Writing, publishing and running a marathon!

I’m in the middle of preparing a book for publication and launch in April. I thought the hard work was almost behind me, but self-publishing isn’t for the faint hearted. Thankfully my editor knows her way around the book industry, otherwise I’m sure this work of love would not have got this far, and it’s still got to land yet!

On bad days, I can only compare writing and publishing a book, to running a marathon. Not that I’m a runner, but I am a fiction writer!

‘Running, it feels good, you’ve always had a need to be physical, to exercise. Pushing yourself even when some days you don’t have the desire. But somehow, you know when your feet hit the pavement you’ll be back in the zone and pleased you pulled on your running shoes. Writing is a bit the same. There are days when distraction pulls hard and opening the laptop seems a chore, but like running, when you immerse yourself in the world of fiction, all else fades. It feels good to emerge hours later with a feeling of elation.

Well, that’s in the beginning anyway. We all know that a training run or a couple of hours writing is not the end result. It’s only a tiny part of a journey toward running a personal best or publishing a book. All the training runs and writing hours are part of the slog.

Starting the marathon, you feel fresh, well-trained and invincible. You believe you can break your own barriers. You’re pumped and ready to go.  Then the tape drops and you’re off…Your first draft is complete. Feels amazing! The fact that you’re finished is amazing, this does not necessarily refer to the draft! Although at this stage you may still be thinking it is.

The other runners around you are full of hope, they jostle at this early stage, but it’s a fact, not all will last. You want to be one of the finishers…The second, third and fourth drafts get tricky. The story timelines are messy and one of the characters is not working, you change his name and fiddle around with his voice, fix it later, you tell yourself. Push on is the advice, don’t get too focused on smaller issues. Okay, you like that, keep writing.

You notice some of the runners fall behind. You pick up your pace and stay with the front group. Legs not as fresh but you know you can endure…The assessor says a few complimentary things about the manuscript, but then writes pages on structural changes required. You tell yourself to be robust, use the feedback constructively. Pour a glass of wine!

Everything around you slows. The pain in your legs congregate to your ankles and you fear an old injury is about to play up. You’re losing too much body fluid, you drain your drink bottle. Others are falling back, you and a few others hold together, just. Only half way!…Many months, years and drafts later and you have to make a decision…will this manuscript ever be ready for publication?

Tiredness hits every part of your body. You run in unison with the runner beside you. If you slow down now, you know it’s over. The ankle pain has returned to your calves and thighs, throbbing each time your feet hit the ground…You plough through yet another structural edit, hoping your editor will say, perfect! She doesn’t. You brace yourself and make the changes. On bad days, when you can’t string a sentence together, you berate yourself for ever thinking you could write a book, let alone publish one. You have another glass of wine.

Despair. Your body is shutting down, you suck at the air around you. The pain throbs and you become the pain. You want it to be over…What if the story line is too weak, the characters not authentic? You lose all sense of enjoyment. You could pull the pin now. No you can’t, too many years and you’re not a quitter. Hopefully!

Then, something miraculous happens, the home strait looms ahead, you can see the sign posts. Maybe you can get there. Your limbs relax and although exhausted you find your rhythm all over again…A copy-edit gives hope, very close now. Typesetting, book covers and a launch date chosen. Nerves jingle as the last stages begin to line up. Nearly home!’

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Light at the end of the tunnel

For more years than I care to admit, I’ve been writing a story. Nothing special about this activity, I know many people who are writing a book. Some people have indeed written many books. But here I sit with my one and only novel near completion. It sure has been an endurance test. On the days when my confidence ebbed and I allowed my inner critic free rein, I doubted that my project would come to fruition.

Writing wasn’t my profession or training, in other words I’m a novice and I had to learn to write (to industry standards). Of course, when I started I didn’t know that. I knew I had to learn the trade and assumed the skills obtained from other aspects of my life and my professional career would naturally transfer across to the world of fiction writing. Well, some of those skills certainly did come in handy but the rest had to be learnt. Thankfully, I discovered this quickly, and so the steady journey of learning specific skills and understanding about the complicated world of writing fiction began.

