April 2013: Celebration!

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Celebration! 

There’s nothing like a good book launch and the Hong Kong Writers Circle hosted a launch earlier this month to celebrate the publication of Of Gods and Mobsters, our latest anthology. It was great to see so many members come out, including two who are now based in the UK and who are in the process of setting up the HKWC overseas UK critique group (if you’re in Hong Kong and you want in on a critique group, scroll down and you’ll see some more info). It was also a chance to thank Simon, who has now edited three anthologies, and to meet some of the SCAD students who designed covers for the anthology as part of a school assignment. If you’re ever publishing a book (as have many of our writers – see below) and are in need of some artwork, please consider working with some of these talented artists. You can check out some of their portfolioshere, here, here, while you can contact Simon at books@hkwriterscircle.com if you’re interested in hiring our cover artist Robin Lau. Because yes, we do indeed judge a book by its cover.

Also, we are hosting a competition to win a complimentary copy of Of Gods and Mobsters, so please go to our Facebook page on Monday, April 22 to enter!

Cheers, Melanie

Also in this issue: Of Gods & Mobsters is now available on Paddyfield and on Amazon, new books by James Tam, Jame Dibiasio and John Biggs, critique groups and our next Just Write workshop.

March 2013: The Do’s and Don’t's When Searching for an Agent

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“I am the next Messiah” and other things not to write

This month has been a bit (a lot) busy and there’s been little time to eat, much less think about an editorial. So I’m cheating this month and giving you a recap of the HKWC’s Meet the Agent workshop that we hosted at the end of last month with Kelly Falconer from the new Asia Literary Agency. So what’s a literary agent? You can google that and maybe read the blogs of agents and ex-agents (turned author) and people who don’t think you need an agent. But here’s one thing you might not have known – these days the agent is also responsible for doing the editing and finalizing the book as much as possible because publishing houses are looking for a manuscript that’s ready to go. See, that’s one answer you missed from the workshop. Another answer (one that came from a question from a person who obviously likes lists – although, maybe we all do) was about Kelly’s three big turnoffs.

And here they are:

  • stories proclaiming yourself to be the next Messiah
  • memoirs about your time in the war
  • the dead grandmother story (aka the too much narrative, zero dialogue)

But on the flip side, what makes a novel successful? According to our workshop: plot, setting, character and dialogue.

We also learned about the business of publishing a book and the highly marketable author, also known as the hot one (but again, what else is new?). Also: you must participate in your own publicity. And finally, rejection. It happens to all of us and Kelly wanted to know: “Do you want a two-line rejection”? The resounding answer was yes and as one member said: “Just put us out of our misery”.

Happy writing, Melanie

Also in this issue: Of Gods and Mobsters the latest HKWC anthology, new publications from Phillip Kim and plenty of writing, reading and distractions.

February 2013: Changes

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The goal: be a writer and get paid for it. Sell millions of said fiction/non-fiction title. Reach the top of the New York Times best-seller list (or, the other way around?). Be translated into 32 languages. Or 65. How do you do it? What’s this about query letters and agents and long wait times and fabulous rejection letters (save them all!)? Well, we’re more than a little perplexed as well. But fear not, we’ve got your back and so without further ado, a workshop to help clear the air.

We’re hosting our first seminar of the year on Tuesday, February 26 with literary agent Kelly Falconer, who has so kindly offered to host an Ask the Agent workshop. Please block the date off in your diary and RSVP to rsvp@hkwriterscircle.com ASAP (seriously, this event will sell out) and see below for all the details. It’s going to be a great, informative and super useful evening. I know I have like a million questions and I’m sure I’m not the only one. Kelly is seriously in the know and here, I’ll save you the time Googling her. A former Korean linguist, Kelly was also the Literary Editor at the Asia Literary Review before starting the Asia Literary Agency. You can check out a review she wrote published in the Financial Times and her top three literary highlights of 2012 ($ req’d). SO SIGN UP! Details in the events section of this newsletter.

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The HKWC had its AGM last month and with that we say a fond farewell to founder Lawrence Gray, who has stepped down as Treasurer, and to Laura Besley who has resigned her post as Secretary. I think everyone will join me in thanking both Lawrence and Laura for all of their hard work, but especially Lawrence who founded the HKWC and has, for over 20 years, been involved in its running. And so after the AGM, we welcome in new members to the Committee and look forward to a stellar 2013, with plenty of workshops, a great anthology and a chance to really connect with the writing community. I’ve been roped into writing the newsletter this year, so please let me know if you tire of salted caramel, 5 a.m. wake-up calls, Italo Calvino and other thoughts on writing and distractions (if you make it to the end of this newsletter you’ll find: Mr. Darcy had Aspergers, Danielle Steel’s Proust Questionnaire and Elizabeth Gilbert’s response to Philip Roth’s advice to quit writing.). Also quotes. Here’s one to leave you thinking: “It’s none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way.” – Ernest Hemingway

Melanie

Also in this issue:  Peter Gregoire reaches the top of the Dymocks Hong Kong list, we remember Sophronia Liu and check out the covers from our anthology cover competition with SCAD. Read on here!

