I Didn’t Win…

The One Book Many Brisbane’s competition, which means I don’t get to participate in the fabulous looking masterclasses, which I really would have loved.  Still, I like my submission, so I’m going to post it here, so at least it won’t go to waste.  It’s called “Land Where The Sheep And Roosters Are Saved” , which you must sing to the tune of “Land Of the FREEEEEEE aaaand Hoooome Of the Braaaaave.”  Once you’re humming, read on:

Brisbane has for some time, been considered by its more southern neighbours to be less of a city, and more of a big country town.  This of course is an opinion sprung out of jealousy over weather, beaches and lifestyle, but that is another story.  The point is, that Brisbane being a big country town, doesn’t mean that Brisbane’s citizens farm chickens in their back yards, goats on verandas or tether horses to their clotheslines; or does it?  And what if they do, what does that say about Brisbane City?

Recently an unofficial ‘rooster round up’ took place in my neighbourhood.  A friend, who is really a city girl but wanted chickens, accidentally let some of her eggs hatch.  Suddenly she found herself with roosters.  Roosters in the trees, roosters on the roof of the car as she backed down the drive, roosters leaping fences and bolting down the street.  Something had to be done.

“We should catch them,” the children suggested.  Our childen, all of them, are evil critters who naturally had  their own agenda, primarily a good laugh at parental expense.

Catching roosters is not easy.  They are flighty, cranky creatures who do not like boxes. Finally though, the roosters were boxed and in the back of a ute ready for, well, something.

Following further discussions, the roosters, were ‘transported’, to Colleges Crossing where; as city girl explained, there was a creek for water, grass and insects for food and the roosters could sort themselves out.  I did not point out to my failed farmer of a friend, that Colleges Crossing is chiefly inhabited by foxes.  Rather I regaled children with stories of a gay rooster paradise involving swing seats, love nests and frequent midnight swims.

It wasn’t long after this, that the rooster owner’s sister, decided that a owning a goat, would be much easier for her than constantly mowing her half acre yard.  The end result of this was a suburb wide increase in underwear purchases, a half acre grass jungle and possibly some spoiled results on sheep testing at the DPI.

This was followed by yet another neighbour deciding that the entire neighbourhood should invest in a pony for all the local children.  Between us all, we surely had enough lawn, enough time and enough energy for a pony.  A high speed chase, a crash tackled shetland and a possible charge of indecent exposure later,  we were forced to rethink our decision and also our sanity.

Lately, when my southern friends imply that Brisbane is little more than a country town, I do not argue the point.  Rather I review all these events in my head and smile.  In my Brisbane, we may sometimes go a bit too ‘rural’ for suburbia, but our neighbours are our friends. Our children ride bikes and swim together and there are regular poker nights involving every man and his dog (sometimes literally).  Sure, it probably looks a bit old-fashioned, sometimes even crazy, but it sounds like laughter and feels like home.   If that is a consequence of living in a ‘big country town’, then I wouldn’t swap Brisbane for any other city in the world.

So there you go…it didn’t win, probably a bit too sentimental, or perhaps a bit nuts but still, the stories are true and I like that they make me smile.  Which may go to show that perhaps I oughtn’t write about things I know!  Love to hear from someone who did win this competition, especially about the masterclasses, I think they’ll be wonderful!

My Life Is A Circus

When I started my Education degree (a million years ago), there was a crazy lecturer who insisted everyone in his tutorial learned to juggle.  Why?  Because teaching is like juggling, you need to be able to keep all your balls in the air and everything under control.  Rule one, don’t drop the ball.

So, I’ve known for a long time now that life is about juggling and balancing,occasionally walking a tight rope and often squishing lots of people into a tiny car.  I practice yoga in order to maintain my flexibility and balance.  I walk wild animals (otherwise known as Franke and Chewy) for fitness and I have just taken up kung fu, for…well…for kicks.  So why is it then, that despite all this knowledge and effort, I am still capable of losing my mind?

Yesterday for example, I found myself snarling at my husband.  He hadn’t done anything wrong.  In fact, I think he was doing his best to be angelic.  I snarled anyway.  Then, that same afternoon, I picked my daughter up from school.  She told me about how her bread roll had been mouldy, her scroll contained nuts (pine nuts btw) so she just didn’t eat it because Marcello is allergic to nuts and she can never remember to wash her hands.  She’d left her togs at home (on swimming day) and her hat in the car.

I cried.

That’s how we know I’d lost my mind.  I cried over a lunchbox and a hat.  Basically I cried because even while trying my butt off, I still dropped the ball.  My tightrope walk had failed and I was splattered, flat,  in the middle of the center ring. I’m not sure how this relates to writing; except that tomorrow is always a new day.  A rejection letter from one person does not mean a bad book.  A mouldy sandwich does not indicate (entirely) bad parenting…oh…and that really small car???  You should probably just get used to it.

