Thursday, June 18, 2009

please, somebody, plug me in

I'm imagining a crash team breaking down the door and dashing inside to find me, wan and limp, flopped in a corner of my studio, index fingers still twitching feebly in a rictus-like attempt to air-type out one last post before I flatline.
One..., didn't Ry Cooder sing that once? Or was it a meatball? Or have all the songs I've ever listened to while I work and work and work all run together into song-soup? And do I even care?

The crash team are distracted by the studio. I'm making landed-fish gaspy sounds and needing their immediate attention, but they're too busy pulling books off the shelf and exclaiming - wow - I had that when I was a kid. Jeez, did she write that too? Oh, my, I loved that one. Mum used to read me that at bedtime. And that one too. Just how many books has she written?

Seventy six...I gasp, but my voice is fainter than a line writ small in 8H pencil.

They peer down at me, and they all look so young, and far away. They don't read books made of paper now, d'you know? What I do, in the writing and illustrating of books on paper - well, that's kind of quaint and dinosaurish. I knew if I lived long enough this would happen. I have become a living curiosity. I still, dammit, prefer pens and paper to just about any other recording medium.

I'm lying there, gasping pathetically and hoping they might be able to use the USB slot at the back of my neck or the Firewire TM connection in my ear to connect me to the grid, otherwise my hard drive is going to dump all my remaining data onto the rug. Via my nostrils. And that won't be a good look.

Or maybe they'll use a Stryker saw to unzip me from sternum to pubes and peel me back to reveal a smaller, younger, fresher version of the me that is draped, like a strand of overcooked linguine, across the sofa that I used to take afternoon naps on, back when I was trying to write six linked novels in six years followed by four linked younger novels in three years topped off with five hundred line drawings in three months. Or was that three blinks? Or was it forty younger novels? Or.

I forget. Unsurprisingly, memory, then eyesight go first.

Maybe - and this is the kindest scenario of all - just maybe they'll unscrew me at the waist, and lift my top half off my bottom half, and inside, there'll be another me that looks just like the one that's been unscrewed. And inside that one, there'll be another, and another, and another, and another, right down to what, when our girls were little, we were pleased to call 'the bean'. The smallest matrushchka of all, the core dolly, the girl in the middle of the woman in the centre of the lady. The one where you can barely make out her features, since they were painted by an underpaid woman with a one eyelash brush. Core dolly. Babeheart. She is so very small, and so very well guarded. Was so very well guarded.

And then our puppy will nudge past the crash team and stick out her long, long tongue ( you would not believe how long that dog's tongue is) and, schloooop. I'd be gone.


bookwitch said...

Have you been at the chilli oil again?

Debi Gliori said...

Hell no - this is the me v.50.7.19 you get sans sauce. The hideous unvarnished truth is that I feel as if I need to sleep for a month to play catch-up. And that isn't going to happen any day soon, so forgive the almost-hallucinating-due-to-sleep-deprivation post. Myself, I blame the bean. Who let her out?

Cynthia said...

ha,ha,ha,ha, -- I hope you feel better after writing that because I feel better after reading it! It has been a rough week here, too.

Alwen said...

The wind blew away our power Thursday night/Friday morning, so I've been going without a computer, hot water, refrigeration, running water ... for the last three whole days.

Spoiled rotten, we are!

But then, the tornado missed us, the tree missed our house, life is indeed good. Electric fans, ahhhhh!

Carmit said...

Hello Debi, I hope you will see this message. My 4 children and I just finished reading your "Trouble with dragons", just published in Hebrew (a good translation, we enjoyed the book very much!). My eldest, aged 13, commented that the only thing missing is that the book isn't printed on recycled paper.
We are great fans, and thank you for your wonderful writing and illustrations!

Alison said...

Have you recovered enough that you might make it to knitting at borders? Or are you away on a train somewhere reading books to people?
I´m in Edinburgh for a lovely rainy holiday this week, before going off to face Bath and the in-laws next week...

Anke said...

Hi Debi,
Just came across this blog - I met you 4 years ago in Edinburgh at the book festival and gave you a note and photo of my son who loved "No matter what". You said you'd get in touch but I later realised I gave you the wrong address. Do you remember?

Mel said...

Just wanted to drop a note and tell you that you are missed. Very, very much.

Rick said...

Hello Debi,

I am looking for the Spanish vesion of No Matter What (Siempre Te Querré) and it has been quite imposible. I am based in Florida, USA and I was wondering if you could give me to a good source where I can purchase "Siempre Te Querré". Fantastic tanslation, beautiful book. Thanks, Rick G