Aliya Whiteley at the Veggiebox

Veggie Tappers #2

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 09:39:00 +0000

I was watching the documentary at the end of the special edition of Dumbo last night (long story) and I was delighted to discover that the crows in that film were based, in part, on those great dancers The Jackson Brothers. The animators filmed the Jackson brothers doing their stuff and then used those movements in the crows' dancing to When I See An Elephant Fly. Cool, eh?

Alas, I can find no footage of The Jackson Brothers due to the overwhelming and inexplicable love of Michael Jackson's dance steps that take up the first 8000 google results, so I'll show you a little bit of The Nicholas Brothers instead.

The Nicholas Brothers were better known than the Jackson Brothers. They were unbelievably fit. Their routines are so energetic that after you've watched one you want a lie down and cup of tea. And they performed throughout the decades, from starting out as children in Vaudeville, making it big and appearing with acts like Cab Calloway and Dorothy Dandridge, to royal variety performances in the 1960s, right up to the 1990s.

Here's a routine from a film called Stormy Weather. Fred Astaire called it the greatest dance routine ever caught on film.

The leapfrogging over each other on the way down the stairs was kind of their trademark. Fabulous.

Engineering Paradise

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 09:26:00 +0000

I'm part of an online story workshop called Storyshed. It's a small group and we're pretty keen on honest criticism, which is something that's not always easy to come by as a writer.

Although it's mainly about short stories we did recently read and comment on a new novel by David Gardiner, because he's one of the members and we wanted to see what he was working on. Engineering Paradise turned out to be a mix of love, dreams and destruction in Northern Ireland in the 1960s. I thought it had some very interesting things to say about how terrorism sneaks into the hopes of the young and turns idealism inside out.

The book's title comes from a quote by Stafford Beer:

The Holocaust has shown us that the creation of hell
on earth is just a matter of engineering. The creation of
an earthly paradise is an engineering problem also.

Engineering Paradise has been released as a paperback and e-book by Merilang Press - I definitely recommend it, if you like thought-provoking and intelligent reading.

Been Around the World and Eye Eye Eye

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 13:06:00 +0000

This year my resolution is to watch more World Cinema.

I know it's not your usual resolution, but I don't really believe in promising to make changes that you know you really won't stick to. So far, however, I'm doing incredibly well at watching more world cinema. I watched quite a lot anyway, so it wasn't as if I was starting out at zero. But I felt I was starting to lean in the direction of American film because it was easy. No to ease! Yes to subtitles! Yes to long pauses and character development and murkiness!

So here's a few insights into what I've watched so far.

It turns out I like Michael Haneke films. The main thing I like about them is the way I always go, 'WHAT?' when the credits roll. What happened next???? What happened about the couple who were being video-taped in Hidden? Did The Piano Teacher kill herself once she'd realised that sado-masochistic sex hurt quite a lot and wasn't her bag after all? What happened to the entire village after The White Ribbon??? I do enjoy knowing that all of my questions will not be answered. I've found the same is true of Tarkovsky films. The trick is not to expect to be told stuff, which is quite a difficult task for a child of the 1980s educational system.

I already knew that I love Luc Besson, but The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc Sec has reminded me of that fact. It's got mummies in it. Egyptian ones. I'm sure I've posted on this blog before about how much I love mummies.

Goodbye Lenin is awesome. So is Downfall. And Das Experiment. And Grizzly Man. And The Lives of Others. Basically, modern German cinema is brilliant.

And there's a great Korean monster film called The Host, which all lovers of monster movies should see.

That's about it so far. Looking forward to seeing more, particularly contemporary stuff. I have a pretty good grounding in world cinema up to the year 2000, and then I got out of practice. All recommendations gratefully received.

The Princess and the Petals

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 10:23:00 +0000

I've just finished Michel Faber's The Crimson Petal and the White. What an amazing book.

