This is a short post because I’ve got to start my November Novel. It’s going to be a story about growing up in the ’70s, as narrated by a drunk uncle at a Christmas lunch.
Yesterday was my Mexican Halloween Birthday Party. It was excellent, though it’s safe to say that nobody is very happy this morning. Beers were drunk, dares were extracted from an iPhone, scorpion exoskellingtons got ate. And Wade fell over while running naked. We’ll all need some time to recover.
Nothing else has happened. I might be getting a part time job at a bottle shop.
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Hey. When do I get a sneak peek of your illustrious Novembral tome?
Comment by Clare — Thursday November 5 2009 @ 12:53 pm
OK, here’s a peek at the tentative first page.
Preface: 1970s Stories.
The nineteen seventies is a decade with many iconic images. The Sydney Opera House. Gough Whitlam and his Blue Poles. The menacing XA Falcon. Stuff like that. It was also a time when people were very different from how they are today. Our nation was growing up, getting angry about the war, and arguing with itself over its destiny and place in the world. Yet, at the same time, people were more trusting. They let their kids walk down to the park alone, they left their doors unlocked at night, and if they wanted to go somewhere they just put their belongings in a backpack and stood by the side of the road with their thumb out. They were happy and they treated each other well. They also raised a generation of people like me, and with their care, teaching and encouragement we have managed find our own happiness. For the most part, anyway.
Although I was born at the beginning of the nineteen eighties, I find myself drawn to the seventies. In my imagination, that decade is bathed in an unusually warm and brilliant light; a light that spills over onto the first few years of my own life. I have learned about the nineteen seventies through the stories of my parents and their friends, through photo albums and dusty sets of World Book Encyclopedia, and through the soft crackle of vinyl LPs. Its web of stories, images and emotions fascinates me. Perhaps, it’s because there is something aimless about my own life. Perhaps, because I have nowhere better to go, these finished stories, faded images and second-hand emotions draw me backward into the past.
Here is a story, then, of what I have learned about the nineteen seventies. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
Comment by Mark — Thursday November 5 2009 @ 3:36 pm
Nice one! Need more!
Hey, I know you were asking for books to read on facebook. Have you ever read The Monk by Matthew Lewis? It’s got a boring bit about a Bleeding Nun in the middle, but it’s the kind of book that makes it sound totally rad to be an 18th century fictional monk. I’m seriously considering a career change, myself.
Comment by Clare — Thursday November 5 2009 @ 7:01 pm
Thanks Clare, I’ll check it out.
Comment by Mark — Thursday November 5 2009 @ 7:12 pm
Ah, the late 70s early 80s (early 80s actually) - hangover hippies teaching pre-school. Hangover hippies with a fondness for Dr Hook. What days.
Comment by nailpolishblues — Thursday November 5 2009 @ 8:59 pm
Me likey. Gonna need a copy
Comment by Eleesha — Friday November 6 2009 @ 10:11 am