It’s not easy coming from a different professional base, feeling wise and competent in one arena and then being designated to the bottom rung again. But it’s important to work that out early in the process. It’s a humbling experience, if not a unique one but it sure does require dedication. There were periods of time when I fully focused on my writing and at other times I neglected it or maybe took time out instead. But the story remained in my head and drew me back with renewed interest each time. Hence a drawn out gestational period for this book.

One frustrating aspect of writing, is when non writing friends and relatives continue to ask ‘have you finished your book yet?’ Well, truth be known I’d finished it many times, only to go back and re-draft, yet again and again. This is where the learning is, I guess. I could have (foolishly) self-published this story a couple of years ago but I knew it wasn’t ready. Try explaining that to others!

Over the last year I’ve braved up and had a series of readers critique for me, that’s been a rich and valuable experience. I’ve also engaged a professional editor which has made all the difference. And just recently, one of the most important aspects of the process has been to apply self-imposed timelines for the completion and publishing of my book. As soon as I did this, a light flickered at the end of what has been a long and arduous tunnel.

Book picture

 

Watch this space for more updates and news about my book…

 

 

 

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The Choke by Sophie Laguna

This story left me breathless. It raised to the surface, every last rescue trait in my being. If only someone would intervene and stop the raging abuse. But no one does. And yet, amongst the harshness of the setting with the ‘chooks’ in the backyard, there were some tender moments. Set on the Sophie Laguna photoMurray River, the background contributes to the rawness and richness of the book.

Laguna, has a unique way of holding the narrative without succumbing to soften the edges. In fact, it’s the sharpness of the story-telling that illuminates the reality of the life of Justine, a young girl who is being raised by her grandfather. A man with his own living hell in the form of war neurosis. Justine fights for survival at home, at school and within the family. If there are cracks to fall through, Justine manages to fall into them all. Her life is disturbing, achingly sad and yet at times, tinged with a sense of wavering strength.

The story of Justine is in my head, I don’t think I’ll forget her for a long time. Sophie Laguna is a brilliant writer and The Choke is one amazing book.

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‘All Fall Down’…A brave write

9781926428253I’ve just finished reading Cassandra Austin’s novel ‘All Fall Down’. I bought this book out of curiosity and a love of all things ‘outback’. I was also hooked by Rosalie Ham’s (author of ‘The Dressmaker’) quote on the front cover of the book saying ‘Austin writes a captivating story, surprising and intriguing, in prose that’s spare but vivid.’  And she sure was on the money.

Set in a fictional Australian outback town called Mululuk, not far from Coober Pedy, the story revolves around a young girl who comes from Sydney to stay with her uncle, the local priest. The town’s bridge has just collapsed in strange circumstances. Locals respond by offering various and bizarre notions of understanding for the collapse. Re-opening of a new bridge is under threat and the priest does his best to lead the town folk with sensibility.

Characters in this book are unique, feisty and larger than life. Austin takes on a brave write. She stretches the envelope wide open and leaves the reader dangling for air on many occasions. A story written with suspense, honesty and a harsh sense of outback reality. Quirky things happen along the way that keep the reader guessing where the plot is heading and it moves along a hefty pace. A dusty, clever book.

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When a problem can’t be solved

20160111_211148I guess it’s true to say that most of us have had setbacks and difficulties in our life. There is no doubt that some problems are larger and more impactful than others. Mostly, difficulties and tricky situations work themselves through. Sooner or later we are able to move on, often wounded, wary or sometimes wiser for the experience.

But, what happens when a problem or a situation can’t be solved or resolved and has to be managed or endured, sometimes for a lifetime? I’m talking about the impact of severe trauma such as the  death of a child, disability in all its forms, the fracturing of a relationship with a sibling or a child, illness that is unrelenting and life threatening or disenfranchised grief and loss that can’t be talked about or revealed.

I’ve been thinking a lot about these issues recently. Some individuals and families are called on to endure and accept situations that require management for a lifetime and probably for some, beyond their capacity to do so. Some families require enormous resources and strength in order to support family members with special needs and ongoing illness.

