Hello! #Vintage alert! Watch this homemade SILENT MOVIE update on Week 3 of project Heart of Glass the Novel with a piano soundtrack by yours truly. But please! Don’t be too critical, it’s my acting debut! I am experimenting with the silent movie concept as I love the Artist and I love the music of Woody Allen movies. Don’t you?
If you haven’t yet please help me by pre-ordering a copy to fund my book. It is about a piano-playing musician in Chicago and Macau in the 1980s. It is about East and West. It has a Chinese girl, an Italian bloke and a Jewish bloke. All the crazy, quarrelsome racial stereotypes (It’s PC. I’m allowed to say this, I am one of them). It is funny, it is sad, it is amoral. It is #literary#music – themed #crimenoir. #heartofglass#supportafriend#postcolonial#fiction#chinesenewyear . Support a friend, an RGS girl, a mum, a UNSW, Middlesex, Kingston graduate, a musician, a writer, an architect, makeup artist, and now, (so, so shocking) an amateur silent actress! Click here or cut and paste link to support me: https://unbound.com/books/heart-of-glass
Please share, tag, show! Please comment, #askmeanything. (Within reason, please) I will answer them in my next vlog!
Where to start? What nails? I have no more nails to bite. Come to think of it, no cuticles either. Where am I going to get my daily intake of protein from? I’m going to be eating a low carb humble pie from now to eternity. I can stomach this. There is no room for dignity.
It has been a crazy week. I have never done this before. I am learning myself each day. I learn from others. I am learning the ropes. I am learning to give what people want and need, which is this niche I seem to have created, a grave I have dug, back rod I have carved, for myself. The niche of international fiction, postcolonial writing, crime noir, etc. Exactly! What is the et cetera bit?
I have taught myself patience and humility. This is the opposite of vanity publishing. If anybody thinks this, it’s the total opposite. Don’t even go there! Being vain has sold nothing. Ask any cosmetic-peddling salesgirl in a brightly-lit luxury departmental store. Never in my life after three degrees would I think I would have a sales job. Yet now, I have a sales job. I could be selling makeup but I am not selling makeup. I am selling something that does not even exist yet. I am selling the idea of potential, of investment in writing, of myself, selling a dream.
This is me reading from near the beginning, but not the beginning, in my Unbound shed vlog.
Roald Dahl Museum and Story Centre is set in the tiny village of Great Missenden in Buckinghamshire where he lived for 36 years. He was also buried in the village. I took a train from Marylebone with the family on a bright October day in 2015. We enjoyed a surreal vision of a horse on the ceiling:
Pink horse alert: on Marylebone station ceiling
Upon closer inspection, it is a mythical white horse.
It was so poetic and befitting an intro to our outing, since we were going to the village of one of the most treasured children’s authors of all time.
The village of Great Missenden
After 45 minutes we arrived and walked through the pleasant and pretty village surrounded by hills.
We saw some interesting old buildings and antique shops. Some of these old shops were actually in his stories, such as the Red Pump Garage on Great Missenden High Street, which appeared in Danny, The Champion of the World (1975), the Post Office Great Missenden… and… Sukhothai Thai fine dining restaurant? Just kidding.
Mock Tudor building
Red pump garage
Sukhothai Fine Dining
Impressive mosaic at butcher’s
Great Missenden High St
Great Missenden PO
was very inspiring for readers and writers.
WW’s Chocolate Factory gates
Wall that looks and smells like real chocolate
Willy Wonka’s top hat
There was so much information on how to generate plots and create characters.
Sticky Note Plots
More importantly, I actually visualised Roald Dahl in his shed working away.
RD’s chair in his shed
Although he was a successful bestseller author and probably minted, he was so frugal and humble. His shed has no decoration or anything pretty to look at. He wanted no distractions. He made all these makeshift fittings himself out of scraps and what he had. His old armchair was threadbare, he made a suitcase filled with logs for his footrest, he rolled up corrugated cardboard for his wrist rest. Nothing was designery, trendy, handmade or even shop bought. When you see his carefully and meticulously reconstructed shed, you will realise that nothing matters but the writing itself.
The most luxurious place is in the mind, I think Mark Twain once said.