Chocolate, Curacao and Conferencing

Quite a bit of chocolate later and the distraction of work, I think I will ease off the odes to Mavis. Sometimes I can’t help looking at the lovely weather and thinking, ‘if only she had held out for a few weeks more’ (although there were some dreadful lightning storms which would have undone her anyway). But the cycles of life and death must be respected and not railed against.
So long since my last entry, but not from lack of writing. One Sunday afternoon another project started itself. I say ‘started itself’ because I don’t know where it came from, it just appeared fully formed and then I realized that I been writing related pieces in sporadic efforts over time. I am excited to see how THAT one will unfold. Yes, I absolutely love the process of seeing something take shape. It is exhilarating. It truly is a high.
I am also slowly learning that sometimes I don’t have control over the writing process. You hear writers say that and you don’t understand it until you really experience it. Hmmm, is that why I’m feeling more of a writer these days, albeit unpublished. I am really getting to understand that sometimes you just have to let the muse do her thing. Woy! I’m tired of the ‘unpublished’ qualification.
Been doing other kinds of writing too: academic writing, conferencing. Naturally, I was writing about the status of the arts here and ways we can consider moving forward as a society. The most rewarding part about writing the paper: the heartfelt responses from other Caribbean islands experiencing scenarios similar to what I outlined. That made me feel that my work was worthwhile. But something about the lure of academic work is just not as dazzling and intoxicating as watching a creative idea unfold.
I have a feeling that’s why I am at crossroads with the writing, as if once I give over to this there’s no turning back. I keep feeling that everything hinges on me getting the opportunity to just write uninterrupted. Now I have even more respect for writers who manage to get it done in spite of the challenges of other jobs. I look at the weeks ahead and for me to get a few days of uninterrupted writing I feel as if I have to go in seclusion.
Ahh for the love of the written word.
The good thing about the conference: it gave me the drive to keep going. The great thing about the conference: it was a wonderful opportunity to meet people in similar fields and experience other energies. The fun thing about the conference: the excitement of seeing a new place and Curacao’s architecture is absolutely engaging. Here are some pics to enjoy.

The island is very hot, the vegetation is mostly cactus and thorny shrubs and it was green because of the recent storm rains.

The landscape is rather barren, particularly at the site of the sea cave:

It seems that the animal which thrives here is the iguana, hence the giant stone figure at the entrance to the sea cave site, although I didn't even see iguanas.

The tourist side of Punda has some gorgeous colours and distinctive archietecture:

The palace along the waterfront of Punda. We had a welcome reception there, really lovely; and when a cruiseship was heading out it was a gorgeous site, so close as if you could reach out and touch the ship.

The removable foot bridge across the canal; one of many. The palace is not in this one but it is located on the right of the bridge.

This one allows cruise ships to pass under

Photo taken from the other side of the canal, Otrabanda,this is the Punda waterfront, at sunset...

To be or not to be

How do you get over the fear of taking the next step? How you get over the anxiety of preparing yourself to be opened up to scrutiny?

There is never a point of being ready for that stage (this and all subsequent cheesy puns/cliches intended). There is never going to be a time when you are completely at peace with your piece and ready to place your self on the temple stand for the entire congregation to stone.

I suspect that’s part of my reason for coming to blogosphere; trying to get ready for an audience and allowing some thick skin to develop. And even then I am defeating the effort because I have delayed in sharing this space with anyone.

I am building up to a resolve; every time I make a blog entry I am obligated to do some writing or editing regardless of how exhausted I feel. I have a naked baby lying out there in the folders, and it is in dire need of dressing up.

I’m getting to the point of feeling shame. I’ve set this up with my irrepressible excitement over the last few months. I’ve neglected being sociable on account of this all-consuming force. And I have not returned patience and courtesy with a product.

Fear! What hast thou done to me?! Thou hast crippled me and tossed my crutches into the depths of the ocean. Thou has made a lily-livered jelly-fish of me! Thou hast reduced the complexity of the cerebrum to an amoebic entity. Thou hast…oh peas and cheese! Thou hast given the giants of literature, good reason to cringe at the pomposity of this grotesque verbosity.

