Write!

...and the books that were read in the meantime...

2009-11-05T21:56:00.008+11:00

Here are some of the books I've read this year. I can't remember if there were others, but if they were, they were obviously highly forgettable.

Swimming, a beautiful, evocative novel set around the suburbs of Melbourne I know so well. The novel centres on one woman's journey through the experience of childlessness. There are many gut-wrenching scenes here, and the theme is sensitively and honestly explored. This first novel is capably handled by a talented and promising new writer, Enza Gandolfo.

At a writers' conference a couple of years ago, I heard one of the writers say she had put off reading any of La Vyrle Spencer's books because she thought her name was so awful. I confess I had the same impression. And how wrong we both were. After reading That Camden Summer, I have nothing but praise for Spencer. Though there is so much head-hopping in this book that it was sometimes difficult to know whose thoughts I was reading, it hardly got in the way. The story was wonderful, as were the characters. Un-put-downable.

Oh, dear. After hearing so many wonderful things about Isabel Allende, I must confess I will probably never read one of her books again. Allende's writing is masterly, there is no doubt of that, and though Daughter of Fortune told a story full of intrigue and promise, a rushed ending left far too many loose ends for my liking.The story of Laura Bush was a fascinating peek into the private life of a very public person. I thoroughly enjoyed American Wife, for its competent, smooth writing, but mostly for its voyeur quality.

What Scribbly Didn't Do

2009-11-05T21:35:00.005+11:00

Scribbly started out this year with such promise, and then completely dashed all her hopes of being able to sustain a steady blogging stream.

It seemed so easy when there were holidays and loads of free time to commit to frequent posts that would continue throughout the year.

Here we are, in November, and the posts have not even been far and few in between. They have been non-existent.

A quick update on other activities might explain why Scribbly has been absent from this page:

Building project at home has been all but completed (only concrete paths and water tanks left to be poured/installed).

Work has been busy, but very, very rewarding this year, with much wonderful outcomes achieved. This is not in a writing field, but challenging and important nonetheless.

As always, life gets in the way. Children, husband, home and marvellous friends must be fitted in. It's imperative! I know this is not an excuse for not keeping up the blog, but it's a valid choice I make.

Any spare time is taken up with writing, which this year has taken a slightly different direction. More info to follow in future posts...!

What Scribbly Did...

2009-06-03T19:33:00.008+10:00

... since the last post.

Oh, my. I have done it again, haven't I? Two and a half months without posting. Well, I've been a busy girl. First there's been the duty type stuff. That tends to creep in until there's not much room for other things. Then there's been the building project that is only weeks (fingers crossed) away from being finished. Kids are well and truly back at school and almost through second term. I've been re-assessing my writing goals with some very nice writing friends and rediscovering the joy (and sometimes the angst) of putting words together.

As I said, I've been fairly proactive with the writing, but I'm happy to say the reading hasn't been neglected either. Since my last post, I've been through a few fabulous books, and am now enjoying 'The White Tiger' by Aravind Adiga. This is the second book I've read about India, and funnily enough, both books won the Booker for their authors. I also believe - though I'm not sure - that both authors were first timers. What a way to explode onto the writing scene, hey?

But compared to 'The God of Small Things', this book is quite tongue-in-cheek and irreverent. Both books paint a picture of India as a fascinating, enigmatic, infuriating land of great disparity and mystery. For now, it's a place I prefer to read about.

While I was reading this book, I read from cover to cover, Denise Scott's hilarious autobiography. I also tried to read 'March', but it was from the library, and I took longer than the measly 3 weeks they allow you to borrow a book. I returned it and will borrow again when I've finished this one.

Oh, and I absolutely loved 'The Movie Girl'. I can imagine it being made into a movie. The heroine would probably be played by Miranda Kerr, and the leading man, well that could be, perhaps... oh, I don't know. Someone young and gorgeous like Chase Crawford. It was light-hearted, fun and well written. I was glued to the story throughout and I was impressed at how well the author managed to create a strong romantic conflict and high emotional stakes without the whole thing turning to mush. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this novel and I look forward to reading more of Kate Lace's work.

What is conflict, anyway?

2009-03-29T15:46:00.015+11:00

Yeah, what is it, really? Is it this?
Or rather something like this?

Perhaps this is more like it...

It seems simple. Lots of things do, when they're done well.

Good writers do it all the time, putting their characters at odds to create an inescapable conflict of motivation. The characters' goals may be the same or different, but in pursuing those goals, each will negate the other's chances of succeeding.

***********************************************************************************

A few nights ago, I watched the old classic, 'Irma La Douce', with my family. What a great partnering of Shirley MacLaine and Jack Lemmon. We thoroughly enjoyed it. As we watched, I was explaining to my husband how inescapable the conflict was.

Irma, a prostitute, falls in love with Nestor, an ex-policeman. Nestor replaces Irma's abusive pimp, and to show her gratitude, she sets about earning as much money as she can to dress him in the finest clothes and look after him in a way that will make her proud among the other prostitutes in the district.

Nestor is flattered, but his love for Irma makes him insanely jealous of her clients. He can't stand the thought of her with other men, so he invents an alter-ego, Lord X, who will engage Irma's services twice a week to do nothing more than play double-handed solitaire, paying her so much money she doesn't need to see other customers.

Problem is, to make a thousand Francs a week, Nestor works himself to the bone at the local produce markets and arrives home early each morning to fall into bed exhausted. Irma thinks he's losing interest in her. One day, after a quick change from Lord X to his real-life self, Nestor meets Irma in the local bar for a drink. She sees a lipstick mark on his cheek - the one she had placed on the Lord only a few minutes earlier - and accuses him of having another girl. She then announces that she has fallen in love with Lord X and plans to elope with him.

There seems nothing left for Nestor to do than to dispose of Lord X. But when Nestor throws Lord X's clothes and belongings in the Seine, noisily proclaiming his joy at being finally rid of the Lord, he is spotted by Irma's old pimp. The police are called and Nestor is arrested and subsequently convicted for the murder of Lord X.

I won't spoil the ending, as there are a few more complications before Irma and Nestor are happily reunited, but I thought this was a splendid example of inescapable emotional conflict. Irma's and Nestor's motivations for getting what they wanted were diametrically opposed. In the status quo, no resolution was possible. Thankfully, unfolding events provided the stimulus for character change, and that in turn enabled the protagonists to change events so that they could be - happily - together at the end.

There. Now wasn't that confusing?

Last night I drew Jennifer Crusie's conflict grid on a page and tried to nut out the conflict of my current characters. I haven't yet given up on them, as I think they've got potential. It was harder than I thought to get the conflict grid working so that each of their motivations prevented the other's goal from succeeding. I must have drawn that grid at least fifteen times before I hit on a workable conflict. But for this to happen, I had to change the story I'd originally planned to write. It was a difficult process that kept me up past midnight. It was worth it, however, as I feel more satisfied with the new plot than I have for a long time. What this means, though, is that I have to wipe everything I've written so far and start again. And I thought this writing caper was going to be easy...!!!

State of flux

2009-03-28T21:06:00.007+11:00

My current novel has ground to a halt.

Several weeks ago, I received yet another rejection from Harlequin for the manuscript I'd sent them most recently. Now I have no irons in the fire, and since the rejection letter was identical to the last, I think it's time to stop and take stock.

All sorts of questions are running through my head. Am I writing for the right publisher? Is my work more suited to a different line, or to another genre of writing altogether? Clearly, there is something about my writing that isn't working, so now is a good time to stop and consider what I'm doing.

Over the last few years, I've built up a bit of knowledge about how to structure a novel. My writing - hopefully - has improved. So what is it about it that's going to take it to the next level? I think this is a crucial consideration at this point, and the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced I need to be more strategic about what I write, how I write it, and to whom I pitch it.

When I think about my current novel, there are several elements that don't sit quite right with me. I have the emotional conflict worked out... I think. But is it as clear in my mind as it should be? Perhaps not enough to provide that clarity for the reader in a way that's going to make them want to turn the page.

Part of the problem could be that in trying to 'fit' into a certain genre - and Romance has been the genre of choice thus far - I am perhaps not able to express myself in the voice that comes most naturally to me. If this is in fact the case, then I might be sabotaging myself in a way that will always prevent an editor from seeing who I really am.

So I'm going to take some time to mull all these issues over and come up with a plan. I feel a great sense of affinity for romance, for the breadth of storylines available, which provide endless opportunities to explore character and emotion. If I'm totally honest, what attracts me the most to romance is being able to explore women's issues in great depth.

With this in mind, I'm going to analyse what I've done so far, see what possibilities lay ahead, and make a plan of attack. There will be setbacks along the journey, but I'm more than willing to persevere, since there's something inside me that urges me on. I don't know if Harlequin is the right fit for me, but I know there's something out there that is. It's my passionate and resolute aim to find it.

The Slap

2009-03-28T00:07:00.006+11:00

Apologies for the long posting absence. And after such a valiant start, too! I knew this would happen as soon as work got going again.

I finished reading Christos Tsiolkas' 'The Slap' quite a while ago, and have been in a quandary about what to write. This is, after all, not a critic's blog, and I - as an aspiring writer - feel I don't have the credentials to give it a hiding. In particular, I don't want to be the kind of aspiring writer who likes to tear other writers' work to shreds. Everyone has their own individual voice, and their own message to convey, and thank God for that. Wouldn't it be boring otherwise? Still, I guess that as a reader - and a discerning one at that - I do have the right to voice an opinion.

First, I would like to commend Christos Tsiolkas on his strong and convincing voice. The novel reads easily, and is very graphic in its attempt at realism. A few of my friends have read it and we discussed it while it was still fresh in our minds. These friends are intelligent, well-read, professional women, and though each of us had a slightly different take on where the novel took us, we pretty much all agreed on one thing: how the book made us feel.

Tsiolkas' realism was a tad too brutal and ugly for me. Though I'd felt sympathy for almost all the characters in the beginning of the novel, as the story unfolded and each character was placed under the microscope, fatal character flaws were exposed, which made it difficult to find any redeeming qualities. Above all, I felt sort of dirty after reading this book. The language was unnecessarily foul. This observation isn't made because I'm a prude who's averse to swearing - quite the contrary. I think the odd, well-placed swear word can express emotions with great economy. I just don't think people generally swear as much as the characters in 'The Slap'. Bad language was used so often that it became redundant. Consequently, the impact was lost, and all that remained was a general feeling that the novel was coarse.

The sex scenes were mostly unpleasant too. Well-written and spare, but again, the sex was ugly except for one scene where one of the characters is being unfaithful to her husband. I couldn't help wishing she'd take off with him, seeing as her husband's regard for women seemed to border on misogyny.

Drug use among young people was another facet to this novel that I found disturbing. Again, I'm not naive on the subject. I know young - and old - people - do drugs. There's no shock factor there. However, I found the portrayal of young people just out of VCE, languishing in an empty, directionless world to be quite depressing.

For these reasons, I found it difficult to suspend disbelief while reading. The obnoxiousness of the characters and the grim situations in which they found themselves, continually pulled me out of the story. As such, 'The Slap' was hard to reconcile as a true depiction of contemporary suburban life in Melbourne. Though Tsiolkas' cast of characters spanned a wide range of cultural and socio-economic groups, they were all alike in one sense. The glaring disparity of their lives was bridged by a common sense of pessimism and wariness that drove each character to commit acts of destructive recklessness.

Tsiolkas has been commended for this work, and I agree it was a mildly compelling read. For me, what kept me going was more the level of my investment in the novel than pure joy of reading it. Like one of those slightly weird SBS movies that come on late at night and keep me glued to the screen because I'm too tired to get off the couch, turning the pages of 'The Slap' was a case of hanging on until the end in the hope of some kind of redemption. Sadly, that was not to be.

Postscript on The Prince Of Tides

2009-02-12T10:06:00.003+11:00

I finished this sumptuous book while still on holiday down the beach. Picking it up and taking myself down to the sunroom for some unlimited reading time was more luxurious to me than a visit to a day spa. The mornings were chilly while away, and I'd get under the doona of the sofa bed and snuggle while Pat Conroy's evocative words transported me to a world far away, see-sawing between the lowlands of South Carolina and the stylish streetscape of Manhattan.

Since finishing the book, I've raved about it to anyone who'll care to listen. I've already passed it on, and I have two on the waiting list to read it. All for a book that cost me 50c at the school fete.

Quite simply, it was one of the best books I've ever read, and I did little analysing while I read. I was too busy being mesmerised by the rich prose. Never one for poetic descriptions of scenery, I found that Conroy's long passages on the sea islands of South Carolina never became tiresome. Infinitely fascinating would be a more fitting description. With a masterful stroke of his pen, he was able to convey in a depth rarely seen in many novels, the love Tom Wingo felt for his beloved island and surrounding coastline.

While I still had access to the computer, I posted a few 'Literary Gems' from the book. These were passages that entranced me with the beauty of words or by the deep insight into character or situations. Some novels are lucky to possess only one or two of these types of moments, but in the case of The Prince Of Tides, I could have picked out a passage of such brilliance every two or three pages - sometimes more. If I hadn't been computerless, I could well have kept on posting, and I'm sure by now I'd be up to 'Literary Gem # 159). But by the time I returned home, I was already into my next novel, which was a good thing, since posting the 'Literary Gems' was more intended to tease and entice than to spoil the experience for others.

I wish I hadn't seen the movie before reading the novel. Admittedly, it's been many years since I saw it, and that helped me to think more in terms of the story rather than the screen adaptation. As with many great novels, the book was far, far better than the film, since it concentrated in greater detail on the life of the Wingo family as the children were growing up. The entire point of the novel is the backstory, and Conroy houses the novel in the past more than the present. From memory, the film did the opposite. There is so much told about the family that couldn't be covered in a two hour film, and it's these events, so sensitively conveyed, that enrich the novel in a way that is beyond a film-maker's limitations.

Now I look forward to my friends reading it so we can discuss it. I wholeheartedly give this book 5 stars!

Aaaaahhhhh, the summer...

2009-01-29T23:07:00.016+11:00

Yes indeed, the Summer! Sometimes it was freezing and nasty like this, and other times it was blissfully perfect. Here are some images from my week away.

The amazing random penguin!?! Can you believe there were three of these little guys frolicking under the Rosebud pier for days? They had plenty of little fish to keep their pudgy bodies in perfectly rotund shape. Fascinating how the little critters can swim. Just as fast as fish, which makes sense if they're to have any hope of catching any.

Is this gorgeous, or what? Just about everywhere I turned to look was a vision of heaven. Photo opportunities were too many to take advantage of. And every magic vision was accompanied by that dread feeling of, it's-all-coming-to-an-end-far-too-soon-and-I'll-be-back-in-the-rat-race-before-I-know-it. Still, I tried not to focus on the finishing line in favour of letting my thirsty soul drink of the magnificence.

I jumped off this pier! Yes I did. For days, my kids had been doing it, and one day I thought I'd be brave enough to try it. Middle child urged me on, and so we walked right down to the end where it's deep so I could give it a go. I have to admit I chickened out at first and did a tame little jump off the lower platform. That got my courage going a bit, and a few other jumps followed. It's been literally decades since I did anything of the sort, and it was surprising how quickly I got back into the routine of taking a breath and expelling it as I hit the water. The taste of salt in my nostrils took me back to my childhood.

