May 2016 issue

Sometimes you should

STOP WRITING

budding AUTHORS

WRITERS

WHO IS READING WHAT

THE SHINING GIRL

AUTHORS MAGAZINE | 1

ditor

A message from the

Happy While the Northern hemisphere celebrates spring holidays with dances, singing and cake, and the Southern hemisphere buckles down for the chill of winter, one thing should remain constant.

We should all be reading! Whether you’re lounging by the pool, kindle in hand, or bundled in your blanket fort with a tattered paperback, here’s looking at you, readers!

This month I made the grave error of joining an online event which focuses on the YA genre. I say grave, because in joining this event I may well be opening myself up to bankruptcy as a direct result of buying too many books. The event kicked off with Laini Taylor’s Shadow of Bone Trilogy in April, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and is now moving on to their May picks: Julie Kagawa’s Iron Fey series, Amanda Hocking’s Trylle series and of course, a little John Green thrown in for good measure.

Meanwhile to celebrate the month of May we interviewed the insanely talented Lauren Beukes for our cover. Lauren Beukes is fierce – Sasha Fierce – and iconic in that she has paved the way for many Speculative Fiction authors in South Africa. Her work has been praised by Stephen King. George RR Martin dubs her a “major, major talent.” Leonardo Di Caprio’s production company sends her Christmas cards. Regularly seen sporting a Wonder Woman t-shirt, Beukes is a superhero in her own right.

Our International Focus article this month profiles British crime writer, Leigh Russell, whose latest release, Journey to Death is sure to titillate your reading taste buds.

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May Day! Ever wondered what your favourite authors are reading? We took to Twitter and discovered what books writers are reading and why. Every author needs to take time out of their own writing and enjoy the labours of others, as Monique Snyman reminds us in her article “Sometimes you should stop writing”. I’m going to step in here and say that while this may be true, you should never, ever stop reading!

Authors Magazine was founded with a passion to promote authors, of all shapes and sizes. In keeping with that passion, we are thrilled to announce the introduction of two new regular features. Our Budding Writers column showcases writing of children between the ages of 5 and 12, and our Authors Flash column features flash fiction submitted by our readers. We are currently open for submissions, so if you would like either your own or your child’s work to be considered, please contact us.

What is your favourite YA novel? Tweet us @authorsmag and let us know!

As always, happy reading!

Much Love

Melissa Delport

Contents COVER FEATURE

04

LAUREN BEUKES The Shining Girl

ARTICLES

PUBLISHER Lesiba Morallane

14 17 22 28

SOMETIMES YOU SHOULD STOP WRITING ROSA Romance Writers Orangisation of South Africa SELF PUBLISHING IN SOUTH AFRICA Copyright, ISBNs and Barcodes WRITERS Who is reading what

EDITOR Melissa Delport COPY EDITOR Ian Tennent ADVERTISING COMMUNICATION Dineo Mahloele LAYOUT AND DESIGN

REGULARS A Message from the Editor.........................................................02 Authors Flash....................................................................................18 Budding Authors.............................................................................20 Sallys Sanity Relocate, Rinse, Repeat...................................................................24 On The Couch with Conrad Koch...............................................26 International Focus Leigh Russell........................................................................................27 Justin Fox San Francisco Beat Route...............................................................32 Recommended Reads...................................................................34

Apple Pie Graphics Tel: 079 885 4494 CONTRIBUTORS Melissa Delport Monique Snyman Rachel Morgan Sally Cook Dineo Mahloele Justin Fox

AUTHORS MAGAZINE: PO Box 92644, Mooikloof, Pretoria East Email: team@authorsmag.com To advertise online please email team@authorsmag.com or contact Ms Dineo Mahloele on 084 299 6812 DISCLAIMER The views and opinions expressed in this magazine are intended for informational purposes only. Authors Magazine takes no responsibility for the contents for the contents of the advertising material contained herein.

All efforts have been taken to verify the information contained herein, and views expressed are ont necessarily those of Authors Magazine. E&OE

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THE SHINING GIRL Her work has been praised by Stephen King. George RR Martin dubs her a “major, major talent.” Leonardo Di Caprio’s production company sends her Christmas cards. South Africa’s hottest speculative-fiction writing export, Lauren Beukes, who is regularly seen sporting a Wonder Woman t-shirt, is a superhero in her own right.

Lauren is an award-winning, internationally best-selling novelist who also writes comics, screenplays, TV shows and journalism. Her books have been translated into 26 languages and have been optioned for film and TV. Her accolades include winning the Arthur C Clarke Award, the prestigious University of Johannesburg prize, the August Derleth Award for Best Horror, the Strand Critics Choice Award for Best Mystery Novel, the RT Thriller of the Year, the Kitschies Red Tentacle for best novel, the Exclusive Books’ Bookseller’s Choice Award and her work has also been included in best of the year round-ups by NPR, Amazon and the LA Times.

Lauren’s involvement in film and television work is legendary in its own right and includes directing Glitterboys & Ganglands, a documentary about Cape Town’s biggest female impersonation beauty pageant. The film won best LGBT film at the San Diego Black Film Festival.

Lauren was also the showrunner on South Africa’s first full length animated TV series, URBO: The Adventures of Pax Afrika which ran for 104 half hour episodes from 2006-2009 on SABC3. She’s also written for the Disney shows Mouk and Florrie’s Dragons and on the satirical political puppet show, ZANews and the Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s South African Story.

Melissa Delport of Authors Magazine was thrilled to interview Lauren for our May cover.

First and Foremost, thank you so much for taking the time to chat with us. I had a look at your schedule for 2016 and I’m surprised you

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find even 5 minutes to spare! I know you’re preparing for the FanCon Cape Town Comic Con and the Franschoek Literary Festival this month, but you just returned from the Persian Gulf, where you attended the Art Dubai event. Last year your USA and Euro tours included eight different countries. How do you cope with all of it and still find time to get any writing done?

I steal time whenever I can, but you have to remember that for all the travel I do (and it is exhausting and demanding and I spend half my life jetlagged), I am in the incredibly lucky position that this IS my day job. I’m not trying to write at night while balancing another full time career as I was before The Shining Girls.

You have a young daughter. Does she travel with you and, if not, how do you both cope with the intensity of your manic schedule?

She stays with her dad. She’s seven and finds book launches incredibly boring.

But she does get frustrated. Last year she said to me: “But why do you have to travel? Why can’t you have a normal job, like normal people?” And then she thought about it for a second and said, “Oh yeah, cos then you wouldn’t get to write Wonder Woman comics.”

by Melissa Delport AUTHORS MAGAZINE | 5

Does she share your love for reading and writing? Do you encourage her or is it in the genes?

She came out loving stories. As a nine month old baby, we’d take her to story time at the Book Lounge and she’d sit on my lap right at the front, riveted to the rhythm of the words even if she had no clue what they meant. There’s a power in storytelling, particularly when it’s communal. But story time is sacred time in our house – if we get home late, we might skip TV or playtime, but we’ll never skip stories. She’s starting to read more on her own, but it’s still a very special time for the both of us, especially reading comics like Nimona

by Noelle Stevens or The My Little Pony comics. She tells me off if I get the voices wrong.

In many ways you are considered to be a pioneer, paving the way for other South African speculative fiction writers. How did you start writing? And did you ever expect to become such an international sensation?

I wanted to be an author from the time I was five years old and I discovered that was a job you could have, that you could get paid money to make up stories. I don’t know how to say this without sounding horribly immodest, but I knew, deep in my gut, I knew that I was going to do this and I shaped my whole life, from five, towards that ambition.

Your advice to would-be authors is to follow a career in journalism. How do you think your years as a journalist equipped you to write books?

Well, my advice to writers is to write.

Journalism is a great way to train on

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LAUREN READING WONDER WOMEN TO HER DAUGHTER

the job, to be forced to meet a deadline and a word count, to write in different styles, to find different ways into a story and it exposes you to the world.

Journalism gave me a way to explore other perspectives, like a backstage pass into other people’s heads.

Let’s talk about Broken Monsters. The

plot deals with a serial killer trying to remake the world in his image and quite honestly scared me half to death.

Even Stephen King, considered by most to be the greatest horror writer of all time, hailed it “Scary as hell and hypnotic.” The book has been racking up great reviews from The New York Times to The Guardian and NPR and won best suspense novel in the ALA’s

2015 Reading List. What inspired this particular story?

Um. Truthfully? A failed comics pitch. I had the image of a female detective finding a body that was half human, half deer and started thinking about what that meant, who created it. As someone on Twitter ingeniously observed, “So you basically killed Mr Tumnus from Narnia?” Yep. It’s about creativity and thwarted ambition, about art and masculinity, how the Internet shapes who we are and being a teenage girl in this strange new world we live in.