Fear, I set you aflame and sprinkle your ashes on the La Sorciere hill. The soucoyants will pick at the ashes and spit them out to be scattered on the seas. The hurricanes will sweep them over the Atlantic sea-scape and your name will be a figure only in memory.

I am constantly thinking about Mavis… my chest tightens in spite of the rational expectation of her demise; a demise which was the result of a natural fear. Survival demands that we transcend some fear, even natural apprehensions.

If we don’t keep writing then who will?

Well, well Mavis, you certainly have me writing, because I’m really trying to ignore the silence in the yard. Just a month and a half ago I took some photos of her with the intention of capturing her energy to share here. Thank you ol’ girl for posing so well.

Namaste

Haikus for you

I am not usually one to write in response to an emotional issue but Mavis, for you, yes. For all your distresses, we never gave up on you and we loved you anyway. This is what we saw as a smile.

Last year, 27.10.07 I wrote this, imagining how she felt because everytime I heard thunder and I wasn't home I'd worry about her; worried that she might get hurt from her neurotic response to the noise. This is it, unedited, just a dog owner equally neurotic about her dog's distress:

A Dog's Rant


Not again!
The cataclysmic cosmic upheaval
wet soggy days
cloying cold air
and the fiery light in the sky!

If this is a dog's life
I'd rather be an amoeba.

The entire family became as anxious as she did and we built kennel upon kennel to secure her safety. We even got medication to sedate her during extreme weather. The same devotion she gave us as man's best friend we tried to return it. Now we can do no more, and all I can do is remember and write.

your son waits in grief
his pain is not seeing you
mine is knowing why



you knew what 'puppee!!!' meant
your black tail thump-answered loud
you knew i loved you



rain falls thunder rolls
a knell for a sweet soul tolls
goodbye beautiful black romp





Mavis, ma chien, ma chere...

Venting

I try not to use this space as a journal to comment on current issues but sometimes when I listen to my students, I am reminded of the dismal support for our creative landscape. If our young people feel that those who have ‘succeeded’ are neglecting to support the youths’ interest in the arts then what are we projecting for the survival of our creative spirits? Folks, all I can say is that sometimes our artistes, even those who have received acclaim, are still struggling, still working multiple jobs to make ends meet and don’t always have the energy or will to give back to the community which heaps false praise. The ideal situation would be a thriving community of exchange, but reality often projects a hustle for the creative soul.

A few weeks ago I took in a news clip of Walcott at Carifesta, berating, lamenting the fact that Caribbean governments do not spend enough time investing in the society’s artists. I do not remember the exact words, but that was the gist. As was to be expected, Guyana’s leader responded that governments have so much to do in terms of providing basic amenities and infrastructure that it is unreasonable to expect them to fulfil the needs of every social sector adequately.

You know, I’m tired of both arguments. I am tired of wishing and hoping that more could be done for our artistes. I’m tired of looking at my students who have hopes and dreams that cannot be fulfilled if they stay on our small island; and those who remain, need to take on a job that feeds self and family, to the neglect of the creative impulse. I don’t even want to hear the argument that you can work hard at your dream in spite of the dearth of opportunities here. I’m tired of that one too.

I’m tired of governments and politicians claiming that they are so overwhelmed in trying to provide for the people that some sectors of society have to be neglected and it just happens to be the one that some artistes fall under. So our artistes can fall into oblivion because we have to bring people food, water, transportation, and education, the basics. And jobs of course. Which takes me right back to our artistes. What, did you think that they just sat around creating and it stays on the shelves, or in the studios? Oh yes, that’s what happens now, because they’re not thought of as important enough to be given priority because we need water, food, transportation, education, jobs, oh yes, right back there, artistes.

So I am really fed up that Walcott had to remind us of how we still relegate the artiste’s work to recreational activity. And I am thoroughly exasperated that governments are giving the same old tired excuse.