With my pride intact after a few jumps from the lower deck, I climbed to the top level once more. It still looked way too high, but then I told myself to stop thinking and just do it. And so I did. What I didn't know, was that my husband and remaining kids were watching from the beach. My oldest told me later that husband was doing a running commentary, a la Olympic diving event. I can't say I enjoyed the high dive terribly, except that actually going through with it held a certain spark of achievement.

The day of jumping off the pier was the very last day of our holiday. The water was as clear as glass, a tropical light blue close to shore, graduating out in increasingly dark ribbons. In the shallows, it was as tepid as bath water. We swam for the greater part of the day, and stayed on the beach for a pizza dinner. After that we swam again, soaking in the last sensations of another beautiful holiday reluctantly drawing to a close.

And now we're home. Yes indeed. The summer highs have sure hit with a ferocious vengeance here in Melbourne. For weeks, all my skimpy summer clothes stayed hung in the cupboard, until I wondered if I would get a chance to wear them at all this summer. Cardigans and polar fleeces had too good a workout all through spring right up until a few days ago. Now I can take out the halter-neck dresses and floaty fabrics, since our previously 'cool' summer has died in a fiery, mid-season climax.

The current heatwave of above 40 degree temperatures is out of the ordinary, and has tested all my previous contingency measures. I'm one who tends to boast about the coolness of my house. 'It doesn't get hot until the third above 30 day,' I tell anyone who'll care to listen. 'We only use our air conditioner once each summer, and only for about 20 minutes.' Boy oh boy! Yesterday (our first full day back from holidays) we only lasted until lunchtime, and today the air-con has been on for 20 min, off for 20 min because I'm trying not to use it too extravagantly. The television is on pretty much permanently due to the tennis, and Channel 7 is constantly driving fear into me by reporting on all the power outages throughout the city. Images of people throwing out the entire contents of their freezer are enough to make me want to brave the heatwave cold turkey... or rather, hot turkey.

Occasional Literary Gem #5

2009-01-18T22:48:00.002+11:00

Now we come to characterisation.

Pat Conroy's incisive descriptions go beyond regular perception. When I first read this passage, I marvelled at how Conroy is able to convey an impression with his sharply intuitive turn of phrase. The way he describes Winthrop Ogletree and his funeral parlour, utterly captures the essence and mood of the character and the setting. I no longer have to imagine. I'm right there in the room alongside Ogletree, as though my senses belonged to the POV character, Tom Wingo.

'The undertaker, Winthrop Ogletree, was waiting in the foyer of the large, rambling Victorian house at the end of the Street of Tides where he practiced his trade. He was dressed in a dark suit and his hands were folded against his stomach in an attitude of enforced piety. He was tall and thin and had a complexion like goat cheese left on the table too long. The funeral parlor smelled like dead flowers and unanswered prayers. When he wished us a good day, his voice was reptilian and unctuous and you knew he was only truly comfortable in the presence of the dead. He looked as if he had died two or three times himself in order to appreciate better the subtleties of his vocation. Winthrop Ogletree had the face of an unlucky vampire who never received an adequate portion of blood.'

Occasional Literary Gem #4

2009-01-18T21:00:00.004+11:00

Though I've had a busy weekend, returning from a stay-over at Indi's gorgeous beach retreat to the usual round of commitments, I'm still making my way pleasurably through Pat Conroy's amazing 'Prince Of Tides'.

The following passage is one of Tom Wingo's reminiscences, and at this stage of the novel, appears to serve no direct purpose other than to enrich the already kaleidoscopic setting. I don't imagine there will be a need to revisit Mr Fruit, however the brief appearance of this eccentric character adds another dimension to the already multi-textured setting of the novel.

'We came to the intersection of Baitery Road and the Street of Tides and to one of Colleton's two traffic lights. Out in the harbor, sailboats canted into the wind, their sails papery and overwhelmed with sunlight. A fifty-foot yacht made the turn in the river and signaled the bridge tender with four throaty barks of the horn. Mr. Fruit, sporting a baseball cap and white gloves, was directing traffic at the intersection. We waited for him to grant us permission to cross the street. It did not matter to Mr. Fruit if the light was red or green. Mr. Fruit relied on intuition and his own internal sense of balance and symmetry to get the traffic through his corner of the world.

Fantastic, bizarre, and vigilant, he was a tall, lanky black man of indeterminate age who seemed to consider the town of Colleton his personal responsibility. I don't know to this day if Mr. Fruit was retarded or deluded or some harmless sweet-faced lunatic given free rein to drift about his native town spreading the joy of an inarticulate gospel to his neighbors. I don't know his real name or who his family was or where he spent the night. I know he was indigenous and that no one questioned his right to direct the traffic on the Street of Tides.

There was a time when a new deputy tried to teach Mr. Fruit about the difference between a red and a green light, but Mr. Fruit had resisted all efforts to reorder what he had been doing perfectly well for many years. He not only monitored the comings and goings of the town, his presence softened the ingrained evil that flourished along the invisible margins of the town's consciousness. Any community can be judged in its humanity or corruption by how it manages to accommodate the Mr. Fruits of the world. Colleton simply adjusted itself to Mr. Fruit's harmonies and ordinations. He did whatever he felt was needed and he did it with style. "That's the southern way," my grandmother said. "That's the nice way."

"Hey, babe," he cried out when he saw us, and "Hey, babe," we cried back. He wore a silver whistle around his neck and a beatific, inerasable smile on his face. He tooted his whistle and waved his long arms in graceful exaggerated swoops. He pivoted and danced toward the lone approaching car, his left hand at a right angle to his bony wrist. The car stopped and Mr. Fruit motioned for us to cross the street, blowing on his whistle in perfect synchronization with my grandmother's footsteps. Mr. Fruit was born to direct traffic. He also led all parades in Colleton, no matter how solemn or festive the occasion. Those were his two functions in the life of the town and he performed them very well. My grandfather would always tell us that Mr. Fruit had done as well with what he had as any man my grandfather had ever met.'

Frivolity?

2009-01-16T00:42:00.004+11:00

Here it is, my new toaster. My old toaster is now in a plastic bag at the bottom of the pantry - just in case this new one goes bung and we need the old, trusty, still-in-good-working-order toaster to come to the rescue.

Why buy a new toaster when the old one still works? Aesthetics, pure and simple. The old one was twenty years old... yes, a wedding gift, and amazingly the only toaster we were given. It performed valiantly through all these years, never missing a beat and producing a mean slice of toast or crumpet every time. It was a daggy white one with not a stylish line in its uninspiring design.

Over the years its enamel had scratched, and one of the plastic sides had broken when dropped once. Still, it kept on working. Even when it used to be plugged inside the pantry (so I could conceal its ugliness) and one of the kids accidentally let a party balloon fall into it from a higher shelf while we were toasting. Ooohhh, the smell of burning rubber! Nevertheless, it shrugged off that indignity and carried on undaunted.

But the days when we had enough room inside the pantry to house a working toaster are long gone. There was a time when I would use the toaster on the kitchen bench, then store it in the pantry afterwards. It was a squish, but at least it was out of sight. Eventually, even that small space disappeared, and the task of clearing a new space to hide the toaster always seemed to be mine for the taking. Inevitably, the ugly toaster took up its permanent position on the kitchen bench, rightfully next to the ugly white plastic kettle. When that kettle thankfully died and I replaced it with a beautiful, shiny stainless steel model, I began to dream of an equally beautiful toaster to partner it. One that would be a visual asset to the kitchen, that would hold its place on the bench without causing shame. An object of beauty as well as flawless function.

So I guess this post is an ode to that old toaster, for I do feel a tad guilty in having shoved it aside. We lead such a consumerist way of life in our rich country, and my action today was the kind of thing I regularly shake my head at. Buying a new toaster when the old one still works was a wasteful act. How superficial, what a waste of resources, to want a toaster for its looks, not performance. My parents would never have done such a thing. Every appliance in their house is allowed to die a natural death before they replace it, and that's the way it should be.

And worse, I must confess that I didn't even check where the new toaster was made before making my purchase. For all I know, it's imported, and there were probably Australian-made ones on the shelf that I overlooked. Though if that was the case, they weren't nearly pretty enough.

Now for a few apologies: Sorry, old, still-working toaster. Sorry, world environment. Sorry, Australian economy. Sorry, Mum & Dad (who taught me not to waste).

Can't wait for tomorrow morning so I can try out the gorgeous new toaster.

Occasional Literary Gem #3

2009-01-12T00:02:00.003+11:00

And another gem. This is the letter Tom Wingo, the narrator of the novel, keeps in his wallet. It was written to him years ago by his sister, the famous poet Savannah Wingo, after she watched him coach a game of football. In this scene, he is prompted to take the letter out and read it again. The letter is a well-used device, a beautiful illustration of the unshakeable love that binds these two characters together. I found it inspirational, and I guess it would perhaps be more so to anyone who had sons.

"Dear Coach,

I was thinking about what you can teach your boys, Tom. What language you can use for the love of boys driven by your voice across the grass you mowed yourself. When I saw you and your team win the first game, all the magic of sport came to me silver voiced, like whistles. There are no words to describe how beautiful you looked delivering urgent messages to quarterbacks, signalling for time-outs, pacing the green, unnaturally lit sidelines, loved by your sister for your unimaginable love of play, for the soft gauzy immensity of your love for all the boys and all the games of the world.

But there are some things only sisters can teach the coaches in their lives. Teach them this, Tom, and teach them very well: Teach them the quiet verbs of kindness, to live beyond themselves. Urge them toward excellence, drive them toward gentleness, pull them deep into yourself, pull them upward toward manhood, but softly like an angel arranging clouds, Let your spirit move through them softly, as your spirit moves through me.

I cried last night when I heard your voice above the crowd. I heard you cheering for the clumsy tackle, the slow-footed back, music of your sweet praise. But Tom, my brother, the lion, all golden and hurt: Teach them what you know the best. There is no poem and no letter that can pass your one ineffable gift to boys. I want them to take from you the knowledge of how to be the gentlest, the most perfect brother.

Savannah"

Occasional Literary Gem #2

2009-01-11T23:48:00.003+11:00

I'm enjoying 'The Prince Of Tides' immensely. As I remarked earlier, what strikes me the most about Pat Conroy's writing is the beautiful way he puts words together. It's a difficult thing to achieve once or twice in a novel, but he seems to do it incredibly regularly. I have been impressed by this regularity several times already, and I haven't read the first 100 pages yet.

Here is gem #2:

"In mental hospitals, no matter how humanistic or enlightened, keys are the manifest credentials of power, the steel asterisks of freedom and mobility. The march of orderlies and nurses is accompanied by the alienating cacophony of singing keys striking against thighs, annotating the passage of the free. When you find yourself listening to their keys and owning none, you will come close to understanding the white terror of the soul that comes with being banished from all commerce with mankind."

Twilight - The Movie

2009-01-10T22:07:00.002+11:00

If you haven't already seen Twilight - the Movie, here's the official trailer. Go on, you know you want to watch it. I certainly do.

Twilight

2009-01-10T21:27:00.005+11:00

Well, I did it. I read 'Twilight' by Stephenie Meyer.

For months, I've watched my teenage daughter be so obsessed with all the books in this series that it was something akin to a satanic possession - or should I say vampiric possession (is there such a word?). Every moment of her day - waking or sleeping - was immersed in the events and characters of these books. She read the first and was hooked immediately. The second, she purchased while holidaying on the Mornington Peninsula. As well as taking part in the usual activities with the rest of us - going for walks or to the beach - she finished the novel the same day. Which means she virtually devoured the thing.

As the date for release of the fourth book approached, she and a friend pre-ordered copies at a local bookshop. After much anticipation, the blessed day finally arrived. The two girls caught the bus to the bookshop as soon as school finished. It's an easy walk, but the bus would deliver them there faster so they could start reading all the sooner. They'd organised to have a sleepover that night so their reading wouldn't be interrupted. They read from the time they arrived home right through to dinner time, and then afterwards until the early hours of the morning.

The sleepover had turned into a read-a-thon. They gushed about the fourth book, more satisfied than ever with the product of Stephenie Meyer's inventive mind.

Then came the movie... The waiting, the obsessing, the ordering of special preview tickets. The gushing yet again afterwards about how GOOD it was, how they couldn't believe what a good job the film-makers had done, how true to the story, how amazing the special effects, how beautiful Bella, how handsome Edward... on and on and on and on. I won't give you all the details or this could turn into the fifth instalment of the Twilight series. Let's just say that 2008 was a very 'Twilight' sort of year.

And so I felt I had to read it.

In the beginning, I have to say that Edward left me - literally - cold. He is a vampire, after all. And though he's the nicest possible vampire you could meet, with impeccable manners, he still is a vampire. When he touches Bella, he feels cold. He doesn't breathe. His skin looks white. His heart doesn't beat. Not exactly the red-blooded tender Alpha male I go for. Not a Mr Darcy or Hugh Grant in sight.

By the middle of the book I was starting to feel a bit more sympathetic towards him - this is where his sad history is revealed, and by the end of the book I have to admit that I did love him.

What I found most interesting, however, was Stephenie Meyer's clever plotting. Textbook 'Jennifer-Crusie-4-Act-Structure', if you ask me. And it worked beautifully.

FIRST TURNING POINT : Bella realises Edward is a vampire and that she's in love with him (I'm not giving anything away here by quoting from this part of the book, since it was the promotional snippet used on the back cover). 'About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him - and I didn't know how dominant that part might be - that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.'

SECOND TURNING POINT - THE POINT OF NO RETURN: This is where everything changes for Bella and for Edward. He tells her everything about himself and his family, potentially threatening their well-guarded secret. Fully informed, Bella makes a conscious decision to accept Edward and continue the journey.

THIRD TURNING POINT - THE BLACK MOMENT: I won't reveal too much here, but it really is the blackest of moments. This part of the book was breathtaking, fast-paced, suspenseful, if a little predictable. For a teenage read, it would certainly have been exhilarating. I can now understand the frenzy the books have generated.

Now I'm being pestered to read the next books in the series, or to read Meyer's other book 'The Host'. I keep telling my teenager that I don't do fantasy, and that getting 'into' Bella and Edward's world was quite enough for me. I don't really fancy starting again with a different set of monsters.

I think something rather more everyday. A novel about dysfunctional families, suicide, broken marriages and child abuse is on the list. Enter 'The Prince Of Tides', waiting for me on the coffee table.

Occasional Literary Gem #1

2009-01-10T16:32:00.004+11:00

Sometimes you can read a whole book and remain completely underwhelmed. Sometimes, the words on the page are so powerful that it's difficult not to be overcome.

I picked up an old copy of 'The Prince Of Tides' by Pat Conroy at my children's school fete for 50c recently. Being a Barbra Streisand fan, I couldn't pass it up. I haven't read the novel yet, though today, I skimmed the first page and was struck by the beautiful way Conroy puts words together. I read the following passage out loud to one of my daughters and it was difficult to keep the emotion out of my voice. By the expression on her face, I could tell she felt much the same way.

It is the second paragraph of the novel, narrated by the main character, Tom Wingo, the son of a South Carolina sea island shrimper.

"When I was ten I killed a bald eagle for pleasure, for the singularity of the act, despite the divine, exhilarating beauty of its solitary flight over schools of whiting. It was the only thing I had ever killed that I had never seen before. After my father beat me for breaking the law and for killing the last eagle in Colleton County, he made me build a fire, dress the bird, and eat its flesh as tears rolled down my face. Then he turned me in to Sheriff Benson, who locked me in a cell for over an hour. My father took the feathers and made a crude Indian headdress for me to wear to school. He believed in the expiation of sin. I wore the headdress for weeks, until it began to disintegrate feather by feather. Those feathers trailed me in the hallways of the school as though I were a molting, discredited angel.