The Shining Girls is arguably your most well-known title. It certainly isn’t short of awards – including the prestigious Strand Critics Choice Award and the University of Johannesburg Prize. The book has been optioned by Leonardo diCaprio’s production company, Appian Way to be turned into a movie. Can you share any information about the film?

New York Times bestseller. I adore the Fables world. How did you get invited to write in this magical universe?

I met Bill at the bar of a convention and he came along to a reading I was doing because he saw how nervous I was and felt sorry for me. But then he insisted on introducing me to his editor at Vertigo, Shelly Bond (now the head of the imprint) and set up the meeting.

I’ve never felt like such a fraud in my life, even though I’ve always, always wanted to write comics, and hey, it’s turned out okay.

You recently began collaborating with Joey Hi-Fi, the alter ego of award-winning illustrator and designer, Dale Halvorsen, who designed the amazing artwork for your book covers. How does a typical “meeting” between the two of you go?

Dale describes our writing sessions on our limited run horror comic, Survivors’ Club as “creepy playtime”. We sit and talk through the plot and the character’s motivations and often act it out. (Those improv classes really came in handy). Most recently,

It’s in development, which means they are working on a script, hunting down the right director, shopping it around to talent. It might take anywhere from 4-10 years to get made and, sorry to disappoint you, but 99% of books that get optioned to be turned into movies never make it to the big screen at all. It’s that whole having to raise $30 million thing.

Which of your books are you most proud of and why?

Zoo City is my favourite, Broken Monsters is my best.

Moving on to comics and graphic novels. How is the writing different, apart from the actual word count?

It’s much more collaborative, working with an artist and a colorist and the letterer who all help unfold the story and make it their own. On Survivors Club, I’m cowriting it with Dale Halvorsen (better known as Joey HiFi, award-winning cover designer who does all my South African covers). I love the surprise of working with other minds, when they come up with things you wouldn’t possibly have on your own.

Your graphic novel with artist Inaki Miranda, Fairest: The Hidden Kingdom is a dark Tokyo twist on the legend of Rapunzel set in Bill Willingham’s Fables universe, and a

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we sat with Dale’s action figures and worked out the choreography of a very big and very complicated fight scene. It doesn’t really feel like work, even when it’s brain breaking. It’s very important to both of us that the story has a pay off, that we have the answers to all the mysteries, that the characters are acting in their interests or are consistent with who they are, and, this is the really hard part, that we subvert the horror tropes and take the reader somewhere unexpected.

You are a fierce supporter of local talent. You advocate many South African (and African) fiction writers in your talks, and you urge readers to support local writers, particularly in the speculative fiction genres. You also run ‘The Spark’ on your website, www. laurenbeukes.com, whereby you invite SA authors to blog about their own books and the inspiration behind them.

What prompted this initiative and what message do you ultimately hope to convey to readers out there?

That SA fiction is not just heavy politics or apartheid stories or farm murders (although it might include some of

LAUREN AT 17 YEARS OLD

those things) – that the talent here is up there with the international bestsellers clogging our shelves front-of-store.

You are fairly pro traditional publishing.

What are your feelings about independent or self-publishing?

I would not want to do it myself. I like having a boss who sets a deadline and pays me an advance before the book ever hits the shelves, so I have the financial freedom and space to write, who manages the editing and copy

editing and production and layout and commissioning a cover artist based on careful market research and does the distribution and marketing and publicity because that means I have more time to write. If those are things you’re happy to do yourself, power to you. I suck at that stuff and I’d rather leave it to the professionals who pay me.

The one and only time we ever met you were wearing a pair of Doc Marten knee-high boots, fishnet stockings and a Wonder Woman t-shirt. What influences your style and what is your favourite personal item of clothing?

Interesting, surprising things, same as the influences on my writing. My favourite item is my 18 hole Docs that I bought in Camden in 1996 for 70 pounds, which was the most I’d ever spent on anything in my life up until that point. They’ve taken a beating and I recently had them re-soled, but they’re still good.

You don’t sound at all South African, which probably makes it easier for your

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international audience to connect with (and understand!) you. Your accent is hard to place, but my first thought was American. Have you always had the accent, or has it developed over time and through the course of your travels?

I am really, really, really, for real-life, South African. I was born here, grew up here, live here now. I did live in the USA for two years but Americans don’t think I sound American. My accent is more of a mid-Atlantic mongrel melange of English variations. Ashraf Jamal recently described me as an “international bastard”. That shoe fits and I’m wearing it.

What can we expect next from you?

We’re wrapping up the final issue of Survivors’ Club, which will be collected in a trade paperback (aka graphic novel) in September from Vertigo.

I have a book of short stories and essays, Slipping coming out in October from Tachyon Press.

And a new novel, Motherland, out 2017 from Penguin in the UK and Mulholland Books in the USA. Lauren currently resides in Cape Town, South Africa. For more information, please visit her website at www. laurenbeukes.com.

FUN FACTS

about Lauren

Batman or Superman? Eugh. Neither. Halo Jones. Black Orchid, the Batman Animated Series Harley Quinn, Judge Anderson. Nimona. And okay, so as not to be totally girl-squad: Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye.

Hats or boots? Boots, kickass ones.

Movies or Music? TV shows Your favourite book/author? I can’t choose one. One I loved recently: Swamplandia

by Karen Russell.

Your favourite superhero? The LumberJanes Your favourite food? Sushi Your favourite city? Johannesburg Greatest personal achievement? My smart, funny, kind, interesting daughter.

Greatest professional achievement? Most life-changing: winning the Arthur C Clarke Award. Most meaningful: having my friends like my books. Praise from people like George RR Martin and Stephen King and Gillian Flynn just feels surreal.

The email I have on my wall to pick me up when I feel down is from Dale Halvorsen having just read the first draft of Broken Monsters. Oh yeah, and the moment I read the Wonder Woman comic I wrote with art by Mike Maihack to my daughter and she finally understood what it is that I do.

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TANKWA – Karoo, 13h41

Helluva place for civilization’s last stand.

The hottest part of the damn day and Katleho is out in the thick of it, caught between the expanse of the reckless blue sky and the flat rocks, with the sweat crawling down the back of his neck and slick down his sides. He’s off on a wild Springkaan chase, because they need the eyes in the sky of the insectoid micro-drone if they are to protect themselves, protect their resources.

Hippies, yuppies, techies, artists, aggressive young okes looking to get messed up, maybe score some chicks.

Allsorts. Like the sweeties. He could do with some of those now, Katleho thinks, using his shirt to mop up the sweat on his face. Imagine: just walking into a café and buying a bag of multi-coloured liquorice over the counter.

They’re down to bugs now. He can get over the popcorn crunch, but the spiny legs that catch between his teeth still make him gag. Katleho wasn’t built for this. None of them were.

He tugs at the Scorchd Afrika! T-shirt soddenly clinging to his skin. It’s become a uniform, a way of telling Us versus Them, now that they’ve resolved Us versus Us. He doesn’t even like EDM, he thinks.

They got the news on the x-fi, before the Internet went down because the

Read an excerpt... its a short story called “Tankwa-Karoo”, which is one of the stories in Slipping, her short story anthology coming out in October.

The heat has its own gravity, smashing down in a way that stuns everything, even the fat desert flies. He squints against the light, trying to spot the give-away gleam of the fish-eye lens of the micro-drone, hardwired into a grasshopper, with just enough brainstem left to interface with the microcircuitry. Maybe that’s all they are out here, Katleho thinks, bleakly, hollowedout grasshoppers mindlessly responding to stimulus.

The gun holster chafes in Katleho’s armpit. He’s not stupid enough to carry it tucked into the back of his cut-offs.

Time was he wouldn’t be seen dead in cut-offs. Time was he’d never held a gun.

Everything changes. Oh, you won’t believe how fast it changes.

‘Phase Three’. Words he wishes he’d

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never heard, everyone bandying the phrase around the camp, breathless with importance and the footage coming down the x-fi.

Eleven days ago, they’d pulled up to Scorchd Afrika in Jamie’s Audi A4, driving past the rusted sentinels of the gas drills that someone has strung with fairy lights, into the laager of converted shipping containers. A music festival in the middle of the remains of an old fracking opeation in the former nature reserve.

‘Helluva place for a party,’ Katleho sneered to Jamie, swatting idly at one of the buzzing drones that zoomed in to film them.

‘Open mind, baby,’ Jamie sang back at him and went to hug some bouncy girls in day-glo catsuits. That’ll teach him to date trendy white boys.

Internet, like civilization needs power.