But this post isn't about that book, or my jealousy at his incredible writing. It's about where the title comes from. It took me ages to remember, but after searching through my poetry books I came across the collected works of Alfred Lord Tennyson, and that wonderful partly comic ode to the days that are no more, The Princess.

The Princess tells a tale of a medieval princess who founds a university solely for women, and of her betrothed who sneaks inside, dressed as a woman, to find out exactly what's going on in there. It's a great poem, with a message that smacks of Victorian concerns about the role of women - how different are they from men? Can a man really understand a woman? Perhaps not, if William Rackham represented the typical Victorian male. Luckily, I think things have improved somewhat since then in terms of male/female relations.

Although, of course, you're free to disagree with me.

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

Veggie Tappers #1

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 10:23:00 +0000

Okay, so it's not strictly related to either vegetables or literary endeavours, but I fancy sharing a long-term passion of mine, and that is tap dancing.

I love tap dancing. It seems to me that Hollywood was a much better place in the thirties and forties, where someone could communicate their inner angst or burning happiness by bursting into a tap routine. Cinema used to be so much more expressionistic, didn't it? So I'm going to do a series of posts about my favourite tappers. And first up is Eleanor Powell.

Eleanor Powell learned to dance in the clubs around Atlantic City, and then performed around the world as the queen of tap dancing before she was captured on film. She was never really a love interest, or a partner, particularly, although she occasionally danced with people like Fred Astaire. She didn't sing. She was always very direct, very punchy, and not particularly sexy because it was all about the rhythm of her feet. Unless you find tap dancing sexy, in which case she was extremely sexy. Here's an idea of what her famous stage routine looked like:

And here she is with Fred Astaire, showing off why she was known as the Queen of Tap:

For once Fred doesn't look bored by the routine. I love the moment half-way through, when they really step up a gear. Just incredible.

Matter, Antimatter, Creation Theory, and Brain-Octopi

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 12:14:00 +0000

Seeing your book in print - is that different to seeing it on someone's Kindle? Seeing it on Amazon, available in e-book format? I know some writers think there's nothing to compare to holding your hardback in your hands, with your words on the pages, but I have to say that's not the bit that really gets me. It's a step too far to think those words belong to me any more. I feel once-removed from the process - a feeling exacerbated by the fact that I usually wrote that newly-published book two or three years ago. And other people have put their hands in it, too. If it was cake-mix, lots of cooks could be said to have given it a stir before it rose in the oven. Or not.

Enough uncomfortable metaphors - here's what I'm thinking about today. I'm thinking that the best part of writing the book is writing it. It's the act of creation that's important, not the solid object at the end. The Munchie has taught me this. She loves to create. As soon as she could hold an egg carton she wanted to slap green paint on it and call it a crocodile. Our house is covered in penguins made from empty squash bottles, cotton wool and stick-on googly eyes, and plaster of paris mermaids, painted and dipped in glitter and pretty much unrecognisable to anyone as a mermaid unless you were there at the moment of inception. I keep them, of course. But she couldn't care less. Once she decides they're finished she never looks at them again. The fun part is over.

Of course, with a novel, it's a bit more difficult to declare it done. But I always reach a moment when I cease to care about a book. The fun is done. And there are new things to create. New crocodiles and mermaids, just waiting to be brought into being.

On to the brain-octopi.

I have this theory that the act of creation is actually more real than the finished object. That, on some level that human eyes are unable to see, when you create something, something amazing and beautiful is released. Not just writing. When you go to the theatre or the cinema and the audience feels united by what they're experiencing - do you know what I mean? When a three year old makes a crocodile. When you have a great conversation with someone.

It's like this - everyone has a blue octopus in their heads, and when they create a good feeling or a piece of music or have an interesting thought, the luminous blue octopus that lives in your head expands, stretches out tentacles, and waves them in a really amazing dance. If only we had the eyes to see them, and really appreciate them. Then we could stop worrying about whether the final object is good enough, in some indefinable fashion. That final object would be totally unimportant, next to the octopi, wouldn't it? Octopi thoughts holding tentacles, pulsing with light. Yeah.