'Never kill anything that's rare,' my father had said.

'I'm lucky I didn't kill an elephant,' I replied.

'You'd have had a mighty square meal if you had,' he answered.

My father did not permit crimes against the land. Though I have hunted
again, all eagles are safe from me."

Something So Simple

2009-01-09T11:48:00.009+11:00

Yesterday, I did something very simple. I drove ten minutes to an Officeworks store, and I bought myself a lamp just like the one in the picture above. It cost $10. Seems unremarkable, doesn't it?

But in reality, this was an amazing thing for me, since I haven't had a lamp next to my bed for 20 years. 20 YEARS, that's right. I can hardly believe I did it, and now that I have light on my side of the bed I don't know why I didn't spend $10 and ten minutes of my time 20 years ago.

Visitors to this blog might be shaking their heads, wondering what would possess someone not to have a bedside light, but the reason is probably a common one: Procrastination.

You see, after we moved to our first house, I was planning to get a light once we got bedside tables, but there was always something else to buy instead, and the bedside tables - not necessities - always seemed to get pushed to the end of the list. After 10 years in the first house, we moved to a smaller house, and though there was room for bedside tables, it would have made for a more cramped space. So the arrangement we had was this: husband had a lamp on the floor that he would flick up to reflect against the white wardrobe doors when we were (or I was) reading. This worked fairly well, providing me with enough light to read, however it was annoying if he stopped reading first - or just wanted to sleep. Sometimes he would be unconsciously 'waiting' to turn off the light for me. Other times I would feel bad about waking him, and so I would walk around to his side of the bed to turn off the light before feeling my way back to my side.

If this was an okay arrangement, what was it in the end that made me change things, go out and do the outrageous thing of actually buying a lamp for myself? In the end, my body made the decision for me. My eyesight is fantastic, and I can read easily without glasses, but my eyes aren't what they used to be. I sometimes have to 'adjust' the distance between my eyes and the text by holding what I'm reading further away. I also struggle in poor light.

In the end, that was what did it. Reflected light from a white wardrobe just wasn't enough. Now I have my own light, and I'm in heaven.

As for the bedside tables...

An odd kind of synchronicity

2009-01-09T11:40:00.003+11:00

Just a bit of trivia, but interesting nonetheless. Though my posting has been terribly slow the last few months, I noticed today that I clocked up exactly the same number of posts for the last two years. Amazing, since I wasn't keeping tabs on it. What does this mean???

Perhaps 34 posts a year is my natural output level (when I'm not pushing myself). If I stick to my intended target of posting at least once a week this year, I should increase my total by more than 50%!

There. Now I've bored everyone to tears, I'll have to come up with something more exciting for the next post... but don't count on it. If I'm to post more often, the posts might get more humdrum - or on the other hand, a la Seinfeld, they could yield some subtle revelations into my character.

Roll on 2009!

2009-01-08T16:39:00.020+11:00

Happy New Year!!!

I know it's a cliche, but hasn't the year flown? So much has been achieved, but at what cost? 2008 for me was a year that had few quiet places. I read a wonderful book called 'The Dance of Anger', written by Harriet Lerner that I truly believed was written for me! It's a book that focuses on why women often feel angry. I only had to read the opening paragraph to understand something of the conflict my busy life thrusts upon me - or I thrust upon myself.

Our anger may tell us that we are not addressing an important emotional issue in our lives, or that too much of our self - our beliefs, values, desires, or ambitions - is being compromised in a relationship. Our anger may be a signal that we are doing more and giving more than we can comfortably do or give. (Lerner, 1985 p.1)
I took two important things from this book:
When seeking solutions, you can't change others. You can only change yourself.
The theory of 'underperforming' and 'overperforming'.

It seems that some of my frustration with other people in my family could be alleviated if I just allowed myself to 'underperform' a bit. This seems simple, and quite frankly, I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier, but when children are little and you have to do everything for them, it's easy to fall into the trap of continuing that behaviour well past the time when they're old enough to do things for themselves. Years pass quickly when you're busy, and often you're well into the next phase before you've realised it. Looking over my shoulder, I can now see I've let my big kids get into bad habits. Often, they do far too little, and I'm doing them a disservice by underestimating their maturity.

In today's child-indulgent times, we desperately want our children to always be happy, but we've forgotten that in order for that to happen (and always happy is neither desirable nor realistic for any normal person), children need to grow into adults who are independent and able. They must be able to appropriately relate to others in the workplace and in social circumstances. This requires co-operation, kindness, and self-reliance. A dash of humility certainly never goes astray.

By 'overperforming', I am robbing my children of the experiences they need to become functional adults. They need practice at this stuff now in order to save a lot of unnecessary angst as they negotiate the adult world in the future.

And so I am trying hard to 'underperform', though I have to say that 'letting go' isn't easy. The hardest part is accepting that things (household chores, cooking etc.) will get done, but not necessarily to my standards. I have to accept that everyone does things differently.

Last night I woke at 3am - a common thing while on holidays and the days don't tire me out the way they usually do during the working year - and I started thinking. I thought until first light, and by morning I had a few New Year's Resolutions that I thought I would have a crack at this year. Not that I think they're all possible, but I do believe it's important to write them down so at least the process is formalised. If I don't manage to achieve these goals, then I should probably do a bit more soul searching. That done, I can change my tactics and have another go the following year.

Here they are, in no particular order:

More time for reading
More time for writing, and this includes...
Blogging more regularly
More time to catch up with friends (I see a theme emerging, here)
Making a decision about the direction my work should take
Getting my 'paperwork' under control - I feel cluttered in my head otherwise
Relaxing, letting go, being kinder to myself and to my children
Remembering we're here for only a short time - how to make it count...!
Chasing my dreams
Trying something new
Being honest with myself - and letting others know of those choices

I know some of this sounds cryptic, but it's difficult to explain it without getting too personal. I'm sure if I read someone else's list I would interpret according to my own experience. The gift I will try to give myself this year is TIME.

Long time between drinks

2008-11-27T21:13:00.004+11:00

It's easy to blame people, situations... stuff. There's always a reason why it's hard to sit down and write, or blog, or do all those things that fills us up. In the past few months, I've had a list of excuses as long as my leg (yes, longer than my arm). First came the rejections, then the bad performance in a writing competition, and so I allowed myself to swallow the excuses. Can't write because I'm busy at work. Can't write because tonight I really feel like veging in front of the telly. Can't write because I need more time to think about this story because this time I really need to get it right. Can't write because there's a certain intangible something that I must discover that will be the answer I've been seeking and will help me to become that writer I dream of... On and on and on. What a load of bullshit.

Truth is, sometimes - or oftentimes - it's hard to write, because it's hard to write. Simple as that. Maybe it's hard because the ideas don't seem to be there - and they certainly won't come without putting fingers to the keys. Or maybe it's hard because writing - writing well, that is - involves opening yourself up in a way that allows others to wound you. And nobody likes to make themselves vulnerable. Sometimes writing feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. Somewhat safe, but still scary. Other times it feels like walking along wearing a blindfold with someone leading you God knows where. Every step feels as though it could lead you into an abyss, and we edge forward centimetres at a time when the actual reality is that it's smooth and safe ahead. If only we had the guts to take big steps and really get moving.

In the last few weeks, I've joined a writing group with some women I've known for a few years - great writers, some published and others on the way - and it feels good. I'm nudging myself forward again, venturing material for their advice and criticism. It feels quite safe, as they're all (the ones I've met so far) lovely women and the environment feels supremely supportive. Just what any writer needs. Another reason joining this group is a great step forward is that it's going to push me to keep producing material for workshopping. Yesterday I put forward the first chapter of my new WIP, and I really enjoyed getting the variety of feedback from the group. Now I have somewhere to go with it and I can start to tackle my problems with lack of tension, or conflict. It's all good, so thank you friends!

Another plus is that the group produces quite a lot of poetry, and so I have been pushed outside my comfort zone, to examine writing that isn't up my alley. Poetry is so good for defining emotion and visual imagery with an economy of words, which is good for me, the 'too much' girl. Hopefully this will teach me to pare it back, be spare, and with that, make less words do the job more powerfully.

Hiatus

2008-10-22T21:19:00.004+11:00

Whoo... a month! In fact longer than a month. That's how long it's been since my last post. Every now and then I thought about this lonely little blog, mostly just to feel guilty about how I haven't posted and how pathetic it must seem hanging out there in cyber space with no readers and no new entries... Sort of comi-tragic, isn't it?

But I've been busy with other stuff, and the writing has been on a kind of holding pattern. The last two rejections made me start thinking about where I'm going with this writing thing, so I've taken some time to set some new goals. This interlude has coincided with a particularly busy time in my life, work-wise and personally, with a major building project going on in my back yard, so it hasn't been all about the writing.

Today, after much dithering (reading, re-reading, fiddling, making changes, re-reading, reversing changes...) I posted off the first three chapters of my latest manuscript. It's aimed at Harlequin Romance (Sweet, for Aussie readers), and was the manuscript I pitched at the RWA conference. Hard to believe it took me so long to get my act together, but the synopsis is never a pleasure to write, and neither is the cover letter. It almost seems as though they've been put there as two excruciating rites of passage that every unpublished writer must go through before launching their manuscript into the great unknown. Today I knew I had to get it off my chest so I could forge ahead with something new. There's something about having a finished manuscript hanging about that clutters up my head. Even when I'm meant to be doing other work, work that has absolutely nothing to do with writing, my thoughts are clogged, and somehow, I'm not as efficient.

Now that it's on its way to Surrey, UK, let's hope the vast space in my head created by the manuscript's departure can be put to good use. I am a few chapters into a new novel that I'm calling 'Take A Chance On Me', but I aim to start from the beginning and aim the story down a new road. Time for changes, time to try something slightly different. You never know what's around the corner.

The Road Ahead

2008-09-10T12:03:00.008+10:00

Writing time lately has been nil. I blame work, but deep down I know that's not really an excuse. What is happening at the moment for me, is that a few things (such as 2 rejections in quick succession) have made me stop and take stock.

What is it about my writing that could improve? How do I take it to the next level?

I have always written rather 'organically'. I put my fingers to the keyboard, thoughts flow out. Sure, I've become a lot more structured as time goes on. There is more depth to the writing, more to consider about plot, structure, theme, emotional conflict and the like. These 'improvements' all stem from my ongoing thirst into all things literary, from reading, talking and writing, from networking. But is it enough? What can I do to keep progressing? To keep from stagnating.

In my last post, I mentioned fleetingly how insightful I found Anne Gracie's workshop on 'Reading the Rejection Letter'. This workshop wasn't just about rejection letters and how to interpret what editors are saying, but rather on how to 'convert' that feedback into writing that sells.

Here are some of the gems I took from Anne Gracie's workshop:

Rejection letters tell you who you are

This relates to reading beyond suggestions/criticism and seeing through to the other side. Eg: Is the editor telling you you're too verbose for the genre? Perhaps you're in the wrong genre! What is the 'promise' of the line you're pitching your writing at? Do you really understand the requirements?

The publisher/editor needs to LOVE your heroine!

If your hero/heroine is NOT lovable, then what do you need to change? Sometimes a few tweaks will do the job. A little more introspection will reveal her character enough that the reader sees she's conflicted in her actions - not just callous or thoughtless. One way to accomplish this is to have the character 'thinking' before speaking. If she's thinking the opposite to what she's saying, then the contradiction is obvious to the reader.

Your book needs to be a strong roller coaster ride

No weak/ordinary characters

Editors want their socks knocked off

Readers want a story to take you away from mundane reality

Think of a movie premise that makes you want to go and watch that particular film immediately. An irresistible premise such as that is the hook you need. It needs to be a fresh take.

A romance is a sexy duel, a fun duel. The protagonists have to spark off each other. That means sparkling dialogue

This is an area I sorely need to improve. Boring characters are an obvious alarm signal. As such:

Don't be afraid to be bold

Dig into the dark inner past, bring it out

Find ways to do crazy, over-the-top/on-the-edge love-stuff

Emotional punch IS the roller coaster ride

What strong emotions are readers going to feel in your current novel? Fear, anxiety, empathy, excitement, self-doubt, lust, humiliation? Are they going to feel daunted, joyful, hopeless, bewildered? 'Yearning' is a good one. Think about the passionate emotions of a mother in relation to her child. THAT is the kind of depth you should be striving for.

When dealing with emotions, though, a writer must remember to provide contrast. A book written in extremes will be exhausting to read. There has to be light and shadow. The contrast is what makes it work.

Make emotions as strong as you can

Can anxiety become despair? Annoyance become rage? Think about it. Editors don't buy stories because they're well written.

A storyteller SPELLBINDS

Does your story have sexual/emotional tension? Does it have a titillating scenario? Good likable characters? Unpredictability? What are the books that blew you away? What was it about those books that created that sense of uniqueness? What was it about those books you loved? How can you create a similar experience for your readers? A mildly pleasant, enjoyable read won't catch an editor's eye.

Editors don't buy books that are JUST well-researched or well-written

Blow-you-away storytelling will get you there

What is REALLY about your story? Is it really funny? Really exciting? Really touching? Really emotional?

Don't move the characters around like chess pieces. It should feel natural for the characters to behave in a particular way

Give your characters disasters in their past

Their baggage will determine their behaviour

Get inside the characters

Put them into conflict and follow them

A good story is about people and how they change. Choices with consequences!

Giving characters choices makes the reader barrack

And in returning to great characters, what specifically is it that makes a character lovable?

The reader has to feel sympathy for the hero/heroine

If the hero/heroine is not lovable, then the reader won't care enough to read on

Being 'nice' is not interesting

Give the character faults we can relate to. We don't like perfect people

We need to admire characters

They need sass, confidence, attitude, strength

In conclusion:

Keep the conflict simple, but go deep

So thank you, Anne Gracie. A very relevant workshop that helped me to focus on some key elements that could do with a lot of 'ramping-up' in my writing.

Spellbound on Southbank

2008-08-31T20:02:00.006+10:00

Last weekend, critique partner Lisa and I attended the annual Romance Writers of Australia Conference, which was hosted here in Melbourne in Southbank.

I haven't written about it sooner because the minute I arrived home on Sunday night, I hit the ground running at the computer, not due to a burning desire to write romance fiction, but to finish off the powerpoint presentation I was due to give at work the next day. Since then, I've worked a long and demanding week, with no time to draw breath until this weekend, when I finally had a chance to put my feet up and relax and catch up with friends.

As usual, the conference was absolutely filled with wonderful things, some expected, and others surprising. To write about it all and do it justice would fill the length of a category romance novel, so I thought I'd summarise the highlights in point form:

One Enchanted Century cocktail party on Friday night - excellent finger food and lovely bubbly... met some new friends from Brisbane. Three fun ladies with whom we shared some lively conversation and a few laughs throughout the weekend. Hope to see more of them - in person and in print - in the future.

Words of wisdom from Barbara Samuel, Margie Lawson, Anna Campbell, Anne Gracie and Jenny Hutton, amongst many others.

Informal conversations with a few HM&B authors... very encouraging, down-to-earth people. Inspirational.

Lisa's fantastic 'High Five' win!!!! She looked every inch the glamorous romance author as she collected her award - see her blog for the pictures.

Tips on how to read the rejection letter! I have quite a collection of these, so this workshop was very pertinent - more about this in my next post!!!

