I sometimes think I should get business cards made that list my work as “professionally interesting”. Part of being an author means that I always have a random fact or interesting anecdote about anything that comes up, and it also means that I spend time at events, on the radio or in print, talking about the most interesting aspects of my books, my research or even just myself. (I have had an unusually full, interesting and long life for someone who likes to think she’s in her early 30s.)
I was listening to an audiobook of Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes yesterday when there was a line so intoxicating that I had to stop in the street, rewind it, and then quickly google it before I forgot it (because it’s hard to mark a page in an audiobook).
There are lots of arresting lines in Something Wicked – more than there are events, so far (it seems to be more of a mood piece, although the newly arrived carnival has promise). But this one struck me particularly because of the romance that it conjured up about trains in the night, a romance that I am susceptible to myself, nighttime or not.
To be clear, I’m not a big steam train enthusiast and I don’t hanker for the ‘golden age’ of the railways (although ‘Railway Fever’ will be a chapter in my distantly forthcoming book about Glasgow’s bridges), but I still feel the pull of the rails. I’ve quoted a poem about trains before on this blog, and I initially wondered if Bradbury was quoting a poem, too.
I think I’ve mentioned before that I sometimes see the destinations of long-distance trains on the board, or hear their calling points being announced (“Exeter St David’s, St Austell, Truro”, “Crianlarich, Tyndrum, Loch Awe, Oban”) and want to just jump on them instead of going wherever I’m meant to be going. And of course, I went on my big Interrail adventure last year.
All of which, I think, justifies a whole blog post just to quote a few lines about trains;
“Way late at night Will had heard – how often? – train whistles jetting steam along the rim of sleep, forlorn, alone and far, no matter how near they came. Sometimes he woke to find tears on his cheek, asked why, lay back, listened and thought, Yes! they make me cry, going east, going west, the trains of far gone in country deeps they drown in tides of sleep that escape the towns.”
I was planning to blog about Christmas films round about now. I was planning to do a lot of things this month, but ended up spending the start of it in hospital instead. That really messes with your diary and your to-do list, I find. Anyway, I’m still feeling very wobbly, but I’m out of hospital now, and I thought I would share with you all the things I like about not being in hospital, so that you can appreciate them too. Unless you’re reading this from hospital, of course, in which case you have my sympathy.
This post was composed in collaboration with my old friend, fellow A-ha fan and English teacher extraordinaire, Susan Main. We recently took a wee trip to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival (or Edinburgh Festival Fringe, as it used to be) and encountered many of these phenomena.
Another book review for you this time. Slavery Free Communities was kindly lent to me by my friend Joan, and I took far too long to read this, considering there were other people waiting in line. I’m fairness, my tbr pile is insane. Anyway, I’ve finished it now, I’m passing it on to the next readerg hopefully today, and I’ve used the remainder of my time with it to write a big long review.
The Covid-19 pandemic has changed many things – our vocabulary (go back in time and try telling your past self that you’re not sure whether to take a PCR or an LFT because you may have caught Omicron from an anti-masker even though you’re double-vaxxed), our workplace habits (hello, Zoom), our travel and our priorities. One of the very minor things it has changed is my mind about songs with actions.
It’s been an up and down sort of a year. It started during a miserable winter lockdown and has ended with lighter-touch restrictions back in force and the threat of more (thanks, Omicron), but there has been quite a lot of good stuff in-between. I found a lovely wee flat and moved back to Glasgow, which was great (because however nice East Kilbride is, it’s not Glasgow) but then got new neighbours with some seriously anti-social dogs. The year was bookended by failing to get two writing/editing jobs that I wanted and that would have paid decent money, but on the other hand I finished the novel I was working on and had a few smaller pieces published.
The race for Christmas number one is being fiercely fought between Ed Sheeran & Elton John, and Ed Sheeran & Elton John (with Ladbaby). The tension is entirely bearable. However, although I’m not a fan of Ed or Elton, I am a bit pleased that Christmas number one will be something Christmassy this year. It rarely is.
One of the things my church has done to help people feel connected during the last year and a half of craziness is get a variety of members to do readings. They don’t give the reader’s name, but you often recognise the voices, which is nice, or you spend the entire reading going “whose voice is that?”, which is a little distracting. Anyway, as part of this I recently recorded a looong Bible reading for my church (Jeremiah 7, if you’re interested – it’s available on YouTube).
Yesterday, I went to a church watch party. This is not, as my older sister suggested, a meeting where people compare wristwatches, but a social occasion when friends gather to watch the livestreamed church service together.
K C Murdarasi 