The Perfumed Garden

Posted on July 26, 2011 by emmacalin

I often wonder about punctuation – well should that have been a full stop just then? I think George Orwell decided to no longer use the semi colon, and the BBC have decided to split the infinitive – so there! I did both. But actually, that was not the kind of punctuation I was thinking about because punctuation is what happens in our lives. Just as I was going to bed last night a neighbour arrived with a huge bag of plums! Now this was a full stop. He is a lovely guy with quick cynical blue eyes and a drôle tristesse. “Zay are of course too soon.(big shrug) Zees is ow zee things are now(bigger shrug) – zee summair is in zee Spring and now we ave zee Automne.” In reality he speaks only French – but forgive my attempts to flavour up my blog for readers in Zee Engleesh. During the Royal wedding frenzy he was a marvel – “Oh yes – you must be so proud and so ‘appy…your prince is marrying a woman for queen and babies – oh yes – she is ow’ you say – common but she ‘as zee tough breeding fighting beer drinking football genes of zee anglo peeples- yes?” Yes indeed.

Then there are other punctuations. Beauty is a full stop. In my role as inspector of works at Chateau Calin I went out in the warm sun with a café cognac to view the progress on project patio (I know it’s hell but if I didn’t sacrifice myself someone else would have to stand in). Poor Gilles went off to Bordeaux today on a mission of world control – or grasping a crust if you prefer. I sat on a little bench which we inherited here and I call it Stonehenge. I’ll give you a picture tomorrow and gabble on about henges. So there they were – un-asked for and un-requited. I know – Roses are just breeding machines – sex objects – bee raped – defenceless – aged – humiliated and soiled like the rest of us – but a sudden full stop of rose perfume hit me plain in my gabbling gob. A FULL STOP of utter transcendent joy. While I was there a neighbour came by. She pulled the rose delicately to her face and closed her eyes. I watched her – she is not young, but she breathed in the youth of all time. “It is a kiss.” I said. “You are a poet.” She replied. My life is here – my final punctuated paragraphs will be here.
Emma x

Emma thinx: Put in a full stop of joy. It will shorten your sentence.

Merry Widow

Posted on July 25, 2011 by emmacalin

I feel like a widow – or perhaps a deserted faithful wife. All that time I watched the Tour de France, and now it’s gone. This afternoon I had to do some writing because there was no excuse. When I first came to Paris as an innocent wanting to impress, I assumed that everyone knew about the cycling. I used to rehearse sentences containing references to famous riders and pontificate about the possible outcomes for next year. Generally I was met with complete incomprehension. In the end I fell back on my support for Crystal Palace football club. It was as if the sun had risen, bathing us all in warmth. “Oh yes – Zay are in your second deeviziyoh – etc…” Here in St. Savinien I find that the tyranny of football has almost no grip. Most things that one mentions of the wide world are too far away, too dramatic, too foreign to contemplate. It’s wonderful.

All the same I did a straw poll amongst a few locals as I prepared to blog. This bizarre DSK affair rolls on in New York. Now, as readers will know I like (and write) cop stories. You will also know that I had a Scotland Yard partner for a while and that his insights were illuminating. So – this Mr Big chap is accused of all sorts of sexual crime. This is serious. We are talking years in jail here. I can’t believe that I saw the accuser giving her evidence on TV in advance of the trial. I just can’t believe it. What is going on here? The USA is a civilised country with a belief in justice and a constitution enshrined in law. So what do the French make of it all? Bref – if he is guilty he must go to jail – BUT- maybe Obama is against Israel (therefore Jews) or maybe DSK wanted to change the world money system and there was a plot…or maybe it is just so far away and so foreign that it doesn’t matter. I just worry about what’s happening to judicial processes. It’s not a circus is it?

Gifts today were of a further bucket of mirabelles (now frozen) and a wooden chopping board. I heard the angel of all beasts outside. It crossed my mind that some cat/pigeon/parrot was in distress. “Emma – We have found some chopping boards in the cellar – I am giving one to you and some to so and so and so and so.” An angel chose me! Sod the world – I live in paradise.
And finally – my new book cover for Knockout has been knocked out. It really is a knockout!

Emma thinx: Angels can be smokers too.