Fabulous frocks on some fabulous women.

Excellent accomodation and yummy breakfasts at the Travelodge.

Endless cups of tea in our room, processing each day's events.

Preparing for 'The Pitch' with Jenny Hutton - write, re-write, un-write....

Attending 'The Pitch'. A bit nerve-wracking, but generally a very positive experience.

Met an incredibly humble, inspiring, aspiring author who works as a pilot, whose manuscript finalled in the Golden Heart this year.

Met many other aspiring authors... the future of romance writing.

All in all, a wonderful experience. Thank you RWA for providing such an inspiring conference for published as well as unpublished writers.

Where The Hell Is Scribbly?

2008-08-20T16:31:00.005+10:00

For those of you... was it 3 women and their dogs, or slightly more women and perhaps a cat or two??? who read this little blog, I thought I'd put it a little post just to show you all I'm still kicking.

As it tends to do, life got in the way of my posting, and of writing. There has been much happening in my life, and most of it to do with work and other people. Not much room left for me. This weekend is the Romance Writers Conference, and much as I'm looking forward to it, I'm afraid I'm going to just make it over the threshold before falling in a heap. I've put myself down to pitch, but feel a tad unprepared as I've been too busy to go over the finished manuscript.

And to top it all off, I've had a nasty sore throat the last couple of days and today my voice started fading (as it often does). I'm guessing that by the time the conference begins, I'll be voiceless. Which means I'll probably have to ditch the pitch.

So the video below is a tribute to carefree joy, to travel, to fun and laughter and having the time, space and mother-lovin' inclination to let your hair down. It's a treat of self indulgence that makes me want to pack a swag and run away! If the success of 'Where The Hell Is Matt?' is any indication, I'm not Robinson Crusoe out there.

Forgotten Challenge

2008-07-10T21:04:00.002+10:00

In the flurry of all my rejections, the 50k in 30 days challenge was almost forgotten. I must admit, I took the first rejection like a hit in the solar plexus, and for a while I just stopped writing.

Excuses aside, my 30 days word total was 25,114. I managed to finish one novel, a 'Sweet' that remains unnamed at present and I am in chapter 5 (of about 12) of my new 'Medical', working title: 'Take A Chance On Me'.

...and off again!

2008-07-10T16:29:00.004+10:00

Was my last post about being back in the saddle? Well, that didn't last long. A few days ago I received another rejection, this one for the 'Sweet' HM&B partial I'd sent off in March 07.

Oh, well... *&%$#$##@%!!@#*&#&**!!!!!

So where to from here? Part of me thinks I'm not good enough to do this, that I should just quit. Then I remember the inspirational talk from Debbie Macomber at the RWA Conference 2006, where she made us laugh with her stories about the numerous times she was hit in the back of the head with a rejection letter while still on her way back from posting off the manuscript.

I'm trying not to take this to heart too much, and strangely enough, rather than making me want to stop writing, it makes me want to write more. Perhaps it's so I can get another novel ready to post off so I have something 'out there', where at the moment, I have nothing.

Back In The Saddle Again

2008-06-29T11:41:00.007+10:00

Another cliched post title. Come to think of it, I'm full of cliches. Maybe that's what's wrong with my writing. Then again... romance (and probably many other genres) can be cliched, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes cliches provide an element of predictability that - if not over the top - can be comforting for a reader.

Coupling the cliched with the unpredictable is where a novel really satisfies. At the moment I'm reading Jennifer Crusie's 'Tell Me Lies'. I'm only a quarter through the book, and already I've been completely surprised at least twice. See, the romance itself is a bit of a cliche. This novel combines the 'Stranger Comes To Town', with 'Teenage Romance Reprise', with 'Revenge', with 'Romantic Suspense'. It all works very well despite the usual romantic cliches. Though we know when C.L. Sturgis comes back to his home town to find Maddie cheated on by her evil, oafish husband, that they'll end up together and everything will be okay in the end, the read is no less nail-biting.

And so we come to my post-rejection place. I'm fine, and back in the saddle. Sometimes I feel a bit pathetic, wondering how many rejections it will take before I take the hint and stop writing. But right now I just CAN'T stop. Maybe I will never be able to. I heard Steve? Carroll (recent winner of the Miles Franklin award) speak on the radio the other day. He talked about how he never cared whether people liked his writing, because he always did it to please himself. Maybe there's a lot to be said for that. Relax, enjoy the process, and savour the fruits if they come. I don't know if I could be that centred, but it helps to hear someone who's achieved substantial success say it.

This past week I have written a little bit but I've mainly concentrated on being kind to myself, watching telly (discovering 'The Tudors') and yesterday we went to see 'Guys And Dolls', which was fabulous. I still have all the songs going through my head. But this small hiatus has also been about reflecting on the journey so far, and figuring out a plan of attack from this point on. There are things I need to improve about my writing, and now is a good time to start fixing. Tonight, when I log my total word count for the 50k in 30 days challenge, I hope to be able to say I've written 25,000 words (currently at about 22,000ish). Not 50,000 words as planned, but I'm satisfied with that.

Burnin' Down The House

2008-06-22T18:35:00.005+10:00

Last week I was going strong. Two weeks into '50k in 30 Days', my word total wasn't quite on track, but not shameful either. I was coping with a fairly heavy workload in my paid work, coupled with finishing off one novel and starting the next. Beside the writing, there was a lot of peripheral stuff going on (including a building project), which I was managing to juggle because I had a feeling I was going somewhere.

And then, last Thursday, the letter came. I knew it a glance. The long expected reply from Harlequin Mills&Boon. The last two times I'd received such a letter, I'd torn it open, thereby rushing headlong into full-blown rejection. This time, I thought I'd wait and give myself a bit of time to prepare myself. Sure I didn't know it would be a rejection, but it was what I expected.

A half hour, a cup of tea, a couple of email and txt messages later, to the urging of both my Lisa friends, I opened it. It was exactly what I'd expected. The medical romance I'd sent off last September had been rejected.

On the bright side, it's the longest rejection I've ever received. It came with suggestions for my 'next' submission. It appears they've worked out I'm probably in it for the long haul.

So it's with a bit of a heavy heart that I announce this sad little bit of news to the cyber community out there, to the three women and their dogs who read my blog. Just another day at the office for an aspiring writer, I know that.

But though I wasn't surprised, though I fully expected this outcome, what a rejection letter does, is to shake the foundations. It burns down your carefully built house of cards. It makes you second-guess yourself so that you wonder if you ever wrote anything worth reading, and if you in fact didn't, whether you ever will.

So what now? It's a little hard to pick myself right up and continue to produce a steady stream of words for my 50k challenge. The novel that I started with great expectations now seems just another pathetic attempt at writing something that someone will find interesting.

More than anything, I think this provides a great opportunity to 'stock-take'. It's not so bad, every now and then, to examine what you're doing and to ask some really tough questions. What am I going to write next that's going to rise above the standard that's already been rejected three times? What is going to make any difference to the status quo?

These, and other issues will be subjects to ponder over the coming weeks leading into the RWA Conference. First and foremost, I'm going to copy down the four pieces of advice I received in the rejection letter, blow them up into 20pt font and paste them into my writing notebook. Then, every time I write I will ask myself if I'm following the advice, or continuing along the comfortable rut I've created for myself these past few years.

And please, no words of encouragement. No praise or commiseration. I get it. It's a rejection, and I understand its implications as well as its loud-and-clear message. What I hope to take from this, is a renewed commitment to writing, a dogged determination to be published despite the rejections. At the moment, I don't know if I have the strength. I guess I'm entitled to a few days' respite to mull it over.

Post Mortem

2008-06-16T17:18:00.005+10:00

Though I'm way too busy (work and the 50k madness) to post at the moment, I just had to sneak in a little movie review.

"Sex And The City - The Movie" is now on our screens, and I was there on opening night with a bunch of friends. It was quite an experience getting dolled up, having drinks first and then queueing outside the cinema for the 9.30 showing. I'd never done that before, and the cinema seemed rather unprepared for the jostling crowd. With ushers calling out names of theatres for patrons who had pre-paid tickets and women almost shoving each other to get in their seats, we finally got good seats up the back. All except for one of our group, who didn't have such a good view and opted to sit on the step.

And the movie... Well, it was always going to be hard to top the series' ending. I can't say the movie achieved that. It was a pleasant reprise to a fantastic show, but in the words of my friend Lisa, the movie was nothing but an epilogue. Granted, it was a very enjoyable epilogue, but probably unnecessary.

I loved seeing the four girls again, watching their interactions and being delighted, or surprised, by the fashion. There were a few laugh-out-loud lines, and more than one touching moment. Mr Big was at his sexy, fabulous best, and he more than adequately maintained his spot as leading man to Carrie's main plot.

In one of the early scenes, the four S&TC girls are having their usual round table chat at a cafe, and the topic of how often - or not often, in Miranda's case - they have sex, comes up. To protect her young daughter's innocence, Charlotte suggests they talk in code, and use the words "colouring in" in place of saying "having sex". The girls agree, and the conversation continues in code, with the girls taking turns to put forward their personal information. Charlotte ventures that she and Harry "colour in" three or four times a week. Samantha is equally candid, but when it's Carrie's turn to reveal, she declines the opportunity to give specific details.

Her remark, however, is a gem of clever writing. With one line, the writers manage to show so much about Carrie's and Big's characters, the chemistry between them, as well as to raise the stakes so that when the trouble starts, the fall will be all the more brutal.

Carrie smiles smugly and says, 'When Big colours, he never stays inside the lines'. Cut to the next scene, and we are given a tantalising hint of how expertly Big "colours outside the lines". Nothing explicit, but just enough to show the height of passion between the lovers, titillating the audience shortly before everything changes and it all gets taken away. Pure S&TC magic.

50k in 30 days

2008-06-05T10:29:00.002+10:00

On Sunday, I began the 50k in 30 days challenge. This is much like the American (I think) NaNoWriMo. The aim is to write 50,000 words in a month, which for us writers of category romance means coming up with enough words for a novel.

Of course, these words are banged down fast, which means there will be a lot of fluff written and a lot of editing afterwards. Sometimes I wonder whether it's all a waste of time for me, world champion 'waffler'.

So far, I've written just under 8000 words. This has been absolutely fantastic, as it's allowed me to 'put to bed' my current WIP. For months now, I'd been languishing in the middle of the last quarter of the novel, using every excuse imaginable to justify my hopeless procrastination. Well, the 50k in 30 days challenge has gotten me to a point where I aim to finish the novel today. It may not be a terribly polished ending, but at least the words are there. In the words of a famous romance writer, 'You can fix a bad page, but you can't fix a blank one.' (Apologies to the source of this quote, whom I can't recall).

I expect my word count will slow considerably after today, seeing as I'll have to begin my new novel, which I've been thinking about a bit, but not enough to work out the major components. All I have at this point are the characters - and very blurry at that - but no emotional conflict, no plot... no nothin'. Still, forcing myself to plunge into the project and push all procrastination aside might be just what I need to get off to a productive start.

Sex And The City significant male characters: Steve Brady

2008-06-05T09:58:00.005+10:00

Finally, we come to Steve (played by David Eigenberg). Easily one of the series' most likeable characters. Miranda met Steve early in the series, and quickly fell into a casual, on-again, off-again, never-too-serious relationship with him. After every break-up with other men, she would inevitably end up on Steve's door, or in his bar.

Theirs was an unlikely coupling (a bit of a theme for the series), she being the Manhattanite lawyer and he the high-school-educated bartender from Brooklyn.

One of the funnier storylines of the series was centred around Miranda becoming pregnant to Steve. That was as unlikely a scenario as possible. She with the lazy ovary, he with only one testicle (the other lost to cancer), their relationship status in 'off' mode meant that conceiving a child was... well, inconceivable.

Steve's cancer crisis brought them together. But though officially they were only friends, Miranda took her role as support person very seriously. When Steve voiced doubts over his ability to attract women now that he was only 'half a man', Miranda kindly offered her services. Samantha called it a 'mercy f***'.

Hence, Brady Hobbs was conceived.

The Miranda/Steve storyline continued to entertain right through to the end, and provided some interesting character growth for both protagonists. Steve softened Miranda's hard line personality to the extent that she allowed his mother to move in with them when she became ill - a very 'big' gesture for Miranda the control freak.

Sex And The City significant male characters: Harry Goldenblatt

2008-05-31T20:37:00.003+10:00

Harry Goldenblatt was not Charlotte's type. In fact, very few men were.

Charlotte's ideal man, the one she wanted to marry and have a family with, was a handsome, upper class, Park Avenue WASP. Easily the fussiest of the four S&TC babes, Charlotte often didn't make it past the first date, even with men who fit into her narrow category.

One day, she bumped into Dr Trey McDougall. He fit her specifications to an almost excessive degree. He was handsome, charming, and a heart surgeon. Charlotte decided he was impeccable husband material, and went about ensuring the courtship followed all the necessary 'husband-snaring' rules - including not sleeping with him until after the wedding.

For a while, everything went smoothly. During their short engagement, the only thing Trey seemed to have against him was an overbearing mother, whom Charlotte thought she would learn to 'manage'. However, everything changed on the eve of the wedding. After a few drinks with the girls, Charlotte decided to waive her vow of celibacy, and in the process uncovered an alarming problem. Trey 'couldn't get it up'. The next morning, she asked Carrie's advice about this 'little' problem as they were standing in the foyer of the church, seconds before the wedding march began to play. Carrie mumbled something reassuring and Charlotte went ahead with the wedding all the same, seeing as (in the words of that episode's commentary) she was standing in the church and wearing a $20,000 wedding dress: No matter what the problem, she was getting married.

In the months that followed, living a life that appeared as charmed as the pages of a Martha Stewart lifestyle magazine, Charlotte and Trey's marriage was fast falling apart. Fast forward... separation and divorce. Divorce settlement: Trey's Park Avenue apartment.

While settling her divorce, Charlotte met Harry Goldenblatt. He was the 'ugly' lawyer she requested because she didn't want the handsome lawyer she was initially assigned to see her going in for the kill with Trey. Harry was bald, sweaty, clumsy, uncouth, and - probably his greatest sin - Jewish.

After a few dates and some very hot sex, Charlotte realised she was in love with him. He was the very antithesis of her perfect man, yet she had to concede she'd already met and married the perfect man, and got a far from perfect life in return. However, there were hurdles to overcome in this unlikely love-affair. Harry was set on marrying a Jewish girl, and Charlotte had a lot of work to do first in convincing him to marry her and secondly in converting to Judaism.

In the end, Harry was worth all the trouble. He was everything Trey wasn't, providing Charlotte with an understanding, passionate partner who fought as hard as she did to fulfil her dream of having a family through adoption. When the series ended, some fans were disappointed with the happily-ever-after finale. The pairing of all four protagonists into monogamous, heterosexual relationships was seen to be too neat and predictable by some. It was inconsistent with the feminist themes embodied in the series, and frightfully conservative.

I disagree. What I love about the series is how the characters develop and change. In one sense, the series follows a 'Hero's Journey' type template. In the end, the women have gone full circle. They have found a place that is home, but in the process of discovering 'home', they have become very different people. Ultimately, they do find happiness, and this is intensely satisfying, not because they've each finally found a man, but because of their considerable personal growth. In the first series, Charlotte would certainly have overlooked Harry. It's now obvious that it would have been to her detriment, and it is a credit to the writers that they've illustrated the change in Charlotte's character so beautifully.

