The Bed Book of Short Stories

Description

The bed, dressed in hand sewn quilt or threadbare blanket, may in and of itself be memorable, but it is what happens in the bed � the sex and lovemaking, the dreams, the reading, the nightmares, the rest, giving birth and dying � which give �bed� special meaning. Whether a bed is shared with a book, a child, a pet or a partner, whether lovers lie in ecstasy or indifference, whether �bed� relates to intimacy or betrayal, it is memories and recollections of �bed�, in whatever form, which have triggered the writing of these thirty stories by women from southern Africa. Well known writers Joanne Fedler, Sarah Lotz, Arja Salafranca, Rosemund Handler and Liesl Jobson will delight, but you will discover here new writers from Botswana, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Malawi, Namibia and Zambia, each with a unique voice as they cast light on the intimate lives of women living in this part of the world and the possibilities that are both available to and denied them. The BED BOOK of short stories � some quirky and tender, others traumatic or macabre � is the perfect companion to take to bed with you, to keep you reading long into the night.

Sujets

• Littérature Africaine
• Littérature Africaine
• Romance
• Romance d'Afrique de l'Ouest
• Collections
• Collection

Informations

• Publié par: Modjaji Books
• Date de parution: 25 mai 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781920397296
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Bed Book of Short Stories
The Bed Book of Short Stories
Compiled by Lauri Kubuitsile Edited by Joanne Hichens
Publication Modjaji Books 2010 Copyright 2010 is held by the author of each story
First published in 2010 by Modjaji Books CC P O Box 385, Athlone, 7760, South Africa modjaji.books gmail.com http://modjaji.book.co.za
ISBN 978-1-920397-31-9
Book design: Natascha Mostert Cover artwork and lettering: Hannah Morris Copy editor: Maire Fisher
Printed and bound by Mega Digital, Cape Town Set in Garamond
The publication of this book was made possible by generous sponsorship from the Arts Culture Trust
Contents
Introduction Making the bed
Joanne Hichens
Bedrock
Joanne Fedler
In the Spirit of McPhineas Lata
Lauri Kubuitsile
Desire, with Borders
Arja Salafranca
Stains Like a Map
Jayne Bauling
Sleeping through Heartbreak
Marina Chichava
A Natural Combination
Pamela Newham
The Artful Craft of Quilting
Anne Woodborne
The Capable Wife
Rita Britz
Lie Still Heart: Scenes from a Girlhood Devoured
Gothataone Moeng
Every Picture Tells
Romaine Hill
To Own a Bed
Sylvia Schlettwein
A Requiem for Daniel
Luso Katali Mnthali
Lena My Lovely
Rosemund Handler
Heaven (or Something Like It)
Sarah Lotz
Crazy
Helen Walne
Hunters and Lovers
Nia Magoulianiti-McGregor
On a Broomstick
Liesl Jobson
Nompumelelo Sinxoto s Bed
Karabo Moleke
Imagining Monsters
Margot Saffer
The Outsider
Isabella Morris
Chickens and the Clinking of Glass
Megan Ross
Fool s Gold
Tinashe Chidyausiku
In Sickness
Melissa Gardiner
Wings on Indi s Pillow
Claudie Muchindu
How to Write a Good Romance
Ginny Swart
In Bed with Ikeji
Novuyo Rosa Tshuma
Portrait of a Woman in Bed
Bronwyn McLennan
Mary, Mary
Rose Richards
Made of Mukwa
Ellen Banda-Aaku
Goodnight, Sleep Tight
Joanne Hichens
Divine Possibilities, Rewards Uncertain
Erika Coetzee
Author Biographies
INTRODUCTION Making the bed
Joanne Hichens
Bed , for me, is synonymous with respite, relief, with peace at the end of a hectic day; in bed I can rest and fade from reality, and though I celebrate life, I can take a break from all the responsibilities which come part and parcel with it.
Even as a child I would look forward to going to bed, not to sleep or to dream, but to read late into the night - till at least ten o clock! - with a flashlight under the covers. My mother encouraged me to heed her warnings to sleep rather than to strain my eyes. But I didn t listen. And I think secretly she must have been pleased that I loved reading so much. Who knows if the hours spent flashing that torch in the dark and squinting at small type contributed to a genetic predisposition to shortsightedness, but I was awarded a pair of nerdy specs as badge of honour at the tender age of eight.
If I think of all the beds I ve known, they include this Queen marital bed I m lying on right now. Here, my legs are stretched out under the duvet, my lap top is humming and warming my thighs, my husband is snoring next to me, the cat momentarily distracts me from work as he jumps at the cursor moving across the screen. Other beds that come to mind? A childhood pine bunk-bed, from which my siblings and I attempted somersaults from up top - how could my mother have allowed such death-defying feats, I wonder now? I think of a creaky wrought iron and brass bed my brother conned me into buying for top dollar from his student junk dealership. I remember hotel beds - cringing at the thought of countless bodies before me leaving their residue in some form or other in beds for hire. I remember makeshift beds - appreciating a starry night sky from a sleeping bag on a camp bed; and curling up on the back seat of a car once, a towel as blanket, waking to excruciatingly stiff limbs.
