T.G.I.F: In the pink

In the news today...

My writer-buddy Vaughn celebrated a birthday recently so I took him out today to induct him into the Death by Chocolate cult of which there are two members I know of, my friend D and me. (I neglected to take a photo of the DbC so I'll just say it's large, and there are lots of chocolate things in it, like chocolate ice-cream, chocolate sauce, chunks of brownies and more stuff that I can't recall. Then there's whipped cream and a cherry on top. And an umbrella; umbrellas are important.)

Vaughn seemed to have a slight problem first with the fact that, according to him, there were no men in the place. When I pointed out three of his gender he complained instead that the place was, ah, pink. He seemed to think that particular colour scheme indicated dire things about portion size. (Men are really hung up - no pun intended - on size.) He eventually looked at the menu and discovered there was actual food to be had, and not just dainty, pretty, small things, so he brightened up considerably. By the time the Death by Chocolate dessert came around he had settled down and was as close to normal as he gets, which ain't sayin' much. Here he is in the pink place, with the initial get-me-out-of-here expression on his mug:

I have another photo of him rolling his eyes and looking really freaked out, but I'll refrain from posting it as we don't want to scare the, ah, horses.

Verdict: the membership now stands at three. D, we've got a convert!

In other news... I read the Sandra Bullock-Jesse James revelations and could not help but feel sad for the woman. The timing well and truly sucks, for one thing, and for another, Ms. Bullock appears to be such a great person. I know from personal experience that many (most?) good people get effed over in matters of the heart. The hardass badasses, on the other hand, seem to thrive. But then that's probably my cynicism, always at war with my romanticism, kicking in.

And to round up the Friday bulletin: The school to which I applied requested a sample of my writing. I'm enclosing a copy of Café Au Lait but knowing how snobbish universities tend to be about the romance genre, I'm also enclosing a serious review I wrote a while ago that was published in newspapers in Trinidad, the Bahamas and Florida, as well as a short story and a personal essay. Hopefully the powers that be will forgive me for writing a romance novel - long enough to let me into their program, anyway. Wish me luck.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Update: Vaughn thinks I should refrain from enclosing a copy of the novel with my sample writing. You know what? He's right. Out it goes.

Caribbean Literary Salon

Anouska Kock, moderator of Caribbean Literary Salon, has posted her interview with me on the brand new site:

Interview with Liane Spicer

CLS is a treasure house of all things literary in the Caribbean, and I can tell I'll be spending a lot of time there. Ms. Kock is from Aruba, a Dutch island in the Caribbean, and the CLS site showcases not only English-language related information on the world of West Indian books, writers and poets, but also a Dutch-Caribbean version with the focus on Suriname, Bonaire, Curaçao, St. Maarten, and, of course, Aruba.

The community site features, among other things:

• Interviews with writers
  
• Readings
  
• New books
• Articles
• Discussions
  
• Events
• News
• Photos
• Videos
• Book groups
• Profile pages for members
• Community guidelines
• FAQs
• Bookstore
• Reviews
• Links to related sites (English and Dutch)

Caribbean Literary Salon is just three days old and already I'm very excited about it. Membership is open to anyone who enjoys books about the Caribbean and the works of Caribbean authors. I signed up today; come join me!

So you like world literature...

Join me on today on Novel Spaces as I blog about some great works of fiction from right here in the Caribbean.

World literature? Try the Caribbean.

Greenhorn landlubber

If you read my novel Café Au Lait you might recall mention there of the Bocas Islands that lie off the northwestern peninsula of Trinidad between the main island and Venezuela on the South American coast. Excursions to these islands are popular with locals, and we call such trips 'going down the islands'. Gaspar Grande (or Gasparee), Monos, Huevos and Chacachacare belong to Trinidad. The fifth island, Patos, belongs to Venezuela. I've been down the islands quite a few times and last Saturday, the first day of the long Carnival weekend, was the most recent.

My brother, who must have been a fish in his last incarnation because he's far more at home in the ocean than on land, took a few of us out on his boat. The day was blistering and bright. The islands shimmered in the heat, but the wind was cool and refreshing as we made our way out. We soon arrived at the buoy that marked the end of Trinidad's territory and could see Patos clearly. The green hills of the Venezuelan coast at Guiria beckoned but since we didn't fancy a run-in with the Guardia Nacional we ventured no further.