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Clawed Money

Posted on July 23, 2011 by emmacalin

Believe it or not, I once used to work in the field of fine arts. It was just a temp job but I used to see a lot of the inside track on art sales. Some of the prices are of course more famous than the art work or indeed the artists. Now – for the one big thing that I know that only a few thousand other people know. ( I mean- there are a lot of people in the world so a few thousands knowing something are almost like a secret). A lot of posh art in galleries and private collections is either nicked/copied/done by apprentices or simply forged. No one wants to tell you this. The world of Wheeler Dealer “one careful old lady owner full MOT immac condition” is nothing compared to fine art. You can get a manual to tell you about Mondeo camshafts and the AA will come and inspect it. Try that in the art world. There is always the likes of Brian Sewell. I just ADORE this guy. Check him out here – Last of the Medici on youtube

Anyway – today’s picture is a painting wot I done me self. It should enable you to see why I’m a novelist. At the time I was trying to teach the kids about art. Well, that’s my excuse.

Two matters got me onto ART issues. Well, actually it’s three matters because all of this horror in Norway just made me think that you just can’t rise to this sort of thing. All the outrage and horror is done by professionals. But – we do somehow create these individuals and don’t see them coming do we? Somehow it’s all about love and the lack of it – mainly the lack.

Last year I saw an exhibition of art here in St.Savinien. It was by a guy called Pascal Audin who had lived a terrible childhood of deprivation and imprisonment. He expressed himself in his art but sadly all photo reproduction was banned. I did buy some stuff but maybe I’m not allowed to put it up? I would love to if I could.

The other artistic matter was that of the free concerts held on the beach for holiday makers. As I mentioned yesterday, last year we went to see a performance at Royan. This series is done for French TV and is running again this year. The idea is to bring Culture to the masses. (Is that the same thing as bringing the masses to culture? – Well- NO- it is not). We guarded our plot on the sands for FIVE HOURS. People crammed in around us but with a certain lack of respect for personal space. Just as the concert commenced a couple more or less kicked one of our kids out of the way and tried to sit on top of her. Gilles went to the scene and told them to push him instead. He sat eyeball to eyeball, fists clenched, with the interloper for the whole performance. He’s not a Buddhist – but I do love his pure gorilla anger. I know how desperately he wanted to break loose and settle the matter jungle style. It still burns in him. I can’t explain how our anger builds into horror – but it does you know – it does. The performance ended with the overture to Tannhäuser plus fireworks. It was wonderful.

Emma thinx: Anger – it’s the gift of love not given

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Ex Patio

Posted on July 19, 2011 by emmacalin

What a day! Look – it’s not that I nag – I just want things to be better for all of us. So we have commenced project patio, that most English of traditions. To a Frenchman the soil is a living entity. To me it is weed bed that has to be controlled. At the side of the house there is an expanse of soil. Gilles can see lines of beans, peas and possibly a few chickens. What we actually see is weeds. Well, he is a busy man and I am saving him trouble in the long run. If you are an ex pat reader of this blog you may be planning similar projects. Many things are better to buy in the UK and many things are best bought in France. Certainly bring your paint from the UK. On the other hand budget kit wheel barrows for 23 Euros M.Bricolage could not be bettered anywhere. We are lucky in having a branch of VM Materiaux near to us at Saintes. I can thoroughly recommend these guys. On a couple of occasions I have been there when Gilles has not been available and exposed my complete lack of building site vocabulary – no not that sort of vocab’! I mean things like – sharp sand, ready mixed concrete and all in ballast and ornamental stone. However, on each occasion I have been treated with kind incomprehension and eventual success. Poor Gilles is no better since he does clever marketing and world manipulation for a living. Luckily half the town of St. Savinien is being dug up and I pocket a few samples of stuff that I see and take it along to show the sales guys at VM. I suspect that the mad Englishwoman on a bike with pockets full of sand and stones is something of comedy. They never let on. By the way the guy who brought all the stuff today was a real pro and a gent.

At least I have been able to help a little and see Gilles shirtless looking muscular and shovel wielding. One of the problems for Romance writers is that in reality business type billionaires are unlikely to have flawless six packs and pulsating pecs. They might work out in the gym whist watching Bloomberg money TV and flicking their little fingers to score another few million, but they’re unlikely to be like some tough kid who digs the roads and carries railway sleepers – not that I look at any of those sort of guys! Perish the thought.

I can’t help but follow the Tour De France. Tommy Voeckler is still in the yellow jersey. He fought and fought today. I’m gonna light a Buddhist candle for him. C’mon – you can do it – for France and for me.

