Okay…a bit of a bait-and-switch, that.  No, I don’t mean dating as in “I’m taking Johnny Depp out to dinner next Saturday.”  Rather, I mean dating as in carbon dating, placing a date – a real moment in time – on an event.  And, of course, that has to do with writing.  Let me explain….

Yesterday was a day of interviews and questions.  In the morning I spoke at a local book club, gave a reading from Tangled Roots and then answered all sorts of excellent and probing questions about the book, the process of writing it, the business of getting it published.   Book clubs are wonderful things indeed, and not only for the readers.  I think it is of great value to the writer, too, when she has been asked to state her case in front of a group of serious readers, and to re-examine the whys and hows of what she wrote. ( I know I’d be happy to go anywhere to speak at a book club…hmm….Bangkok sounds particularly intriguing…..)
That discussion was immediately followed by my interview on Radio Europe’s Book Show.  More interesting questions.  More surprising lines of inquiry. (If anyone got to hear it, do let me know…I’ll see if I can get a tape, but it went out live so I’m not sure if it’s possible).  
But then, hours later, I found myself wondering about one specific topic that was briefly discussed, and that’s my old friend, Time.  I’ve written about Time and it’s role in  Tangled Roots before here.  One part of the story is set in a very specific year, 2004.  And it made sense to write it that way.  But I am now working on a new novel, and I have also set this one in one very specific year (2007), complete with the history, happenings and even weather of that time. This makes sense as well.  But I’m now wondering why I keep doing this?  Why do I seem to need to firmly anchor my stories in real time?  I’m certainly not the first to do it.  Even if you take historical fiction out of the equation, many works of “literary fiction” have been specifically dated.  Joyce’s Ulysses is, of course, the extreme, masterful example of this.  But I wonder if it says more about me than about the my novels?  Do I feel that my imagination can only really run free if it’s also wedged into the bedrock of “reality”? Or, am I actually creating “reality” rather than creating “fiction,” peopling a very specific, existent reality with made-up characters? What ever happened to the “generic now”? I’m not sure if it really matters, to be honest.  But it is an interesting question whose answer may reflect not only my work, but perhaps my entire world view.  Any thoughts?
    On a lighter subject, though…my friend gave me a birthday card full of pictures of emoticoms.  I love it.  First of all, I love the fact that our language has evolved to a point where we even have the word “emoticom”.  But I also love the way people more visually creative than I am have found ways to instil emotion into these keyboard buttons we keep hitting time after time every day.  Here are some of them:
:-O   surprised smiley 😯  omigod! smiley       :-{}   lipstick smiley

:-))   really happy smiley    😀  laughing smiley      :-#    lips-are-sealed smiley

AND MY FAVOURITES:

{:-)    toupee smiley                            *birthday smiley