For the love of an iPod

I have fallen in love with the iPod. It’s damned embarrassing. We were on holiday last week on an island in Germany called Rügen and I spent all my time alone listening to Peter Lovesey’s The House Sitter. I have a Audible.co.uk subscription and I buy two audio books a month…and I have to listen to my books right then, right now and it’s ruining my image as a serious adult. People at the hotel thought I was a music junky who just needed to have her Shakira, singing My Hips Don’t Lie (and what’s with the title of this song???) while I ordered, in a very loud voice, for a Mai Tai or what you have it.

I felt like telling people, it isn’t music, it’s a book. My husband things I’m nuts but he also believes it’s just a phase. The iPod is his, you see, as I adamantly refused to buy one, until now.

I just started listening to, and this is on my way to work and back, The Devil Wore Prada. I had no desire to read or buy this book until I bumped into a trailer of the movie. I like Meryl Streep and I went ahead and used a book credit on Audible.co.uk to download the book onto several CDs (remember the iPod doesn’t actually belong to me). So far I’ve heard maybe an hour and I can’t say it’s doing much for me. If I was reading this book, I’d be skipping pages. Some of the stuff is painfully bad and the writer uses the word “addled brain” about a million times in one hour. So maybe Meryl Streep isn’t being too smart taking on such a role; but she’s Meryl Streep, I guess she can do what she wants.

I just got another Tudor history book this week, called The Last Boleyn, which is the story of Mary Boleyn, the sister of Anne Boleyn; not to be confused with The Last Boleyn by Philippa Gregory that comes out this year and is about Lady Jane Rochford, the wife of George Boleyn, Anne Boleyn’s brother. Jane was one of the big testifiers against Anne Boleyn and helped Henry VIII build a case against Anne for adultery and incest. But Jane paid her dues when she was executed alongside Catherine Howard, Henry’s fifth wife who, I think, actually did commit adultery. She was 18, she was married to an old fat man, and she was the Queen of England, who could blame her. Apparently, Henry did, and had her head chopped off, the poor little thing. Good thing we have divorce now!

I got thinking about the book because the book club I spoke with at 5 a.m. today morning (I live in Denmark; my readers are in the US, so I wake up at odd hours to speak with book clubs – 5 a.m. is actually a good time) liked The Other Boleyn Girl as well.

My book got an in with the book club partly because one of the book club members is my husband’s ex-colleague and I’ve met her a few times. But they liked Song of the Cuckoo Bird…they really liked it!! It was a pleasure speaking to the book club as it always is. Even though I have to wake up at odd hours, I love speaking with book clubs – so if you’re in a book club and want me to call into a meeting, just read the book and get a speaker phone. I’ll call and we’ll chat – I might be a tad groggy but half through I wake up and stop slurring.

The road that is hell

I thought it was only in India the "road guys" liked to dig up half the road to watch commuters suffer. I always felt that they were standing around eating peanuts and drinking sugar cane juice while they laughed and laughed and laughed at our misery.

Since I moved to Copenhagen, the one common theme between all drives and roads is construction. There is HEAVY construction. So heavy that two lanes have become one, three lanes have become two and one lane has become half. On my way to work I go through about five construction zones; on my way home I do the three lane to two and two lane to one business once each.

I see a lot of narrowing of roads, slowing down of traffic, big construction trucks...what I don't see is a construction worker. Not one guy in orange stuff have I seen at any of these construction sites. They say that construction will end in August 2007, I'm not sure, not if the construction guys are sitting and watching us suffer while they laugh and laugh and laugh and drink beer (in Denmark they drink beer...all Danes always drink beer).

In other news, I read a fabulous novel that comes out soon, NO GOD IN SIGHT by Altaf Tyrewala. This is his debut novel that kicked critical ass when it was released by Penguin India in India (where else!). And now McAdam & Cage is bringing it out in the US. Go and buy this book and read it when it comes out this Summer/Fall. It's a funny dark comedy that's a lot like a Hindi movie, just without the song and dance.

You're not my critique partner!

When I signed my first book contract, an ex-colleague of mine sent me an email that said (words to the effect): "I knew it could be done; I just need to find the time to finish my book and sell it."

I am sure he also said congratulations somewhere in that email, but I don't remember. And as far as I know he hasn't sold his book yet.

I meet a lot of people who when they hear that I write books, tell me that they want to write books, that they can write a book, if only they had the time. I am sure no one talks like that with people who paint or sing.

"You made that painting? I can paint too, I just don't find the time. But if I did, it would stand in the gallery right next to yours."

Writing seems easy. I can speak in full sentences, therefore I can write. And I don't mean to be a snob about it, but really, do people who say stuff like this to a writer want to tell the writer that what he/she does is not a big deal or are they trying to find a common ground for their conversation?

Once a woman told me, "So writing books, enh? Wow. You know I've always liked words. Maybe I should write a book."

When my first book came out, I thought people I know would be proud of me. That they would think how I have been working my ass off since I was 11, and I'm getting rewarded for my work. But I got all sorts of terrible email.

"I take literature very seriously so I'd rather not comment on your book."

"Good, you don't expect The New Yorker to review your book, it's nice to see that you know where your book stands."

"It really wasn't to my taste, you know? I read Salman Rushdie."

I have also received email from people I know, people I thought were friends, a day or two after a book comes out; "I really didn't like this book."

And if you say anything, I am sure they'll say, "I'm just being honest." Frankly, I prefer polite to honest.

And most of the people I knew who bitched about my book were people who thought that they could write or were trying to write. One guy I went to high school with had had an essay published when he was a teenager and sent me an email detailing why he thought my book sucked.

I get plenty of "honesty" from reviewers; from friends and family I expect support. I mean, once the book is out, no point bitching about it, I can't change it and while I was working on it, I didn't ask for your opinion, so why not be nice? This rush to be honest, I feel is a cover to be mean.

In 2002, when my first novel, A Breath of Fresh Air came out, I was stunned that readers sent me emails saying they loved the book; and people I grew up with sent me emails saying it was not so good, not real literature, not good enough, blah, blah. I was shattered then.

Now, I shrug and think, "Ah, put this one on the spam list."

So, if you have a friend or an acquaintance who writes and their book, which is now published is not to your taste, don't be mean. Say it was nice and wish them luck. Unless you're someone's critique partner, keep your thoughts to yourself. If you're a reader and a writer you love (or picked up for the first time) let you down, let the writer know because the writer wants to know, needs to know.

Think about it. If you met Tom Cruise, would you be rude enough to say, "MI 3 was a disaster, and dude, what's with telling the world everything about your private life?" And you don't even know Tom Cruise...