Interview with Oxford author Rebecca Emin

Last week I caught up with fellow writer Rebecca Emin, described by many as “the nicest author on the internet.” She’s already had two books published this year and is about to release a third.

Where are you sitting right now? Is it your usual place for writing?

I usually sit at our table so I have a view of the garden. I always look out to the garden when I am thinking. My other writing spot is a coffee shop with ceiling to floor windows and a view of fields.

In your new book, When Dreams Come True, you use dream sequences to reflect the changing emotions of your teenage protagonist. This can be quite an exciting way to move the plot along. Were you inspired by other authors’ use of this literary device, or did it come from your own personal experience?

I’ve always had incredibly vivid dreams myself so really that was where this book came from. I was talking to a Twitter friend one day about the dreams I had and she said, “I’m sure there’s a story in that,” and that got me thinking.

Do you believe that dreams reveal our subconscious thoughts?

I think it’s possible that some of them do, or at least they can stem from thoughts. It’s almost like writing fiction in fact; you can have one little idea and it sends you off on a tangent.

Is the character of Charlie based on yourself at a younger age or on your own children?

There are definitely similarities between Charlie and myself, but only because when I write fiction for the 10-14 age group, I try to get in the mindset of a child of that age again. I was a tomboy as a child so I think that is the characteristic I could say was based on me.

Imagine When Dreams Come True on a 13 year old girl’s bookshelf between two other books. What are those books?

Well hopefully my debut novel, New Beginnings would be one of them! I’d like it to be next to one of Tamsyn Murray’s Afterlife books as they are fantastic.

You grew up in the early 80s. How does the life of a thirteen year old now compare with life back then?

It’s like a whole new world, with the Internet and all the games consoles that are around now. But I think, fundamentally, in the eyes of a thirteen year old the most important things will remain the same – friends, films, music, and the fact that it’s hugely important to get a boyfriend/girlfriend before all of your friends do so you’re not the last one who’s “single”!

Do you worry about kids reading less; is internet junk food for the mind; and is kindle going to kill the bookshop?

I don’t worry about my own children reading less because thankfully the three of them are absolutely fascinated by books. I think the Internet is a fantastic thing, used in the right way. It’s like everything though; if you over-use it or use it for the wrong reasons it’s not going to be a good thing. However if it wasn’t for the Internet I wouldn’t be here on your blog, so I have to think it’s good from a writer’s point of view.

I sincerely hope the Kindle doesn’t kill bookshops. I do own a Kindle but I have to say I much prefer paperbacks. Having said that my four year old comments on me “plugging my book in to charge”. Goodness knows what will happen by the time he is my age.

This is the second book you’ve self-published. How do you maintain discipline with regards to your writing quality? Isn’t it tempting to just put it out there as soon as possible?

For me it is exactly the opposite. I have got a massive loathing of typos in my own work for a start, so I would never ever publish a book without having both an editor and at least one proof reader go through it. But before I even get to that stage I ask my beta readers to have a read and tell me what they think. Further down the line for my novels, I have a team of ‘test readers’ who are in the target age group, and I ask them questions and they give me feedback which is essential. For example I mentioned ‘Space Dust’ in an early draft of When Dreams Come True and three of my test readers had no idea what that was, so that had to go.

It is my aim to deliver a product I can be proud of, that is of at least equal quality to that of a book published by a publisher. It’s actually quite a lengthy and consuming process, but I do think it is worth it.

Charlie is happiest when biking with Max and Toby, or watching films with Allie. But when Charlie reaches year nine (age 13), everything begins to change. As her friends develop new interests, Charlie's dreams become more frequent and vivid, and a family crisis tears her away from her friends. How will Charlie react when old family secrets are revealed? Will her life change completely when some of her dreams start to come true?

A few cheeky questions to finish…

Your favourite childhood snack compared with your favourite snack now?

I can’t actually remember my favourite childhood snack – but I do remember sneaking to the village shop for a bag of penny sweets when I shouldn’t have been doing so – just before school!

Even now I don’t have one favourite snack… I am more of a savoury person than sweet though.

Your blog is about trying to write as well as being the mother of three. Any parenting tips?