Accident in the Thokoza coal plant, too much power being drawn – the coal plants couldn’t sustain. The grid overloaded. Eskom moved to Phase Three, which sounded innocuous enough – a little bit of load-shedding to keep things going. What they don’t tell you is that Phase Three means Eskom phone the army and tell them to ‘get ready’ because if the load-shedding doesn’t work, the whole grid goes down. It takes two weeks to come back online. That’s fourteen days of chaos in the dark. Get ready.

Scorchd had generators with petrol for a week, but gasoline couldn’t keep the x-fi connections up for long. The news on the Internet was bleak. They all huddled round while DJ E-lise projected the live-feed from her retina input onto the white fabric wall of the medical tent.

There were scenes of people being shot in the street. Riots, looting, a necklacing on the Sea Point promenade. They all marvelled over the images of Sandton City in pitch blackness with people moving through the mall, the army searchlights lighting shattered windows puking up luxury handbags, abandoned in favour of canned food and bottled water.

Half the camp bailed on day one. They got in their four-wheel drives and their combies and their buckies and drove away until Crazy Eddie, the artist, got hold of a gun somehow and threatened to shoot anyone else who tried to leave.

With his shaved head, he looked like a poor man’s Bruce Willis in bright orange Crocs and a camouflage kilt, but a man with a gun is a man with authority, even wearing stupid shoes. He got them all breaking down the towering wooden sculptures they were supposed to burn and turned them into fortifications. ‘It’s about preservation now, people,’ he pronounced, sitting on a leaning throne made out of car tyres.

On day two, the music died. Crazy Eddie shot DJ E-lise in the head when she complained. ‘Power is life,’ he said and told them to bury her under a pile of rocks.

On day three, the x-fi finally went down, taking the news with it. They still had the springkaan drones, a hundred-strong swarm designed to broadcast the party to the outside world. Eddie had the techies turn their cameras outwards, patrolling the perimeter, but their range was limited and their batteries were dying – their grasshoppers fell one by one, but not before they’d captured human shapes moving out there. Eddie told them they had to ‘go dark’. Katleho had no idea where he got all the military

jargon. Video games maybe.

On day six, they took all the drugs and screwed for forty-eight hours straight – a baccanalian cheers to the apocalypse.

They didn’t count on waking up the next day, hungover, reeling, a little bit crazy.

Crazier. Or maybe it’s the heat that climbs into your skull and bakes your brain.

On day eight, they started planning the insurrection. A Mfecane of their own, dividing along tribal lines, not Moeshoeshoe versus the rednecks, but IT guys and hardcore chinas from Midrand against the artists and musos and the hey-shoo-wows.

Katleho begged Jamie to stay out of it.

They didn’t have any skills, not like the others. What part did a media manager and a junior investment banker have in an uprising? But he wouldn’t listen.

Jamie had a strange light in his eyes, like a splinter of the bright broad sky had got caught in there. The desert does things to you.

There was fighting. Other people had brought weapons, in defiance of Scorchd party policy. They scrambled over the the wood fortifications. They turned the sharp edges of mechanical sculptures into weapons. He can’t think about it too much – about stabbing the blonde girl with the dreadlocks in the throat and the fount of blood that drenched him like sweat.

But no one was as mental as Crazy Eddie. No one was as ruthless. The insurrection was squashed. The pile of rocks got bigger. A lot bigger. Jamie got a bullet in the gut trying to take control of the water tanks. It took him eight hours to die. Katleho buried him in there with the rest of them. He cried till his eyes dried out.

Crazy Eddie was very forgiving. He said it wasn’t Katleho’s fault Jamie was deluded. But now he would have to prove himself. There was one springkaan still transmitting, but it was down, somewhere to the east, among the rocks. They needed the drone. To find more water. To keep an eye out, because it was civil war out there and the drones had spotted people moving around the perimeter. Strangers.

‘Do you understand me Karabo? I know you’re bummed out about your friend, but it’s Phase Three, man.’

Eddie gave him the gun, placed it in his hands and patted it, like it was a baby needing burping. He had him pegged; that Katleho wouldn’t correct him on getting his name wrong, that he wouldn’t try to turn the gun on their leader.

Now, Katleho scuffs at the dirt with his designer sneaker, which is splitting at the seams. He wanted to live. Is that so bad? When this is all that’s left? He tries to imagine what the rest of the country looks like right now. Famine, death, cannibalism. He imagines the swanky little galleries and coffee shops in Braamfontein on fire, raging gun battles through Constantia, private security armies with machine guns taking control of the fenced off suburbs.

What’s worse, he wonders, being ruled over by ADT or Crazy Eddie?

He swipes at his dry eyes with the back of his hand, too thirsty to be able to summon tears, and then he spots it: a glint in the grass. It’s the chip embedded in the dying grasshopper’s abdomen.

The faceted glass of the lens is a cool, hard, all-seeing eye. He hopes Eddie is seeing this on their last monitor running on carefully hoarded gasoline. He hopes he gets extra water rations.

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He scrambles up the koppie and falls to his knees in the dust beside it. He scoops it up in his hands, the metal wings of the micro-drone buzz in his hands. He could kiss it. His salvation.

He looks towards the burning white orb in the sky and, sees, from this vantage, a shimmer of road in the distance, and a shape that he’d mistaken for another rotting drill bit – a water tower. ‘Thank you, sweet Jesus,’ he mutters.

‘It’s Jerome, actually,’ a stranger says, stepping up over the rocks, blocking out the sun, like a cowboy, with a floppier hat. Katleho shades his eyes, to take in his aviator sunglasses, his khaki uniform, the gun on his hip, the Parks Board insignia stitched on his epaulets.

‘You one of those party people?’ Jerome says, his voice disapproving.

‘Yes. No.’ Katleho is not sure what the right answer is. He wants to run to the road, to climb the water tower and sink into the cool black depths and let the water cover his head and never come up.

‘We’ve been trying to get hold of you.’

Katleho jabs the drone at him. ‘Don’t even try. The springkaan sees you. We got guns! You leave us alone! They’ll shoot you if you come near!’

‘Why would you shoot?’

‘The war, you idiot.’ Katleho is hysterical. ‘The civil war.

Chaos! Cannibalism! ADT! We don’t have enough to go around! It’s safety first.’

Jerome takes off his sunglasses and folds them away, carefully, into his pocket. ‘You have heat stroke my friend.

You need to get some shade and some water.’

‘Eskom! Phase Three!’

‘Oh that.’ Jerome says mildly.

Detective Gabi Versado has hunted down many monsters during her eight years in Homicide. She’s seen stupidity, corruption and just plain badness. But she’s never seen anything like this. Clayton Broom is a failed artist, and a broken man. Life destroyed his plans, so he’s found new dreams – of flesh and bone made disturbingly, beautifully real. Detroit is the decaying corpse of the American Dream.

Motor-city. Murder-city. And home to a killer who wants to make you whole again…

‘Yes, that! All that!’ And all this. The insurrection. Lord of the Springkaans.

‘Ag, man,’ Jerome takes out rolling papers and sprinkles tobacco into the fold. ‘There was some kak around that, but we came through.’

‘We came through?’ Katleho repeats dumbly.

‘Sure. Come on, man. Are you kidding me?’ He sticks the rollup between Kathelo’s lips and lights it for him. ‘This country doesn’t fall apart that easy.’

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The girl who wouldn’t die – hunting a killer who shouldn’t exist.

In Depression-era Chicago, Harper Curtis finds a key to a house that opens on to other times. But it comes at a cost.

He has to kill the shining girls: bright young women, burning with potential. He stalks them through their lives across different eras, leaving anachronistic clues on their bodies, until, in 1989, one of his victims, Kirby Mazrachi, survives and turns the hunt around.

Winner of the Arthur C Clarke Award.

Zinzi has a Sloth on her back, a dirty 419 scam habit and a talent for finding lost things. But when a little old lady turns up dead and the cops confiscate her last paycheck, she’s forced to take on her least favourite kind of job – missing persons.

Being hired by reclusive music producer Odi Huron to find a teenybop pop star should be her ticket out of Zoo City, the festering slum where the criminal underclass and their animal companions live in the shadow of hell’s undertow.

Instead, it catapults Zinzi deeper into the maw of a city twisted by crime and magic, where she’ll be forced to confront the dark secrets of former lives – including her own.

Maverick was nominated for the Sunday Times 2006 Alan Paton Non-Fiction Award.

This is a book about raconteurs and renegades, writers, poets, provocateurs and pop stars, artists and activists and a cross-dressing doctor. From Africa’s first black movie star and Drum covergirl, Dolly Rathebe, to Glenda Kemp, the snakedancing stripper who shook up the verkrampte social mores of the 70s, these are the riveting true tales of women who broke with convention and damn the consequences.

