I’m heavily influenced by the books I read. I mean, this should be obvious to people who know me. I’ve called myself a witch, a demigod, Artemis Fowl’s wife… (those last two still hold) and many less outrageous things. I have, however, never been a werewolf or a vampire. But I will advocate for the genius of the Twilight series, which is NOT, in face, about werewolves and vampires, which any metaphor-respecting person should have realised by now…well, that argument is for another day.
Today, I am talking about my Inkworld influences. Two days ago, I completed Cornelia Funke’s Inkworld trilogy (Inkheart, Inkspell, Inkdeath) and I’ll write about my thoughts later. During the ride through the series, I fell in love with the protagonist called Mortimer Folchart, who was a very dedicated bookbinder, who accidentally became bound by a book! (The irony.)
You know these things have ways of subliminally planting things in your head, and I fell asleep, and woke up the next day determined to be a bookbinder. The thing is, this idea wasn’t in the least as outrageous as other wishes I’ve woken up with, like wanting to fly or having raptor vision (oh, the cursed life of the near-sighted) or elastic bones. Wanting to be a bookbinder was actually very logical, and more importantly, very doable! So it was done.
I took a bunch of A4 sheets, stapled, sellotaped, and that was it, I had created the inside of the notebook. I left that for a bit and printed about twelve of my short stories, most of which are already published on my blog, and made them two pages to one sheet. Using Nescafé, water, a baking tray, a straw and a paintbrush, I thematically stained each printed sheet to make them look artistically like old parchment, or pages from very old books.
Then I took an old cardboard box, cut out two rectangles from the side, and covered them with newspaper using sellotape. I painted a black ballerina for the cover and stuck it to one of the cardboard rectangles, after which I attached them to the outside of the book’s pages to make the hardvoer.
I spent the rest of the night sticking the stained stories in the book’s pages.
So there. I’m a bookbinder. Can I be Mortimer Folchart now? In fact, I’m creating an alter ego called Ivana Folchart to add to the collection. YES.
This book is a joke I am playing on myself by pretending its an anthology of my rare, earlier works after I’m dead, hence the staining. But hey, if you’re ever in the mood to just do some spontaneous creation, I highly recommend binding your own book. It’s so much fun.