Lessons I Have Learnt From Gaga This Week

• Use your wit to celebrate difference, rather than mock it or demean it. The bad guy with the icy put-downs might be memorable, but is anyone else really singing along? 







*Sigh*

      If you were hoping to come here today and find it free of romance, I'd afraid I'm going to have to disappoint. My love of poetry has got me bad, and I ain't afraid to show it.

      So, even if no-one's sent you flowers today, or no-one's kissed you yet (or ever); even if tonight will be spent alone with some soup or giggling raucously with friends, pitying everyone else; even if you're going out tonight and are not really sure you want to be; 

read this poem and *sigh*







Who Needs Books, Anyway?

     Well, more specifically who needs access to them? Perhaps, for free, even, in this austere economic climate?

      Not the UK apparently, according to the government's plan to close somewhere in the region of 1,000 libraries to save money and help balance the state books. We all know times are hard and sacrifices are necessary, but hitting libraries is the wrong thing to do, I think. Here's why:







My Resolutions for 2011

• To write, write and write.
  
• To make contacts – I heart Twitter.
  
• To rebrand and relaunch this blog (this may happen sooner than you think).
 







In Defence of Writing Courses

       Writing courses get a bad rap. A myriad of critical voices exist online (see links at the bottom of the page*) that suggest, often quite vehemently, that writing courses are cynical, useless money-spinners that attempt to teach that which cannot be taught and churn out egotistical literary autobots without voice or individuality. Is that really the whole story though? I would like to take it upon myself, on this rainy Friday afternoon, to present the case for the defence.







Tolstoy is my Cat?

Quite an assertion, I know, but not one that I've made lightly. It's rare that I say 'Tolstoy is my Cat' and someone doesn't bat an eyelid or ask what on earth it means, so I thought maybe the time had come to explain why my blog has this phenomenal yet slightly nonsensical name. 

First of all, I love him. Tolstoy, that is, although my cat comes a very close second. In the simplest of terms, to me Tolstoy is the greatest of writers and Anna Karenina is my favourite all time book. There is no equal for its breadth, scope, accurate portrayal of human behaviour and its influences and, most importantly, pure, simple wasted heartbreak, which branded itself into my conscientiousness from the first read. It's a triumph, and if I'm going to associate my work with anyone's, why not his? (There's a joke in there somewhere). In any case, at the most basic blogger level, I hoped the mention of Tolstoy might help the reader anticipate literary fiction and the odd short story, which is hopefully what this blog provides. 

Also, Tolstoy, to me, is a challenge. I am a ferocious and maniacal reader, with the appetite to devour books in a few sittings if they pique my interest. I once read one of my mum's trashy holiday novels in a day to show her that it was flimsy throw-away trash (sorry Mum). There are, to date, only two books that have ever defeated me and kept me, wilfully or not, from their end: Herman Melville's Moby Dick and Tolstoy's War and Peace. At every attempt Moby Dick has aggressively bores me to tears with descriptions of sailing, the sea and 135 threateningly epic chapter heads that stretch out before you like a sentence, meaning that I have never got passed the first chapter even though I've had a copy since I was about 15. Also, I hated the one Melville story I ever managed to get through (Bartleby) and I can't help but feel (snobbish, I know) his credibility has been slightly undermined, through no fault of his own, by the now eternal association of Moby Dick with Starbucks. 'Nuff said. War and Peace, on the other hand, is meaty and substantial and arrogant enough to be 537 pages long and actually consist of 15 books and 2 epilogues, with a few extra notes, just in case we were still wondering, from Tolstoy at the end. When I picked it up that first time Tolstoy threw down the gauntlet and by the time I die I will have finished it, even if it is the act that actually kills me. Suffice to say, I've only got to page 459, the start of Book 5, thus far in my multiple readings. I guess if I was superstitious, finishing it wouldn't be something I'd want to hurry... Anyway, by reminding myself of Tolstoy every time I open my own blog, it reminds me that grandiose arrogance and timeless stories can live forever (a great incitement to labour) and also that, if an old man can sit for years at a time, freezing to death with a pencil and gaslight in 19^th Century Russia, then I should really be able to conjure something up, sat at a computer in a nice warm room in 21^st Century England.  

Also, as a completion of this theme, check out Literary Traveler for a complete run-down of Tolstoy's life and works, as also the chance to see an oh-so-relevant extract from War and Peace where Tolstoy compares someone to a cat.  

The second reason for naming my blog 'Tolstoy is my Cat' is that, to me, it immediately brings to mind 'Moab is my Washpot', which is the name of the first autobiography by Stephen Fry. This pleased me greatly, as it would any Stephen Fry fan (if you're not, get out:), so it remains here as a nice little pun for the initiated. I also like the Old Testament nod, although that's very much the secondary reference. I've also just, as I type this, realised that 'Moab' is much like 'Moby', which brings this blog entry full-circle. Hurrah.  

The third and final reason is simple. My cat is indeed called Tolstoy, and seeing as I feed him and cuddle him and generally enable him, he's probably the closest thing I have right now to a biggest fan. Roll on the rest. :)