Spanning over 350 years of history, Maverick explores the compelling lives of some of South Africa’s most famous – and notorious – women, including Brenda Fassie, Daisy de Melker, Sara Bartmann, Ingrid Jonker, Helen Joseph, Nongqawuse and Bessie Head. But it also delves into lesser-known stories of the likes of reluctant Boer commando Sarah Raal, the ill-fated khoekhoe interpreter Krotoa-Eva, Black Sophie, the brothel queen of Bree Street, and Elizabeth Klarer, who gave birth to an alien love child in 1958.

You think you know what’s going on? You think you know who’s really in power?

You have No. Fucking. Idea.

Moxyland is an ultra-smart thriller about technological progress, and the freedoms it removes.

In the near future, four hip young things live in a world where your online identity is at least as important as your physical one. Getting disconnected is a punishment worse than imprisonment, but someone’s got to stand up to government inc., whatever the cost.

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As controversial as it might sound, writing is about more than simply putting pen to paper.

My opinion pieces, in regards to the craft, are typically unbiased essays offering authors more options on improving their techniques, highlighting some crucial debates within the business, and giving readers an inside look into the industry. Sharing this information with authors, I feel, is necessary in order for them to make well-informed career decisions. So why would I change it up for this article? Well, I don’t know the secrets to writing seven books a year (I can barely finish writing one novel in twelve months), and I have no idea how to get my hands on a six-figure book deal (I fear my genius will go unrecognised while I’m still alive, a la van Gogh), but I do know what makes for great reading.

Great reading—great stories in general—are sprinkled with real-life experience, problems the author may have faced and overcome (or not), making sense of the world through fantasy or science-fiction or horror, challenging societal norms through words. This is writing. But in order to get to that particular point, an author needs to stop writing and start living.

My advice goes against a lot of other opinion pieces on the matter, I’m sure, but what bothers me is that I’ve recently seen an increase of works where there’s nothing to find between the lines. That tongue-incheek humour, sometimes overlooked during the first reading, is missing. That intelligent twist has been omitted in favour of a lazy love-triangle. Authors seem to water down their stories in order to sell more books, to spoon feed readers, all because they are under the impression that they cannot be taken seriously because they aren’t sitting in front of their computers every waking hour.

A book without a soul won’t be passed down for generations; it’s just one of those things.

In the past I’ve said that authors are hermits, and most of us are, and I know I’ve said we’re socially inept, and that’s also true to some degree. But writing is mostly about living life to the fullest, gaining real-world experience, and translating what you’ve learned to an audience in an entertaining, thought-provoking way.

Writing is also about honing your craft, learning from your mistakes, and improving in whichever area of writing you might be lacking. Writing, I dare say, is an art-form inspired by others. How can you create such art if you’re glued to your office chair trying to come up with a premise for the next modern classic?

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That carefully cultivated fan base that’s taken years to grow into something worthwhile expect more from authors than just a new book to read. These days it’s vital to not only establish a brand but to also interact with fans and potential readers. It’s not easy. It can seriously cut into your writing time. Still, it’s necessary. Readers want to know more about their favourite authors, because to many people an author is a more accessible celebrity. And that status as a quasi-celebrity is a delicate

by Monique Snyman

AUTHORS MAGAZINE | 15

work. If writing is your sanctuary, a place where you can decipher the tumultuous world around you, then it is your responsibility to actually be a part of that tumultuous world. Place yourself into an uncomfortable situation and use that experience in a story. Of course, I don’t mean you should do something potentially criminal or life threatening—that would just be idiotic—but you’re always able to interview someone who’s been in that particular position.

People are social beings. They want to tell their stories to someone, anyone, and as a writer it’s your responsibility to record those stories and experiences and feelings for the next generation or for a reader from the other side of the world who isn’t capable to experience it in person.

position, because readers aren’t necessarily looking to interact with a demi-god, they want to interact with the human being who’s responsible for writing a relatable piece of work. They want to find common ground. They want hope.

This is where social media comes in, and social media is where many writers come across as either pretentious or annoying. Those automated tweets where “buy my book” appears alongside an Amazon link and a dull hashtag can kill your career. Surely you’re more than a machine?

I’m not an adventurer; I’ve never been an athlete or an adrenaline junkie.

I’m scared of large bodies of water, I am deadly afraid of heights, I’m not particularly fond of bugs… But since last year I’ve actively tried to climb out of my hole and do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do. I went white-river rafting—the experience was recorded into a book that was on standby for quite some time, and somehow it spurred me on to finish the novel. I stood at the top of the Voortrekker Monument, and forced myself to look down—a terrible experience I wouldn’t like to relive, but it’s been logged and filed away for when I need to recall the feeling. I go hiking every now and then in order to study the surroundings, because you never know when a story can use that particular setting. At my core, I’m not the type of person who explores and tries new things (unless it’s food). I don’t like being out of my comfort zone whatsoever. Yet, by putting myself out there I’ve seen an authenticity in my work that’s never been there before, and it’s beyond exhilarating to know you’ve captured a photograph with

If writing is your sanctuary, a place where you can decipher the tumultuous world around you, then it is your responsibility to actually be a part of that tumultuous world.

Surely you have a personality, a standpoint on a difficult subject, a life away from the computer?

Continuous advertising of one’s own work can be seen as spam, and it will deter people from wanting to follow your career.

People want to get to know the person responsible for the creation of their favourite book.

I’m not saying you should never promote your books or that you should stop writing permanently, but you need to find balance between life and

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words alone.

Writers are more than writing.

We are recorders, translators, storytellers! We are the accessible celebrities, role-models who don’t need to shake off paparazzi day and night, teachers who paint the beauty and horrors of the world with words. We see for the blind, hear for the deaf, we speak for those who have been silenced.

So, as controversial as it might sound, sometimes you really should stop writing and start living.

ROSA announces the Imbali Award -

South Africa’s first award for Romance Writing 6 APRIL 2016 - ROSA (Romance Writers of South Africa) has launched the Imbali Award, an award that recognises and rewards excellence in romance writing. A first in Africa, the award is open to all African romance authors who have published a romance novel between July 2014 and December 2015.

Romy Sommer, Chairperson of ROSA said, “The ROSA Imbali Award for Excellence in Romance Writing is the first to acknowledge the success of African romance writers who often have international recognition but remain unknown in their own country. This is our way of promoting local romance writing talent in what is the biggest-selling genre of fiction.”

Imbali is the Zulu word for flower, reflecting ROSA’s floral acronym and logo, as well its African origins. In this first year of the contest, the Award will be limited to fifteen entries only and will be judged by a panel of book bloggers and reviewers. The winner will be announced at the gala dinner of ROSA’s third annual Romance Writing conference to be held in Johannesburg on 24th September 2016.

Details of the contest can be found on the ROSA website www.romancewriters.co.za or forward any queries to the Contest Administrator on contest@romancewriters.co.za.

Contact Details Romy Sommer 082 414 7552, romy@romancewriters.co.za Suzanne Jefferies 084 710 4184, suzanne@suzannejefferies.com About ROSA

ROSA (Romance Writers of South Africa) is a non-profit organisation that provides support, encouragement and professional development to romance writers, especially to those writers resident in Southern Africa. ROSA has a number of chapters around the country and an active online community. Website: www.romancewriters.co.za.

AUTHORS MAGAZINE | 17

Once Upon a Never

THE LAST TIME

By Katherine Kirk

By Magna Kruger

Once upon a never, a little girl was not. She had neither an evil step-mother nor a knight in shining armour. She did not have curly blonde hair, and she never wore pink. Nor did she ever wander in the woods that wouldn’t be found near her grandmother’s house. She did not talk to strangers – she didn’t talk very much at all – and she had never come across a hungry, talking wolf. Mostly, she spent none of her time sewing. The little girl who was not, you see, was born a little boy. But the little boy who was, was not very happy.

The last time I saw my friend she laughed. It was more of a gurgle, like water in a small stream.

He neither played rugby nor rescued fair maidens. He never drew his sword.

Mostly, he liked to make up stories, about somebody.

Somebodies were important, you see. They had the power to say and do. They had the power to be. The little boy, who was not a little girl, wished and wished he could be a real somebody – preferably a somebody in sparkly red heels. He wanted his outside to match his inside, and his inside was covered in glitter.

He did not wish upon a star. He just wished, and bit by bit, the little boy who was not a little girl started to change, and grow, into a little girl who was not a little boy. Slowly, bit by bit, the little girl who was not, became somebody

‘He follows me you know. Wherever I go. ’ The dove with the missing toe sat on the windowsill at the restaurant. His beady eyes captured hers. He chirped to get her attention, urging her to go home and feed them.