The Partition – Sophronia Liu

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The Partition

Sophronia Liu

* first published in Measurements: Sketches from Hong Kong (2010)

MIDNIGHT. EVERYONE IS ASLEEP.

Even in the dark, I can see his eyes peering at me from across the partition. The cripple in the next room does not sleep. He keeps me awake. His dry coughs, his sighs, his creaky bed. Most of all, he follows me with his eyes.

Dark pupils, glistening in the dim light, they follow me down the narrow passageway. Going to and from the communal kitchen and the toilet in the back. Those wolf-like eyes burrow through my school uniform, my cotton pajamas; they latch on my breasts.

My face burns, but I keep moving, my eyes fixed on the dusty tiles on the floor.

The soup bowl in my hand trembles, ‘Slosh, slosh!’

‘Don’t spill the soup,’ Ah Ma scolds. ‘Look where you’re going, you dead girl!’

I’m fifteen. She still calls me bad names.

‘When I get a raise, we’ll look for a better place,’ Ah Ba promises. He’s been saying that since I was six, when we first came here from our village in Toisan.

‘Aren’t you lucky to go to Middle School,’ Ah Ma smirks. ‘I was selling fish at the market at your age.’

Yesterday after school, I walked through the door and he was sitting in the back balcony, sunning himself. As I walked through the passageway, past the bunk beds lining along the way, I could feel his eyes on me. Shirtless, he was scratching his chest with his right hand. Shards of sunlight lit up the skin on his shoulders, the top of his chest. My heart skipped a beat, and I froze.

His eyes locked me in. His fingers lingered on his left breast.

Leisurely, his thumb and forefinger kneaded his nipple, as if he were milking himself.

My mouth went dry.

His lips parted, showing the tip of his tongue. He smacked his lips together, one, two, three, just like a hungry baby seeking mother’s milk.

I bolted out of the apartment.

A day later, I can still hear my heart racing. Thud. Thud. Thud. I squeeze my eyes shut. All I can see are his fingers, milking, tweaking his dark brown nipple and the half grin on his sunken cheeks. He looks a million years old.

In the bunk below, Ah Ma and Ah Ba are snoring away. Di Di, my little brother, thrashes and turns on his mat on the floor. He must be practising kung fu in his dream. Eighteen sleeping bodies under one roof, am I the only one awake?

Creak, creak.

It’s that maddening bed sound again. It comes directly from the other side of the wooden panel, where the cripple’s bed is pressed up against the partition. Board pressed against board. Or is it flesh against flesh?

It drives me mad.

I must make these sounds stop. I must go to sleep.

Creak, creak.

All of a sudden, a deep chill rises from the bottom of my spine. Lying there in the gloom, I can feel them – his eyes, unblinking, beckoning. Two bottomless pools drawing me in.

Under my thin pyjama, I’m shaking uncontrollably.

I try to keep my breath even, feigning sleep. But I cannot rid myself of those dark pools, haunting, inviting.

I’m sweating, wet. I don’t know why.

I can almost smell him, somewhere close by.

Where is that creep?

I throw an arm across my forehead, and hide my face in the crook of my arm. Gingerly, from underneath my arm, I take a peep.

There he is! Outlined by the light shining in from the street, his head is a murky shadow, looming large and menacing on top of the partition.

He is staring down at me. There, less than three feet above.

My heart is rumbling in my chest, like a runaway train.

I can feel those devil eyes, like rock drills, burrowing through my bedclothes, burnishing my warm skin.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

I only feel the surge of heat all over my body. I’m trembling, trembling.

I want to scream: Leave me alone, you creep!

But I can’t.

They’d call me crazy.

If I had a dagger, I’d dig deep into those eye sockets. I’d scratch those marble eyes out so they’d leave me at peace.

But no dagger. No peace.

I bite down on my lip to stifle the scream choking in my throat. I can’t stand this any more, this tug of war, this test of will. Trapped like an animal, fixed like a dragonfly on a pin.

I fling my arm to the side and grab the first hard object next to my pillow. With all the strength in my body, I hurl it up at the dark shadow hanging over my bed. I can hear a dull thud as it hits its mark.

I hear him scream. He must have fallen off his bed.

Bolting upright from his sleep, Ah Ba cries from the bottom bunk. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘A rat, a rat! Above the partition! I got it with my book.’

‘Don’t make such a racket. Go back to sleep.’

‘Yes, I will.’

Hugging my pillow to my chest, I breathe a heavy sigh.

It’s over, only my pyjamas are drenched with sweat. I’m exhausted, wet through and through.