Take my island state for example, we can pay thousands for a tourism consultant, whose work is not immediately apparent (note I did not say useless, I said not immediately apparent) and we can’t sustain the island’s creative arts awards, formerly, M& C fine arts awards. I am ashamed and disappointed.

I am certainly pleased that so much is happening in our music industry. It seems there has been recognition of that aspect of our creativity. But what about our print creativity? What is happening to our writers and thespians? What will happen to me when I decide I want to take the next step with my writing?

Deep down I don’t see the need to defend the value of the artiste's work, but I feel as if at some point in time I am going to be venting my frustration with people who are intent on putting the creative impulse as an extra - curricular activity; as if writers and thinkers are idle scribblers while the rest of the world toils significantly at holding society together. What about the vision which writers present; reminders of what we need to consider but too often forget?

I refuse to feel defeated because I’ve only just begun. I can only hope you feel the same.

The myth of the mad writer

(it’s no myth)

Do you really think that the world would be a better place if we spent more time acknowledging what our artistes have to say? Ok that’s an obvious no, because not every work is wholesome and uplifting. Our potential audiences know it too because they’re not paying attention to us more than half of the time.

So why bother?

Because if we stop it feels like suicide; it feels like living a death. We don’t expect our words or music to create world peace or fight famine or cure disease. But quite apart from the sheer individualistic joy of stringing words together, we can’t help but have this delusion? that our thoughts will some how make some difference. We can’t help feeling that something could, might change because our words reached someone. We remember how we felt when we read someone’s work and we were so touched that we hope one day to have the same effect on another. You know what…it’s madness. It’s a delicious madness that I relish because feeling alive is an unparalleled intoxication.

So I embrace the lunacy until it becomes as lucid as logic; we could just change the world!

Namaste

Missing writing

As much as I enjoy my job, the few weeks I spent on vacation with my writing I felt whole and alive in a way I had not known for years. I really had missed my writing. Now I miss it even more and why can’t I just do it and stop using work as an excuse for neglecting it…? It’s not an excuse. If I really do want to give my all on the job then my energy reserve gets depleted (I see a case for the return of the daily cup of joe).

And even though since I’ve been back at work, I haven’t had extended periods to devote to it, I’m constantly thinking about it. Unfortunately I feel as if I’ve lost some of my enthusiasm for work. It’s still there, without a doubt, I absolutely love the classroom, but as I interact with the texts, I’m sometimes thinking, I could try this technique in my piece, or my characters are getting some shape; I discover something new about my characters, or I hear something they say, but I can’t always scribble it when I’m in the middle of delivering a lecture or just somewhere unable to put it down. I was wondering why I felt luke-warm recently and now I see it’s just the need to get back to my leavening characters.

Is this how it’s going to be from now on, that I’ll never feel whole until purge these thoughts from my head? There is this character that is nagging me and I just have to get her out of my head. Is this how schizophrenia feels, because pardon the lunatic sound of this, this character has appeared full formed of her own accord, her words just pop into my head at the oddest of times. And I don’t even particularly identify with her. Then there are these people in her life who have appeared fully formed too. Funny thing I thought when characters appeared, that they were usually aspects of one’s personality, but that’s not even immediately apparent to me.

I just have this need to tell this character’s story because while much of it there, I don’t know where it’s going and I don’t know what’s going to happen to her. Is this writing without discipline? I am inclined to say not at all. I have this idea where I want the story to go, but I just feel as if there is something about this character I haven’t discovered yet. You know what, I can’t wait to find out. And that’s why I NEED to write. It’s gotten to the point where it’s nagging me. It’s not the simplicity of reading, and the unknown lies a few pages away. It’s the necessity of being silent and letting the character speak.

I see a weekend hibernation up ahead.

Caribbean Writers Blog

When I began blogging, just a few weeks ago, I intended to write about the process of writing and my recent readings. I also wanted to include my musings about some of my recent reads by Caribbean writers. A few months ago, when one of my students asked about Caribbean writers (none on the syllabus) it reminded me of my concern about the curricula we expose to our people.