When dealing with the grief of a lost child or indeed the disability of a family member and the loss of future dreams, some people can feel very alone. Especially, if there  is little hope that things will improve or change. This is where acceptance comes to the fore. Acceptance  is a very hard process to swallow because it can mean the end of hope or desire. Something has happened or is a particular way which means it isn’t going to be resolved, different or normal (whatever that means).

Acceptance comes at a mighty cost and a fair amount of pain for most people. On the other hand acceptance can sometimes bring relief and even a weird sort of calm. When a problem can’t be solved or changed (in the way we want) it has to be somehow, no doubt reluctantly, acknowledged. Acceptance, I suspect can bring about a new way of seeing a situation and a way of coping that is less depleting. However, it never replaces or wipes away the original trauma, grief, loss, sorrow or isolation. That remains in a managed space and is part of our life story.

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‘Lion’ A long way home…a story that lingers

Today, I saw the much publicised film ‘Lion.’ Based on a true story, the film delivers credibility and impact, certainly did for me anyway. You know when a book or film lingers in your thoughts well after you leave the theatre or put down the book?  Well, that’s what this story has been like for me. It’s a sad story, so take a tissue or two.9780143786504

The story overflows with disconnection, attachment and trauma issues. A young child (old enough to have some memories of his prior life in India) is brought to Australia, adopted by loving new parents and grows to adulthood to be a warm and charming individual. Except, his need to connect and to find his past family niggles and torments him until he searches his way back to his Indian village and family.

I believe, attachment is our most primary psychological need, especially early attachment. To have this attachment severed or altered in a way that removes cultural and biological connection is very tricky. In the film these issues are managed well and the story highlights tragedy and endurance from all perspectives. The adoptive parents, the adopted boy, and then finally his family in India.

There are many ways to view this story. So many emotions to be stirred. Regardless of how you feel about inter-country adoption or how you feel about adoption in general, this film and story is devastating, sad, hopeful and beautiful.

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And so this is Christmas…again!

calm-christmasEach year I promise myself to avoid the hype, ignore the tinsel and eat and drink less. However, if I’m to be really honest here, I mostly allow myself to be caught up in the froth, bubble and frantic pace that accompanies the festive season. What is it about Christmas that triggers anxiety and hype in many of us? I envy you if you read this and wonder what I’m talking about. If this happens to be you, stop reading this, go read a book or go for a jog…oh, how I admire you!

I do know some people who have an extraordinary capacity to carry on as normal. They go to work as usual, never hit the shops, continue and pursue hobbies, never interrupt their exercise regimes and basically stay clam and sane. Don’t they have the Christmas gene that causes mind clutter and present worry? How do people like this get out of twenty-five Christmas drink occasions crammed into ten days? How is it that some people shrug their shoulders and say, ‘I have no idea what I’m doing for Christmas’?

Well, this year I’ve tried. Actually, I’ve tried very hard to reduce the fuss, although I have to confess I’m already about to make my fourth batch of shortbread! But there are some things that are simply silly, we don’t have to see everyone we know before Christmas just to wish them a happy Christmas. We don’t have to send Christmas cards to people just because they have been on our Christmas card list for thirty years. Will the sky fall in if we slack off just a bit and breathe slowly and actually reach the twenty-fifth of December in a state of calm rather than hyped agitation?

So, with one week to go, I’m on a mission. I’m going to explore my calm gene (I hope I have one!). I’m going to play beautiful music (as I bake the rest of the shortbread!), I’ll let the week look after itself (well mostly!) and breathe, long and deep, in and out…in and out…in and out…until it’s Boxing Day!

Happy (calm) Christmas everyone.

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Hope Farm by Peggy Frew

contentRecently, I read this gripping and jagged book by Peggy Frew. Originally I loved the name of the book, it sort of intrigued me but when I started to turn the pages it clearly became the characters that engaged me from the very beginning. It is Peggy Frew’s second novel, her first was the ‘House of Sticks’ in 2010.

The story follows the lives of Ishtar and her daughter Silver. Ishtar a young mother, clearly struggles but strives, sometimes with success and sometimes not, to raise her daughter in a rural hippie environment.  There is a strong focus on women and a compelling and sometimes agonising look into the developmental life of Silver who is often faced with circumstances where risk and deprivation lurk close to home.