Those Guardia Nacional boys are very strict. They don't mind venturing into Trinidad's waters to arrest our fishermen, rough them up a little, and confiscate their catch and equipment. Sometimes the fishermen end up cooling their heels in makeshift jails on the South American mainland. I've heard stories of some of their experiences in those cells from reliable sources and they do not make for great dinner conversation.

Huevos Island and Second Boca, Trindad

Somewhere off the coast of Chacachacare we ran into much more congenial company: a school of dolphins. I recall seeing real live dolphins years ago on a trip to these same islands, but those dolphins were much smaller, further away, and went about their business without giving us a glance. Saturday's dolphins were another matter altogether.

My brother spotted them in the wake of our engines, and I turned around just in time to see the fin and back of one of the creatures cresting. That, my friends, was one huge dolphin. Then the show really began as we ran from one side of the flybridge to the other, pointing and exclaiming: "There! Oh my gosh! Look! And there! They're coming!"

We turned the boat so we were going around in a circle and the dolphins were all around us, some swimming on a collision course with the boat, some swimming alongside, disappearing underneath and appearing on the other side. The water was very clear and I could see them just feet away as I looked down into the water - grey, smiling torpedos that were easily six to eight feet long. We knocked on the hull, and they just kept coming.

That pretty much made my day. I have a 'thing' for dolphins, and they were a hell of an improvement on the thousands of dead fish we saw floating on the water - the by-catch from a commercial fishing ship - the last time I was out there a few months ago.

I'm generally a good sailor - once the boat is going somewhere. When we drop anchor I'm usually all right once the water is extremely calm. On Saturday there was a brisk wind and the water was a bit choppy where we anchored off the coast of Chacachacare. The boat rolled in that slow, sickening way that boats do, with a looping, side to side motion. I began to feel queasy, eventually accepting my sister-in-law's invitation to retire to a cabin when my questions about closing one's eyes so the horizon didn't seem to be constantly dipping around became too pointed. Thankful to be horizontal, I curled up, my sis next to me, and proceeded to feel progressively worse. My stomach seemed to start somewhere at the top of my throat, and I could tell it wanted to come all the way out my mouth. Jumping into the sea and drowning began to seem like a reasonable improvement over that lurching, rolling, loopy movement.

My brother decided that it didn't make sense to remain out there if we weren't comfortable, so he pulled up and started heading back. My sister got up, but I stayed for awhile until my stomach began to feel like it might consider returning to its normal location, then I swayed, stumbled and clambered my way up to the flybridge to rejoin the others, my white shirt flapping in the wind 'like a ghost', according to my niece.

When we got back to the marina and tied up I climbed on to the jetty, ignoring all the teasing about abandoning ship, and sat there for the next six hours, one foot propped on a rope, while we ate, drank, and talked. I developed quite a fondness for that jetty: it did not move! It was after ten at night when my sister and I left the beach bum branch of the family and drove away home.

It was a great day, even though my reputation as an adventurous seafarer now lies in sodden tatters in the drink somewhere beyond the Third Bocas. Godspeed, me hearties!

Footnote:
1. I promise to take and post photos of my own next time around.
2. These islands have a colourful history, still evident in the ruins and lore that abound. Interested in learning more about the Bocas Islands? Read Night Calypso by Lawrence Scott. It interweaves the authentic history of 'Down the Islands' into a compelling novel.

Circle of Friends

...Awarded to all members of the Novel Racers writing group. Thank you, Graeme!

I'm supposed to tell you five things I like to do so here goes... Um, this is the PG list. E-mail me for the adult version. :D

1. Write. Not all the time, though. That means I'm not a REAL WRITER, because REAL WRITERS don't faff around and play the ass but set their butts in the chair and write every freaking day.

2. Read. Now we're talking. This I can do all day and all night. (There are other things I don't mind doing all day and all night, but you'll have to get the adult version of my list to find out about that.) I've looked up from countless all-night marathons to see daylight staining the sky outside my bedroom windows. All night READING marathons, you!

3. Hike. Don't do much actual traipsing through forests these days, but communing with nature is one of my great joys. And boyohboy - am I in the right place for communing. I can sit and commune all day - and all night. The stars as seen from this valley? Incomparable. Full moon nights here make me very, very happy to be alive.