Right. Well.

Just my personal theory.

Drinking at the Spaceport Bar cont.

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 09:34:00 +0000

You walk into a spaceport bar, a thousand light years from home, and meet four friends. The lights are low. Cutthroats and bounty hunters lurk in the shadows. The bar serves drinks from a hundred different worlds. You can buy almost anything here. You order a round of beers and look around the table at your friends. You’re glad they’re here with you.

But who are they?

Here’s the game: select four science fictional characters that you’d like to have a drink with, and place them around the same table. It’s a variation of the old “fantasy dinner party” game, only set in a tavern at Mos Eisley.

Thus begins Gareth L Powell's blog post. It's too good to pass up. Although the obvious choice for this scenario would be super-sexy Han Solo, I think the point of the game is to go literary, not cinematic. And since Gareth has picked the wonderful Halo Jones first and I'm determined not to replicate his answers, I've ended up with a right dodgy pack of marauders to hang out with. I bet it would be fun, though.

1. Gully Foyle from The Stars, My Destination by Alfred Bester

He's got really interesting tattoos, he makes up quatrains, his sole mission is vengeance. He'll be interesting company if he doesn't kill me first.

2. Gurney Halleck from Dune by Frank Herbert

Not too much fun when sober,but onve you get him drunk he's amazingly entertaining, playing his baliset, then getting me in a headlock and shouting, 'You young pup!' over and over in my ear before wrestling me to the ground and giving me a good scar to remember him by.

3. Jernau Morat Gurgeh from The Player of Games by Iain M Banks

He'll play a mean game of chess over a brew or two, and up my cool factor by three million. Let's gland.

4. Zaphod Beeblebrox.

No explanation needed.

So let's have a roaring night at the Mos Eisley cantina! It'll be the time of my life, but I'll either be broke, dead or at the end of the universe by morning.

Why aren't Vampires Earthy Any More?

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 10:47:00 +0000

When Bram Stoker created Dracula, he made a monster that needed its native soil. Images of Dracula crouched in his soil in Carfax Abbey are disturbing ones. Yeah, okay, Francis Ford Coppola's film isn't always the greatest, but showing Dracula as a kind of white maggot as he crosses the ocean, pupating and writing in the earth... brrrrrrr. And I like that connection to the soil, to power, to the animalistic side of the vampire.

Modern vampires are usually not so big on soil. Christopher Lee's Dracula wouldn't have got his fingernails dirty, and since Anne Rice made vamps sophisticated they tend to be more ethereal creatures. Like in Poppy Z Brite's Dead Souls - they don't have a particular connection to nature. In fact, their powers are mind powers. The poor women in that novel - they just have to glance at vampire Zillah's green eyes and they're shedding their underwear. He has psychic abilities, see, that overwhelm all reason, to the extent of being prepared to have vampire babies that will eat your womb while they're still inside you. It would have to be one hell of a mind-trick to make me sign up for that.

I'm not keen on these monsters who are all head and no feet. I want rooted, natural vampires. I want their connection to be with the earth. I want DH Lawrence vampires.

So here's my attempt at a DH Lawrence vampire story. Well, two paragraphs, anyway:

She held her loosening face to the full moon, felt the moon inside her, filling her stomach, her womb, ah! The joy of the fecundity, the ripeness, as his teeth came to her throat and she spilled her blood into his mouth. He forced her down to her knees with his beast strength, overpowering, and yet he could not master her, could not bend her backwards into the ears of white corn, could not break their stalks. She was beyond him yet, even as he sucked at her, demanded her attention, and he was no more than an annoyance between her and her moon; she reached for it, begged it to claim her utterly, and fill her emptying veins with its light.

He took his teeth away, like a calm wave of the sea, a careful retreat in the face of her indifference. 'Do you not want get bit then, lass?' he said. 'Shouldn't come out t'field at night, then, should ee?' Every word hurt her more deeply than he could have known, and yet, how could he not know that they were locked together in this war, a war against her sex, and he was utterly intent on winning.