Sex And The City significant male characters: Mr Big

2008-05-28T19:23:00.010+10:00

The other day, I bought tickets for myself and a group of friends to see 'Sex And The City - The Movie' on the opening night here in Australia, Thursday 6th June.

Afterwards, I reflected on just how significant this is for me. I am not a person who hangs out to see movies when they open. In fact, time usually gets away, and a movie is on DVD before I think about it again. To illustrate this point: a friend bought me a double movie voucher (VIP tickets with champagne etc) as a birthday gift in 2006. They're still in a drawer somewhere, waiting for the right movie to come along so I can redeem them. And I can't even use them for S&TC, since that is a group booking and we're going to do the champagne in a bar somewhere before the show.

So what is it about this movie that has me in such a tizz? Well, there are many, many reasons, of course. Too many to go into in this little post, which in turn, answers the question.

One of these special reasons is Mr Big.

Mr Big (played by Chris Noth), is the quintessential alpha male heartbreaker. He is the man every woman has loved and not succeeded in pinning down to a commitment. Mr Big is a 'catch'. Rich, powerful, charming, handsome but not too pretty, witty... the list goes on and on. What most appeals, for me, at least, is that when he's with a woman, he makes her feel like she's the centre of the universe. In the series, it's precisely this magnetism that causes Carrie fall into an affair with Big while dating another - exceedingly attractive - man. Either that, or the fact that she's never gotten over him, that he is 'the one'.

Chris Noth has done a remarkable job of fleshing out the larger-than-life character of Mr Big. To me, and to every other friend who's watched and loved S&TC, he is perfect in the role. Imagining another actor in his place is simply unthinkable. From a writing point of view, Mr Big is probably a textbook example of 'The Lovable Hero'.

As the series progressed, the character of Mr Big evolved, and there were many instances where he was infinitely unlikeable. Carrie suffered through many on-again, off-again episodes until even she - no matter how much she loved him - had to call it a day. The scene where she rejected him finally and completely, is incredibly powerful, providing the turning point for Big. He'd had Carrie on a string for so long that he thought she'd always be there for him - whenever he felt like picking up the phone or popping into town. Faced with the finality of never seeing her again made him realise how much he wanted her. How much he loved her. Chris Noth plays this scene to perfection, clinching the moment when the penny drops with absolute mastery. And it helps that Sarah Jessica Parker's portrayal of the stricken Carrie is convincingly gut-wrenching. I know I'm totally indulging myself, but do take a peek at this scene. It's electrifying.

And while we're on the subject... Sex And The City significant male characters: Smith Jerrod

2008-05-18T20:54:00.007+10:00

Writing the last post made me think about those wonderful Sex And The City men. You never see them on posters, nobody ever mentions them, except for Big. But they are sensational, and without them, there would have been no show.

The first I'm going to look at (and look is a good word here), is Smith Jerrod - played by Jason Lewis. His real on-screen name was something rather less striking, along the lines of Jerry Jerrod. The name change was instigated by Samantha Jones, PR consultant - Kim Cattrall - who at that time was no more than his casual sex partner.

When Samantha picked up Smith, he was an out-of-work actor waiting tables at a restaurant. True to her life-goal of 'having sex like a man', she wanted him for his body, not his mind. And since he was much younger than her, it seemed a plausible basis for a relationship. What surprised Samantha was that Smith wasn't happy to be a toy-boy. He liked Samantha, and he wanted her to be his girlfriend. He made demands on her time, insisted on holding her hand as they walked down the street. He set the terms at monogamy and didn't shirk when Samantha blatantly cheated on him with an old flame at a party. That moment was one of the series' most powerful.

Caught leaving the party with Richard, an ex-boyfriend who had repeatedly cheated on her, Samantha alleviated her conscience by breaking up with Smith. It was quickly and callously done, while Richard waited in the lift for her. Afterwards, Samantha rode the lift down, thoroughly humiliated and guilt-ridden. The sex had been demeaning and she was disgusted at her behaviour. When the doors opened, she saw Smith sitting in an armchair, waiting for her. Her apology was instant and heartfelt, and all he did was to put his arm around her and say something like, 'I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.'

That was the moment Samantha's life changed. From that point, the gains were small, but sure. Smith showed Samantha the commitment she'd never known. He was kind and tender, dependable and strong. He was his own man, feisty and independent to the last.

When Samantha was diagnosed with breast cancer, Smith was her rock. It was during this time that he spoke those elusive three words. Samantha listened and replied with the best she had to offer: 'You have meant more to me than any other man.'

Swoon.

Can't Wait!!!

2008-05-16T23:28:00.015+10:00

The long awaited movie sequel to the 'Sex And The City' series is almost on our screens. I have quite a large(ish) cohort of friends who are keen to catch the showing on premiere night, Thursday 5th June. Sure, it's not a 'real' premiere, not before the movie opens to the public, no red carpet and all that, but I'm afraid that's as close to a debut as I'm going to get. On the other hand, there will be champagne involved, and probably dressing up in something foofy with spiky high heels, so what's not to get excited about?

I'm dying to find out what happened to Carrie and Big. Apparently the story is picked up four years down the track, and Charlotte's adopted baby is no longer toddling. But there will obviously be more to the story than just checking in with the characters after a few years have gone by. The mere act of reprising the story means introducing conflict to the central characters' lives. That will inevitably mean trouble in their love-lives, and I guess that's what will bring audiences flocking. At the end of the series, Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha were in secure, loving relationships with their respective partners. These men weren't just 'added' in to give a satisfactory ending to the series. They were wonderful, supportive, sometimes heroic, loving partners and passionate lovers. Above all, the writers (and actors) had succeeded magnificently in portraying these men as intensely lovable. Introducing a new chapter, or epilogue, is risky business. Delivering a successful movie sequel to the series would have meant fiddling with - and potentially upsetting - the delicate balance of the status quo. A writer's minefield. For a series that was near flawless (okay, flawless in my opinion, at least), a bad sequel would be like taking a paint roller to a Van Gogh. A positive is that some of the writing team have come on board for the movie, and are headed by the show's leading writer/producer, Michael Patrick King, who is also directing.

So it's with more than a little trepidation that I approach the movie's opening. The series ended so well, all loose ends tied, everyone happy and in love. Most importantly, central character Carrie and Mr Big were at last united. Though it was a wrench seeing the series end, there was some satisfaction to the final credits rolling up for it gave us S&TC fans the finality we needed. There wouldn't be another episode in which Carrie and Big could break up. With the movie looming, the possibility of that is now almost a certainty. Only one questions remains: How will they patch it up? or worse... will there be an operatic ending with unavoidable tragedy and tears? Samantha had a health crisis at the end of the series. Her lover, Smith, was instrumental in her recovery, but will there be a relapse? Will the NY gals still be a foursome by the end of the movie? As a romance writer, I am obliged to subscribe to the old cliche, 'Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all'. Sex And The City gals, I'm with you all the way, sink or swim.

Time Squeeze

2008-05-16T23:16:00.003+10:00

It's been crazy lately. Lots on my plate in a particularly hectic cycle of my work. So there hasn't been much time to write, and with that, the fire begins to smoulder rather than rage. Sometimes I wonder why I'm putting myself through all this pressure. Trying to juggle family, work and writing, when it just seems to make everything so crazy, almost spinning out of control... to the point that sometimes it actually does.

This post should be about so much, but it's going to be about little or nothing. In the days since my last post, so much has happened that I could easily have posted every single day - and at length. But like a giant wave to an inexperienced surfer, my schedule has literally dumped me, leaving me overwhelmed, disoriented and exhausted.

Writing sessions have been meagre, usually on the tail end of 'Treasure Of The Deep' marathons. Not good. Crawling towards the end of chapter ten, currently. Looking forward to some decent writing time when my eyes aren't hanging out of my head... Maybe next week.

Grace Kelly - A Life In Pictures

2008-04-25T21:04:00.012+10:00

My dear, dear friend and critique partner, Lisa surprised me yesterday, with a touching gift. She knows how much I adore Grace Kelly (she does too), and when she saw this book of photos on her life, she bought two copies. One for herself, and one for me.

The reason for this gift? A celebration of us both finalling in the RWA Emerald competition. As it turned out, we haven't made it to the final three, but that's no reason not to celebrate being in the top 15 entries. Every step forward is important, and no matter how small, it means we're getting closer to our destination.

So thank you, Lisa. Your advice and support is invaluable to me. You make the journey fun and prop me up when I'm feeling low. I hope I do the same for you. Writing can be a solitary endeavour, which requires positive, understanding colleagues who will be frank and firm as well as gentle and kind. A good sense of humour is as mandatory as checking any preciousness at the door. I think we do all of the above quite well.

Before I get too mushy, I'm going to end this post by including a tribute to Grace Kelly. A montage of so many wonderful and enduring images of her screen life and private life. Many of these are found in the book, but what I liked about this selection of film clips and images was that it includes some of my favourite romantic moments from movies I absolutely love. It's almost impossible not to be captivated by her amazingly versatile on-screen presence with such iconic leading men as Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant.

Grace Kelly was truly amazing. Refined and dignified, with distinct upper class manners, yet still managing to exude an earthy sexyness. The word 'beautiful' doesn't begin to do justice to her exquisite flawlessness. A quality that went far beyond skin deep. In the words of Tommy Hilfiger, who provides a foreword to the book:

'Her looks were simple, clean and classic. She was a natural beauty, not at all pretentious or overdone. Grace Kelly didn't have to worry about hair and make-up, or being weighed down with jewellery. She was refreshingly wholesome, confident, compassionate and full of poise. Purity, I believe, was her greatest asset.'

Tight Jeans

2008-04-18T21:57:00.006+10:00

Well, of course that's not me in the photo. For one, I'm not blonde. And for another, I would NEVER stand at a balcony without my shirt on.

The reason I included this photo is that I must have been suffering from a bout of temporary madness, thinking I looked like this woman when I bought THAT pair of jeans two days ago. I'd already tried on several pairs in other shops, and I guess when I walked into ESPRIT, I must have been just a tad shop weary. Grabbing two pairs of the same jeans in sizes 10 and 12, I walked into the dressing room brimming with hope that one of those pairs would be fabulous.

These were button fly jobs. Three buttons - no zip. I tried on the size 10... too tight, and too low. I tried bending over and it felt like my bum was going to fall out of them. But that feeling of tightness, of working hard to do up a pair of jeans took me back a very long time. All the way back to the days of wearing such tight jeans that I'd have to insert a coat hanger hook into the zip, lay on the bed and pull!!!! Feeling these tight jeans cut into me reminded me what it felt like to be wearing jeans as a young person. And it also made me think about how long I've been choosing 'comfortable' clothes over 'hot' clothes.

Don't get me wrong, comfortable clothes are great. They feel great, at least, but maybe they put us in the granny box just a tad. Which brings me to the 'hot' bit. I was never into looking 'hot'. Still am not. But there's something about being over 40 that makes you want to hold on to any shred of youth you have left. Now that I'm 44 I kind of regret having passed up the chance to be hot when I was young enough to do it without looking ridiculous.

Anyway, I'm digressing. Okay, the size 10 were too tight, so I moved on to the size 12. Too loose. Even I could see that.

The sales girl thought the 10's were fabulous, and she was so definite about the 12's being too baggy, that I couldn't bring myself to buy them. I put on the 10's again. Then the 12's, just to make sure. Then I got dressed in my old clothes, went back out to the pile of jeans at the front of the shop and picked out another size 10, just in case that 10 was just a teeny bit bigger.

Back in the dressing room. On with the new 10. Tight. On with the old 10. Tight. Old one, new one, old one, new one... so many times that in the end, I couldn't remember which pair was the original 10 and which was the new 10.

End of story? I bought them. I can't believe it, but I bought them. They look fantastic. They're the true skinny jeans, and I have to say I look fabulous in them. Pity every time I sit down they cut into me, and every time I stand up, I have to pull them up a little where they slid down my hips, and every time I bend down I think I'm going to be arrested for indecent exposure.

Ah, what a woman will do to look good...

!!! Newsflash !!!

2008-04-14T19:54:00.003+10:00

A few days ago, I found out that I'm out of the running for the Emerald award run by the RWA. I'm still waiting to receive the feedback, which I hope will be useful. I'm feeling quite okay about it. It was fantastic to be in the top 15 from so many entries. And for an aspiring writer, this kind of rejection should be viewed as both expected and essential on the road to being published. Aren't I just so wonderfully magnanimous? Time to go off now, and have (another) glass of red.

Guilty Treasures

2008-04-10T16:17:00.007+10:00

You know what it feels like. Some people call it writer's block, I call it procrastination. The novel has ground to a slow crawl because I have all the time in the world and no definite deadline to meet. I'm spending far too much time playing computer games when I turn on my laptop. Just five minutes, I tell myself, and perhaps it's not such a bad thing. I know of at least one (multi-published) writer who gives herself a half hour of computer solitaire before she begins writing for the day. But she's producing more than one novel a year, so I guess she deserves her solitaire fix.

I know I should just delete 'Treasures Of The Deep' from my computer, but the truth is, I don't want to. I really enjoy having a few games. And when I'm being disciplined, I can stop playing while my brain's still working and get some writing done. Which leads me to another issue. The reason I start playing 'Treasures...' is that my brain is already fried for the day, and I have nothing left. Sure, I've turned on my laptop (brownie point for that), but sometimes I should just admit defeat and give myself a guilt-free evening in front of the telly. At least there I can pick up some writing tips while analysing dialogue and storylines of good TV shows. Ah, guilt... I do wonder whether it's a byproduct of being Catholic or it's just genetic.

Currently, I'm in chapter 8, fast approaching the 'Point Of No Return', in chapter 9. I have some good ideas, options for the story to go, and I think they will work, but I need to pick up pace and move the writing along. Apart from anything, I'm spending far too much time going back over what I wrote the previous day and playing word shuffle. I replace one word with a synonym, only to re-read and change it back the following day. That can be a trap when I read the writing far too many times, and I become de-sensitised to the language. It's then that any changes I make are likely to dilute the impact of the language and make stale the prose.

The RWA conference is not far away, either, and perhaps that is just the motivation I need to get moving again. I need to think characters and plot, not ball strategy and free lives!

Sad Comedy

2008-03-30T16:22:00.004+11:00

On Friday night, we went to see one of the acts at the Melbourne Comedy Festival. It was one of the top 5 acts chosen by The Age.

What a disappointment.

We were ushered into a small room at the Melbourne Town Hall (there were small shows like this all over the building), and chose seats in the third row just in case the comedian chose to unleash her barbed wit on patrons up close. We needn't have worried.

The comedian did her best to make us laugh - and I did my best to find her material funny. Sometimes I forced a laugh in the hope that it would put me in the mood to laugh more, or it might encourage other members of the audience to think it was funnier than it actually was. Unfortunately, it only got worse, and the only thing that stopped us from walking out was sympathy. And knowing that the torture would only last an hour.

Poor comedian. She tried so hard to be funny, and she did possess some talent. Her acting skills were good enough that I could envisage her making people laugh in a sitcom or film. She was able to engage the audience with her facial expressions, gestures and even the characters she'd devised. It just wasn't very funny. When the lights faded between skits, there was silence, instead of raucous laughter and applause.

