I honestly meant to write another review tonight (it'd have been the third this week), but it just didn't happen and I think my sleep cycle has been out of whack for long enough, so I'm not going to try and stay up to make it happen. I have re-read the chapbook (Ben Stainton's The Backlists), so I'm going to try and make it to the Library tomorrow afternoon before church. I'm not a huge fan of working in the Library, but I find that when I really need to force myself to get something done, being surrounded by people who would definitely judge me for being Facebook (as they surreptitiously log onto their own Facebook profiles, of course) seems to do the trick. I think it's mostly because in the Library, I don't have access to three external HDDs full of TV shows of varying degrees of awesomeness, so there isn't really anything intrinsic about the Library that makes it particularly conducive as a working environment for me. Still, much as I hate to admit it, perhaps I should start spending more time there and getting work done. The coffee bar in there has closed for the holidays though, so it doesn't seem worth the effort. I mean, the only reason I do work in the Library is to randomly grab a flavoured latte or a bottle of vitaminwater (or both) at some point.
Anyway, for the past week or so, I've been reading Wena Poon's two short story collections, Lions In Winter and The Proper Care Of Foxes, and they're really incredible. My favourite line from the first (which happens to be available in the UK from Salt) is when a character in 'The Shooting Ranch' remembers her father's words, 'No one can hate a Singaporean as much as another Singaporean.' I suppose the sentiment isn't necessarily specific to Singapore, but it just resonated with me because sometimes I'm definitely guilty of feeling that way. On a related note, there's a poignant exchange in 'Vanilla Five' from the second collection when the protagonist ask, 'Why do you speak with a London accent sometimes?' and gets this reply (context being that this other character was abandoned by English parents and raised by a Japanese man): 'Same reason why I sound Japanese sometimes. [...] I know I'm not American. I'm trying to find the right voice for this face. I'm still trying.' I think for the first time, I might have found an acceptable explanation (to myself, if not necessarily others) for my mutable accent.