She waved at someone. ‘They drive me insane but I love them.’ Her eyes softened. Her sons were good sons. ‘I want more for him.’ The clever one worked as a full-time waiter. ’I wish he would just leave,’ she exclaimed and we shared the red velvet cake. Her ex was living in a flat bordering her house. Per usual, he was out of money and out of a job.

The last message I read was desperate, ‘My mother is ailing and she needs iron. What am I going to do? Everyone is always looking towards me for something.’

Then my friend phoned me two days ago, crying, ‘This is rock bottom. I have nothing. What are we going to eat? Where is a middle-aged woman going to work? Life is not worth it if you have to live in cardboard box under a bridge.’

who was almost,

The last time I saw my friend, she still had money. But the last time I spoke to my friend I should have done more than listen.

who was.

The last time I saw my friend was the very last time.

who was not quite,

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Every month we feature 250 word flash fiction pieces as submitted by our readers. If you would like to submit a flash fiction, please email us with “Flash Fiction Submission” in the subject line.

Home

The Land is Barren

By Sergio Pereira

By Christine Bernard

The dream died. Francine and I’d been struggling, praying for a second chance at happiness. I’d forgiven her for the times she’d strayed, as she’d forgiven me for losing my job. How couldn’t I forgive her? The day I married the love of my life, I vowed to be her everything and do anything for her – and I meant every single word.

The air is hot. The dust dances with it, taking ownership in a place where it doesn’t belong. The earth feels empty and sadness sweeps over the land with an echo that bounces loudly from rock to rock. I didn’t realise just how loud the earth was until now. Until most of the people were gone. Those that remain hardly make a sound - their once howling lament replaced with defeated silence. Only the tears that fall to the ground give them away.

Yesterday, I asked her, “What’ll make you happy?”

She looked away. “Change.”

This morning I sold my great-grandma’s farm and used the money to get us the Caribbean cruise Francine had always said she wanted to go on. I rushed home, excited to surprise her with the good news. But then I saw what I feared most: his car was outside again.

Every tear hurt more than the last, as I stared at our home and knew I’d never be good enough for my Francine. She deserved her happiness. She deserved her...change. I remembered my vows. I knew what I had to do. I tore up the cruise tickets and went inside, to give Francine what she wanted.

Hours later, I sat in the back of the police van, watching our home go from flames to ashes. The paramedics ushered a crying Francine away and I wondered why she wouldn’t even look at me. Not even a thank you for the new start. I screamed at her, “This was all for you. Isn’t this what you wanted?” But she didn’t respond. My heart shattered; the dream died.

I walk the desolate land, my broken shoes kicking stones and debris. I see a snail, walking beside me, and I wonder if he too has lost his family. I decide to pick him up and carry him. I don’t know where he’s going. I don’t know where I’m going. But at least we can go together. I’m battling to connect with any of the people that are left and I want to get away. I don’t know them and yet they remind me too much of the people that are gone. I gently kiss the snail on his hard and dusty shell and put him in my pocket. ‘We’ll be fine,’ I whisper to him, not quite believing it myself.

The land is barren, and so is my heart. Without family, friends, history and culture, without laughter, what am I? I feel a sudden desire to look after the snail but at the same time I can’t help but wonder – who’s going to look after me?

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budding AUTHORS

Here at Authors Magazine we celebrate Authors young and old! Our Budding Writers section is a showcase of young talent across the globe. We accept poems and stories from children aged 5-12. To submit, please contact us through our website.

The boy and the giant

A puppy for my birthday

Once upon a time there lived a boy.

And he lived in a hut with his family. He loved to play outside his favourite thing to do was go on walks. Once there was a man he took the boy and took him far away into the medo. And by the way he said you got nothing at all he said by the way my name is Joe wat is your name.

Oh my name is Rick. So will you let me out. No!!! Said Rick. I am going to eat you NO please do not eat me I’m just a little boy. Who said did your butt say so. No said the little boy my moth said it.

Yea!! Yes yea. Are you a giant said Joe. Yes I am a giant. That’s why you so big oh sorry thats why you so tall yes that is Beter. The giant went to his bedroom well he was walking he droped a letter it said: Hello giant friends I’m having a feast at my place. So, he tride to escape. H did escape but he was last in the medo and said out loud mum dad!!!

But there was nothing not a sund. But then he said I am scard. And then a bear came out and chsed him to his hut but his mum and dad got a shock when they saw his and they said did you have a adventure. He said to him self yes I did have a adventure.

Once upon a time theire was a little girl named Mackenzie. She wanted a puppy so baddly she asked her dad but her dad said no. She asked her mom but her mom said no. She even asked her granny and granpa but they also said no. One day they all had a meeting and said it’s Mackenzies Birthday in March so for her birthday present let’s get her a puppy. It is Mackenzies Birthday tomorrow mom said when are you going to get the puppy? What do you mean said dad I’m just joking I’ve got him in my car I’ll bring him now. So dad brught him in and gave him to me and and I kept on saying thank you mom and thank you dad. My mom said what are you going to call him I said Boston will be his name. Over the years he got bigger and stronger but that did not stop Mackenzie and Boston from loveing each other. The End

Dayna Gagiano, Age 8

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Mackenzie Delport, Age 9

The Adventures of a Leaf Hello, I am a Maple leaf. I live in a huge, hollow Mapel tree full of my brothers and sisters. My Maple tree lives in a place called St Mary’s. All my brothers and sisters decided to name our tree The Maple. The Maple was planted behind a huge building called Chapel.

Every morning I looked at a big cross that had a man on it. I always wandered if he was real or not. Is he? On a Tuesday I love watching all the girls in blue and white dresses go into the chapel.

Tonight was a disaster!!! I was blown away to a garden. In the morning when I woke up a blue and white monster picked me up!

She took me to a big, blue, noisy place. Then she put me on a table, I was so scared because I thought I was going to be eaten! Just then they put a huge white thing on me then rubbed me with a big, blurry red thing. It really tickled but I was still scared. When they took the white thing off me another blue and white monster put me in a bush.

Another raining, thundering storm came and blew me away. The next sunny morning I woke up more scared than ever but I saw the most weird things. They were wiggling in water. When they got out I saw they were girls. I thought they were really fascinating.

A few minutes later the wind blew me away. I was so scared of what was going to happen next that I fainted. I woke up because I could hear the sound of cheering. So I looked up and discovered that I was in the shade of The Maple and it was my brothers and sisters who were cheering. I was so happy that for the whole day I told my story.

Isabella Alves, Age 9

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SELF PUBLISHING in South Africa

COPYRIGHT I’d like to point out first that I am not a copyright lawyer. If you’d like more detailed information on copyright and how it works, you should probably contact someone who is a lawyer (or the ISN Agency). As an overview, though, here’s what I’ve gathered about copyright in South Africa from my searching of the Internet …

In some countries, authors have to register the copyright of their work. South Africa, however, is a signatory to the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works. The copyright of your story is automatic as soon as you write down that story, and it does not require registration. So, technically, you don’t have to actually do anything in order to protect your work. Fantastic. Easy-peasy.

How does this help, though, if someone has copied your work and you need to prove that you were the original author?

If the work has already been published, this should be fairly easy (I hope. God willing, I will never have to face this

Copyright, ISBNs and Barcodes

situation myself). You will have sent at least one hard copy of your book to the National Library of South Africa (see the ISBN requirements below), so that could serve as proof. If you’ve published your work in ebook form only, and only on Amazon (meaning you possibly have no ISBN), Amazon will display the date you originally published the work. If the work has not yet been published, it could be more difficult proving your authorship. Some have suggested you post your manuscript to yourself in a sealed envelope via registered post. This envelope will have the date on it. Keep it aside (unopened) in case you ever need it.

[Remember that you cannot copyright ideas. If you tell someone about a great idea you’ve had for a story, and that person subsequently writes and publishes that story, well … it sucks, but they’re allowed to do that.]

Further Reading:

COPYRIGHT ACT NO. 98 OF 1978 – Document provided by NLSA Copyright Law of South Africa – Wikipedia Article The Berne Convention – Wikipedia Article

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The Berne Convention – WIPO-Administered Treaties

ISBNs An ISBN is an identification number for your book. Grab any book off your shelf, look at the back cover, and it’s the number above the barcode. You don’t HAVE to have one, but you won’t be able to sell your (physical hard copy) book through any professional channel, online or in bookstores, without one. When it comes to ebooks, an ISBN isn’t necessary for all channels (on Amazon you can choose to simply go with the Amazon Standard Identification Number (ASIN) their system provides for each ebook published), but it is required on other platforms like Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Kobo.