It made me think about writing. Sometimes you're almost there, but it just isn't working. And it's much harder than you think it's going to be when starting out. Most of all, it's hard to figure out what's NOT working, and how to fix it. It also made me think about the wider community of people who are putting themselves "out there". In comparison with the comedian's public shaming, writing something, sending it off and having it rejected seemed like small potatoes. I left feeling sad for her. I hope she doesn't take this setback too seriously, I hope she goes on trying to improve her skills, because there was good stuff there. It just wasn't quite working yet. Who knows, one day she may be as famous a comedian as Jerry Seinfeld. In a recent interview, he said that his first gig was so bad the only reason he attempted it again was to prove to himself that he could do it.

Hiding Away

2008-03-30T16:11:00.003+11:00

School holidays are such a contradiction. On one hand, there is the break from the usual day-to-day routine, which is sort of refreshing. But on the other, the days seem almost to be as hectic - or worse.

This week, I've been out four nights in a row. A play on Wednesday, dinner with two other couples on Thursday, the Melbourne Comedy Festival (and dinner at Fed Square) on Friday, and dinner at the pub with friends from the country last night. Oh my! I am exhausted, and since my best writing time is at night when the house is quiet, I haven't been able to get to the computer at all.

Next week I've arranged to 'run away' from my house to the holiday place at Rosebud. I'll have the kids with me, but at least while we're there, everything is put on hold. We spend the days lazing about, going on walks to the beach or around town, looking for treasure in op-shops or going for relaxing drives around the Mornington Peninsula. And at night... nobody comes, nobody invites me out and I can write late into the night knowing the next day I'll be able to sleep in. What bliss.

Rainy Holiday

2008-03-27T11:07:00.007+11:00

It's raining. Funny how strange it seems in these times of no rain. I remember years ago how it used to rain for a whole week. My children can't imagine how that would be. No wonder the reservoirs were full.

But though the rain is a blessing, it is still rain, and one of the intrinsic features of rain is its arbitrary nature. Years of drought have affected my washing routine so that I'm now thoroughly spoiled. Yes, the showers are shorter, but at least you can hang washing any time and be virtually guaranteed that it will dry. Even the ineffectual 'showers' we get now don't have any impact on drying time. So I have a couple of loads of washing to do and now I'm wondering if I should just do them and do the clothes-horse thing around the house till the rain stops.

And another thing. Our building project is about to get off the ground, and husband began it with some minor demolition the other day. He started with taking the roof off the large shed. There were still some things left in there, but we figured we'd move them when it suited. Now it's been raining for two days, everything is thoroughly soaked. All the stuff we were going to do something with because it was too good to throw out - like the wad of large sketch paper that the kids would use for their artwork - well, the decision's now made for us. It's all for the bin.

The rain has also meant that we've been cooped up in the house. There have been play-overs, lots of DVD's, games that make the house unrecognisable. Right now, right outside the door to this room, there is some wild, giggling, yelling, thumping, jumping game going on involving two of mine and a play-over friend. I know that in a matter of minutes the benevolent noise will turn to a screaming argument, but until then, I can't rightly go out there and tell them to SHUT UP! Not yet, anyway.

And the writing... The writing has kind of gone on through all this. Chapter 7 is in rehab and yesterday I lost a whole chunk of revisions through 'Word' just deciding to disappear off the screen. One step forward and two steps back.

Better go now... I hear World War 3 starting.

Interlude

2008-03-21T20:32:00.004+11:00

Oh, what a busy few weeks it's been. I haven't posted because I simply haven't had the time. Work has been exceptionally busy lately, and probably due to an early Easter, a lot of things have had to be 'squeezed' in. Last week I worked my usual part-time fraction but continued to work on related projects at home, and by the end of the week, I had worked myself up to a killer migraine that saw me arrive home on Friday and go straight to bed.

So the writing took a back seat, and I've only just resumed. I think ten days went by with no writing, and the night I finally sat down to my laptop was divine bliss. Last night I finished chapter seven (out of twelve), and tonight I plan to go over it with fresh eyes and edit.

In the meantime, I've been enjoying a great book. My neighbour lent it to me saying that she'd earned her husband's wrath late at night because she just couldn't put it down. The book is "The Other Boleyn Girl", by Philippa Gregory, and I'm enjoying it very much. Don't know if it's "unputdownable", but pretty good nevertheless. Most importantly, it's a book from which I can learn a lot. One of my problem areas is pacing, and Gregory handles it beautifully in this novel. From a big picture point of view, nothing much is happening. No wide-ranging, fast moving plot, here, just a King increasingly tiring of his Queen and turning to the Boleyn girls, first Mary, then Anne, as diversion. But what makes the novel fast-paced is the complex behind the scenes plotting by the Boleyn/Howard family on one hand, and by the Queen and her Spanish and Roman Catholic allies on the other, as well as the many and varied small scenes that make up Henry VIII's courtship of the two Boleyn girls.

As I read, I try to store Gregory's tricks away so that I might practice "moving" my writing along at a faster pace than I manage to do now. She seems to pack a lot in by giving just a little visual/sensory detail, and relying on the reader to fill in the blanks. Such a good lesson, and one I sorely need to learn.

Lightbulb Moment!

2008-03-06T16:11:00.003+11:00

Yes, it's the lightbulb moment I was writing about in my last post! I actually can't believe it happened almost on request.

The problem was that my characters weren't behaving themselves, or rather, I felt I was losing a sense of them as characters. What resulted was a bland, tensionless disaster of a chapter. My friend/critique partner pointed this out, and though it was painful to admit there was a lot wrong with the chapter, I sucked it up and made changes.

What needed to happen wasn't obvious at first. I let her comments simmer in my head, and it didn't actually take that long for the ideas to start germinating.

My lightbulb moment was that I hadn't lost my characters, but rather, that the chapter wasn't working because their actions were OUT of character. Once I figured out the natural thing for them to do, I could hear the story's engine revving once more. All sorts of possibilities grew out of the one change I made to the chapter. Now I have options. Before the realisation, the story was laying flat and stagnant, with hardly a sign of life.

I have re-written the chapter and received the tick of approval from AbFab. Right now, I'm at the start of chapter 7, right smack in the middle of the novel. The characters are doing what comes naturally and it's given me a believable 'Point Of No Return', which in the previous version (the dud chapter) was nowhere in sight.

Wherefore Art Thou, Heath and Genevieve?

2008-02-27T09:25:00.004+11:00

One of the big steps forward I've made in my recent writing history, is to really get the thing they say about 'character is plot'. I've realised that if you really know your characters, then the story becomes clear, as do their choices and the twists and turns of the story. What I have found is that if you're even the littlest bit muddy about your characters and their motivations, the story spins out of control.

I think that's just what's happened to mine. I thought I knew Heath and Genevieve intimately, but do I really? Sometimes they behave in ways that don't make sense with the the character profile/emotional conflict I've given them.

At this point, I'm in the middle of the book - a very crucial time - and for it to be believable, I have to be 100% certain about my characters and their motivations. But am I? If not, how do I fix this? Probably, I need to think about them more. When I get busy with other stuff, the story recedes and the intensity fades. That's a problem.

My critique partner - who has a very sharp eye for these things - told me she didn't 'buy' Heath's character in the current chapter. Alarm bells. I think that means going back over the chapter, and for me, running it through my head like a movie and in the process, gaining some distance. What would I think if these characters behaved this way on the screen? It's always easy to spot problems when you're not so up close. And perhaps that's just where I go wrong. I write, become immersed in the scene and sometimes don't stop to ask the vital questions. Would he/she say this? How would this make her/him feel? What does her/his choice do to the story? Where can they go from here?

It's incredibly tricky, and something you can only learn through doing. I'm sure - at least I hope - that someday I'm going to have a lightbulb moment about it. In the meantime, I'll pick up the shovel and keep digging.

Back to work!

2008-02-18T10:27:00.006+11:00

With my last two weekends spent away from home - one at Mt Buller and the other Phillip Island (returned home yesterday), I haven't had much time to catch up with the usual build-up of home/school/work stuff that clogs my life.

Today, with work looming and a novel that's pretty much stagnated for the last two weeks, I am going to attack the problem and GET ON WITH IT! The problem has as much to do with the summer wind-down as anything else, so I'm not going to worry too much about it. We all need time to be a bit bad.

So after dedicating a couple of hours to the various messes in my life, I will sit down and write. There is no better way than figuring my way out of a character crossroads than to dive right in and see what works best. Last night I made a kind of a start, waffled way too much, in my usual style, but even that was kind of useful. At least I read over the chapter and got a better sense of what needs to happen, how best to organise it, and where to go from here.

ENTOURAGE

2008-02-06T13:39:00.000+11:00

This post is another testament to how much spare time I have on my hands now that I've met my minor deadline and have yet to start working for 2008. I keep telling myself I'm just wasting time, indulging in more television viewing than I'd normally allow for, yet there's that little but incredibly significant thing called 'The Well'.

Generally speaking, everyone has one, and everyone needs to keep it filled, otherwise things start to spin out of control. And that could mean anything from being cranky and yelling at the kids to nervous breakdowns and divorce. I truly believe it's that important.

But for writers, 'The Well' is more than a way to keep sane, it's an essential work tool. One that cannot be dispensed with. Sure, I've done plenty of writing on an empty well, but it was writing that I just didn't feel in my gut. Or my heart.

Watching my latest favourite TV show, 'Entourage', is filling my well to the brim. It helps enormously that my current WIP is about a rock star, so I can quite legitimately justify the time it keeps me glued to the box. In the beginning, I viewed it as purely a 'details' tool. Since the closest I ever came to a rock star was when Ian Moss walked past me on his way to the men's during a break in Cold Chisel's gig at the Cross Keys Hotel in the 80's, I thought I needed a bit of help making it sound real on the page. What I needed were details of the lifestyle of that other breed - the rich and famous, and 'Entourage' is certainly good for that. But it's not just about setting and wardrobe, oh no. This show is rich in everything. The writing sings, and makes the viewing experience absolutely riveting.

I love everything about the show. Everything. Even the unbearable hip hop music, which provides a perfect soundtrack for the show. Nothing else would be as appropriate.

And the list doesn't end there. The characters are spectacular, complex, finely drawn. And though at first more than one of them appears unbearably self-centred and even loathsome, in a few short episodes, I've grown to love each and every one of them. Every one. Why? Because they're real, and flawed, and entertaining, and the actors playing these characters are putting in such fine performances that I feel like I'm in the same room with them. But the superlative writing has to get top billing here. Hopefully the current writers' strike in the US will soon be resolved; the writers receiving adequate remuneration for their invaluable work. 'Entourage' is one of the many TV programs that have been left hanging while the industrial dispute drags on.

A final question. Why isn't this amazing show on free-to-air TV? The language might have something to do with it. Anybody who finds bad language offensive wouldn't be able to watch 'Entourage' for longer than a few minutes. Yet, just like the hip-hop, the bad language used is well-placed, adding power to the pacy dialogue, accentuating the underlying stress in many of its scenes, and heightening tension. Indeed, some scenes are so tense, so fast paced, that every word, every gesture speaks volumes; so un-missable that I often find myself hitting the rewind button to make sure I got it all.

I've included a clip of one of the show's diamonds, Ari. I read somewhere that he's being hailed as the greatest TV character. Ever. Not sure about that, but he's definitely in the top running. Don't check this out if you're bothered by bad language.

A bit of fluff?

2008-02-03T19:50:00.000+11:00

That's pretty much all people ever give her credit for, but was there more to Marilyn Monroe than we all think?

For Christmas, I was given a collection of old movies. One of these was 'Some Like It Hot', a film I hadn't seen for at least 20 years. During my lazy summer break, I indulged myself by watching it (and the others), and I've concluded that these movies are considered classics for a reason.

But I'm digressing from the subject of this post: Marilyn Monroe. In my 'post comp' lethargy, I've been indulging in one of my vices, YouTube. This morning, I typed in 'Madonna', and selected 'Material Girl'. I'd probably never seen the film clip, but quickly realised she'd ripped off Marilyn's 'Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend' routine from 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes'. So I brought up the Monroe musical number and found that Madonna had replicated pretty much everything. Except that Marilyn did it better.

Until recently, I had always been of the opinion that Marilyn Monroe was the quintessential dippy blonde, but after watching her in 'Some Like It Hot', I've had to change my position. Today, watching her sing the famous 'Diamonds' number, I was further convinced that I'd misjudged her. Marilyn is enormously entertaining to watch, her comic timing is near flawless, and then there's that other hit-you-between-the-eyes quality. The very obvious, drop dead gorgeous sexpot quality. Kind of hard to miss, that one, and men find it particularly distracting.

When telling some friends about how funny I found 'Some Like It Hot', how ahead of its time it was, my husband proceeded to describe Sugar's (the character played by Marilyn) flesh-toned, strategically-sequinned dress to the friends' husbands in amazing detail. I'd challenge him to describe one of my dresses so meticulously. I had to agree with him, it was an arresting dress, and so suggestive I can hardly believe it got past the censors, back in those days. But that was the contradiction of Marilyn. In her most obvious lip-pouting, hip-swaying, boob-thrusting method of acting, she brought such light-hearted freshness to the screen, such unassuming sex-appeal and girlish charm, that she was, and still is, practically impossible to resist.

Her talent for comedy has long been recognised, but was she - as some insist - the product of clever editing? I don't think so. There have been a lot of mediocre performances from plenty of other gorgeous blondes in the history of film, but Marilyn brought something to the screen that set her aside from the rest. Was it the X factor? whatever that intangible quality might be. Was she a gifted performer with a passion for acting and an intrinsic understanding of the craft? Or was it all a fluke?

Was Marilyn really just a dumb blonde? Did stupidity bring her immunity to stage fright, or to the daunting concept of a worldwide audience? She certainly always looked at ease in front of the camera. Or could we credit a lack of self-awareness for her ability to appear unstudied and natural as only the best actors can?

Perhaps it was a combination of all those things, but I think Marilyn had a lot more talent than she's ever been given credit for. Her roles often included singing, and indeed she had a lovely voice, yet nobody ever thought of her as a singer.

It probably is the case that Marilyn did a lot of it by instinct, getting the performance right by sheer absence of inhibition. But in the end, who cares? Her performances are a delight, ranging from the light romantic comedies she's famous for, to darker, more complex roles such as her portrayal of the powerless, yet rebellious victim in 'Bus Stop'.

So here is the famous clip. I couldn't resist. With lines like, 'There may come a time when a hard-boiled old lawyer thinks you're awful nice, but get that ice or else no dice', and 'Men grow cold as girls grow old, and we all lose our charms in the end. But square-cut or pear-shaped, these rocks don't lose their shape. Diamonds are a girl's best friend,' this performance is a crack-up. And all that red and hot pink! It's a visual feast with Marilyn at her shining best.

Finally put the baby to bed

2008-02-01T20:23:00.000+11:00

Today, after many, many hours 're-working' my previously completed novel, I went to the post office with four copies and sent it off for the next stage of the competition. As I walked away afterwards, I experienced a feeling I've felt before, usually after the completion of something big: a round of exams, the end of VCE (called HSC, when I did it), the end of a uni course. Okay, this effort wasn't quite so enormous as those, but it did take up the best part of the last three days. The feeling was: Now what do I do? Of course, there's no shortage of things to do, but for a moment, I was at a loss. Such was the extent to which this thing has had me in its grip.

The problem was that my manuscript, though 'technically' 51,000 words, only came up to 45,000 odd words on word count. The reason for this discrepancy is that I wrote my manuscript in 'Courier New' font (double spaced), which gives an average 250 word count. 'Times New Roman', single spaced, packs in a lot more. Therefore, my 205 page 'Courier New' manuscript translated to 66 pages in ARC (see previous post). And that was the problem. Minimum number of pages to go to the next stage in the contest was 75. And I only had 66!!!