Big Fat Issues…

I am so tired of hearing about people’s weight.  I don’t care that Oprah’s regained her weight.  I don’t care that Kirsty Alley did either.  I don’t want to watch any more biggest loser or fat camp programs.  In addition to this, I cannot tell you how the latest news regarding the massive increase in Aussie women’s weight, makes me want to scream.  Really?  We’re all getting fatter faster are we?

Obviously we’re not supposed to be getting simultaneously fatter and smarter, because firstly, anyone who knows anything about weight measurement, knows that the BMI as a measure of healthy weight, is just a crock.  When the U.S airforce decided to introduce the BMI as a measure of health for their forces, the vast majority of their special forces servicemen were in danger of being drummed out of the airforce on the basis of their health!  These are men who are the epitome of health.  They run miles every day with full packs.  They train like maniacs on all areas of their health.  Yet despite this, the one thing they most definitely ARE is heavy.

Why?

Because they’re muscular.  Muscle really does weigh more than fat.  Muscular people weigh lots!  They have very high BMI’s.

No, I’m not saying all Australian women are muscular.  I’m saying they shouldn’t judge their weight by a single, stupid, obviously misleading, number.  I’m saying that if we want to know how healthy we are, we oughtn’t be making that judgement based upon a shirt size, a waist size, our weight in kilograms or any of those other individual and seemingly random and eminently changeable measures.

If you want to know how healthy you are, go see your doctor.  Let the doctor give you a blood test, take your blood pressure, do a pinch test on you.  Let the doctor listen to your lungs and heart.  Get a pap smear (if you’re a girl) or a prostate exam (if you’re a guy).  Let the doctor who knows you, tell you if you need to lose weight.  But more than worrying about your weight, worry about your HEALTH!

While you’re contemplating your health, work on your mental health too.  Consider reality; most people are not models or t.v. stars.  Most people have to work at something that requires a bit of travel in both directions and some slog in between.  We’re not paid to maintain a glamourous figure.  Sometimes, while changing nappies, digging holes, painting walls and generally living, we look a bit crap!  That people is NORMAL!

Want to know what else is normal?  Clever people, funny people, caring people, sporty people.  People all over the place possess vast numbers of skills and talents that apparently don’t deserve as much attention as their weight.  What is wrong with us that we’re willing to listen to a rerun (yup a rerun) of Oprah telling us about her latest fat issue.  Why  do we swallow that?  Why don’t we ask her about how her school is going? (surely a humanitarian effort is more important that a weightloss effort).  Why don’t we ask her about the Angel Network? (pounds and dollars raised for a charity  should be more important than pounds lost in weight right?)

And WHY did I hear an Aussie television program discussing Joe Hockey’s weight the other evening?  Why did they feel the need to ask if Australia would vote for a fat prime minister?  FDR, one of America’s most influential presidents was less than physically perfect specimen.    People nowadays say that if the public had seen him in a wheelchair, America never would have voted for him (four times in a row)…and it would have been a much poorer country had they not!

My point?  My point is that we’ve become so shallow I’m sickened.  I’m sick to my stomach when I see young girls starving themselves to death in an effort to meet some idiot PR concept of perfection.  I’m sick to my back teeth of people who judge others by their looks rather than their deeds.  Can we just not?

Imagine how vibrant our world would be if we were all healthy and individual and HAPPY!  Let’s do that shall we?  And when all these idiots come on t.v. sprouting misleading facts based on inaccurate measurements, lets not be quiet (because silence is assent).  Let’s turn off the program.  Change the channel, write a letter, do something!

Take issue with it…big fat issue with it.

Here endeth the rant!

Great Week…

A great week is not always defined by writing achievements for me.  This week I was happy that my smallest child and I made finger buns together in preparation for school lunches and that said child SO enjoyed school.  I got back to yoga.  I cleaned the house. I discovered Israeli couscous at the local deli. I made the tastiest berry frappes ever.   I’ve organised the weekend and yes, I wrote a bit.

I also had the nicest thing happen.  I got asked to do an interview with Jewish News Australia in order to discuss the Jewish angle present within Willow Farrington Bites Back. My first thought was “Oh…do I know enough?”  Then, typical of me, I started researching.  At some point, I realised that one cannot learn an entire religion within two days.  So, I’ve decided that if I’m supposed to know more than what was required to write the book, then I’m just out of luck, which is okay, because I’ve had my fair share of luck lately.

Here’s what was especially nice though; the feeling that I will be fine with this interview, the belief that I actually am enough (see previous post for my new affirmation), know enough and have done enough (well at least this week).  That’s pretty cool.

How ’bout you?  How was your week?

Today I Am Enough…

I found this saying plastered onto someone’s fridge recently and felt my whole body sigh with relief as I read it.