In South Africa, ISBNs are free. Yay! One of the small benefits of self-publishing in South Africa You can request ISBNs from the ISN Agency. You will be sent the numbers along with a form to fill in for each number you use, as well as instructions telling you how many copies of each book you need to supply to the National Library of South Africa, and

where to send them. For small print runs of under 100, you’re only required to send 1 copy of your book. Larger print runs require you to send 5 copies to various NLSA places of deposit around the country. (So, factoring in postage costs, I guess you could say ISBNs technically aren’t “free” after all.)

You need a different ISBN for each FORMAT of your book. A paperback is one format, a hardback is another format, an audiobook is another, etc. When it comes to ebooks, there is still some debate as to whether this is one format or several. I’ve seen many articles that say a MOBI file (the Amazon Kindle specific file format) is one type of format, and an EPUB file (which works on most other platforms) is a different format. Which is true. They are different formats. (Bowker, the US ISBN Agency, takes this even further by saying that if a single format has different types of DRM on different platforms, then each should have its own ISBN.) But I also know that many, many authors (and large publishing houses) go with a single ISBN for an ebook, not matter what format of ebook it is. Since ISBNs are free in South Africa, here’s what I do: 1 ISBN for paperback, 1 ISBN for MOBI, and 1 ISBN for EPUB. (I have a publisher who produces my audiobooks, so they take care of ISBNS for that format, and so far I haven’t produced hardback editions.)

Barcodes There are services online that will charge you for a barcode, but this is unnecessary given the free tools available online for you to easily generate a barcode from the ISBN you’ve been given. The one I’ve used is the Tec-It barcode generator, but I’m sure there are others. *Originally posted on www.Rachel-Morgan.com

AUTHORS MAGAZINE | 23

relocate,r

repea So we’re moving house. Again. As though the last three times in three years weren’t enough. Understandably, we’re a little frazzled by the whole fiasco. I didn’t greet the news of having to relocate our three feral children and all our earthly possessions with much grace. No surprises there. I had a massive tantrum after my husband called to drop the bombshell, and then I sobbed with hysterical heaving and hiccupping, as I do. My little boy was so frightened, he started too. A sympathy sob for his mama, bless his heart. We were in the car outside the Tesco after the school run on a regular Monday morning. I then proceeded to do a week’s grocery shop with a traumatised, puffy-eyed baby boy clinging to my neck like a vervet monkey and mascara lines emblazoned down my face that I only noticed three hours later. Of course, no one batted an eyelid... this is Britain, after all. I also appear to have developed a weird rash on my face and neck. And four mouth ulcers. And a pain in my sternum, not unlike what I imagine is the start of a heart-attack, but without the actual heart-attack.

Physical foibles and gratuity for coronary no-show aside, I now have my grown-up panties on and I’ve got a grip. And I’m trucking forward. What else is one to do?

‘Tis the reality of renting, innit? We deal with it. Or live in our car. And our car simply isn’t big enough.

The benefit of moving four times in three years is that one acquires certain skills. We’re somewhat sussed when it comes to shipping up and shunting off.

1) Have less stuff. We regularly recycle our kids’ toys, clothes and crap belongings. Mostly without their knowledge. “Oh that dolly!

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She’s gone on a holiday. And she’s having such a lovely time, she’s probably going to stay a while longer. Like forever.”

2) Sentimenal stuff is still just stuff. I’ve struggled a lot with this.

But at the end of the day, exactly how many of your kid’s drawings/ reports/cards/random-stuff-theydrew-for-you can you actually keep? You can’t keep it all. There’s simply too much. You’ll end up on reality TV where they park a skip outside your front door and a woman with a clipboard has to make her way through all the piles of your hoard. And there’s soft music and lots of hugs and

everyone ends up crying.

A good friend of mine gave me a tip about precious artwork that you feel too bad to bin. She uses it as gift-wrapping. What an ingenious idea, I thought. It’s delightfully personal, it saves cash, time and you’re legitimately making use of paper that lurks around, gathering dust and cluttering cupboards.

3) Make friends with the removals crew. They’re the chaps who’re physically hauling around the guts of your home - best you be nice. Also when you’re a repeat customer as often as we are, it helps to have service with a smile

rinse,

at

by Sally Cook

and banter about how much your collective brethren have grown.

4) Leave a couple of days overlap between your move-in and checkout dates. It gives you some valuable breathing room. No planning is ever sufficient – the moving beast runs deeper and wider than you initially forecast.

5) Don’t move too far, if you can help it. We’ve literally moved within a 3km radius three times.

It’s cheaper of course. But it’s also helpful when you’re hauling carload after carload of random gear you’ve forgotten to pack from the garden shed or camping equipment stashed in the loft.

6) Don’t get rid of your moving boxes. Pack them flat and store them. You never know when you’ll need them again. You can’t just go to the supermarket here and grab some boxes from the recycling at the back. For reasons of health and safety, it’s not allowed. I’m not entirely sure why. There must be latent bird flu or some ebolaesque virus that the folks who

like to lick the inside of cardboard boxes may be exposed to.

Anyway, so you need to buy boxes.

As in pay actual money. And they get delivered. Not without irony, in other boxes. I got too cocky when we moved into our current house and I sent our set of boxes to the recycling, figuring we wouldn’t need them again. Fooled me twice, shame on me. We’ve now just forked out £70 for a new set.

I’m keeping these babies under my mattress. They’re worth more than at least one of my kids.

Possibly two.

7) Give your broadband/TV/line rental provider as much warning as possible to schedule the reinstallation in your new place.

We’ve been slow off the mark with this every time. As a result, with our last move we endured a week without internet or TV before paying through our teeth for wifi from a private network selling off chunks before the installation guy came and I heard the ‘hallelujah’ chorus in my head. We nearly didn’t make it though. Forget the stress of moving. I could move every month. Raising kids without broadband or beebees on the other hand, forget it. I don’t have that level of skill. My mothering simply doesn’t stretch that far.

8) Pack light. Have more boxes and less stuff in each box. Sounds counter-intuitive but there’s nothing worse than seeing a box with its bottom fallen out and your possessions splayed out in all their glory for the world to see. The indignity is appalling. Moving day is

fraught with enough trauma. Also, always invest in double-wall boxes - it’s all about adequate undercarriage support, for moving - and so much more.

9) Be nice to your neighbours. This is very relevant in Britain where you can see, hear and pretty much smell them from all angles.

They’re the people you turn to when you’ve run out of visitor’s permits, Halloween treats, or you need space in front of your house for the removal van. We’ve hit the jackpot with our neighbours in Windsor. Ok, so yes there’s the Queen – and she’s pretty special I’m led to believe - but as far as commoners go, we’ve had lovely, friendly people on all sides who we’ve even liked enough to braai with - the ultimate South African endorsement.

10) Just roll with it - the carnage and chaos, the inconvenience and the this-is-so-kak-I-can’t-possiblycope. It passes, I promise. For me, hopefully the ulcers, rash and preheart-attack do too. I have new neighbours to meet. Psychotic Saffa mother to three feral children who share a penchant for frolicking buck-naked brandishing sticks and who scream like they’re being murdered is enough of a challenge for my new resident status, pending approval. I’m not sure I can add any more freak to that show.

Time and a new postcode will tell.

Until then, we move. Forward. *Originally posted on So Many Miles From Normal

AUTHORS MAGAZINE | 25

Couch on the

The corner couch focuses on celebrities - their reading habits and the books that have shaped their lives.

with

Conrad Koch

by Dineo Mahloele

In April I had the opportunity to see Chester Missing and his sidekick, Conrad Coch, in action and I decided on the spot to feature the talented ventriloquist for this column. Conrad is one of South Africa’s most in demand comedic talents. He combines hilarious comedy with world-class puppetry, and has done so for over fifteen years to local and international acclaim.

His most famous character, Mr. Chester Missing, was a regular on eNCA’s Late Nite News with Loyiso Gola; and his hit one-man shows have received standing ovations around South Africa. According to his online profile, he is the only ventriloquist on the circuit and the world’s only anthropological ventriloquist.

Ching by Lao Tsu, but my favourite authors are probably Edward Said and Naomi Klein.

What does Chester Missing think about the reading What made you decide to make a career as South Africa’s culture in SA? only Ventriloquist?

South Africans love reading, but as we all know access to I loved the idea of ventriloquism as a child, and started books is a massive obstacle for poorer people. then. Deciding to make it a career was a gradual process If your house burned down, which book would you save of realising I was doing something pretty unique and that and why? there is always a market for unique work done well.

A Bible my mother owned. It has sentimental value.

Do you remember the first book you ever read?

Share with our readers 5 books that you think everyone No, because I was a little child. But the first books I should read. remember reading were probably science fiction books 1. Run Racist Run, by Eusebius McKaiser from the library. I had a pretty vivid imagination.