4. Flirt with favourite ex. Sigh. The less said about that the better. I need a cell phone with no text messaging feature. Or no cell phone at all.

5. Shop. I don't consider myself a typical anything, but this one throws me right in there with all the other shopaholic women. I don't do the malls, though, unless I absolutely have no choice. My poison is online shopping.

There you have it - TMI. I pass this award on to everyone in my online writing circle. Thanks for being there, guys.

Rating my life

It's been awhile since I did one of these. Saw it over at KeVin's and couldn't resist.

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	6.5
Mind:	7.8
Body:	6.6
Spirit:	8.8
Friends/Family:	5.3
Love:	2.1
Finance:	6.6
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

I too would have given a higher score to family. And since writing wasn't among the talents I ticked art. As for the love aspect, what can I say? I'll coin the intriguing Facebook romantic status option: It's complicated. :D

Amazon rant

I'm next door at Novel Spaces today. Come join me as I discuss the antics of my favorite store in Amazon Shenanigans.

Of transfixing call girl diaries

I know I'm extremely late to the party and my UK acquaintances will point and hoot at this, but I've only just discovered Belle de Jour, Diary of a London Call Girl. How did I happen on it? By the circuitous route of: reading a Times Online article about Zadie Smith, her father, and British comedy, and following a side link to an article and video clip with the innocuous caption: I Miss the Game - Belle De Jour author misses pride of "doing a job well". It was one of those times when you click a random link out of idle curiosity, or because your attention span is short and getting through the Zadie Smith (or whichever) article is taking more perseverance than you thought it would.

Anyway, I clicked the link, read the article, and discovered that Belle de Jour is the pseudonym which Dr. Brooke Magnanti used to write the online journal about her adventures as a highly paid London call girl. I did a Google search for the blog, naturally, and have been reading through the archives to find out what exactly started the Belle de Jour phenomenon. Because that's what it's become, what with the blog winning a Guardian prize for best-written British blog back in the early days, followed by the book offers, a TV drama, and Dr. Magnanti's coming out from behind the veil of anonymity. There've been follow-up books, of course, and some degree of celebrity for the writer.

So, yes, I've been reading Belle's journal. I've already learned a couple things - no, not those things, you! Things like the name of a shade of nail polish that I suspect is the one I saw on a woman's exquisitely manicured digits a few years ago in Miami and have been searching for - and attempting to replicate myself - since. (Chanel Le Vernis beige, which has been discontinued, but which can still be had via eBay.) I've also discovered additional sources of one of my guilty, secret indulgences: fabulous underwear. The sources tend to be UK-centric, though, which would make shipping charges a bit beyond what I'm willing to, ah, put out.

I've read through about seven months worth of Belle's blog entries and I'm not bored yet. The writing isn't bad - no, that's not true. It's pretty good. Then there's the voyeuristic thrill of the whole thing. But would I buy the books? That's an easy no. Would I read one if it came my way by some other means? I doubt it. There are limits to my appetite for voyeurism. I also have to admit that there are some aspects of the work, and the lady's lifestyle, that make me cringe. I'm not a prude, and I try not to be judgmental, but I'm squeamish about some things. Um, fisting? Threesomes? Oral sex with strangers with no latex in between? That's stretching my comfort zone a bit too far.

When I'm tired of the blog, which should be sometime over the next couple of days, that would be it for me. No further Belle de Jour titillation necessary.

Haiti: How to help

The current disaster in Haiti feels very close to home for two reasons: I live in the Caribbean and Haiti, although not an immediate neighbour, is a neighbour nonetheless. I also met many Haitians during my frequent stays in South Florida. Some became my friends, and several characters in my second novel, which is set in Miami, are reflections of these very real people.

When this type of disaster strikes the worst feeling is the helplessness. So many people want to do something, but aren't sure how to go about it.

MSNBC has posted a list of links to charitable organizations active in Haiti. One of them, Yele Haiti, is the brainchild of Wyclef Jean. You can text Yele to 501501 to donate $5 via your cellphone. Another option for anyone interested in helping immediately is to text HAITI to 90999 and a donation of $10 will be given automatically to the Red Cross to help with relief efforts, charged to your cell phone bill.

Um, goals, not resolutions

I'm on Novel Spaces today, going on about my writing goals for 2010. You've welcome to join me there!

Not Another Top Ten List