Hmm. Well, I have three children and it is definitely a learning process when you have three. The dynamics are complicated and there is always something to keep you on your toes. My main tip would be to look after, and make time for, yourself as well as everyone else. That is the hardest thing to learn, but it is essential in the long term.

You can only take one book to a desert island. Choose between your favourite novel, one of your books, or a novel you’ve yet to read.

Well you said I could take one book so I’m going to be very crafty and take the biggest notebook I could find – which of course comes with one of those multi-leaded pencils in the binding. Actually that sounds wonderful… an Island, a notebook and unlimited thinking time. When do I leave?

Thanks Rebecca. Some great answers there.

Rebecca’s first novel for older children, ‘New Beginnings,’ was published by Grimoire Books in January 2012. When Dreams Come True is officially launching on 28^th May 2012.

For more information see http://ramblingsofarustywriter.blogspot.com/

Catch up with her on facebook, twitter and goodreads

English Slacker extract - a dream

The dream I had while passed out I remember distinctly. It involved the four robots again: the red one, the blue one, the yellow one and the green one.

It was actually not so much a dream but two visions. That is, as I came to there were two images in my head. (I know, it’s strange to think how in the few minutes or seconds – I never did find out exactly how long – of being passed out that I was able to dream much at all, but I’m simply telling it as it is and this really is what happened as far as I know).

So in the first of these two visions or images I could see the four robots sitting down, I think on stools, just sitting about chilling and chatting and stuff. Two of them smoking cigars, their bodies hunched over, leaning forward in relaxed postures, robot knees high in the air. And in front of them, like in front of the semi circle they were making, on a small patch of yellowy grass were the tiny figures of me and Colin - compared to the robots we were of miniature size.

What me and Colin were doing was hard to properly make out ’cause we were so small and it was the robots who were mainly in view. Although somehow I understood it was some kind of fighting competition, like Sumo wresting or something; you know, pushing each other out of a circle and stuff. And the robots were sort of half watching us, half talking to each other but I got the feeling they were probably betting on who was gonna win.

Now I don’t know how this scene properly flowed into the next one but anyway the second picture I got was kinda similar but reversed. This time the floor was white and smooth and the robots were toys and a lot more basic in shape (quite chunky). They had wheels and me and Colin were manoeuvring them by remote control, racing them. As with the other image I was looking at myself from the outside; I should also say that Colin had his long hair back here as well.

I have and had no idea what to make of each of these images, but either way, Colin was winning both times and for some reason I wasn’t really that bothered: it was almost as if I wanted him to beat me.

Story 23 - New Start for an Underachieving Romantic

As soon as she hangs up the phone starts ringing. A loud Nokia ring tone, repeating through the café, bouncing off the walls from table to table. A few of our resident caffeine lovers raise their heads, most are too engrossed in their book, magazine or conversation to notice. She’s sitting in Starbucks on a cold April afternoon in Brighton. Through the windows outside she can see Churchill Square bustling with shoppers; all wrapped up in coats, anoraks, jumpers, scarves, gloves, anything to prevent the little warmth they possess from being eaten up by the icy air. She switches the phone to silent mode and replaces it to her handbag.

The drink in front of her is a peppermint flavoured hot chocolate. The cream that was once frothy and perfectly formed has now melted into a swirling blend of white and brown. She stares at the pattern, absorbed by the kaleidoscope of changing shapes, emptying her mind of thoughts. She knows it tastes wonderful and could easily devour the thing with one gulp instead of taking a small sip every few minutes. She is waiting however. Waiting until four o’clock, which is why she is sitting here in this perfect place to be for anyone with time to kill.

This morning she had no time. There was his breakfast, his sandwiches, a fresh new shirt to iron, a kiss on the cheek with a, “Drive carefully dear.” Upstairs to open the suitcase, gathering together her essential belongings and once packed she showered and had a modest brunch; habitually listening to her radio 4 morning play before locking the house and caching the number 21 bus. Once in town she made the necessary trip to the bank, immediately reserved her tickets, and accordingly received a printout of her journey’s timetable. She returned two library books, window-shopped for exactly one hour - buying nothing - ahead of finally deciding this café would be the best place to spend her afternoon.