Emma thinx: Try making foundations without sand. Stone your prejudices.

Coming in short pants

Posted on July 17, 2011 by emmacalin

Glancing back through the blogive I notice I rarely write about writing. You will know that stories about novelists bring me out in a rash. The trouble is that writers sit somewhere apart and write…..or think about writing…….or do a review of other writers……or think about something that someone else has written and decide they’re so good that you may as well give up or so bad that maybe you should keep going. Eventually you write something, decide it’s so good that you probably stole it or so bad that you have to scrap it. Book writing is a long process. I do wonder about the ease with which you can just delete the dross. Would I have done the same in those paper and typewriter days? I suspect I thought more before I typed. These days I find myself starting a sentence to see where it goes because if I don’t like the balance or tone I can scrap it……or maybe not!

All this brings me on to the subject of Indie books. Now, I know nothing of literature and for sure I’m not talented enough to create any. I do read many books in this area and I have two impressions. 1) There’s a mob of astonishingly talented story tellers out there. 2) A lot of them just can’t write. But here’s the overview – few writers can write because they’re madly trying to get their story onto the page. A few geniuses were sent by the gods to kick off the whole literature business. And on the seventh day the gods created the EDITOR. If I have reviewed your book you need not worry. If I’ve read your book and haven’t reviewed it It’s probably because you put the same word three times in one sentence, had your heroine’s breath coming in short pants or had Mr Billionairebigboy cleaning his ears with a cotton bud. No single error kills a book but poor grammar and endless dialogue about whether he wants jam or honey on his toast in a 200 page book puffed up to 700 can seriously damage the health. Since few of us have the editor gene it’s something that has to be developed. If you know how to clone them let me know because I could do with one.

Midday and the church bells are ringing. Some things like emergency vehicle sirens, bell ringing patterns and the colour of buses remind me how foreign I am. What does it for you?

Emma thinx: Are you sure you would know the back of your hand?

O Brave New World

Posted on July 10, 2011 by emmacalin

So, a star in the heavens slips beneath the horizon. The News of the Screws is no more. A pillar of certainty and tradition crumbles and I must confess to a genuine sadness. And I suspect that around the UK it is a shared sadness far more profound that a lot of the puffed up (Oh just look how moral I am) band wagoneering. I am a romantic novelist and I have been a thoroughly wicked woman. At least I know something juicy to write about. They would never have had to spy on me. I would just love to have told them! The decision to close a “toxic” brand is probably correct ……but if you think they won’t be back I wouldn’t get down to the bookies just yet.
Poor Rosina had to get to the Newsagents in England at 6am this morning in order to get my final souvenir copy. She’s a bit posh and probably felt a bit sullied by asking for it. I love her though – she’s a star yah. So, this morning after my portion of baguette I ventured to the tabac for a copy of the French Sunday paper “Le Journal de Dimanche”. The lead story was about a socialist politician. The headline translated roughly as “XXXXXXX – faces rumours about her private life” Wow – did you feel the heat and explosion? Many column inches talked seriously about the Dominic Strauss-Kahn case in New York. Now, this is a sensational story with ambitious prosecutors facing utter humiliation as they come under fire for a botched case driven by what I call “big case boogie”. Meanwhile a French accusatrice alleges a sexual attack some eight years ago. The headline blares out “We have material facts says lawyer” Wow! The problem is that while in the UK they have both the gutter and the cerebral press, few countries have such a fantastic mix. Come on Ozzie tycoons- buy your way into France and give us some Dent de Lion and Murdoch.

All of a sudden copies of my short story “Sub Prime” are ripping up the download statistics (Well, my statistics). We did a free audio download with it on Smashwords.com. If anyone out there reading this knows what’s going on please please let me know.

A day of horrible crashes and heroism in the Tour de France. But a Frenchman Tommy Voeckler has won the yellow jersey as leader of the Tour de France. Mon Dieu merci!

Emma thinx: Your life is the bus ride – not some maybe stop round the bend.