I remember a lecture I attended earlier this year, with the topic centred on Education and the way forward. I was incensed, infuriated, a whole lot of ‘ins’ when I realized the positions held by many of the decision makers in education. I was livid when an audience member remarked that too much money was being spent on liberal arts and not enough on science and industry, which apparently was where the money lay; so we, developing nations should use these developed nations as models. What money? Where is the creative arts centre that we need here? What about the historical reality that current developed countries had an equally vibrant society of philosophers and artistes? Ancient societies had a similar structure; the lines between scientist, technician, administrator, philosopher and poet were blurred. My names-sake, Solon of Athens was an economist, logician, poet, administrator. Nowadays we compartmentalize abilities and argue which should take precedence. We devalue the ‘idle’ philosophers, forgetting that they laid out some principles of social organization that determine how we even proceed in science and industry.

A few years ago a colleague with a Phd in science asked me what was the point of post-graduate studies in Literature, that Literature produces nothing of substance, nothing quantifiable, nothing that could change the world or feed people. I felt that my colleague would have given me hemlock as punishment for my idleness. I’m fortunate to be blessed with a sense of conviction in my career choice, or else I could have been deeply offended. Instead I was saddened that our education system could produce one with the highest academic achievement possible, who is extremely parochial in one’s worldview. I could not answer my colleague; I was extremely embarrassed for said colleague.

Our writers are part of that heterogeneous group of thinkers which include scientists, religious, bureaucrats, economists and all others. Writers don’t provide solutions to our challenges but they should inspire us to feel, to think, to act. And that is the simplest practical application. I’m partial to the view that a writer, an artiste should never have to defend his relevance to society. By now society should know how much we need creative energies. An academic analysis of a creative work is not merely an intellectual exercise. It requires immersion into the works of art. It is akin to a spiritual exercise. And if that dimension is not your penchant, well then you can approach a creative work like a rigid logician. (I say that’s almost impossible, once you immerse yourself in another’s creativity, you are encountering spirit, or soul)

To diminish an academic analysis of literature would be to frown upon the very pursuit of knowledge in any field, be it science or theology. Consider analysis of the other humanities: film, photography, dance, music, culinary, art, fashion, sculpture and then we consider architecture and we’re right back to science, physical science, social science. See, inseparable.

But our education system unfortunately has compartmentalized humanities from science, made binaries of our living and learning. And that is why I see my career as a vocation, not, my former colleague, as idle banter. It behoves us to recognize the interconnectivity of all our academic pursuits.

So all that rant is to say, you can join me at the new blog I will be starting shortly. That will be to focus on Caribbean writers in a way that answers my student’s question. I have to say thank you to my fellow student for reminding me of the work that I have to, the work beyond the job. And yes I mean fellow student because I do believe that in the classroom, the labels ‘teacher’ and ‘student’ are just there to bring clarity to some activities that we’re obliged to do at some point; beyond these activities we are all students pursuing learning in different directions.

Namaste

Chance encounters

Whether you believe in fate or not, sometimes things have a way of happening that make you marvel at the uncanny unplanned encounters with people from the past who speak to a critical moment which you are experiencing.

Last week I had such a moment, an encounter with a kindred spirit, writer, and we were both just vibing on the challenges of being creative when one has to earn a living, maintain social ties, all the miscellaneous which seem to be a Beelzebub conspiring to prevent one from producing monumental creative pieces. Okay maybe not monumental, just to produce without all the distractions dangling deliciously in one’s face. (Such wanton alliteration warrants a moratorium on the verbosity) Beelzebub or some demon despising the energy of creativity is twisting all thoughts into this dribble. Where is the muse when you need it?

Yes, in that chance encounter, said kindred spirit and I were resolved to keep at it. Damn the demons to damnation and allow entry to the pretty little cherubims of creativity.

To use my colleague’s words, we don’t have to live the myth of the poor, starving, dysfunctional artists. We CAN live and write.