2. No Logo, Naomi Klein Which book would you say has made an impact on your 3. Orientalism, Edward Said life and who is your favourite author?

4. The Little Prince, de Saint-Exupery Wow, that’s a tough one to answer. Probably the Tao the 5. Crafting Selves, Dorine Kondo

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Focus

International

Leigh Russell

by Melissa Delport

Many authors draw on their own personal experiences to breathe life into their fiction, and international bestselling author Leigh Russell is no exception. Her latest novel, Journey to Death: A Lucy Hall Mystery is published by Thomas & Mercer and is the first instalment in a new crime series starring a reluctant young detective tested to the very limits of her endurance. Leigh takes the reader on an exhilarating adventure from the idyllic tropical beaches of Mahé into the island’s Dark Cloud Forest, in a suspenseful story that was inspired by a real-life event – the time her husband was held at gunpoint in the tropical paradise of the Seychelles. Leigh, who is a master of evoking a sense of place, took a subsequent research trip to Mahé, resulting in beautiful descriptions of the exotic locale.

Leigh studied English at the University of Kent and then went on to teach, specialising in supporting those with learning difficulties. She also guest lectures for the Society of Authors, teaches creative writing courses in Greece and runs the manuscript assessment service for The CWA. A best-selling crime writer, her books regularly feature on bestseller lists and have been shortlisted for prestigious industry awards including the CWA dagger.

Leigh currently lives in London. She is married with two daughters. Her titles are available at leading retailers.

For more information, please visit www.leighrussell.co.uk

Excerpt from Journey to Death: It might have been the smell that disturbed her, or perhaps a faint noise, a soft breath carried on the still night air. The instant she opened her eyes she was fully alert, aware that someone else was in the room with her. She bit her lip, listening. Silence.

But she knew there was an intruder in her room. She could smell him. Her mind raced, turning over possibilities. They had been so convinced that it was Baptiste who had broken into her father’s room, they had not even considered the possibility that there might be a thief targeting the hotel. She tried to recall what had happened about her father’s intruder, but she could not remember the hotel security taking any action. It had been dismissed as a random incident. Her father had been too preoccupied to press the hotel to take any further action.

Now Lucy was alone in her room with a stranger, and she was helpless. She had no rape alarm, not so much as a cricket bat for protection. All she had within reach was a pillow, hardly a powerful weapon for a slight girl to wield against a man.

She strained to see him, but she slept with the curtains closed and the room was completely dark. One minute sliver of light pierced a paper thin gap between the curtains, insufficient to illuminate the blackness. She turned her head, trying to sniff silently so she could pick up the smell of beer and work out the direction it came from. It was no use. She had a horrible feeling he was circling the bed, like a shark.

The waiting was unbearable. With a sudden burst of energy, she sprang from the bed and made a dash for the door. The intruder was too fast. Strong hands gripped her wrists and she was flung face down on the bed, her head forced forward into the covers to mask her screams.

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Writers... is rea WHO? Peter James Author of Love You Dead

The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris ‘I rate this book along with Graham Greene’s ‘Brighton Rock’ as one of the two greatest crime novels ever written. Harris’ prose is quite startling in its clarity, he uses very clever and very subtle sense changes but most of all his characterisation is sheer genius! Not only is Hannibal Lecter an utterly charming, utterly monstrous human being, each one of the secondary characters is every bit as well portrayed right down to the spoilt bitch of the Senators daughter! This book was the game changer for the crime novel. Up until The Silence Of The Lambs we tended to see good versus evil, but here in this book we have bad versus evil.’

Tracey Garvis Graves Author of On The Island The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels - A Love story by Ree Drummond.

“When I’m at a certain stage in my writing process, I find it difficult to immerse myself in a novel. Memoirs are my go-to solution for satisfying my need to read before I go to sleep.

I love Ree’s show (and her recipes), so this book was a slam dunk for me! It’s awesome.”

Tammy February Books Editor at Women24 The Dream Thieves by Maggie Stiefvater “Once again, Maggie has proven that she’s an author who just gets me. Magic, sleeping kings, ley lines and mythology? Why, yes please. Consider me absolutely, and 100% sold.”

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WHAT? Amanda Prowse Author of Perfect Daughter

Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee “Being a huge Harper Lee fan I cracked the spine of this one with caution. Could it live up to the hype? Halfway through and here’s where I steal a phrase from When Harry Met Sally: YES YES YES!”

Katherine Kirk Blogger at Literogo Caliban’s War by James S.A Corey “The second installment in the Expanse series, a gritty sci-fi noir thriller with a universe going beyond scientific development to the future of what it means to be human, I cannot put this series down. I love everything about it.”

Fred Strydom Author of The Raft Slade House - David Mitchell A clever, twisty little ghost tale by David Genre-Be-Damned Mitchell. A little too slight for my tastes, but with the same quirky and immersive writing I’ve come to expect from one of the most inventive authors of the century.

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Gareth Crocker Author of Finding Jack IT - Stephen King “I often return to books that I read many years ago. In part, to see if the story still holds up, but mainly to discover how differently I might feel about the novel now that I’m older. I can tell you that in the case of IT, that bloody clown still gets under my skin...”

Rachel Morgan Author of The Faerie Guardian Heir of Fire by Sarah J. Maas “Don’t tell Sarah J. Maas, but I’d like to be her when I grow up. Thrilling, addictive, and truly epic, her richly written Throne of Glass series remains firmly at the top of my favourites list with a story that never fails to leave me breathless.”

Lloyd Mackenzie Photo Journalist, Highway Mail The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson “I am loving everything about this book, from the variety of colourful characters and their back stories to the way the author gives you snippets of crucial information that keeps you guessing. There is no doubt in my mind that there will be a serious plot twist before the end of this book and I am so looking forward to it!”

Tammy Robinson Author of Charlie and Pearl Onions in the Stew by Betty MacDonald “This book is reassurance that life happens to everyone, and to look for the humour in our daily struggles. Wildly funny and entertaining, I wish I could have met Betty as I feel she could have taught me a lot about taking life less seriously. Read it.”

Diane Chamberlain Author of Pretending to Dance Flight of Dreams by Ariel Lawhon “I’ve always had a fascination with the Nazi airship, the Hindenburg, because it’s fiery demise took place not far from my family’s summer home in New Jersey. Ariel Lawhon brings the final (fictionalized) hours of that doomed flight to life in this intriguing story.”

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Dave de Burgh Author of Betrayal’s Shadow A Crown for Cold Steel by Alex Marshall “In Fantasy there’s a strong, capable male character around almost every corner, which makes this book a breath of fresh air: Cobalt Zosia is a woman which would terrify most men and have most women cheering her on. Love it!”

Cat Hellisen Author of Beastkeeper Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells, edited by Ellen Datlow and Teri Windling.

“Occasionally I go through stages where I can’t get into any novel, and that’s usually a good time for me to turn to short story collections where I can dip in and out at my leisure. In this anthology of gaslamp fantasy magic, steampunk, Victoriana, fairies, science, and theatre combine in a flickering spectrum of stories. It’s a collection both charming and wicked, probing the Victorian fascination with the real and the ethereal and inviting us into its darker, stranger corners.”

Monique Bernic Blogger at Urbanised Geek The Warrior Heir by Cinda Williams Chima “A fun YA fantasy with attitude set in our modern world. Really enjoying the world-building and I cannot wait to get back to it and see what destiny has in store for our young hero and his friends. I think this series needs more recognition as it is far better written then some of its more popular competitors.”

Linwood Barclay Author of Far From True A Purple Place for Dying by John D. MacDonald “This was MacDonald’s third novel featuring his hero Travis McGee, first published in 1964.

Many of MacDonald’s novels have been reissued in recent years and when I picked them up again I feared they’d be outdated, sexist and long past their “Best Before” date. What I found is that they’re still relevant, fast-paced, brilliantly plotted, and above all, incredibly readable. This one is right up there. Any time I’m headed to the airport, I try to take one with me, and that’s not a putdown.”

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I’d come to San Francisco to walk in the footsteps of the 1950s Beats, a group that had fascinated me since my undergrad English days. This band of writers were the first to articulate many of the ideas that became central to the counterculture movement of the 1960s: pacifism, free love, a passion for Eastern religions, a dawning ecological awareness and the use of narcotic drugs. Their prose matched their lifestyle: free-wheeling, unconstrained, explicit.

The Beats had been a loose collection of relatively unknown artists until one day in 1956 when police raided City Lights Bookstore and laid obscenity charges for publishing and selling Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and Other Poems.

This focused national attention on the writers and their anti-establishment ideas. When the court ruled that the work was not obscene, the floodgates opened. This legal precedent meant that long-banned works, such as DH Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover, could be rushed into print. They didn’t know it at the time, but the Beats had started a literary and cultural revolution.