As always she wants to be alone. Her day’s interactions with other human beings have been nothing more than those of necessity. All apart from the phone call that is.

Why he called her at this time she has no idea. Does he suspect? Why should he?

“Darling, I’m just ringing to see how you are.”

Why does he care? When has he ever genuinely cared?

“I could come home early today. It would be nice just for a change. Do you think?”

“Don’t John. We’ve talked about this. You know I need the days to myself… I’m fine. You know that. I’ll see you this evening… No John, I don’t want you to. I’ll see you this evening… Don’t John. Please. I’ll see you later.”

Did she sound desperate? She hopes to God she didn’t. Because he mustn’t know she’s here, she can’t be found out.

She quickly takes another sip of the chocolate, tries to savour the luscious taste; attempts to lose herself once again in the meditation of rejecting her thoughts. This unexpected spout of anxiety should not ruin her afternoon. She should be at peace. She is free. Why has he spoiled this?

She succumbs to yet another sip, bigger this time, and looks around the café for a distraction. There is a surprisingly large amount of people in the room. At least, every table is occupied. Glancing around she tries to decide what they are all doing, why they are here. The more palpable characters include a young mother with her restless toddler; a group of three Asian students quietly absorbed in their notes; an elderly couple sharing a comfortable silence; a middle aged business man on his lap-top; and a young attractive couple deeply involved in their own private conversation. A few of the tables are taken up by single individuals; all of them reading something of some description: attempting to appear preoccupied she imagines (should she do the same?). She wonders why they are here. Are they waiting for someone or simply wasting away the hours? Where are they going afterwards? What plans do they have?

Her attention returns to the attractive couple. A man with dark hair, designer stubble and bright green eyes talking to a blond woman whose pretty smile intermittently turns into a quietly sweet laugh. She is wearing dark red lipstick which matches her scarf. Her hair in a pony tail revealing a youthfully innocent face, her blouse is pink and she is drinking what seems to be some sort of fruit tea concoction. She reminds her of herself a few years earlier: Her brightness, her confidence… Although now she is undecided: possibly not her true self. More like the self she wanted to be. A marvellously romantic future ahead of her, endless possibilities of fun, travel and adventure.

The remaining sludge at the bottom of her cup stares back at her. She will not finish it. Soon she will be in Mark’s & Spencer’s shopping for his dinner. And afterwards she is going to be home again, tearing up the note she left on the kitchen table this morning; the same note she leaves him every week. Unpacking her things, giving the house a quick once-over, receiving her husband at just gone six o’clock to greet him with a routine kiss, ask about his day, and then together they will go through the motions they act out every evening.

Although, what of his persistence in calling her today? Could he have returned home already? How will she explain herself if he has? Maybe it’s time she finally does go through with the trip to her mother’s house. Make a fresh start, a new chance to become a different person; the person she craves to be.

Story 22 - Space Capsule

So you’re in this space capsule and you’ve been travelling for a while now.

Your journey started a couple of months ago in fact and it’s… well, what do you reckon? Is it big with loads of facilities, maybe a kitchen, a gym, a cinema and…?

Nah, it’s small; tiny in fact: About the size of your bedroom. And you’re with all these other people in space pods, something like from on the Alien movie kinda thing, all squashed together, packed in like sardines in a can.

Except there was some sort of malfunction with the one you’ve been in and you’ve just got out and you’re squeezed up against a window looking out at all the stars, wondering how to restart the pod to go into stasis again because the journey is for like a year. Nah, two years…ten years and… No, ten months and like there aren’t any other pods, it’s just you and this robot that isn’t turned on and you’re gonna turn it on in a minute ‘cause you wanna know what the hell you’re supposed to do.

The robot is like this really sexy robot girl… or guy, depending on whatever you want the robot to be… but meanwhile you’re staring out the window going through in your brain what your mission is and what the hell you’re doing in this space capsule in the middle of all this nothingness.

*

You are sitting on a ledge by the window. The robot is slumped next to you and you bend down to turn it on, searching a switch behind its head, under the hair at the top of the neck. You press against the skin feeling around for a hard lump. You’re in two minds suddenly whether you want company now or not. It might be better to get yourself together a bit more, feel comfortable with being here alone because you are a human and this is a robot and you need to be the one in charge here after all.