Actually, I quite like it. Throw in a rainbow and a miscarriage and I might be on to something.

Black Reading Matter

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 10:36:00 +0000

It's not Christmas if I don't receive some books. It looked like it might be a poor turnout on the novel front from Santa this year, so Hubby stepped up to the plate and went mad on my wishlist, and so I ended up with a decent stash. Phew. Thanks Hubby.

Here's what I received:

The Crimson Petal and the White by Michel Faber

Really looking forward to this. I admit, I saw the BBC adaptation first and loved that, and I've always liked Faber's Under the Skin, so I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to get round to it.

Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman.

Have read it before but am looking forward to reading it again.

Conjectures and Refutations by Karl Popper

A mad moment prompted me to add this to my wishlist. Now I have to read it. It looks daunting, but very interesting. Will give it a go.

Lost Souls by Poppy Z Brite

I'm half-way through this. It's ace. OTT writing, all swoony and drunken and taking itself very seriously. Will post on the blog about vampire writing in general shortly, but I do like this world of Tom Waits-obsessed, Chartreuse-guzzling creatures of the night.

Deathnote parts one and two by Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata

This was the book I first picked up and read on Christmas morning. A totally involving, fun, cheeky and very scary addition to Manga. If you're into graphic novels or comics, definitely give this a go.

Heavy black reading matter this year, and it was hard work carrying it all back to Bedfordshire - a good arm muscle workout as well, then. Top pressies.

What books did you get this Christmas? Anything awesome?

Flying Away on a Hippogriff Award

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 14:22:00 +0000

So long, Russell Hoban. He died a few weeks before Christmas.

Coincidentally, I was reading one of his novels at the time. Neil Ayres had given me Angelica, Lost and Found as a present, and it was a strange, not altogether pleasant read. A hippogriff is in love with the maiden tied to the rock in this piccie below. She's called Angelica.

So Volatore (the hippogriff) pursues her in a modern setting, and finds her. But it's difficult to sustain a woman/hippogriff relationship for many reasons, most of them physical (shudder) and so strange compromises have to be reached.

These themes of animal impulses and restrained maidens cropped up a lot in the later Russell Hoban books I read. I think I preferred Riddley Walker, but he was always an interesting and fearless writer. I will miss the opportunity to see where he was going next.

He also wrote fabulous children's books, and my favourite was The Sea-Thing Child. Just in case you've got a small child who might like it - I definitely recommend it.

(And thanks for the pressie, Neil...)

Excessive Use of Shortbread

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 18:47:00 +0000

I really wanted shortbread this Christmas, and so I indulged myself. A lot. Shortbread is just so yummy when dipped in Earl Grey. But the time has come to move on from shortbread, and so I must start 2012 with my new Strictly Come Dancersize DVD and a whole lot less shortbread. But still, I have a feeling it's going to be a good one. I've already learned to Cha Cha and it's only the first week. And I also had a story published, here at Allegory. Starting as I mean to go on.

Babyhead was, of course, an audio story over at the Drabblecast first, but it's made the transition into print and I'm very pleased with it. As pleased as a person can be once they realise they've written a really disturbing story. Hm.

I have an exciting year coming up, actually, for a number of reasons. No doubt I'll reveal them over the next few weeks. And there'll also be blog posts about my Christmas reading material and what's playing on my stereo. And on my PS3. And, of course, the vegetables I'm dealing with on a daily basis. Of all varieties.

Yule Be Fine

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 15:27:00 +0000

I know you're nervous about it, but seriously, it's going to be a great Christmas. Now go and get on with it. Wrap presents. Sing songs. Nog eggs. Meet me back here in the New Year, and let me know what Santa brought you.

Much gleeful ding donging to you all.

Snow Facts

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 10:20:00 +0000

It's snowing. Hurray for fresh snow! Before it becomes old grey slushy snow and everyone starts grumping about salt and grit and stuff.

