'Seeing the light', my Bridport short-listed flash fiction, 2023

Seeing the light     by Nasim Marie Jafry

She slept with two hot water bottles, one on either side. In the early hours, she’d kick them out. They lay on the floor like cold, flabby animals.

*

She was relieved to wake up. She’d dreamt a black horse wearing a turquoise blanket was on fire. She made coffee and checked the fridge light, closing the door slowly until she could no longer see the light, then slowly opening it again, her cheek pressed against the metal edge, until the light came on.

It struck her how often you saw people in films going into the fridge. The fridges were always silver and huge. These people didn’t obsess about the light still being on when the door was closed. They just took out orange juice or milk and forgot about it.

Amir had said, I can no longer cope with your anxiety. She’d replied, I can no longer cope with your brutality. Were you ever tender? I can’t remember.

You also saw people in films brushing their teeth a lot.

She liked the fridge scenes, and wondered what food was in the fridge, the food you never saw. But the bathroom scenes disgusted her, couples spitting into the basin together.

She’d thought of chopping up tulip stems and putting them in his salad. Easy enough to confuse tulip stems with spring onions, M’lud.

Of course, she never would, this kind of thing only happened in films. A character in a film could without punishment chop up stems to poison their tedious husband.

Essay on The State of Me in Etudes Ecossaises, a bilingual academic journal

Was very interested to be alerted to this reading of my 2008 novel  in Etudes Ecossaises: Temporalities in Nasim Marie Jafry's The State of Me by Laura MacDonald. It is gratifying to see such a close reading of one's work, especially so many years after publication.

Seven Novels and Stories That Prove Fiction Can Grapple with Illness

A friend came across this, a nice review of The State of Me from 2021 on Electric Literature. The review is included in a piece called: 7 Novels and Stories That Prove Fiction Can Grapple with Illness:

 

'Based on the author’s own experience with myalgic encephalomyelitis (also known as chronic fatigue syndrome), The State of Me is unadorned autofiction that follows the protagonist, Helen Fleet, from her diagnosis at age 20 through the aftermath of her illness. Jafry has described her novel as “the antithesis of sick lit,” and indeed, it would be impossible to describe Helen’s experiences as anything approaching romantic. But as much as the novel is an honest, sometimes ruthless exploration of chronic illness, it’s also a story of everything else that might populate a person’s life: love, sex, relationships, and all the “life bits” in between. Helen’s voice, quirky and sardonic throughout, makes for an immersive and compelling read.'

 

The whole article is here.

Hospital room reminded me of Benidorm

The NHS so broken round the edges is, of course, still excellent in a crisis. I  found myself suddenly in hospital for a week in the middle of the month, and  after being out for five days was sent back for an overnight. Got home yesterday. I had not been an in-patient since 1984 when I was in a neurology ward having an experimental plasma exchange as treatment for ME. This time I was in  a cardiology ward. The week was a blur.  I was mainly in a shared ward, I recall one morning, hearing a woman who had been admitted late at night tell the doctor  she did not have her small suitcase with her because she had lent it to someone and when it came back it smelled like a bonfire. 

On Monday, I was in a side room of my own for one night, I appreciated the privacy but it was bleak, reminded me of a Benidorm hotel in 1980s, hard surfaces, no comforts and a view of a car park. I had extra blankets but still needed my coat on top.

I had stopped reading about Gaza in hospital, though I periodically imagined what would it be like if we  were being bombed. Unthinkable. I made contact with a Palestinian friend I'd had at university in eighties, he grew up in a refugee camp in Jordan. I had not seen or spoken to him for over thirty years. I wasn't sure if he would get my message but he did. 

It was a joy to hear from him.

I am so very grateful to everyone in our NHS. I thought about what had changed since my last stay, forty years ago. They don't make visitors tea any more. And many of the nurses have tattoos. 

I gave the  paramedic a copy of my 2008 novel. My plasma exchange is fictionalised in there.

Teju Cole event at The Portobello Bookshop

I very much enjoyed the event with Nigerian-American writer and photographer Teju Cole at The Portobello Bookshop last night, chaired by Roxani Krystalli -- I accessed the event online. Cole is currently the Gore Vidal Professor of Creative Writing at Harvard.

He was charming and funny - and illuminating on the writing process. He talked of writing as a way of not forgetting, a sense of 'if you don't write it down it will vanish'.

I was kind of relieved when he said that TREMOR, his new novel, is the least morose book he has written. He referred to having been a 'serious melancholic' in his younger years - he is now almost fifty - and made play of the fact he is no longer such a 'misery guts'. I had read his first (highly acclaimed) novel OPEN CITY in 2012 and confess to not having loved it, the writing is immaculate but I got weary of the heaviness of tone (I reviewed the book here on Goodreads over a decade ago). 

I am only two chapters into TREMOR and loving it. 

Near the end of the event, he alluded to the current assault on Gaza and mentioned a Palestinian friend who is just now harvesting olives. I was very glad he mentioned Gaza. I think it must be hard to perform just now as artist/writer and not mention what is going on in that part of the world.

Thanks, too, to Porty Books for making the event accessible online. Hybrid events are maybe the one good thing to have come out of the pandemic.

Bridport Flash Fiction Award 2023

A little good news, very pleased to have been shortlisted for Bridport Flash Fiction Prize 2023. Was shortlisted a decade ago for both their short story and flash prizes. Flash is such a different discipline to writing a novel. A long text is so unwieldy, hard to keep track of, can be overwhelming, is why it takes me so long, as I polish every chapter as I go. With flash, you move words around as it pleases you, you feel very in control and realise also how arbitrary it all is, making things up.

Many congratulations to the winners!

December, 2022

Have not blogged in so long, everything is dislocated. My darling mother passed away eighteen months ago, it can still feel unreal. Am cheered up by a woodpecker and bullfinch in front garden and pigeons puffed up like balloons in the back. Writing sustains me, have recently gone back to my novella-in-progress. Just added ALPHONSO, a flash fiction, to blog sidebar that was published in From Glasgow to Saturn, Glasgow University's literary magazine, in 2021. I wrote it when we were in the grips of pandemic, all a bit stunned.