After 're-jigging' the damn thing numerous times, I had to face the cold hard fact. I just didn't have enough words in the manuscript. Near blank pages don't help, either. When a chapter ends only a line into a new page, the usual convention is to begin the next chapter on a new page. But when doing the 'average' count in 'Courier New', every page counts, and that includes the blank ones.

Adding new scenes meant I had to completely change my initial structure of chapters. And then I had to choose which parts of the novels could do with some 'beefing up'. One of these was the only sex scene in the novel. I'm generally quite coy with these, since writing sex is difficult, and doing it badly is oh, so cringe-worthy. But since the manuscript was in ARC format, and I was looking over it in 'Full Screen Reading' view, it was quite easy to work out where I hadn't made the most of a pivotal moment, or where I'd rushed unwisely. The sex scene was one such place. At the time I wrote it, it seemed long enough, but since I find writing sex difficult, a few lines seemed like the entire bible and the gospels put together, (except that in the bible, they only bring up sex metaphorically, in terms of snakes and apples, or men 'knowing' women - oh that would be sooo much easier!)

And let's get another thing straight. This thing I'm calling a sex scene is no such thing. I should call it a love scene, because there's a lot of warm fuzzy stuff in it, a good set-up, and then I leave it up to the reader to work out which bits go where. Except that this time, it was as if I'd set the scene, lit the fire, so to speak, then slammed the door on the reader, leaving her outside in the snow.

So I put in a bit more. Went as far as the characters undressing and getting into bed. And reaching for a condom. Which was the furthest I'd ever gone with any of this, so that's where I called it quits. Once the condom comes out, I think we all know where it's going. Oh, I realise it could get really interesting at this point, but for now I'll leave it to the experts like Jennifer Crusie. When I think I've written a sex scene as well as she does, I won't have any qualms about putting it in.

But aside from THAT scene, I put in a few others, that, surprise, surpise... actually improved the novel. Too bad I've already sent it off to Harlequin Mills & Boon in London. I intended the new scenes to be nothing more than 'fillers', but it was only afterward, as I read them back, that I realised how vital they were to the story, and how much they added to character development. They focused on the finer minutiae of life, moments spent in the backyard having a glass of wine with the person you love while his child enjoys herself on her new swing set, or rugging up in your woollies and taking a carton of fish and chips onto the beach in winter. It was in scenes like these that my characters' personalities were revealed a bit more three-dimensionally than I had managed to do in the original manuscript. These scenes were the 'feel-good moments' that we so love watching in films. The moments when we truly get to know the protagonists and fall in love with them, when we begin to care and desperately want to know what happens next. And it's knowing the protagonists this well that makes us laugh at their antics, or shed a tear when things go wrong.

Through this painful and frantic process of having to come up with a fair chunk of new material in a short time, I learned a valuable lesson. One that may not help me much with this manuscript, but that will definitely kick my current WIP up a gear. And all the writing under pressure? Well that was valuable too. Good practice for jumping to the crack of an editor's whip.

Goin' Crazy!

2008-01-31T14:29:00.000+11:00

Yep, that's what writing does to me sometimes.

When I got notification that I was among the finalists in the Emerald, I just smiled and allowed myself a week to luxuriate in the good news, knowing my manuscript was complete. I'd already sent it off to Harlequin Mills & Boon in London, after all. Last September, no less.

But when I turned on the computer and put it into ARC format (single spaced, landscape page orientation, Times New Roman 12 point font, two columns, fully justified text), I freaked. Yes, literally freaked, because my 51,000 word manuscript did not come up to the required 75 page minimum ARC format for the competition!!! Even though the length of my novel is standard category romance length.

Since then, the formerly relaxed and a tiny bit smug Scribbly has been pulling her hair out, rearranging chapters, writing extra bits, resurrecting old sections that were thrown out in the final edit in September, all to make the entry comply.

And this little bit of procrastination isn't helping one bit. Better get back to it.

2008 rolls to a very lazy start

2008-01-27T12:16:00.000+11:00

I'm back from a blissfully relaxing holiday, ready to face the year. Amazing how much a couple of weeks of lazing about sets me up for the usual hustle and bustle of returning to work, kids back at school... and the rest. Leaving the beach two days ago was almost physically painful. The weather was pristine and the beach looked divine as we drove away, back towards the city. The shallow water on 'our beach' was so baby blue, receding to a strong turquoise, then deep blue, that this heavenly spot only an hour out of the city looked so exotic it could have been Thailand.

While away, AbFab broke the happy news that we're once again finalists in a competition. This time, the RWA Emerald. I was just walking on to the beach for the day, when her phone call came. She said, 'Are you ready for some good news?' I kind of froze, and just said,' Yes,' when what I was really thinking, was, 'I'm always ready for good news.'

This comp required the entrants to submit the first three chapters of a completed novel. Now through to the second stage, I'll have to submit the entire novel (4 copies of it) for further judging. Good luck to us, AbFab!!!

New Year's Resolutions...

2008-01-06T00:57:00.000+11:00

I have been extremely lazy since Christmas. A huge family lunch completely exhausted me. The day itself was great, but I think it was the lead up that did me in. And since then I've been laying low at home... and doing very little writing. What I have done quite a bit of, though, is thinking about my characters. More on that later.

New Year's Eve was spent with a few friends at a gorgeous spot on the bay. We had a fantastic view of the Melbourne skyline, which included spectacular fireworks displays at 9.30 and midnight. The air stayed warm until after midnight, so we were able to stay on the balcony all night. We nibbled, sipped and talked out way into 2008, and as far as resolutions, didn't make any on the night.

But since then, I've had a chance to think, and I do enjoy making them. I treat them as a plan for the year. I don't always succeed in achieving everything, but here goes. These are the things I'd like 2008 to be about:

Less stress

More time to contemplate and drink in the 'small' moments in life

More time to write

Writing success, or at least some steps forward

Finally getting the added space we need at home!!!

Family time

Time with friends

Balancing the hard work with a healthy blend of socialising and holidays

There could be more. If I think of them, I'll edit this post and add them in.

An oldie but a goodie...

2007-12-18T10:12:00.000+11:00

Well, he's not an oldie for me. Speaking hypothetically, if Richard Gere and I were to meet in a romance novel, we would make a great couple. He, the older, wiser, man-of-the-world, and me, the thirty-something (ha ha) feisty heroine.

I found so many breathtaking photos of Richard Gere that it was hard to choose only a few. I've loved him ever since he made 'An Officer And A Gentleman', and I don't quite remember if I was aware of him before that. Back in the early eighties, he wasn't the conventional leading man. His looks weren't as 'chiselled' as say, Tom Selleck, or Pierce Brosnan. But right from the start, there was an animal quality about Richard Gere that is irresistible. Plainly speaking, he's just too sexy for words. And that sex appeal was what set him apart from the other 'pretty boys' around at that time.

He could have been a one, or two-hit-wonder, but somehow, he has managed the seemingly impossible task of keeping his career sailing steadily through the unforgiving waters of Hollywood. His movies have never been acclaimed masterpieces, but starring in such landmark love stories such as 'An Officer And A Gentleman', and 'Pretty Woman', have earned him his place in cinema history.

And, just like a fine wine, he's improved with age. His hair is now silver, and his figure not as taut as it once was, but that makes him infinitely more lovable at his age. He doesn't look as if he's trying too hard to stay young, which is so attractive. Take one of his latest movies, 'Shall We Dance', where he plays the part of Susan's Sarandon's disillusioned - or just plain looking for more in life - husband. The fact that he may be lusting after J. Lo, but doesn't follow through, just makes him even more desirable. And the ending is pure romance. Every time I watch the dancing scene in the kitchen, I am totally carried away by the intimacy and wish that I was in Sarandon's place, sampling that spoonful of pasta sauce... swoon...

In fact, Richard Gere seldom plays unpleasant characters. That was why his movie 'Unfaithful', didn't quite work, for me. Here he was, a seemingly perfect husband with a good job, a great house, kid, dog. So what made Diane Lane stray??? It didn't make sense.

'Chicago' was a great example of how Richard Gere tries not to become typecast. When he came out singing and dancing, I have to admit I felt the urge to giggle, but he's so accomplished that he carried it off very well, and was a credible part of that talented cast. And given my weakness for musicals, I was bound to love him even in this unlikely role. So it's official. Richard Gere, lovable hero for all ages.

The Lovable Hero

2007-12-12T16:08:00.000+11:00

My WIP is off and running. I've written 2 chapters to my satisfaction, and I'm flying on the third. So far, the ideas are in good supply, and I can't wait to skip from one encounter to the next, knowing I've got a fairly meaty story to help me along.

But having a good plot depends on having great characters, and keeping these characters great is vitally important. If the hero or heroine say or do something that isn't 'lovable', then the writer risks alienating her readers.

This is something which I've been aware of for some time, but though I try my best to make my hero and heroine lovable, sometimes I write them in a less than flattering light. And since this is not always easy to ascertain, from a writing point of view, that's when critique partners become an invaluable part of the writing process. I say this, because when I showed my latest chapter (Ch 2) to AbFab, she said my hero was behaving in a way that made it hard for her to like him.

When I studied the scene, I too could see what she was talking about. I had decided to divulge some information that my heroine was unaware of, but when I made the hero impart this news, it painted him in a rather unattractive light. AbFab pointed this out, and at first I had the usual reaction to rewriting the scene. Not happy. Luckily, it usually takes me all of about two minutes to get over myself. When I thought about the problem, I decided the information my heroine was getting directly from the hero really wasn't great news, and it would be best if she found out through another - minor - character. That way she could feel all the same indignation, but it wouldn't be aimed directly at the hero... not yet, anyway.

Of course, there are going to be mitigating circumstances and of course, lots of emotional conflict. It's a romance, after all, and the hero and heroine will have a chance to discover each other's flaws as well as strengths through the course of the novel. They will also have enough opportunities to uncover the truth about each other. Though the beginning of the novel is the time to complicate things, everyone knows it will all end in smiles and big love-hearts. And through it all, no matter what, the hero has to stay lovable.

All this made me muse about lovable heroes. It's a fascinating subject, as one woman's cad can sometimes be another's cup of tea. Currently, I'm reading a romance where I find the hero extremely unattractive. I'm having trouble getting through the book, but I must. I am a student of romance, and I want to see how this very experienced author ties up all the loose ends and justifies the protagonists' misconceptions. There is a fair amount of 'misunderstanding' in this story, and at the half-way mark, the hero is coming across as a brutish, unfeeling bastard who's only interested in one thing - getting the heroine into bed. I'm sure there would be many readers who would be titillated by the hero's behaviour, seeing it as a display of attractive masculinity, but I have to say in very loud words: IT DOES NOTHING FOR ME.

My heroes are definitely tender alpha males. That preference is demonstrated in the kind of man I chose for myself. And the heroes I find attractive in books and films. There are so many wonderful heroes I can think of that to mention them fleetingly in this post wouldn't do them justice. Stay tuned for a more comprehensive list...

Contest Epilogue

2007-12-07T09:22:00.000+11:00

This week (or was it last week - time goes so fast), I found out that I didn't place in the competition I entered recently. Seven finalists were selected out of 61 entries, and these were sent to a Harlequin Mills&Boon editor. Still, to be in that top seven ain't bad.

But the great news is that my dear friend and critique partner, AbFab, wait for it.... WON!!!!!!

It's a fantastic achievement, and I'm thrilled for her. A step in the right direction, and no surprise, since her writing is of such obvious stand-out quality. Congratulations, friend. A well deserved accolade.

A new WIP

2007-11-24T16:03:00.000+11:00

Now that the busiest part of my work is over for the year, and won't begin again until well into January or later, I've started a new novel. As I'm waiting to hear about two manuscripts I sent off to Harlequin this year, a new romance will keep the writing machine well oiled.

The inspiration for this new WIP comes from a short story I had published in the RWA Little Gems Anthology this year. In my story, 'Cool Rock', an ambitious young lawyer meets a rock star in a shop. The two argue over one of the items on sale, and the incident well and truly gets the chemistry going between them. When Genevieve walks away from the shop, she is unaware that the man she just gave her business card to, is a world famous musician. Regrettably, Ben loses Genevieve's business card, and it's two years before fate brings the couple together once more.

Without giving too much away, the novel picks up where the story left off. How is a lawyer to make a life with a rock star? How is a rock star - accustomed to a nomadic life and irregular working hours - to make a life with a lawyer? Mmmm... lots of interesting conflict there.

I wrote a chapter and a half of the continuing story of Genevieve and Ben, but quickly realised I'd started about a quarter into the story. Yesterday I pulled the reins on the project and began again. I'm much happier with the revised beginning.

And the inspiration for the two protagonists???? If this was a movie, my pick would be Keith Urban and Anne Hathaway.

Drum roll...

2007-11-14T22:30:00.000+11:00

A couple of months ago, I entered the first five pages of my novel (the one I subsequently sent off to Harlequin in London) in a RWA competition, "High Five".

Today, I received notification that I'm a finalist! I am absolutely chuffed to have made it this far. What a thrill. I'd like to wish all other finalists (one of them my great friend AbFab) luck. The entries will now be judged by a Harlequin editor, which is such a wonderful opportunity. I look forward to getting some helpful feedback.

Says Who???

2007-11-11T12:22:00.000+11:00

A men's magazine compiled a list of the "Unsexiest Women Alive", and Sarah Jessica Parker was voted number No. 1. Well, how do you like that??? The Sydney Morning Herald article reported the results of this unfortunate survey, and included an unflattering photo of Parker just to drive the point home a little more brutally. I saw the article a few weeks back, and at the time, I was appalled and saddened for Sarah Jessica Parker and the other women named as numbers 2 to 5 in the list. Since then I've been thinking about it quite a lot, and the more I think, the more it bothers me. Here's a snippet from the article:

The list, published in the latest edition of Maxim Magazine, named Sex and the City star Sarah Jessica Parker as the No. 1 Unsexiest Woman Alive.

The magazine said Parker was the "least sexy woman in a group of very unsexy women" that ironically starred in a show with the word "sex" in the title.

Firstly, I know there will be some who will say Parker and the other women who made the dreaded list are celebrities who make squillions every year. They sought out notoriety and consequently, are fair game.

I don't subscribe to this viewpoint. Choosing a life in the entertainment industry does not mean expecting to be humiliated. And who voted these women "unsexy"? Are they readers of Maxim magazine, and thus male? If so, what kind of men are they? I'd like to see how these men would rate on a similar scale. I understand magazines do these surveys to sell issues, but they should keep them to positive themes: World's Sexiest, Most Beautiful, etc. Who magazine regularly publishes such surveys, and what I like about them is that they feature a number of celebrities who aren't shining examples of what is considered to be "conventional" beauty. In fact, I'd be willing to bet Sarah Jessica Parker and the other stars of Sex And The City have been featured.

Sarah Jessica Parker's beauty is not conventional. That's what I like about her. And it was one of the reasons Sex And The City was such a popular, well-loved show. She is gorgeous, that is undeniable, but in a much more interesting way than the numerous - and forgettable - starlets who sparkle with a faint veneer of Hollywood gloss. Parker and the other characters of the show portrayed a realism that many women could connect with. Okay, their sexual escapades were a bit over the top, and there aren't many good TV shows or movies where you don't have to suspend disbelief just a little. That was all part of the fun. And the heart of the show, what made it poignant, funny, touching and absolutely gut-wrenching at times, was not the sex. It was the portrayal of these four women and their relationships with men and with each other.