Here are some little known facts about snow:

- A single snowstorm can carry energy equivalent to 120 atomic bombs.

- The largest snowflake ever recorded was 15 inches in diameter.

- People buy more biscuits during snowfall.

- Every snowflake is 0.000000003 percent LSD.

- Every year an average of 68 people die by falling into snowdrifts and being unable to climb out.

- Inuit people don't actually have lots of words for snow. Sami people do, though. They have hundreds.

- But Tongan people have no word for snow. Their phrase for snow translates as, 'small feathers from a very big sky duck'.

- Eating dirty snow was directly responsible for the death of great French Philosopher Firmin Abauzit (1679–1767).

Some of the above facts may not be true. I'll leave you to puzzle over it while more snow gently blankets my county. Ahhhhhhhhhh.

More things that are Xmassy, Yet Not Xmassy

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 10:31:00 +0000

Why is a video clip of my favourite muppet performing the Ode to Joy Christmassy? No idea. But it is, isn't it? Feliz Navidad.

Celebratory Films by Alfred Hitchcock

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 09:49:00 +0000

We've reached the time of year where it's dark by three o-clock, and I'd like the heating to be on all the time even if I can't really afford that, and twinkly Christmas lights transform boring old houses into boring old twinkly houses, and everything smells of tree.

Why, in this pre-Christmas moment, do I find myself thinking of The Birds?

The Birds is not a jolly upbeat film. Christmas isn't in it. But last night I found myself saying to Hubby - let's watch The Birds!

No - he said. Wisely. Being a suitably seasonal wise man.

Oh go on - I said.

So he relented, being suitably seasonally giving. And at the end he said, as I does every year after watching The Birds - now I don't feel Christmassy any more.

I'm mean like that.

I've thought long and hard about it, and there's only one reason why I've put The Birds and Christmas together in my head. It's this:

Both have things coming down a chimney.

That's it. Santa comes down a chimney, and the evil birds come down a chimney. There's really nothing else that links them.

Maybe by understanding this tenuous link I can begin to work out why every Easter I feel the urge to watch To Catch A Thief while eating curry...

Nope. I still don't understand it.

Veggie Books of the Year: 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 10:41:00 +0000

It's time to award the Golden Gherkin to the best Veggie Book of the year.

This is not so much an award to the best book I've read in 2011. It's about the incorporation of vegetables into the novel in a meaningful and rewarding fashion. And none of these books were written in 2011, just to be clear. It just so happens that I read them in 2011 for the first time.

Here are the contenders:

The Rain Before it Falls by Jonathan Coe

For the unappetising dinner with potatoes like stones that demonstrated the collapse of a marriage.

We Were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates

For a minestrone soup that contrasted perfectly with the bruised soul of the outcast sister.

Good Behaviour by Molly Keane

For grapes covered in butterflies that led to thoughts of death.

And the winner has to be...

The Minestrone! Joyce Carol Oates, much-celebrated novelist, and now the holder of the Golden Gherkin. Congratulations.

Being Unusual is for Common People

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 10:10:00 +0000

I’m a fan of the word ‘cool’.

Back in the 1980s, when I was just learning how to experiment with spray-in hair colour and ra-ra skirts, all this young girl wanted was to be cool. I wasn’t cool. With my enormous glasses and predilection for long words I didn’t even approach cool until I left for University in the 1990s, by which time nobody was cool any more. A few lucky people were kicking, I seem to remember. And being awesome probably made an appearance in my amazing vocabulary at about that time. I became quietly interesting, with my penchant for waistcoats, my Eric Morecambe glasses and my seriously short haircut. I wouldn’t say I was out there, in the way that students used to be: I wasn’t dressed in a purple cape, and I didn’t wear green lipstick very often. I wasn’t six foot ten and given to reciting Spenser in pubs after half a cider. Bear in mind that I was studying Drama, and everyone else on my course was doing these things on a regular basis.