The most life changing moments of my existence are associated with bed. I gave birth, three times, in hospital beds, and cared for each of my babies for the first few days of their lives right there in those steel-sided beds with their rustling plastic mattress covers and starched sheets. And I will never forget the hospice bed in which my mother recently died. A hand-crafted crocheted blanket lovingly laid over her as she slept through her last days spoke of the personal care she received as a patient at St Luke s; I was at my mother s bedside through her restlessness, her pain, indeed with Bed stories, waiting for quiet hours during which I could edit whilst keeping vigil; I remembered my mother spending time at my bed-side when I was ill as a child, smoothing a fevered brow as I suffered mumps to migraines; it was my turn now to give comfort.
There are so many beds! But one thing is clear. Although a bed, dressed in hand sewn quilt or threadbare blanket, may in and of itself be memorable, it is what happens there, in the bed - the sex and lovemaking, the dreams, the flashlight reading hours, the nightmares, the rest, giving birth and dying - which give bed special meaning. Whether a bed is shared with a book, a child, a pet or a partner - whether lovers lie in ecstasy or indifference, whether they relate bed to intimacy or betrayal - or whether we lie alone in a bed - ah, bliss for some! - it is memories and recollections of bed , in whatever form, which have in some way triggered the writing of fiction stories for this anthology.
When I was playing with the idea of a themed collection, says publisher Colleen Higgs, I kept coming back to something concrete - shoes, pillow, bed, table. And finally it was Bed. Although I was wary of the stories being too explicit about sex, it seemed just the right theme to capture the imagination of readers and writers alike.
Looking a little bit more closely at how Bed was made, apart from wanting to compile and publish a diverse collection of stories, Colleen Higgs s desire was to afford lesser known writers and new writers an opportunity to engage with an editor. Firstly, with the theme decided, a little under two years ago, entries were called for by Modjaji Books. Writers put pen to paper to discover which fictional stories lay in bed for them, and the submissions came in thick and fast.
What really appealed to me was the thought of seeing the world from the other side, says Lauri Kubuitsile, who compiled the selection from over four hundred stories. As a writer, I ve not been immune to imagining the people receiving my own submissions as fanged and prone to carrying pitch forks. Overall I liked the process. I learned a lot. It was difficult to send rejections because I know how some people are affected by such things, but all published writers I ve met have the skin of elephants, the only way to survive; developing it sooner would be advisable. I discovered too, as I read, that when given a theme such as this, it is best for writers to sideswipe it a bit. Let the scent of it waft through your story. This is where the writer will find a place that is hers alone; these were often the stories I liked best.
As South Africans, we have the distinct privilege of being exposed to, and being part of the fabric made up of a range of cultures. Inviting writers from beyond the borders to submit work meant that stories were drawn from an even more vast store of experience. I wanted, says Colleen, to be particularly sensitive to new writers and writers from Southern African countries other than South Africa, and to showcase unique voices. Indeed, according to Colleen and Lauri, there were many excellent submissions, too many to give credit to.
My job then involved a two-fold task: firstly to consider each story as a whole, to look at the bigger picture so to speak, in order to improve structure and flow of story, and then to move on to a fine-tuning process which involved a careful evaluation of style and language. On this note I thank Maire Fisher for the meticulous job she has done not only on copy editing, but in casting a second eye over the stories.
A number of new writers used feedback brilliantly to take their stories to the next level and it was indeed gratifying as editor to read a second draft which had developed so far from a first submission.
Claudie Muchindu wrote in an email that the experience had put to rest the illusion she had that writing is merely a flash of genius; that writing involved simply transferring all from my head onto paper, and that was all I had to do! Indeed, this is one of the most important lessons for any writer to learn along the way - perhaps after developing that thick skin! - that there is a distinct difference between the art and craft of writing. Unless dictation is taken from God, and it might well be that Dame Edna O Brien remains the only writer who has been lucky enough to have a direct line, even flashes of creative genius will be well served by editing.
What is this genius then? It is the feeling that grabs a writer in the gut, that when translated into words is often referred to as voice , the unique and personal way that each writer has of telling a story. I believe genius resides in all of us, and is the place perhaps from whence the kernel of a story comes, but genius will undoubtedly be enhanced, after what are often the first frantic attempts to capture the story, by careful attention to the craft - the rewriting of a story, the cutting, the polishing which makes it shine with a life of its own.
To stick with the nuts and bolt of writing, regardless of mother tongue, good writing is not necessarily