Sometimes, even though we know others are experiencing the very same issues we are confronted with, it helps to just hear it or share it and know that we are part of a community all striving to keep our art, our work, thriving.

Namaste

West Indian vs Caribbean

When I made the decision to begin this adventure into blogging, I came back to an old point of vacillation; do I call myself Caribbean or West Indian? I’m so used to growing up with history texts and literary analyses referring to the English Eastern Caribbean as West Indian, that the political correctness(?) of the label ‘Caribbean’ sometimes seems forced. I still think of ‘West Indian’ as a marker of the English - formerly British colonies.

Now, I believe it is more widely understood that ‘West Indian’ is a misnomer, and Caribbean is more internationally recognized, more inclusive of the culture and climate of this region. ( I don’t have ANY empirical evidence to support this claim that it is more widely understood) It’s really all about what the words/labels conjure in one’s psyche.

‘Caribbean’ also connotes a distinction from our colonial associations, as if binding the geographical location with a label that encompasses culture is a renaming of our identity that suggests ownership of our destinies. When we speak of the West Indies cricket team, for me the colonial issues resonate.

Since my recent research, the label of Caribbean has grown on me because I find it more inclusive of French and Hispanic writing. Although the (ancient) history books have used the terms French West Indies, Dutch West Indies, I’ve hardly seen Spanish West Indies (that would be just Puerto Rico, Santo Domingo, who am I missing?). In my research I needed to make reference to writers like Edwidge Danticat of Haiti, Maryse Conde of Guadeloupe, Simone Schwarz-Bart also of Guadeloupe and I also needed to acknowledge Diaspora in terms of writers with a Caribbean background who have lives outside of the Caribbean, such as Paule Marshall and Nalo Hopkinson. Caribbean has become the most suitable accommodating term.

So while there are times I think of myself as West Indian and I would like to be considered in terms of a tradition of writing going back to when Kenneth Ramchand wrote ‘The West Indian Novel and its Background’ I think the label 'Caribbean' suits the time.

I have a feeling that there are other issues in that debate that I’m overlooking right now.

On another note; I really must stop spending so much time on Amazon. I’m like a kid in a candy store until I remind myself that there’s another life out there to live. Ok, so I’m incorrigible, I’ll be back there sooner than I’ll write an entry for this blog.

Or maybe, that’s where I’m going to surf now, which is why this entry’s debate is getting cut short.

Caribbean cooking musings

Part of my writing project includes re-visiting some traditional meals and methods of cooking. I became intensely nostalgic for some epicurean delights which were once rare but accessible. There are those things we took for granted when we were growing up which are now exotic memories - things like river crayfish and titwee, a tiny river fish which are used to make accra. I loved them but the crunchy eyes used to irk me. Every time I ate one of these accra, I would hope the eyes would not crunch under my teeth. I ate some a few years ago and it was such a pleasure, I actually welcomed the annoying crunch. That fish is so rare now. Not with the state our rivers are in now, with the by-products of mass agriculture seeping into the fresh waters.

I visited my village about a week ago and here are some photos of parts of the river, not quite the formidable force I remember it used to be.

The village is still relatively under-developed in terms of the mass production of food crops. But the river has shrunk. It makes one cringe to think about the rate of deforestation. Anyway, as my nephew says, ‘happy face’ so I’m going to focus on the delightful memories, traditions and culinary delights of that place and time.

I guess that’s how writing can become a wholesome experience, re-connecting one with buried aspects of the individual and community psyche. I spent the last few days looking for Caribbean food blogs and I was mesmerized by the vivid photos evoking the wonderful culinary dimensions of life in the Caribbean. As soon as I get the hang of ‘gadgetting’ this blog I will point you to some of them.

So this weekend I spent some time in the kitchen, experimenting with whatever the cooking muse wanted to conjure. Rita G. Springer’s Caribbean Cookbook was one of the important sidekicks. That cookbook has been in my mother’s kitchen for as long as I can remember and when I did Food and Nutrition at secondary school, lo and behold, I had the required text! If you’re from the Caribbean some of the recipes are already ingrained in your consciousness; regardless it is one of the best additions to a Caribbean kitchen serious about cooking.