You find the lump, pausing again for a second. It seems like you have all the time in the world when you listen to the distant sound of humming from what you guess to be the engines of the capsule. How many months or years are you really going to be out here, in here? What are you going to do with your time if the pod cannot be turned back on?

Your hand moves to switch on the robot in an uncontrollable reaction to your thoughts. Immediately it springs into life, sitting up next to you. Suddenly it is no longer a piece of metal, not just an object but a living humanoid.

It is apparent how attracted you are to the robot as soon as its eyes meet yours. Its standard dark brown uniform of shorts and a t-shirt is clinging tightly to its smooth olive skin; dark hair full and thick, enveloping an innocently attractive face.

Now filled with life the robot comes out with a generic greeting of, “Hello superior,” before moving its head around to take in the surroundings.

“We are not at our destination,” it continues in a voice which somehow seems to complement its appearance perfectly.

“Why have you woken me? Where are the others?”

“There aren’t any others.” you say. “I changed my mind.”

Although your words come across as sounding confident, almost arrogant, you have most definitely found yourself in a situation you were not expecting. Like, how could you have predicted this unexplained, increasing desire you’ve now found yourself having for what is, essentially a piece of metal.

“Changed your mind?” replies the robot, with an expression of perplexity – its face after all has almost all the features any human face would have. Its eyebrows briefly rise with what you take for a second to be giving off a hint of amusement.

“Yeah, it’s my fantasy. I can do what the hell I want can’t I?”

Again you are aware of this show of false confidence. But while you’re silently congratulating yourself on maintaining your position as a superior human, the robot’s expression has taken a noticeable change to that of sadness. So much so that at once you find yourself with feelings of empathy towards this object. It meets your eyes again, opening its mouth as if to speak, stops, then begins again with, “But what should we do in this space pod, just the two of us? Wouldn’t it be more interesting if more people were involved?”

It looks around, almost childlike, quiet and seemingly deep in contemplation. You imagine the mechanics working away inside its robot brain; mathematical equations being formed and calculated. I’m alone in a space capsule with a human being. What is the optimum solution for dealing with current situation?

Finally it rises to a standing posture and begins to move around the room, stumbling awkwardly at first; then quickly becoming more graceful in its movement.

The walls of the capsule are covered with flashing control panels. Your open pod is in the centre of the space. The floor is made up of square black tiles; the ceiling is mirrored.

You are still sitting on the ledge by the window, half gazing at the stars, half following the robots actions as it circles your pod and is then inspecting the various features of each control panel.

A sudden thought comes to mind and you reach down to your space boots to open up a secret compartment in the heel. A bank card, laser pistol, and packet of space cigarettes appear.

You notice a box of matches in your left pocket and run one of them along the floor to produce a flame, light one of the cigarettes, and begin to inspect the pistol, unsure as to why you are carrying such a weapon.

The robot immediately turns around.

“Smoking is not permitted in here superior. I assume you know that.”

You do not know this; although smoking not being permitted inside a space capsule does make sense in a funny sort of way. You disregard the warning however, continuing to drag on the cigarette.

“How do you know I’m not allowed to smoke?” you ask.

“I have accessed the data on space travel regulations.”

“But surely it’s up to me,” you say, almost to yourself.

“Of course superior,” replies the robot with a slight gesture of its hand. “Everything is determined by your own thoughts. All of this, the capsule, the pod malfunction, our surroundings; even me: It is controlled by your personal desires. You certainly know this already?”

You finish the cigarette, stubbing out the remains on the tiled floor. Look up to the mirror, at yourself, and then to your robot again, which seems to have suddenly become ever more attractive. At the same time it appears to be looking at you with an impression of fascination.

“I was thinking,” you tell the robot. “…I could always introduce some alien invasion or something, if we get bored.”

“What makes you think we’ll get bored superior?”

“… or like, if we can’t find something to do just the two of us, or if…”

The robot has unexpectedly interrupted your speech by walking directly towards you; its eyes seem to be scanning your body. The sentence feels unfinished as you let it hang in the air… “You know, like I’m sure we will eventually,” you continue, stumbling all of a sudden over your words. “Get bored that is.”

