and paid mentors.  But so what?  I am writing, and I am being read, even if (at this time) by a very small group.  It's enough to sustain me and encourage me to, as one friend commands, "keep writing"!

Luckor vill jag gärna försöka fylla igen, och i mitt läsande har Kajsa Ingemarsson länge varit en lucka. Ingen lucka att sträva efter att fylla, kanske vissa säger, men jag tycker ändå att en författare som säljer platina med sin pocket flera år i rad, borde jag ha läst. Åtminstone för att veta vad det är jag sen låter bli att läsa. Så ramlade Lyckans hjul in i min bokhylla och nu var det dags.

Berättelsen handlar om några hus i ett villaområde. Där bor Nina, ensamstående med tonårssonen boendes hemma. Hon har en frisersalong och går ut och dansar med barndomsväninnan på helgerna, för att fortsätta sökandet efter mannen med stort m.

På gatan bor också Miriam som lever med sin man, eller kanske rättare sagt för sin man. Hon går hemma och pysslar och fixar och han kommer hem och ber om en askkopp.

Den tredje personen heter Ellinor, en ung advokat, nyinflyttad som är hemma med sitt första barn. Ellinor förstår inte vad det är med henne. Hon skulle ju vara nöjd med att gå hemma med sonen medan maken satsar på karriären. Varför längtar hon bort? Varför är hon inte nöjd?

Så flyttar någon in i det fjärde huset, det som stått tomt ett tag. De tre grannarna spanar, undrar och funderar. Förfasar sig! Vad mycket folk det springer där, som stannar en timme bakom nedfällda persienner. Är det en bordell de fått till granne? När de väl får reda på vad den nya grannen egentligen pysslar med har det hänt saker i alla deras liv som gör att de faktiskt behöver just sin nya granne.

Utan att ha berättat för mycket så förstår du säkert vad det är för typ av bok: kvinnor i en inte helt tillfredsställande situation, blir tvungna att förändra och förändras. Och sen ett lyckligt slut. Och jag tycker faktiskt att Ingemarsson gör det helt okej. Det är enkelt, möjligen för enkelt, tema. Språket är funktionellt även om jag stör mig på vissa saker och tänker ”men Kajsa! Så kan du inte skriva!” Jag stör mig också en del på personerna och deras åsikter. Det är kort sagt lite väl enkelt och enkelspårigt. Men okej, ungefär så okej som jag förväntade mig.

Lata dagar i hängmattan är den perfekt för, om du tänkt dig något enkelt vill säga.

409 sidor
Utgivningsår: 2008

This was better than the cover art led me to expect...eventually.

I got this one on audio so I could listen on my ipod while I walk the dog.  Good plan, right?  Multi-tasking and all that.  The author's style was entertaining, but the book just didn't make any sense whatsoever.  This went on for about 3 days with me complaining about the lack of logical organization to the book.

Then I realized my ipod was still on shuffle from the last time I played music on it. Doh!

After starting over from the beginning to get things in their proper order, it was a much better book. There were some things about the story pacing that probably would have annoyed me in print, but that worked in audio, largely due to the skill of the reader.

The book, despite being about a woman and by a woman had a real heavy-handed feel.  The men in this book had all the power, outside of Rowena & she was only trading on her husband's power, and were all a bit condescending, except John. That annoyed me.

I ~loved~ the pageant though.  Just the idea of a pageant where beauty isn't really a factor was exciting to me.  Sure, beauty helped, but entertainment value was more desirable.

Did kind of piss me off that we never ~really~ find out what happened to Ruby.

I am such a sucker for books/movies with writers as the protagonists.  Make the writer a pudgy one whose love for greasy sweet carbs matches my own and a cat almost as useless as mine and it's a match made in heaven.

For as long as it takes to read the book.  These are as lightweight as dessert, without the lingering after-effects on the hips, and fun, but not something I'll buy to read over and over.

I LOVE the supporting characters in this series, in particular Jaine's parents--You never meet them, just get to read 2-4 emails between them and Jaine at the end of each chapter, but they are absolutely the highlight of the series.