I was different from the other drama students. For a start, I liked Pulp.

Back in the early 1990s nobody had much heard of Pulp. They’d released a few albums on a tiny label, and it wasn’t cool to come from Sheffield or be incredibly thin with staring eyes, or to be called Jarvis, or indeed, Cocker. I liked their music and their weirdness and the very literal hand movements Jarvis made to accompany his lyrics, which were about things like hiding in wardrobes and watching people snog. But, if I’m honest, the thing I loved about them was that nobody had heard of them. I had discovered that the best short cut to being cool was to be unusual.

This is not a discovery that is going to come as a surprise to many of you. There are just so many darned humans, and the thought that there’s nothing that delineates us from each other is too awful. Surely we’re all unique and special? I’m not saying I’m the only person who liked Pulp before 1995, but when you team that with the waistcoat and the buzz cut and the Devonshire accent, I’d be disappointed to find out there was an exact replica of me out there.

It doesn’t just apply to music, either. For instance, The Friday Project launched its Library of Lost Books. This is an imprint dedicated to making available those titles that some people loved dearly while the rest of us never got to hear about them. I love this idea madly, because it suggests that the worth of these novels is not in the amount they have sold, or will ever sell. They are, I suppose, cult novels, for those of us who have better taste than others. I know I’m not meant to put it that way, but the truth is some things just wouldn’t be as awesome if everybody knew about them already. I hope that The Library of Lost Books introduces fabulous forgotten titles to a whole new group of readers. Just so long as they’re cool, esoteric readers.

Sorry.

Practically anything can mark you out as special. On Twitter recently I noticed this tweet about blood types:

I am AB-, rarest in the world.

That tweet was followed by this one:

Is it weird that I’m very very proud about my exceptionally rare blood type? Like to the point of boasting about it?

No, tweeter, it’s not weird at all. It is one of the defining factors of being human. And you’re lucky, because you get to keep your blood group all your life. It’ll be a constant joy to raise at parties, and trot out at Christmas. It’ll be your special thing, and all will be well. As long as you never need a transfusion.

I, on the other hand, got robbed of my uniqueness in 1995. Pulp released their album Different Class, and while songs such as Misfits spoke directly to me, they also spoke to the rest of nation, who all went out and bought it, and then consistently voted it as one of the top 100 albums of all time. I was bereft. Everybody recognised Jarvis Cocker on my hand printed waistcoat and every time I went into a pub Common People was playing away merrily. I had a stark choice to make. Either I dumped Pulp as my defining factor in unusualness, or I spouted in a loud voice about how the previous albums were so much better. Guess which route I chose.

Actually, I do seriously think that His ‘n’ Hers is the better album.

As I’ve aged I’ve attempted to combat this universe disease of needing to be different. I ditched the waistcoat and grew out my hair, and I overcame my hatred of anything commercial. I even read and loved Harry Potter. But there’s still a part of me that likes to make my friends listen to Neil Young’s Zuma album on vinyl when they pop round for a chat. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.

In that respect, I really am on the common side.

Veggie Voice: I am Aliya's Curly Kale

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 16:36:00 +0000

And now, just to confuse the spec fic readers who may have joined us from Strange Horizons, here's the third in my series of first person recipes. I present to you - the Curly Kale. Although this recipe is better with cavolo nero. But cavolo nero refused to join us for this blog entry, being at the posher end of the brassica family.

Veggie Pasta Supper
Ingredients:

one chopped onion
garlic, if you like
lots of chestnut mushrooms, broken into pieces
me, ripped into big pieces
big tubey pasta, like rigatoni
cheese. can be blue, can be soft, can be plain ol' cheddar or pokey parmesan, depending on your personal taste
basil, oregano, rosemary, chilli, paprika, black pepper - again, all up to your personal taste

Put your pasta on to boil.

Fry your onion gently, then add your mushrooms and me, and fry me softly until I'm all super-green and coated in olive oil. Add the garlic, herbs and spices. Let me wait around for a while, not doing a lot. Push me around the frying pan with my buddies, mushrooms and onion.