The first port of call on my odyssey was City Lights. Six decades on, this bookstore still embodies the spirit of the Beat Generation. It was founded in 1953 by Peter Martin and poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti as the first allpaperback bookshop (and later a small publishing house) in the USA. The man behind the counter told me that meeting Ferlinghetii was out of the question. The poet was deep into his 90s, ill and not seeing visitors.

Instead, I spent a few pleasant hours exploring the bookshop. The walls were covered in posters, hand painted

by Ferlinghetti, that pronounced things like: ‘Stash Your Sell Phone and Be Here Now’ and ‘Free the Press from its Corporate Owners’.

During the ensuing days, I devoured Beat books over a large map of San Francisco spread out on my host’s kitchen table. A green pen marked the important addresses and a pink highlighter traced a walking route around the city. Then it was time to go exploring.

Wandering over Telegraph Hill, I came to 339 Chestnut Street, where Ferlinghetti lived from 1953 to 1958. Today it’s an austere, cream-coloured Victorian on a quiet street, but in the 1950s, writers described coming here as like entering a box of crayons (Lawrence’s wife had painted the rooms in bright colours).

The apartment was a Mecca for Beats, a place to thrash out ideas, get high and read their work aloud to friends.

I wandered down to 576 Green Street, site of The Cellar, an underground nightclub that hosted poetry and jazz nights in the late ’50s. Today, the remains of The Cellar lie buried beneath the somewhat seedy Caffé Sport.

On its first poetry night, the club was packed to the rafters and hundreds of people queued in the street, hoping to get in. Kenneth Rexroth (godfather to the Beats) and Ferlinghetti performed their work with a free-from musical accompaniment. The jazz-poetry

Beat Ro SAN FRANCISCO

Justin Fox visits San Francisco to explore the world of the Beat poets.

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evenings became very popular and this style of presentation soon spread across the country.

On the next corner, I found Caffé Trieste and pressed pause. Other than City Lights, this is perhaps the last place in San Francisco that you can feel the living spirit of the Beats. It’s changed little since it first opened its doors in 1956.

I ordered a coffee and found a mosaictop table at the back, where I humbly took up my writing station. The walls were crammed with black-and-white

photographs of patrons, familia and Beat poets. The ghosts of literary forebears sat about me. There was Ferlinghetti, working on his book of oneact plays; behind him sat Francis Ford Coppola with a portable tape recorder, penning the script of The Godfather.

From Trieste, I cut east to an apartment block at 1010 Montgomery, where I paid respects to the town crier of San Francisco. It was in this building that Allen Ginsberg completed ‘Howl’, the defining poem of the movement. It caused a seismic stir in the cultural life of America. Written in an incantatory, almost hallucinatory, style, the poem is about defeat, love, courage, hypocrisy, America’s social flaws, enlightenment and it openly flaunts the poet’s homosexuality.

Heading home over Russian Hill, there was one last stop to make. I turned into a little lane where the greatest novel of the Beat generation was (partially) penned. Jack Kerouac’s On the Road is

oute

an account of his peripatetic hero Dean Moriarty, a thinly disguised rendering of the novelist’s friend Neal Cassidy.

Moriarty is the sexy, hip, side-burned hero of the open road. The novel has cult status in America and touched a chord with the youth … from the hippies to present-day rebels.

I stood outside the ugly house with its red-face-brick pediment and drab, green-shingle walls. That upstairs window marked a site of burning inspiration. I pictured Kerouac hunched over the typewriter at one end of a long sheet of paper that spread across the floor like a giant loo roll. His manuscript was a 120-foot scroll of tracing-paper sheets taped together. The text was single spaced without margins or paragraph breaks. I could hear him repeating lines to himself, over and over, then tap-tap-tap … working away at the pattern of words like a carver fashioning wood.

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Reads recommended

Title: The Third Gate Author: Lincoln Child Supernatural Thriller

Title: Fool Me Once Author: Harlen Coben Thriller and Suspense Description: #1 New York Times bestseller Harlan Coben delivers his next impossible-to-put-down thriller.

In the course of eight consecutive #1 New York Times bestsellers, millions of readers have discovered Harlan Coben’s page-turning thrillers, filled with his trademark edge-of-your-seat suspense and gut-wrenching emotion. In Fool Me Once, Coben once again outdoes himself.

Former special ops pilot Maya, home from the war, sees an unthinkable image captured by her nanny cam while she is at work: her two-year-old daughter playing with Maya’s husband, Joe—who had been brutally murdered two weeks earlier. The provocative question at the heart of the mystery: Can you believe everything you see with your own eyes, even when you desperately want to? To find the answer, Maya must finally come to terms with deep secrets and deceit in her own past before she can face the unbelievable truth about her husband—and herself.

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Description: An archaeological expedition digging where it shouldn’t. . .

A crown so powerful it is rumored to be cursed. . .

And the one man who can explain it all. . .

Deep in a nearly impassable swamp south of the Egyptian border, an archaeological team is searching for the burial chamber of King Narmer, the fabled pharaoh.

Narmer’s crown might be buried with him: the elusive “double” crown of the two Egypts. Amid the nightmarish, disorienting tangle of mud and dead vegetation, strange things begin to happen. Could an ancient curse be responsible? Jeremy Logan, history professor and master interpreter of bizarre and inexplicable enigmas, is brought onto the project to investigate. What he finds raises fresh questions . . . and immediate alarm.

This is a story about the power of family, the possibilities of friendship, the ways we depend upon one another and the ways we let one another down. In this tender, entertaining, and deftly written debut, Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney brings a remarkable cast of characters to life to illuminate what money does to relationships, what happens to our ambitions over the course of time, and the fraught yet unbreakable ties we share with those we love.

Title: The Nest Author: Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney Literary, Family Life

Title: The Summer Before the War Author: Helen Simonson Historical Genre Fiction Description: The bestselling author of Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand returns with a breathtaking novel of love on the eve of World War I that reaches far beyond the small English town in which it is set.

East Sussex, 1914. It is the end of England’s brief Edwardian summer, and everyone agrees that the weather has never been so beautiful. Hugh Grange, down from his medical studies, is visiting his Aunt Agatha, who lives with her husband in the small, idyllic coastal town of Rye. Agatha’s husband works in the Foreign Office, and she is certain he will ensure that the recent saber rattling over the Balkans won’t come to anything. And Agatha has more immediate concerns; she has just risked her carefully built reputation by pushing for the appointment of a woman to replace the Latin master.

When Beatrice Nash arrives with one trunk and several large crates of books, it is clear she is significantly more freethinking—and attractive—than anyone believes a Latin teacher should be. For her part, mourning the death of her beloved father, who has left her penniless, Beatrice simply wants to be left alone to pursue her teaching and writing.

But just as Beatrice comes alive to the beauty of the Sussex landscape and the colorful characters who populate Rye, the perfect summer is about to end. For despite Agatha’s reassurances, the unimaginable is coming. Soon the limits of progress, and the old ways, will be tested as this small Sussex town and its inhabitants go to war.

Description: Every family has its problems. But even among the most troubled, the Plumb family stands out as spectacularly dysfunctional. Years of simmering tensions finally reach a breaking point on an unseasonably cold afternoon in New York City as Melody, Beatrice, and Jack Plumb gather to confront their charismatic and reckless older brother, Leo, freshly released from rehab. Months earlier, an inebriated Leo got behind the wheel of a car with a nineteen-year-old waitress as his passenger. The ensuing accident has endangered the Plumbs’ joint trust fund, “The Nest,” which they are months away from finally receiving. Meant by their deceased father to be a modest mid-life supplement, the Plumb siblings have watched The Nest’s value soar along with the stock market and have been counting on the money to solve a number of self-inflicted problems.

Melody, a wife and mother in an upscale suburb, has an unwieldy mortgage and looming college tuition for her twin teenage daughters. Jack, an antiques dealer, has secretly borrowed against the beach cottage he shares with his husband, Walker, to keep his store open. And Bea, a oncepromising short-story writer, just can’t seem to finish her overdue novel. Can Leo rescue his siblings and, by extension, the people they love? Or will everyone need to reimagine the futures they’ve envisioned? Brought together as never before, Leo, Melody, Jack, and Beatrice must grapple with old resentments, present-day truths, and the significant emotional and financial toll of the accident, as well as finally acknowledge the choices they have made in their own lives.

This is a story about the power of family, the possibilities of friendship, the ways we depend upon one another and the ways we let one another down. In this tender, entertaining, and deftly written debut, Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney brings a remarkable cast of characters to life to illuminate what money does to relationships, what happens to our ambitions over the course of time, and the fraught yet unbreakable ties we share with those we love.

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