sometimes I think I want to edit short story collections, be an editor like that, with this craving of curating a book inside of me. But I think I would want something artistic too. I wish I could work on a really nice online magazine, or a series of little collaborative zines. Something with people coming together to create something nice. It doesn’t need to be original or groundbreaking, that has never interested me, but I want to be a builder of things, the one that will look at all these disconnected things and use her thread to sew them all together into something nice and enjoyable. I do not know if I can do this or how or when, but I would very very much like it.
“you never find the need to get properly dressed when you go outside because there is absolutely NO chance of anybody seeing you.” this, this, this. There’s nothing better in the world than getting the post in your pajamas and wellington boots.
yes! (well I live so deep in the countryside I have to drive 15 minutes to get my post). I go out to get wood with mismatched and oversized pajamas and wellington boots, my hair dirty and/or not brushed without a care in the world. It’s awesome :) x
Do you have shivers before a storm comes? Mine run up and down my spine, and come to silently rest in my fingertips, so that they quiver ever so lightly. They are so electrified it feels like I can touch the air, like a pressure against my skin. I want to tear into it, see if it opens a door into another world, ripe and young and new. Things are often too bright for me to stare at, and I only rely on my fingers to tell me of what they are. There is a sort of knowledge that can only be acquired by the way things feel against the pads of your fingers. I find that the skin knows much more than we think, maybe we have been looking in all the wrong places for dreams, and ideas, and sadness and love. There is a place I go where all is dark outside and the shivers make my legs jittery and my eyes are useless. My skin hums a song, and lights up the sky as it tears open. Maybe there is not much difference between our skin and the Earth’s. Maybe we have been tearing away at doors, opening them with electrified outer-shells, since the day we let our skin touch the air, and felt the weight of the world upon it.
a memory from your child, one that means the most?
I have so many precious memories.
I think I remember the house where I grew up most fondly. It’s not a specific memory, but this place is at the center of most of my most precious childhood moments. It was a nice house with a huge backyard full of trees that I would climb all the time. My first friend was a tree in fact. I had a pool where I pretended to be a mermaid and where my friends and I would swim for hours playing games. There was a wood behind the house as well, where the backyard ended where I would cross-country ski in the winter and have many adventure trips with my friends and all kinds of make-believe. The house was cozy and full of light and there was a wood stove in the basement and a play room where I would do craft and a TV area where I would watch movies and cartoons, sometimes while drying from a shower in front of the fire, and play super nintendo. Oh and so much more. It was nice.
I moved away when I was 13 and my parents got separated, but I miss it to this day (the woods don’t exist anymore though, and several trees were cut from the property. The house and land I knew don’t exist anymore, but I will always remember them).
I really really liked it. It was so unsettling and strange, mostly because it was presented in such a matter-of-fact way, very direct too. It isn’t the kind of book I usually read, or like, and I had my doubts before starting it, but I was so pleasantly surprised. I also liked the division between the point of view of the male character and than the more personal journal entries of the female character. It was a drastic change of tone.
To put the POV of the captor before the victim’s was a great move I think (as was not intermingling them). The captor’s voice is so stark and simple and he so does not feel the extent of his actions, but it does not delve into his psychosis or anything (mostly because it is narrated in the first-person), that you feel like digging between the lines to try and understand what is going on, while being utterly spooked out, because the simplicity of the voice is reassuring, but the context and plot completely strange and scary. And from seeing things through his eyes, you almost forget about her, about his victim, as you are not afforded any insights into her mind, just his own interpretations of her. then you switch to her journal entries, her voice, and you are so completely reminded that she is human, that you are forced to face the terrible fact of what has happened to her more strongly. The way she goes on and on about her old love and her life about her philosophies as if she was in her room at home, except that you know she is writing this because she needs something to hold onto and because, deep down, she has hope that she might escape one day, though you, as the reader, after spending so much time with the captor, you have a totally different view of things. And you feel for her. And she is so brave and wants so much to live and be free and you are forced to understand the terribleness of her situation through her. And the ending, oh the ending, chilling, really.
I shan’t ever be a writer I think. I keep loosing my words, they scatter on my wooden floors, like the pearls of a broken necklace, and no matter how many I pick up again, there always seem to be some missing. And every time it happens I loose some more, until one day I will be left with prepositions and articles and empty stories that don’t tell anything and nobody wants to read, while my words continue to live happily without me between the cracks in the floor and the dark, dusty corners of my bedroom.
Comedy by Marie Phillips and Robert Hudson. Napoleon and Wellington’s horses exchange love letters against the backdrop of the Napoleonic wars. Starring Stephen Fry and Daniel Rigby (click to listen to the first episode)
“Everyone has it in them to express themselves that fundamental thing that they know they are inside. That rather beautiful afraid person. Which might get translated into aggression, or silence, or shyness, or all kinds of other things. But inside we know that we are huggable and lovable, and we want to love and be loved. That person is yearning for fulfillment. To be the person they know they can be and that’s a constant journey; that’s a process. It’s not acquiring about this thing and then that thing, getting to this place, learning this technique, and finding out how this works. It’s about the fact that other people are always more interesting than oneself. Let’s forget what successful people have in common, if there’s a thing unsuccessful people have in common it’s that they talk about themselves all the time.”—Stephen Fry (What I Wish I’d Known When I Was 18)
Why do you like Anne Frank? Is she an inspiration for you? x
I like her because she is unique voice. When you read her diary you get a glimpse of what it was like to be a Jewish teenage girl in hiding during one of the darkest time in history. You get a look into the pains of growing up as a girl, teenage heartache and dreams, as well as an undeniable hope in the face of such darkness and eventually death. It’s quite humbling and inspiring. It’s also important to remember her. She is one of the most well-known voice of the victims of the Holocaust, and I feel that she humanizes the experience that she and so many others went through. Too often when we look back on history we see facts and figures and numbers, but Anne and others like her (there is the diary of a young girl who survived the Holocaust by cleverly lying and tricking the Nazis officers in the camp where she was, saving herself and her mother in the process, coming out next year) reminds us that all of the people lost in this war (and all others) are human, with lives, and dreams and hopes and families. And that is really important to remember I think.
I also was introduce to her when I was 8 or 9 and her story really had an impact on me at that time. It broke that wall of innocence I had around myself not much aware of war and history before that, and it opened my eyes a lot. I read her diary avidly, and read about WWII extensively, copying pages from books at the library, learning facts and surrounding myself with pictures of Nazi rallies and concentration camps and death and horror. I was fascinated and disgusted all at once, trying to understand what it was, why it happened, breaking the wall between fiction and reality. History is not that easy to grasp when you are that young as your world is still so small. It was a sort of personal quest. Anne opened the door to all that for me. And I’m really grateful for that as well.
what are your favorite movies? i'm sorry if this has been asked recently!
The Secret Garden
A Little Princess
The Princess Bride
Fairytale; A True Story
La grenouille et la baleine
The Neverending Story
The Lord of the Rings
Star Wars (ep. 4-5-6)
The Muppet’s Christmas Carol
While you Were Sleeping
Dead Poet’s Society
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
The Secret of Roan Inish
Others that I really really like: Ghostbusters, Back to the Future, Groundhog Day, Beetlejuice, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, The Karate Kid (the original), The Host, The Harry Potter movies, The Narnia movies, The Goonies, and so many others I forget right now…