Kangaroo Caught

Posted on July 8, 2011 by emmacalin

Oh dear – there’s trouble at St Rupert’s College. I’ve just seen the Head Boy on the BBC. A wicked colonial student hid in the dorm and saw matron in bed with one of the local police constables. Then he conspired with the editor of the college magazine (a younger but related colonial), and blabbed the story in the campus organ “The Bare Rupert”. Now, much of this will make no sense to my American readers. Watching from France, British politics seems even more upper class. The story is that the most famous British tabloid newspaper “The News of the World” is to shut down almost immediately. Journalists have been hacking phones and paying police for juicy stories. Outrage and disgust sputter from every righteous quarter as the scandal rocks …..well, actually what does it rock? This is a wicked and grubby old world and the people who lead it should be the least surprised. For every spotlight triumph, there is a grim backstage, for every tame tiger there is a cage and whip. Deep beneath it all there is an unspoken issue. Murdoch (who owns the newspaper and a lot of outer space) is a damn Australian. I think they’re gonna have to ban him from the tuck shop. Oh huff puff – just be grateful that we’ve solved world poverty, war and disease otherwise we wouldn’t have the time for this stuff. We bred and fed a bright generation of self seeking shallow thrustoids to tear at one another in pursuit of gain at any moral cost. They did all we expected of them.

All this leads me to starting where I meant to start. Books about romantic novelists who fall in love with super hunks while researching a book where a romantic novelist …..blah blah, do exist. As yet I haven’t written any. When the media becomes the news it has much the same effect on me. The story is a serious one, but it just should not be a surprise to anybody. Let me fill you guys in a little. My book “Knockout” has a police theme. OK – it’s a romance but all the police politics, cynicism and attitudes are authentic. I know this because after my first marriage, I took up with a Scotland Yard cop, who introduced me to Wagner and many aspects of horns and helmets. What I learned was that much of what we see of gloss and celeb glitzywitzy is contrived. I also learned that outside the middle class comfort zone there are many worlds of despair and survival. That filthy guy drunk in the littered doorway has a story but it’s probably too dangerous to ask for it.

Oh – let me be quite honest about the vile, degrading, gutter dredging, over-sexed “News of the World” which is about to die. It was a fantastic paper and provided me with my earliest tingles of sexual pleasure and awareness with its utter filth and and disgusting titivation. I was appalled over and over again every single Sunday.

Emma thinx: Be outraged – it’s the in rage.

Knockout! Available at Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.com, Amazon.com/australia

Tribal Reservations

Posted on July 2, 2011 by emmacalin

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We all have our tribe. Being kinda foreign in France but feeling oddly patriotic about her but also still standing for God Save the Queen, I’m not sure whether I’m tribeless or a member of an extra important minority group called “a person of mixed tribe”. I’ve always wanted to be part of an unassailable victimised minority that no one could criticize and that kindly ambitious politicians and lawyers would support. However, even if you’re in the mainstream, blameworthy and guilt ridden tribe, you can still subdivide into cool tribesfolk and mockable tribesfolk. Only if you are in the same tribe can you mock your fellow tribespersons. This is the first law of tribal correctness. In France we have Les CH’TIS. This word, which is pronounced “SSchtee”, signifies the way this community pronounces words with an s sound as a ssch sound. Now, although members of the CH’TIS community are allowed to live anywhere in France, they are only to be found in the North. The whole matter is illuminated brilliantly in a film called “Bienvenue chez les CH’TIS”. If you are a Francophile and want to learn something esoteric about France, the human race and French comedy, watch this film. Amazon has the DVD.

So, if it hasn’t been fixed, made, repaired or planned – I’d better forget it. Today was the start of the Tour de France and today was the end of Gilles. There is of course live coverage, dead coverage, highlight coverage and drug raid coverage. It only goes on for a month. Please please let somebody French win.

I finished “Pregnant with the billionaire’s baby” or “Just one night of love” in the French edition. Poor girl was in a dilemma. Should she go off to live in poverty as a single mother with twins or should she marry the most attractive billionaire in the world with whom she is in love? No! I won’t spoil the ending for you.

Emma thinx: Dilemma – Two books by Jane Austen.

Sitting on the Block of e-Bay.