Isn’t it true that as people we expend so much energy trying for things.  Trying to be what others want, what we expect of ourselves and what we think is required.  We wear ourselves out with all this effort at trying to be more than we are.

To some extent, I think striving is good.  Learning is great.  But there has to be a limit.   I’ve never been very good at knowing my limits.

In addition to this, there are hordes of people (as I’m sure you know) who thrive on criticising others.  Some do it to make themselves feel better, others do it for a living.  There are entire industries that revolve around tearing people down.  We’ve become allergic to imperfection.

Perhaps that’s why I actually felt these words sink into me as I read. I shivered as they ran across my skin and embedded themselves in my memory.

Maybe the words themselves are magic.   Today I Am Enough.

Powerful words.

They’re not words to discourage effort.  They’re words to make you believe you’re able to overcome.  Whatever happens, you’re enough.  You can do it, you are able and you have everything you need.  You’re enough.

At the same time they’re settling words.  Words that anchor you to the ground and help you understand that nothing else is required except that you be exactly who you are.  In this moment, today.

Practise these words.  Incant them as you feel your shoulders rise closer to your ears with tension and your chest tighten with nerves.  Pray them when life tumbles past and you’re caught in the wash.  Know them.  They’re good for you.  You can feel it.

Today I am enough.

Old Dog, new tricks!

My adventure this week was learning about script writing.  I’ve recently met an independent film maker who believes Willow Farrington Bites Back would make an excellent film.  So we met this week to discuss script writing etc.  It began with discussions of short films, ideas for opening sequences etc and at some point, the lovely Desi exclaimed “Fuck it, let’s make a feature!”  So now that’s the plan.

I have been loaded up with sample scripts.  I’ve downloaded the very cool Celtix software and I’ve begun!

Far from being daunted by learning a new genre, I’m actually really enjoying the process.  I think the pressure is off.  With writing novels and short stories, I expect my writing to be good.  I know the rules, I know how I work and I know what I like.  I pressure myself to be constantly improving and  building and working.  This script though, this is an unexpected pleasure, something just for fun, and I love it!  I also think it’s freed up my other writing.  I find words flowing from me (during the scene adding/editing process) much more freely.

I also really enjoyed meeting with Desi.  She’s talented and funny and hugely creative.  Some people energise others and Desi is one of those.  I came away from having seen her feeling really good and like I could actually write a script!  So while I’m sure there will be lots of suggestions, criticisms and differences to come, right at this moment, I’m just enjoying myself.

So that’s my big tip for writers at the moment.  If you find yourself experiencing a bit of literary constipation…learn a new genre, play a little.  You’ll love the outcome!

Post Rush…

Here’s something not everybody knows.  Publishers (big, small and intermediate) generally allocate six weeks of promotion time to each book they release.  During those six weeks, sales of the book are supposed to earn back the authors advance.

Advances are something else most non-authors don’t understand.  An advance is not a one-off payment for the book.  It’s an advance against royalties.  Which means that until sales of the book cover the amount of the advance, the author isn’t paid squat.  In order to get a good reputation in the book industry, an author (and his/her books) need to develop a habit of ‘covering the advance’.

All this means that as soon as the six weeks are up and the advance is ‘covered’, the publishers stop promoting and the author, unless they continue their own marketing campaign, stops earning.

For authors, the period following that first six week rush, is often a bit daunting.  After all, we’re writers, not PR people, right? WRONG.  I have, of late, become a PR queen, however, I find myself running out of ideas.  Here’s a list of what I’ve done to date.

1. Newspaper coverage in local newspaper
2. Brief television coverage on the news.
3. Regional radio program coming up in March
4. Book signings at  local bookstore immediately after release
5. Arranging more book signings at chain stores
6. Library book talks
7. Reviews from Eating Disorders Associations (various state ones)
8. Postcard placement at beauty salon (as book is about finding your own form of beauty) along with directions to the book shop across the way.
9. Leaving postcards and lollipops at every place I stay for cleaning and admin staff to find and pique their interest.
10. …

Well, there’s no ten, because I’ve run out of creative ideas.  Help?  Anyone?

Editing

Edits kill me.  If I could write the perfect manuscript right off the bat, I’d be a happy, happy girl.  But that, of course, is not to be.  So I find myself, again, in the middle of the editing process.  

 Why does editing distress me so?  Well because by the time I’m editing, that first rush of passion is over.  In my head, the book is done, so my motivation is rapidly moving elsewhere, toward the next new idea, a new character a new something.  But instead of being free to embrace all this newness, I’m in the past, editing the manuscript I’ve finished.  

 Don’t get me wrong, I completely understand the need for a solid editing process (and if you’re lucky a solid editor). Re-reading and editing are what produce the change from a good manuscript to an excellent manuscript.  In fact, with this latest manuscript, it will change the entire ‘vibe’ of the book.