Today the muse was really nostalgic and wanted to re-visit the very first recipe I was exposed to at secondary school: Rock cake.

I added a liberal amount of cinnamon, some oats and coconut milk. I even sprinkled some cocoa powder on top.

The perfect accompaniment would have been some local coffee. I mean kind where you get the raw beans,

roast them in a chodye (the iron cooking pot) over coals, in the yard because they smoke a lot and the pot is going to get really black, grind them in a mortar and pestle and brew! It is really time-consuming, but the flavour is worth the effort. I really must take a trip to the market!

In the meantime, take some time to enjoy the flowers, the sunshine,

and if you come across them, a butterfly or two.

Reflection

"for the eye sees not itself
But by reflection, by some other things."

{Brutus to Cassius; Shakespeare’s

Julius Caesar}

That quote came back to me as I reflected on something a kindred soul said to me yesterday. We were catching up on readings and writings and in the context of discussing Mittelholzer’s work - his intense race experience and mental anguish in Guyana, I admitted that sometimes I forget the content of books that I’ve actually read closely at some point. I remember reading My Bones and My Flute but I still cannot remember the gist of it and fortunately my friend has a copy that I can borrow eventually.

What usually stays within my consciousness is material that connects to a corresponding experience in my life. Sometimes I try to excuse my amnesia by saying that it’s because I’ve read too many books without spending a lot of time on them. My friend suggested that it could be because I’m too cerebral when I read, that I must experience the work, not hash it to pieces with over-analysis. I take that reflection to heart because I do feel that I am missing out on a lot by skimming through books without experiencing them fully. I considered my friend’s reflection for what I can do to improve my reading experience.

The danger to approach a piece of work like a text comes from seeking out the elements, techniques and themes and the marriage of it all, so that you can share it with your fellow students. But that approach does not need to creep into every piece of literature. While that has been a way that I absolutely ENJOY approaching a work - be it literature or film - I see it’s time to grow in another direction (not with the intention of completely dismissing ‘my cerebral approach’ because at some point in time my fellow students seek out some guidance).

Yes, even at this stage of my journey I have yet to mature in my spectator engagement with the written word.

So thank you, friend. Considering some other wise suggestions coming from your direction, kindred soul, I feel that I left our meeting with much insight.

Namaste.

Caribbean Landscape

I feel so guilty that I've not been editing for a few days. It is not enough to say the project is done and leave it lying there like baby well bathed and powdered but left bare. It's partly because I've been re-orienting myself for work/job mode. Then there was the distraction of the heat and the sunshine; bright, resplendent that I couldn't resist going out to get some photos. It's actually related to the writing, indirectly. The impulse for photography started from last week, when I went to get some photos for some scenes of the stories. While writing I was operating on memories from as far back as 20 years ago so I needed to go back to the village and feel its energy, feel the thread which keeps me still enamoured with the little village where I grew up. I was so disappointed with the light of that day. It was hazy and the vivid greens I wanted to capture were covered with thin film. Here is my little village, on a day with beautiful light.

I am often mesmerized by the gorgeous scenes we have in the Caribbean, the greens of the foliage/hills contrasting against the blues of sea and sky. It's a sight I can never take for granted. Just one of the many reasons I love living here. I'm grateful that I did not have to live away from it to appreciate it. Lately I've noticed how the flamboyant trees add a certain vitality to our landscape. Yesterday morning I was just in the garage washing my car and right there at the end of the road, a gorgeous canopy of red blossoms set against an indigo sky with fluffy clouds. That view determined how I spent the last two days of my vacation, a new-found awe of the way the sunshine really brought out the vibrant colours of the vegetation; even regular grass looked stunning in varying shades of healthy green. The flowers in my yard took on a new sheen and I figured what better time than the present to acknowledge the beauty in the simplicity of wild flowers and grass.