“I am programmed with over three thousand forms of entertainment,” it says, now almost upon you.

You look out of the window again, wondering where the number three thousand came from, if at all it’s possible to have a robot capable of entertaining you in so many different ways.

Turning to see the robot above, you submit to going along with whatever it has decided to do first. Your companion sits next to you on the ledge and you can feel its warm robot thighs pressed up against your own.

Story 21 - How Are You?

“How are you?” she says, walking slowly towards me, throwing forward a big warm friendly smile.

I turn around, wondering who the question was really aimed at; checking for someone behind, to see which recipient had been intended for such salutation.

No one is there however: Just me; practically alone in a park full of pigeons.

I turn back, hit once again by that welcoming, come on in! greeting.

She’s wearing red lipstick, has long, curly, scraggly hair. She’s wrapped up in a dark blue parker, old jeans with a hole in the right knee and a large red pair of Wellington boots. I put her down to being in her mid-twenties. Confident. Individual personality; possibly tending towards the eccentric at times.

She’s still beaming at me.

“Jason?”

Jason’s my name.

“Jason Patterson. I’m a friend of your niece, Lilly.”

Lilly: A small bundle of trouble if ever there was one. It wouldn’t be beyond the realms of possibilities for her to have set me up with this young lady. Another new replacement for my wife: Here we go again is what I’m most likely thinking.

*

“How are you?” she later squeals, running up to me in the crowded shopping mall.

Today she’s wearing a big green dress, sandals, and her hair is tied up in a bun.

“Long time no see,” I say with a hint of irony.

She throws her arms around my neck, pulling down and presenting a big wet kiss on my lips. People are looking as I take her hand in mine.

“I bought us lunch,” she says, moving my attention towards the plastic bag I now notice in her grasp; full of God knows what; swinging about next to her bare legs and sandals.

“I thought we could have a picnic together.”

*

“How were you today?” she says, a hint of sympathy emanating from somewhere deep inside those pasty blue eyes.

I take a bite of my sandwich. Cheese and Branston. Dark juice from the pickle is running down the side of my chin. She reaches forward with a tissue and wipes the juice away. Smiles at me briefly.

“All right I suppose,” I respond. Although to be honest, I’m finding it difficult to remember anything I did today; at least of any significance. I mean, I got up, that’s for certain, and then I was in this café with her. We’re drinking hot chocolate and eating the sandwiches that she made me earlier this morning.

“I’ve got to get back soon,” I tell her, and then add, “I’ll miss you.”

We’ve got time yet,” she replies. “Eat your sandwich.”

*

“How are you?” she shouts as she whizzes past on her bicycle.

I raise my hand to wave but already she’s gone.

I close my eyes to picture the brief glimpse of her image still burning inside my retina. She’s wearing a white helmet, cycling shorts and an orange body warmer. Her face moves around in a blur; it’s hard to focus upon her expression; though she seemed happy to see me at least.

I open my eyes again, looking around at the busy street, pedestrians swarming around me; spilling into the road that allows only buses, taxis and bicycles; with the odd ambulance thrown in. It’s crowded here and there’s plenty to look at.

I wonder where she’s going. I assume I’ll see her soon enough because I always do, at least this is the feeling I have.

*

“How have you been lately?” I ask her, for she seems tired. There are bags under her eyes. Her cheeks are soft and puffy.

“Do you miss me yet?” she whispers as she waits with baited breath for my answer. Her right hand is under her chin, she’s resting on her elbow, looking me right in the eyes. My face, I notice, is reflecting in the blackness of her irises.

“I don’t like being alone,” I tell her simply. Because I don’t want her to go.

“How was it for you?” she responds.

“It was fine, it was special: Stay with me a while longer at least.”

She turns, showing me her bare back. Milky white skin reflects in the moonlight, smooth and warm. Imperfections are dotted about and around the surface, which somehow makes her being here even more real.

*

“How are you today?” I ask her.

“Fine,” she says; a response barely audible from behind the pages of her magazine.

“Just fine?” I say.

“I’m reading,” she says.

