Fankid

I'm a big fan of the books of Matt Haig. Specifically of his novel The Radleys, a quirky family vampire tale lined with black comedy and laden with pathos. It speaks subtly of addiction and even more so of depression. 

There is a book within this book called The Abstainer's Handbook and on a whim, I asked the owner, Scott, of Etsy shop IgnisFatuusBooks, to create a likeness of this book. Matt had posted recently about writing being an ongoing tool to challenge his depression. So, I asked Matt via Facebook if I could send him this piece of fan art/notebook to him care of his agent or publisher. 

But he didn't reply. 

This one-of-kind notebook that I thought perhaps might be a nice gift is heading its way to my letterbox. Now it'll probably remain unopened and unused.

Being a fankid to writers, this is nothing new. I have two letters from Chuck Palahniuk that are waiting to be framed, and I have debated having various author autographs I've collected tattooed on me. Bret Easton Ellis. Jasper Fforde. Ransom Riggs. I would give a kidney to meet or even just have a postcard from Stephen King. Writers to me are the real rockstars. Odd, awkward, making worlds made of make-believe and leaving something tangible behind. 

I don't want to be rich or famous. I want to produce a novel that makes people cry, laugh, feel nauseous, comforted and disturbed. Because if I can do all that, it means I will finally understand people and, surely, understand other people's range of emotions and experiences. Creating 300 pages that resonates with people would mean I might finally be able to shatter the glass that the aspie lives behind. Perhaps I can stop passing/defaulting to saying outrageous things because I'm not sure how to join a conversation. Perhaps. 

Perhaps Matt Haig might even get back to me and not think it weird I had a piece of fan art made for him, but know it was just one outsider to another saying, It's dangerous to go alone. Take this.

It Was Nothing More Than Once Upon A Time

A wise man (that would be Chuck Palahniuk, who knows a thing or two about visceral storytelling) said, 

"Your past is just a story. And once you realize this it has no power over you."

Chuck Palahniuk may remember me from such 'Stan'-style letters that ran, 'I'm a really really big fan of yours', 'I want to be a writer TOO' and 'How do you do what you do?' 

I have his delicately typed, 'Chill the fuck out, hunny' responses still saved in their envelopes. Maybe I'll frame them. 

He does makes an excellent point. So many times past memories, triggers, fears, anxieties feel like real and present danger. They make fingers go totally numb, chests cramp, bowls unleash, heads explode with pain, arms shake, voices stutter and language and sometimes actions unfold into some confusion of fighting something that is no longer happening. 

Though memories can leave great imprints, leave keloids on the heart, they are no more real than a Netflix box set or a really long novel. A detailed tangled story. Your story, but a story. And stories live only in the mind.

But those feelings. Oh, those feelings are fried gold. If a traumatic/weird/hysterically dark past can be separated from present-day living, then we have that thing some writers bitch that they cannot find. 

Plot. 

Plot is story. Plot is narrative. Plot is the tale of a person or people navigating life. Plot is someone's past formulating a future. Plot runs a book, a TV show, a film, a play, a poem.

I cannot claim that I do not get sudden shooting pains through my jawbones or numb fingertips when I get caught in the past. I can't claim I don't think something terrible is about to happen. And then I see I am stood still at a bus stop, waiting to go to work. There is a lone teenager with exploding acne sloped against the lamppost, half-awake for college. A man wearing ADDICTED sweatpants idles past me and lets their elderly dog shit on the grass verge. Life is just life as it should be.

Then I know I can gather up those scraps of past that have screeched through my head like serial killers on Spice and twist them up into fiction like horrible origami.

I think this is my way of saying today was a difficult 'aspie' day. But I went to work, hid my hand-flapping, only had mild outbursts and right now I'm in front of the laptop, favouring fiction over planning my wedding. I have fourteen months until I'm wed. I've been waiting my whole life to turn hours of cramped typing into more than something that just makes me want to sleep through my day job.

Ctrl + N. 

Now. Begin tying.

True Gent

Well, today I opened a large box from the US from Chuck Palahniuk's agent's offices. I was stunned. Alongside a personal letter were all sorts of lovely gifts, including a necklace made by him of stones he's found and also stones recycled from his mother's jewellery. 

Amongst a box of Ouija mints and bacon strip plasters, was a black skull money bank that he suggested I put ideas in, like he does. A very creative use for a money bank and you can just shake out scraps of ideas when you're stuck. Inspired! 

Thank you, Chuck. You didn't have to do this, but you did. You gent.

A Surprise In The Inbox

I wrote this email, not expecting a response:


Friday 20 February 2015

"Dear Mr [Chuck Palahniuk's agent],

I hope this email finds you well.

I apologise for writing with a 'fangirl' question, but I wondered if you may be able to answer this for me.

I have read that Chuck Palahniuk prefers to sign prosthetic limbs rather than his fans as people were then getting the signature tattooed. I also read that a possible reason for this is the worry of Sharpie ink entering the skin. I know someone who has a signed letter from Chuck. Would he still discourage his signature from that as a tattoo for them?

Also, I've been a fan of Chuck Palahniuk since I was a teenager and am now 30 and still follow his work. Seeing him read in the UK at the International Anthony Burgess Foundation (and listening to him read 'Romance') was possibly the highlight of my year. I'm looking forward to 'Make Something Up'.

With best wishes, 

SK Harrison"


Sunday 22 February 2015

"Dear Ms. Harrison,

Can you let us have your mailing address as Mr. Palahniuk would like to send you a gift.

Thank you.

[Chuck Palahniuk's agent]"

Wahooo!!!!

It Doesn't Have To Be A Doorstop

For many years I have driven myself on to write big books. It seems only fair that if someone is going to pay £7.99 for it, they should be able to feel its weight.

However, during my learning in creative writing, I was told my work needed to be more economical; less of the 'purple prose'. This now makes me think my writing is too pithy. 

But a Google search has happily revealed 5 great books that didn't even crack the 50,000 word mark (60,000 is usually considered the threshold for a novel). Behold:

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

This has made me feel much more relaxed and can start ignoring my word counter.