Then I went in search of more flamboyant trees. They're everywhere; how come I hadn't noticed them before?! The challenge was getting the tree and the blue backdrop without the electrical cables all around.

I took this one at the Rodney Bay Marina, a few feet away from an Art Gallery. There, I happened to see a really gorgeous photo of a sprawling flamboyant, juxtaposed against blue sky and a green grass. To say I was inspired is an understatement.

And then my drive took me to Pigeon Island, still very breathtaking in some parts. And thoroughly depressing in others (taken up by concrete jungles of tourism) but that's for another post. I do have some more Pigeon Island photos, the fort and more, but they're in another kind of theme. For now, I want to dwell on the beauty in the simplicity of the expanse of blue against green, against blue against....

The Spaces in Between

I really must make more of an effort to read one book at a time. I don't think it does a book justice to be digesting its worth while delving into another one, two, three or four. I won't even confess to the number I'm reading right now. And this habit of reading several works at the same time has crept into my writing. It means I'm working on several projects, not completing any with the satisfaction that I would like.

I think the last few months have seen an improvement though. I'm gradually learning to focus on one at a time...one to completion and then another...sigh... I read with urgency just to get to the another one I know is sitting there waiting for me to caress it...everything between one book to another, just spaces in between. I wonder if I'm doing justice to the writers' works to read to completion just to get to another...sacre bleu!

Ok, there has been an improvement, I have been reading one book at a time, and not surprisingly it coincides with the completion of 'The Recent Project' which took just about 2 months to get done. Now it's the editing which I find more time-consuming and tedious than the spontaneous writing process. If you stick around I'll tell you some more about it.
For now, I'll just share my recent reads.

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon; compelling, engaging, but a bit predictable and anticlimactic. The journey of reading promised to take you somewhere and then it doesn't, making the best part of the experience the trip, not the destination.

The Witch of Portobello by Paul Coelho; certainly intriguing, but some parts read like cotton- candy self-help New Ageism and that gave it a cliched tone that almost ruined it.

Leaf Storm, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez; a collection of stories which are unsettling and unnerving...just my kind of thing, a balance of mystery and realism, I see why he is highly regarded for his Magical Realism.

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel; she has some clever little tricks, but the recipes aren't always smoothly blending into the narrative. This is a variation of chick lit with a sprinkling of magical realism...not sure the blend is always well executed but overall provides a variation in the delivery of 'a romance novel.'

Right now I'm reading Sylvia by Edgar Mittelholzer, which I got at a flea market a few weeks ago. I read his novel My Bones and My Flute when I was a teenager and I don't remember the narrative but I remember enjoying it, particularly for the supernatural theme. I can't say that Sylvia is enjoyable in that way, but I think it's useful for peering into a Caribbean psyche of the 1950s, when race and class/racial intermingling were some of the main determiners of social organization in Guyana. Let me get into the novel a bit more and then I'll let you know where I really stand on it.

Yes, if my recent reads are scrutinised, you will see an interest in Magical Realism and the supernatural. I will certainly share a bit more on that, later, when I get to the spaces in between my current read and the next...or my current writings and the next. For now, glance at my recent reads if you get a hold of them. And if you're as interested in Magical Realism(or what comes under that label) as I am, then you can take a look at works by Erna Brodber, Jamaica Kincaid, Nalo Hopkinson, Jean Rhys.

Un, deux, trois ti-mamaille, bai jab-la manger un ti-mamaille!!!! I see my job beckoning, responsibilty calling.

But I just want to stay home and crawl up with a musky page-yellowing brittle, cover-falling to pieces ancient piece of writing and let the jab jab starve from one less ti-mamaile to devour.

See you at the spaces in between.

The inaugural post

Dawn of the decision: after much vacillation and ultimate conviction, I am here in the realm of the cyber-journal with the expectation I will get over the butterflies in my psyche and publish. And so I write....among other things.

Behind the foliage of thoughts may we find a herb of colour and healing to write and share as soulfully as the universe unfolds.