Serve me on the pasta with plenty of whatever cheese you like mixed in.

And that's it. Curly Kale is an uncomplicated vegetable, really. Straightforward and good for your iron levels. Yum.

Butterflies and Balloons

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 14:59:00 +0000

I have a new story up at Strange Horizons this week - think magical realism twinned with hot-air ballooning.

Hope you enjoy it.

The Best Online Advent Calendars

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 14:37:00 +0000

We all love a freebie.

I became a fan of online advent calendars a few years ago, and have even won a few prizes from them, so I thought I'd share the best of them this year so you can win the prizes instead. See how generous I am.

The Liverpool Museums website has a retro calendar with a vintage toy behind each door.

The Bloomsbury Advent Calendar is very beautiful and contains discount codes and special offers.

Bristol's Watershed has an interesting daily serving of short films at Electric December. Worth a look.

Ascot Racecourse is doing a Facebook-based giveaway. Day One is a magnum of Prosecco. Now that's the way to get seasonal.

Classic FM has a classy one (naturally) with some excellent giveaways lined up.

Dorset Cereals do a smashing granola and a great calendar. Howzat for multitasking.

And if those weren't enough, I will finish off with a reminder that a piece of speculative flash fiction will be available every day through the TTA Press Advent Calendar. And one of my stories will be behind one of the doors. Yeah.

Enjoy advent.

Favourite Moments at MNW

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 12:49:00 +0000

Over on the MNW blog there's the start of a new series of posts that will be running throughout December - MNW authors will be highlighting some of their favourite passages from their own work, and talking about why those moments are important to them.

And guess what? I'm up first. Today, in fact, with a snippet from Three Things About Me. Looking back at it, I'm really quite proud of that book.

Soul Cake

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 10:44:00 +0000

We've passed halloween and are all looking forward to advent, no doubt, but I found myself singing the traditional Soul Cake song in the kitchen this morning, so I thought I'd just backtrack and mention this British/Irish custom of giving and receiving little cakes flavoured with fruit or ginger or nutmeg or raisins or lots of other yummy things. This was done on All Saints Day and All Souls Day (first and second of November) and sounds much nicer than receiving 16 bags of Haribo, if you ask me.

If you want to hear a good version of this great song, here's Sting mixing it up with a bit of a Christmassy feel. It's the kind of song that suits a wintry day.

Short term Schlepping

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 09:42:00 +0000

A novel is undoubtedly a long term project. Even if you bung the first draft out during the month of November, you then have to retrace your steps and edit the darned thing if you want it to be half-decent, and that takes time. And energy. And commitment, because there's always at least one moment where you think - what am I doing? This is pants! This is like putting my pants on a stick and waving them in the air for the entire world to see, whilst singing, 'I proclaim my own pantsness!' in a really really loud voice.

Writing a novel is the long process of hoping you're amazing and admitting you're a little bit crap.

Now, short stories, that's a different matter. It takes me a year to write a novel, and a week to write a short story. Then I can submit it to my wonderful short story critique group, or to a great website like UKAuthors, and, lo! Immediate and detailed feedback. Then I'll polish it up, submit it to some professional outfit, and if I get lucky I'll have an acceptance within a few months. Maybe sooner. Writerly gratification. With a novel, it'll take about four months for anyone to read it and and that point, sixteen months in, I might find out for the first time that it's just not going to cut the mustard.

So that's why I'm back on the short story bandwagon, for the time being at least. And that's why I have some stories popping up in places like Strange Horizons and Big Pulp over the coming months. Awesome.

Enough of thinking long term. Let's all focus on the short term right now. And that means short stories and cake. Yeah. Cake.