She looks so cute, so sweet. So interested, enthralled by the pages of glossy photographs. Face jutting forwards with enthusiasm. She’s wearing a loose, light blue nightdress; shiny and silk-like. Her feet are resting against my own. Warmth from her body seeps through my skin, into my veins. For a moment I am overwhelmed by a dazzling sense of happiness.

*

“How are you?” she says before brushing one hand across her face, moving away the few scraggly strands of hair that were covering her eyes, glancing away momentarily in the opposite direction.

She looks worn, weather-beaten. Her cheeks are red, her eyes cloudy; but still she smiles.

She’s here to offer me companionship for my troubles, standing in my kitchen wearing a flowery apron. The apron is cream coloured, while the flowers are large and purple.

She’s stirring the contents of the new saucepan we bought together. The kitchen smells fresh and sweet. It feels like a memorable moment; almost as if it’s the last time I’m ever going to see her.

*

She’s still beaming at me.

“Jason? Jason Patterson? I’m a friend of your niece, Lilly. I’m here to look after you today. Lilly has something to do so…”

Lilly: a small bundle of trouble if ever there was one. Ever since the accident she’s been trying to find me replacements for my wife. “Someone to look after you in your later years.”

But it’s always the same story. Always ends in the same result. They never stay for long. “Oh the futility of it all,” I’m most likely thinking as she, the latest in a long line of carers pauses; continues with the warm, welcoming smile.

“Well, how are you Jason?”

And I turn around back to the pigeons, fall once again into the world of imagination, where such creatures are my friends; carrying on a conversation about how much the city has changed for the worse… and my wife is still there beside me, holding my hand, sharing the cool fresh morning air.

Story 20 - The Veteran

The US Army sent him to Korea for a four year stay. He never returned. Not even for a mere visit. Engaged within a year; married within two. Now on his second, reprehensible divorce. Thirty-nine years spent surrounded by a language and culture he still failed to fully understand; but was it only Korean women or women in general?

This latest little flower – forty years his junior – appeared simple enough; eager to please at least.

She playfully licked at his now rather leathery skin. Ran her figures across his greying scalp; then suddenly, deliberately, began moaning in pleasure.

Indie Book Review 3

So the next indie review is here. Teaching with Chopsticks by Jonathan Last. Another book you’re not likely to see on the shelves of WH Smith, Tescos, or even Waterstones.

Once again this is a book about teaching English as a foreign language that’s a must if you are or ever have been a TEFL teacher. Or even if you’re thinking about taking that year out and would like a heads up on what it’s really like. More so than Stranger in Taiwan because this is essentially all about teaching.

In fact that’s the great thing about this book. Not only does it include the obvious drama of overcoming initial feelings of loneliness to create a new set of friends; acclimatising to a foreign environment, and plenty of nights down the local bar… it’s also very much about the job you have to do when you get there. It’s primarily about the experience of being thrown into a room with a group of children, staring up at you: expecting you to be their teacher; then gradually learning the skills needed to cope with all the ups and downs of the work.

Jonathan Last went to Korea with the intention of writing a book about his teaching experiences and it shows. The detail he puts in and the way the plot moves around his ever changing attitudes towards the job and Korea in general… this is no memoir, you’re actually there with him, which makes for great reading.

I also enjoyed the subtle sense of humour, the way Last manages to fit in jokes almost accidentally… or incidentally… but I’ll stop rabbiting on and leave you with a short quote:

I must have arrived between lessons because children are running around everywhere, stopping to examine me with great curiosity. The standard interaction is as follows:

Child: “Hello. What’s your name?”

Me: “Hi, my name is Jon.

(Child runs off giggling)

Those are the bolder ones; the more shy specimens just hang back and observe me from afar, in huddles. Uniformly black-haired creatures running around like some sort of sped-up negative of The Village of the Damned, an alien language filling the air and plastered all over the walls – I’ve definitely arrived.

(If you’d like to read the first 2 chapters in full you can get a sample from the Amazon page).

The only problem with this book is that it isn’t available in print. It’s been published by a small company specialising in e-books called e-books publisher. One day I hope to see it picked up by a larger company because it definitely deserves a wider readership.