 I write, you see, most naturally in third person, past tense.  Some time ago though, a wonderful mentor explained to me that tweens and their older counterparts, teens, prefer to read in first person.  So I changed the manuscript to first person (a process that wasn’t nearly as simple as I’d first thought it would be).  Now, I find myself changing it from past to present tense.  Why?  Because for this particular manuscript, the story feels more ‘immediate’ and spontaneous when written in the present tense.

 Being who I am, and hating, as I do, the editing process, to begin with I changed just the first chapter; hoping against hope that the changes would make no difference.  I was wrong.  The switch from past to present made as big a difference as changing from third to first person.  A good, positive, BIG difference.  

 Now I’m doing deals with myself.  A chapter of change, followed by something fun.  A chapter of change then a piece of chocolate.  You get the picture right?

 The other good thing to arise from this editing process is the new scenes.  New scenes aren’t editing really.  They’re still new and fresh and exciting.  I find myself thrilled with the way the new scenes provide new angles and understandings.  LOL…I also love the way they loosen up my thought process!

So here I am blogging (something nice) then it’s one more chapter of editing before dinner (another something nice!).  If you have any advice on a better way to tackle this whole editing process, please let me know.  If not, just wish me luck!

Writers’ Groups

I’ve never been much of a ‘joiner’ but last year, I decided that I was spending more time secluded than was really healthy.  So I joined a writers group.  I’ve always been a member of the Queensland Writers Center (possibly the best writers center in the country) but this one, Scribblers, is a small group of local writers.  We all have different levels of experience, different successes and subsequently, different understandings, points of view and perspectives on nearly everything; and that’s what makes it great!

Tonight at my group, I got hints and tips on promoting my book about the place (from someone with more experience in these things than I).  I gathered some lovely insight into process from a couple of members who may or may not have realised I was listening as closely as I was.  I received a wonderful compliment on Willow Farrington Bites Back from a member whose niece still struggles with an eating disorder and who said to me “It was so true!  I read it and I could really see parts of her in it.”  AND I was forced to explicate my goals for the year.  That’s very important.  These guys will keep me to my word, so I’m already thinking about what I will have to do in order to impress them with my tenacity and productivity!

In addition to all this, I’ve come away feeling part of a thriving, positive community.  That means a lot to a girl who’s never settled anywhere long enough to become a part of anything community oriented. 

Not all my attempts at ‘joining’ have been so successful.  At one stage I joined a book club for writers.  It was awful.  Full of pretentious people who were eager to impress with their superior insights and wit.  They selected books to read that were at once overly wordy and immensely depressing (slit your wrists and nap in a warm bath kind of depressing).  It was exhausting!  I bit my lip a LOT.  I went home feeling cowardly, estranged (from a group with whom I thought I ought to be able to identify) and largely inadequate.  Needless to say, within three months, I disappeared from that group and it took some time for me to work up the courage to join anything again.  

So, my tips for joining groups, writers and otherwise:

1.   Only join groups concerning things in which you’re really interested (don’t join for the men…there aren’t that many)
2.   Don’t judge too quickly (give them three months of your time before you bow out, everyone needs a settling in period)
3.   You only get out what you put in.  If you want to learn something you must be willing to stick your neck out and ask a question.  By the same token,      you should offer advice when you have it to give!
4. Be broadminded.  Groups, by their nature are made up of a variety of different personalities.  You won’t like them all, but that doesn’t mean they have nothing to offer.  
5. Leave if it’s awful.  This is not the school basketball team.  You didn’t sign on for a season.  If the group isn’t for you, get out and try something else!

People Write!

Just back from my coastal holiday to a garden of weed filled mayhem but I have to admit, I’m inspired.  While sitting on the beach recently, I saw the strangest thing.  People writing.  Some were writing letters and postcards (yes people still do that apparently).  Others wrote in journals and diaries.  Whatever the case, they all put pen to paper in order to communicate feelings, ideas and memories.  Further to this, I had a cousin come to visit for a day and she told me how she loves to write in all forms, as does her mother.  They each turn letter writing into an art form (and always have, I think this is a skill we all learned from my Nanny) and they also keep journals.  

I have never kept a diary (even as a teen when I tried, it was a sporadic and farcical undertaking) and my letters have become emails.  The most handwriting I commit to paper at the moment, is in the form of  thank you notes following a dinner with friends or notes to teachers begging forgiveness for my child’s latest indiscretion.  Worse still, I used to write out out troublesome scenes from books longhand because the connection between brain and pencil seemed to allow clearer communication.  Nowadays I find that typing as fast as I can think, allows me to feel instantly productive.  Ack!  What’s happened to me?

Look at how many people, every day, write more words than I do!  And here I call myself a ‘writer’.  It’s definitely time for me to get back to work!