Veggie Voice: I am Aliya's Sweet Potato

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 10:08:00 +0000

Veggie Tagine

For the Chermoula
2 red onions
2 cloves of garlic
chopped ginger
juice of 2 lemons
100ml olive oil
1 tbsp honey, cumin, paprika, turmeric, chilli powder

For the Tagine
3 carrots
ME times 3
2 red onions
2 large potatoes
12 dried apricots
400ml water

1. Turn on your oven! Make it hot! 180 degrees.

2. Make the chermoula by bunging everything in a blender.

3. Brown me, the carrots and the potatoes (all of us cut into chunks) on the hob, then put us in a big oven-proof dish, and add the chermoula and the apricots. Add the water, give us a stir, and let us cook for ages! A couple of hours is probably overkill but if you like us really soft then go for it. Certainly an hour and a half.

4. Eat my lovely spicy orangey chunks. With couscous. Maybe decorate me with mint. A bit of green on my head looks smashing. Enjoy me. Soak up my sauce with bread. Yummmmmmmmmm.... Eat me up! More more more! Yeah, baby.

I think we'll leave that recipe there as the sweet potato seems to be enjoying itself far too much. Sweet Potato Tagine - the sexy vegetarian recipe.

Interview 101: Ian Hocking and his Ice Cream

noreply@blogger.com (Aliya Whiteley/Produced by Slicklix) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 09:36:00 +0000

Ian Hocking is a unique and special snowflake. Well, yes, we all are. But he's unique because he's willing to talk about the economics of e-book publishing in an honest manner. Here he is on Scott Pack's blog letting us know exactly how much he spent on preparing his books for e-publishing, and exactly how much he's made in return. Such information is invaluable if you're thinking of going down that route yourself.

I wondered if his honesty didn't apply solely to economics. He is, after all, a psychology lecturer; if I asked him some keen-minded psychological questions, would he come over all slippery and melt away?

So here we go - penetrating questions about ice cream because his new e-book, PROPER JOB, is about selling ice cream.

What's your favourite ice-cream flavour?

That will be the strawberries and cream flavour we sold from the vans back in the day. What made it special was the decision to - wait for it - use real strawberries and actual, honest-to-goodness cream (instead of strawberry flavouring and some kind of rehydrated milk product). Heavenly. And I don't even like ice-cream.

Name three things, off the top of your head, that are the same colour as your favourite flavour of ice-cream?

OK, here goes: Sand, gruyere, and the beige microwave we had in the kitchen when I was little boy.

Do you prefer cornets, bowls, or those oyster shell thingies?

What are those oyster shell thingies? I don't think you beat a cornet. It does, however, need to be one of the sugar cones (like a Cornetto).

What's your opinion regarding Ice Magic? (if you remember it)

I think it's outrageous. I don't remember it.

What's your first memory involving ice cream?

I remember being at a party - sitting on the edge of an adult chair, very young - and getting brain freeze. I'd been dressed like my brother again.

So there you have it. Make of it what you will. I think it's quite revealing, personally. And what better way to continue our research into Ian Hocking's brain than by reading his new book? Writers give away so much on the page, don't they? They pretend they don't but really they do. *steeples fingers*

'99: A big rock called the Moon is about to move in front of the sun. On Earth - in Cornwall - Andy Carrick is trying to hold down a summer job before leaving for university.

The crimp in Andy's plan arrives in breathtaking form: Penelope Brown, heiress to the Brown's Ice-Cream empire. Before long, Andy finds himself in the surprisingly dangerous role of ice-cream man.

To reach university unscathed, he'll need to cope with his best friend Doogie, who might have taken a shine to Penelope, and his new boss, Big Jeff, whose belly shakes like a bowl full of jelly when he screams, "You'm fired!" And then there's Old Boy, whose name no one can remember.

Proper Job is a novel about a boy, a girl, long queues, dangerous driving, CB language, the dark art of magazine inserts, Alaskan malamutes, and a total eclipse of the sun. Beach-time reading will never be the same again.

*In the interest of fairness I should point out that Ian and I do belong in an elite club of two: the Ice-Cream-Cover-Image-Initiatve. This may have affected my objectivity.