Posted on June 28, 2011 by emmacalin

I needed a wardrobe. Actually I’ve always needed a wardrobe and today was my chance. Like most folk in France we have a trailer, in the way that most English folk have a lawnmower or a toaster. There are many ways to buy period romantic furniture worthy of une filly de frill such as me. You can go to a shop. There are many antique “Brocante” emporiums which are usually exotically priced and in my view, aimed at somewhat gullible foreigners. You can check out a web site called “Viva Street” which is quite handy. There is also a more local on line service called “le Bon Coin”. Oh, and there is also a very curious little cosmic galactic enterprise called e-Bay France. Now, in France, the whole idea of the auction site is quite alien. This is not the way of TRADITION. Think of a butchers shop selling rabbits. Do customers bid to beat their neighbour to the rabbit punch? NON! On eBay.fr the seller says what he’s got and asks for too much and the buyer shrugs and makes a derisory offer. It’s like the old days of wage negotiations when workers were allowed to ask for a wage increase. You have to be quite old to remember that. Oh dear the old red commie petticoat is hanging down a bit. So, there is a price. You offer less. There is a counter punch and you make a deal. Do I get my MBA now? And there was a wardrobe and I wanted it!

We drove to Angouleme and while my hero driver Gilles reversed the enormous trailer I descended into the gloom of an underground garage with Monsieur le seller. We checked out the wardrobe. It was suitably enormous and twiddled – it was the wooden equivalent of a whole purple pumping ecstatic overwritten paragraph. I got out some cash. Monsieur Le Seller looked sadly at me. “Madame” he began hesitantly, “I wonder if you be interested in my bed?” Given the presence of Gilles I guessed he meant something honourable. “You see, this was the bed of my parents – my birth and many other world events happened in this bed. Now – we are globalised everywhere and no one of la famille wants it. These are the last things of my heritage and when they are are gone I can let go of the past.” I wondered how best selling romantic novelists would handle the situation as I embraced the weeping Monsieur to my bosom. “Forty Euros” I said. “Forty five and done.” He replied stepping back. Gilles arrived and loaded the goods. Now come on big biz guys – that’s got to be my MBA.

Speaking of the old red commie petticoat – my audiobook of “Sub Prime” is finished and FREE to my loyal blog readers (click here) and I really do thank all of you around the world who are coming back to the site everyday to share my insights into bi-lingual incomprehension. It’s not me reading it. See my blog “The Drama Queen’s Speech.” to find out why! If you actually want to hear MY rejected over sibilant voice I’m got some audio poems that will be coming up on the blog…

Emma x
PS. If you download the audiobook, please do let me know if you liked it.

Emma thinx: Indoors I watch a lost butterfly beating in vain against a window pane. Which of us understands the most? Not me.

Old Boilers Like it Hot

Posted on June 24, 2011 by emmacalin

Even deep purple romantics need boilers. Today was the annual service day. There is something about the smell of fuel oil – like airports and cross channel ferries. With no gas mains in rural France many folk have huge tanks of diesel fuel in their garden or garage. If you’re thinking of moving to France be sure to consider winter heating costs. Last February we burned our way through about 150 Euros in a week.

When the young man had finished his toil I went to pay him by cheque. Oh dear – no cheque book to be found. After a couple of shrugs it was settled that I could pop over to see le patron at his house when I could, or he could call back when he was nearby or maybe one day something would resolve the matter. Does this sound like corporate thrusting? Money matters here, but never at the expense of etiquette. Recently I have begun to notice a ramping up of big biz rudeness – (Orange France please note), but generally commerce is conducted amongst trusting partners. I do not exaggerate when I say that I feel that I am once again living in the times of my childhood before the rage of greed and madness tore us all apart and created a mob of competing strangers playing video shooting games.

So – le patron can be found easily – it is the house with blue shutters. Where? Well – it’s in a place without streets called “Lieu dit Les Benons”. Now, according to Gilles, “Lieu dit” translates as “a place calling itself.” So, anxious to clear the debt, out came the bikes and we set off to find the patron. Tradition here demands that shutters may be any colour you choose as long as it’s pale blue or pale green or perhaps pale grey/cream for real rebels. Shall I bore you with the rest……Let’s just say that we got home by dark.

A quick comment on on a comeback story. Thanks to e-publishing I believe that the novella is making a comeback. I had started to think that some publishers thought that paperbacks were sold by weight. Great Favorites of mine such as “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” (56,000), “Animal Farm”(44,000) and “Bonjour Tristesse”(35,000?) are novellas all being well short of a Harlequin romance. So today I chanced upon a novella by an American writer Barbara Mack called “Dreaming of You”. I wolfed it down in an hour and enjoyed its good old fashioned passion and what I call human juice. When someone writes with texture – you can feel it. Check her out here