This book is structurally fascinating. It moves from present to past in a  way that allows the reader to appreciate the life journey that Ishtar is thrust into. In my view, the book cleverly exposes the psychological underpinnings of the story in order to emphasise the impact of how early trauma and lack of support plays out in some people’s lives.

I was thrilled to hear that Peggy Frew was awarded the 2016 ‘Barbara Jefferis Award’, presented biennially by the Australian Society of Authors, for ‘Hope Farm’. The prize according to ‘Australian Author’ magazine is awarded to ‘the best novel written by an Australian author that depicts women and girls in a positive way and empowers the status of women and girls in society’.

‘Hope Farm’ was also short listed for the Stella Prize 2016.

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Our Souls At Night

our-souls-at-night-book-coverI’ve just read a beautiful book, in fact seven of my friends from my book-group also read it. It’s one of those books that linger on in the mind well after the last page has been turned. There is so much to take from the book and many questions to ask. We had a lively and meaningful discussion about the dilemmas faced by the characters and in particular, what can occur in families when older people step outside the prescribed community rules or  the comfort zones of those around them.

It’s a book about a widow and a widower, the widow’s grand-son and a dog. Its set in a fictional American country town called Holt. The two main characters develop a delightful but risky relationship by meeting each night at the widow’s house. Not wanting to spoil this touching and sensitive story, I won’t elaborate further on the actual plot.  The book does however, by nature of the story, raise issues of ageing, relationships, regrets, disappointments, parenting, grand-parenting and social expectations. This is a powerful but gentle book written by a seventy-year old author in the year of his impending death. Haruf tells a simple but complex story of loss, love, compassion, loneliness, wisdom and becoming old.

In my opinion the late Kent Haruf represented the human condition with incredible accuracy. His ability to put into words the need for connection and freedom from the hackles of societies’ judgement is a breath of fresh air.

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Big space outside my little space

I always love it when I spend time in another place with other people, especially if they live very different lives. This week-end was one of those times. I spent the week-end on a farming property in rural Victoria. Gum trees, green paddocks courtesy of recent and generous rain falls, canola and wheat crops, sheep and new lambs and Australian landscape as far as the eye can view.

Feeling like a real ‘townie’ in my smart leather boots instead of well-worn R M Williams, I bounced over paddocks and down muddy lanes with our friends and hosts whilst touring the property. ewe-and-lambsWe chased an arrant ewe and its’ very new twin lambs who were outside their home paddock, walked along a creek with strong running water, took a spin around a near-by lake in an open-roof sports car (not mine one of the farm owners), drank red wine and watched the sun set over the distant paddocks.

One can be forgiven for forgetting the bigger, tougher issues in life when dropped in idyllic and picturesque country side such as the one I was in for the past couple of days. Space and plenty of it can feel so relaxing and stimulating at the same time. It somehow changes the brains responses to everyday things. I found myself thinking how delightful it would be to live in a rural setting where the norms are different and the pace of life seems to resemble a gentle orchestra playing on a soft summers night.

The orchestra faded as we journeyed down the highway toward home. By the time we turned our mud-splattered car into our house in town I was making plans in my head about how to wash the mud off. Inside the door the answering machine is beeping, a friend needs me to ring her, the house is cold and we have to unpack the overnight bags. A disinterested discussion about what to eat for dinner and then a dash to catch the news at seven o’clock.

You see, it doesn’t take long for the magic to disappear. Once the space changes the normal routine rules. The rooms in our house seemed pokey and I missed the grand view of the paddocks for as long as it took to unpack my overnight bag. I did love being outside my own space and seeing and enjoying the best and fun side of rural life for a short time.

But, I know I’ve been there in the best of times, it’s not year round perfection and farmers have hard times. The space is always there but the seasons change everything. During long hot summers when the crops are harvested and the sun dries the lush green carpets to a crackling brown, the snakes come up from the near-dry lake and the garden so naturally beautiful in winter becomes lifeless and needy. It’s hot, airless and the worry for rain begins all over again.

Still, the time spent in a ‘big space’ was wonderful. It was fun, nurturing and I’m grateful that it’s out there when I have a need to escape my ‘little space’ from time to time.

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