The other admirable quality displayed by Sarah Jessica Parker, what I appreciate every time I watch her on screen, is that she looks 'real'. She's been in Hollywood a long time now. I think the first time I noticed her was in Steve Martin's LA Story, and apart from aging a bit, she hasn't changed much. By this, I mean she hasn't bowed to Hollywood pressure to get her nose done or substantially change her appearance by surgical means. Who knows, she may have had face lifts, but she hasn't become one of those generic clones we see splashed all over magazines. Women who used to look real once, and now look 'done'.

And what about her style? It's fantastic. Watching Sex And The City was a sheer visual delight. The outfits - though sometimes leaning towards the bizarre... or tragic - were an asset to the show and its creators. In its attempt to define style and fashion, the show had to go 'out there', take some risks. And those risks truly paid off, providing a visual treat only surpassed by classics like Breakfast At Tiffany's. Since I own the complete series of Sex And The City, I sometimes indulge myself in the visual spectacle, and love every minute. There is no doubt Parker was the wardrobe director's muse. Her natural chic and flair with clothes was the inspiration for the many wonderful outfits, which ranged from flea market treasures to haute couture.

Putting Parker aside, I find the "Unsexiest Woman Alive" survey an insult to women in general. If it were done in a workplace, or a school, it would be considered harassment or bullying. The perpetrators would be castigated.

Shame on you, Maxim magazine. I say Sarah Jessica Parker is FABULOUS. She represent so much more than "sexyness". In the character of Carrie Bradshaw, she was the quintessential single girl looking for love. An icon for our times. A courageous career woman who refused to settle for second best. The photos illustrate some of the things Sarah Jessica Parker represents, the most improbable of them, "unsexy".

The Verdict

2007-11-08T09:53:00.000+11:00

For a while, I was hanging in there bravely. The grey hair was out for everyone to see. Sometimes I didn't mind it at all. Rather liked it, in fact. But there were other times when I looked at myself and thought I looked ten years older. Which, a day after celebrating my 44th, is not a good thing.

Yesterday, I took out the tube of 'Cherry Bomb' hair colour I'd bought in the event of a 'grey crisis'. I squeezed out a generous amount and started to brush it on. It looked fabulous. The red was deep and rich, covering the whites to perfection and blending in beautifully with my black hair. I left the colour on for the required 30 minutes and even put on a plastic shower cap to maximise the effect (a tragic look).

But when I washed it off, disaster. Almost all the red washed away, leaving my greys a weak shade of pink. I looked like Dame Edna with a buzz cut.

Off to Hairhouse Warehouse. They have all the answers. In the end, I opted to return to permanent colour. A shade of brown that will colour my greys and blend in with the black hair to give a 'textured' effect. I went home, put it in, and am much happier with the result. All I can say is, I gave it my best shot, but maybe I'll wait till I'm 60 to go grey again. By then I might be almost all white and it could be a great look.

...of droughts and flooding rain

2007-11-08T09:32:00.000+11:00

We went camping to Sorrento last weekend. The weather forecast wasn't flash, so I flagged the idea that the trip could be cancelled. Husband laughed. 'They said "showers". That could mean anything,' he said. 'It might be fantastic!'

What can I say? I was right and he was wrong. It wasn't showers, in the end, it was rain. And what rain. In a time of drought, I don't think I remember such a heavy rain fall since the last time we had fierce storms in Victoria, back about 2 or 3 years ago.

The rain that began to fall on Saturday afternoon and didn't stop for twenty four hours was more like a deluge than 'rain'. All through the night, I kept being woken by its drumming on the tent, and by the occasional strong gust of wind that made me wonder about the nearby tree we'd used to string our washing line. Would it fall and crush us as we slept? There was a lot of flapping at one stage, and husband went out to investigate. The wind had blown the awning off one of the corner poles, which fell of course, leaving half of our 'veranda' collapsed. Of course, everything we'd placed under it got soaked. We had water through food bags, towels, cloth chairs... well, everything.

I lay in my bed listening to him hammer the peg back in. A few minutes later, when he was back inside, we heard someone else hammering in their pegs. Let's just say not a lot of sleep was had by the general camping community that night. That would be fine, if it weren't for the fact that in the morning, we woke to find water had leaked into the tent!!!!! The canvas tent that was meant to be absolutely 100% waterproof. It cost enough money, so I was sure it was going to deliver on the promise.

In the morning, the inside of the tent was saturated in condensation - or so we thought. It was probably water coming in from outside. There were puddles here and there on the floor and some of the bedding was slightly wet.

We left the tent for a hearty brunch at a local eatery with the other families on the trip. The temperature had dropped to 13 degrees by now, and the warmth was more a necessity than a treat. Some of the children came in their pyjamas, and our small one had no choice but to wear thongs (all her socks and shoes got soaked in the downpour).

From there, we migrated to the Hotel Sorrento for a long lunch before dropping off all the children at the movies while we grown-ups packed up the went tent site. And yes, you guessed it, by then the weather was clearing. Still, it was lovely to get home to a warm, dry bed. We slept in till 9 the next morning. There was a lot of lost sleep to catch up on.

And some research on the tent manufacturer's web site yielded some answers: The tent needs a few 'thorough soakings' to become 'seasoned'. That done, it will be 100% waterproof.

I am sooo looking forward to the next rainy camping trip so we can put it to the test.

Junk Communication

2007-10-30T21:12:00.000+11:00

Every day now, I get at least one or two phone calls from companies that want to sell me 'stuff'. Oh, they often begin the phone call with, 'I'm not trying to sell you anything...', to which I always think, 'Oh, yeah, then who's paying your wages?'

I try not to insult these poor telephone people. After all, it's not their fault they've got such a terrible job. Imagine having to sit in a tele-marketing room all day with dozens of others, all punching numbers into phones, all reciting the same, tedious mantra.

I try not to insult them, but I'm sure my annoyance comes through. I usually cut them off by saying, 'Not interested, thanks,' and quickly hanging up. The quick hang-up is usually to prevent the poor tele-marketer's counter attack. Sometimes they even sound annoyed that you're not interested in their amazing offer. 'Oh, so you're not interested in learning how you can take thousands of dollars off your mortgage,' they say in a shitty tone.

This is when I remember Jerry Seinfeld, and smile. There was that episode when Jerry gets one of these calls and he says politely, 'I'm sorry, but I'm busy right now. If you give me your number, I can call you back at home.... Oh, you don't like people ringing you when you're home? Now you know how I feel.'

Still, when the charities call, I count my blessings and don't hang up.

Then there's the other 'scourge'. The 'chain e-mail'. Usually they're syrupy sweet, corny, cliched and frustrating. Some - under the guise of wisdom or altruism - are downright offensive. They're the ones that promise stuff:

"If you pass this e-mail on to six other people, ten great things will happen to you...
...money will come to you...
...luck will come to you...
...sex..."

They remind me of those pernicious chain letters that used to come in the mail, hardly legible after repeated photocopying. Remember how they told of unspeakable family tragedies that befell people who didn't keep the chain going? And how those same tragedies or financial ruin were reversed once the victim fished the letter out of the bin, made 50 copies and sent it to all their unsuspecting friends and relatives? It's a source of endless fascination to me that anybody is taken in by that stuff!

Sometimes I get a forwarded email that makes me stop and think. These are usually long-winded monologues about the preciousness of life and those around us. I read it, start feeling nostalgic about the past, feeling all warm and fuzzy about my loved ones. Yeah, the sentiments are often true, and it IS good not to take life for granted. I get that, and I guess it's a good thing to be reminded. But then why do I always feel a little manipulated? Why do I always feel like I'm a member of the great cyberspace congregation and someone's giving me a sermon. One I didn't ask for.

The problem with these kinds of messages, is that they're often full of generalisations, and they paint a picture of the past as perfect and of the present as hopeless. Frankly, I don't have any time for this. Why can't we be happy and positive about the great things we enjoy in life today? If we don't focus on what's good (and there's plenty of it), how can we expect young people not to feel hopeless about the future of the planet?

Perhaps it's time to start my own e-mail chain. The good news mail. Ten reasons to rejoice that we're living now instead of the fifties or sixties or some other decade when hundreds of Australians died every year of preventable and/or curable diseases. Ten reasons to turn off the computer and spend some time reading - or writing - a book instead. And what about forwarding great art (see, the inclusion of the above Klimt was not gratuitous). That's always uplifting, as is poetry or a good quote.

And humour is always welcome. Send me a funny photo, or a joke, and the quality of my day improves.

Writing? What was that again?

2007-10-30T20:43:00.000+11:00

I am completely exhausted. The last few weeks have been full of activity, which have left me with little time to write. I tell myself I'll get into it in a few weeks, when I get past the mountain of work that's built up. I will get past it soon. A few weeks should do it, and I can already see the proverbial light...

While I've been doing that work, a lot of other 'stuff' has happened. Should I mention it? The list would be really long, and maybe it would be fun to even try.

Okay, I'll have a little go:

Install word 2007 on computer - Hate it, but have to do it to be compatible with the rest of the world
Ask for another year's leave from 'real job' - granted.
Do tax return - two years' worth!!!
Celebrate 13 year old daughter's birthday - big bash.
Celebrate father's 83rd birthday - very quiet, but very special.
Let hair 'grey' - the jury's still out.
Buy some groovy clothes for summer - Yay!!
Buy some fantastic shoes for summer - alas, only one pair.
Make Halloween costume for 13 year old - black fairy.
Listen to 90 presentations at work - each goes for about 20 minutes
Grade said presentations.
Write for money - non-fiction, instructional, and very, very boring.
Catch up with doctor, dentist, vet visits long overdue.

I could go on, but I won't. You get the picture. Soon, very soon, the writing part of my life will get a run again.

Twiddling Thumbs

2007-10-07T20:13:00.000+10:00

Not exactly, but almost. Since posting off my manuscript, I've caught up on all the procrastination I missed in the last six weeks.

For one thing, I've done quite a bit of internet time wasting - so much so that we got the notice from our provider to say that we'd used 80% of our monthly total. Seeing as we recently 'upped' the total to 4G a month, I thought exhausting an amount that vast would be beyond us. I blamed the kids at first, until my husband reminded me of my fondness for YouTube.

Oh, yeah... YouTube. I've been re-living a lot of fun stuff on that little time waster. Anything and everything musical, usually. I had the Elvis fest at one stage, then moved on to Barbra Streisand. OMG, she's so divine. There was this montage of Barbra photos from the seventies while the soundtrack of 'Stoney End' plays. Oh, it's pure heaven. As is the clip from 'A Star Is Born' where she sings on the stage for the first time in front of her rockstar boyfriend's packed stadium. The song is 'Woman In The Moon', and it's one of her most powerful performances. It even held the attention of my almost teenage daughter!! Now that says something.

A dinner time conversation about John Travolta in 'Grease' took the whole family to YouTube for a sampling of his talents on the disco dance floor in 'Saturday Night Fever'. The movie's not suitable for the kids to watch yet, but boy, it's sweet watching the man move.

Then there's been 'Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat', a perennial favourite at our house that is currently getting a spin in the CD stacker. I entered the name of the musical in YouTube and got several 'bad' high school, or amateur versions. Some of them had less than adequate Josephs in the lead. And as the role requires Joseph to don a slave's outfit (loin cloth with the obligatory bare chest) for part of the show, let's just say some of the candidates were in a no-win situation from the start.

Just when I thought there wasn't going to be any decent, West End versions of Joseph on YouTube, I stumbled across a sensational man. The guy's name is Lee Mead, and as I followed the trail of video leads, I pieced together his story. Apparently, in the UK, there's been an 'IDOL' type of TV program to find the lead for the latest run of 'Joseph'. Andrew Lloyd Webber has been involved - as evidenced by his appearance at the auditions. Well, this guy Lee Mead - who had already been starring in The Phantom - blew everyone else out of the water. His voice is sensational and as for the slave outfit... well, that is something to be seen. One of the judges accused a fellow (female) judge of being in love with him. Fair enough accusation, I suppose, since there was lipstick on the photo of Mead she had in her hands as she gave him her 'feedback' after his audition.

Since we seem to follow close on the heels of London's stage 'revivals', I look forward to seeing 'Joseph' on stage here in Melbourne. The first time I saw it, a cousin took me to see it in London's West End. The year was 1992, and he said he only got tickets because, 'Jason Donovan's not in it any more, so it's okay to go.' Back then, I'd never heard of the musical, and I thought the title was ridiculous. The bible story wasn't one I was familiar with, and even if I'd known about it, it would have been hard to envisage it as a musical. I have no idea who made up the cast, back then, but the narrator was a woman with such an amazing voice that I often wonder if she's now a household name. At one stage, I remember she stopped the show. So much applause that the orchestra had to wait until the audience was quiet again before going on!

For a look at Lee Mead's 'slave' version of Joseph, and more importantly, his impressive vocal chords, have a peek below...

Fare thee well, dear manuscript

2007-09-27T23:42:00.000+10:00

Today I finally handed my current manuscript over to the post office clerk. It was a big parcel, too. Heavy. I haven't sent off a full manuscript before, so the postage was a bit of a surprise.

I have to thank my critique partner, AbFab, for poring over the chapters one by one as I produced them, for giving very balanced and insightful comments, and helping me to shape the writing into something better. AbFab and I went away for the weekend, and we pretty much did nothing but write - or re-write.

Thanks also for my other critique buddy, Lisa Mc, who despite being the busiest working mother in the world, still managed to read my novel and offer some really helpful comments, which I took into consideration during the writing weekend.

During the weekend, AbFab read the entire novel from start to finish, and found some mistakes. Then I read it, and found others. I made the necessary alterations, and when I got home, I printed the entire manuscript out once more. And then, of course, I read it again. I couldn't help myself. And naturally, I found some more things I needed to change.

This morning, I began to read it another time, and again fiddled with the prose. I got about halfway through the manuscript, when I realised it was time to STOP.

Ever had that feeling? The manuscript is technically finished, but it's hard to stop tweaking sentences, changing words here and there - and then changing them back to the way they were at the start. AAARRRGGGHHH!!!!!

Thankfully, I recognised this was such a moment. Halfway through the fourth read-through, I stopped and hit the 'print' button. Honestly, I've been through the final draft so many times that there was nothing left to find. Only things to move around and re-arrange. There comes a time when you just have to say, 'That's it. I'm finished.' And I did that today, about 3pm.

And then I slipped the pristine manuscript, complete with cover page and bound with rubber bands into the envelope that will take it to Mills & Boon in London. I included all the necessary bits and pieces and sent it on its merry - and I hope successful - way.

Tonight, like an addict, I thought to myself, 'What shall I write now?' But the laptop was turned off, and will stay turned off for quite a few days, I think. Time to work with pen and paper, first. New characters, new plot, new project.

Tribute

2007-09-14T20:09:00.000+10:00

It's been a long time since my last post, I know, but I've been extremely busy with work and a few hectic weekends - some of them away from home. On the writing front, I've also been snowed under, polishing my latest manuscript for submission.

But though I haven't really got time to post, I just couldn't let the passing of a giant go by without acknowledgment.

Luciano Pavarotti, the golden voice of opera, died last week. There aren't many performers who could carry the label of having the greatest voice of their genre. Pavarotti is such a star. I don't think anybody could argue there has been a better tenor. Ever. The power and finesse of his voice is unsurpassed, and all over the world, music legends have for years been paying their respects, as well as lining up for a chance to become immortal by singing alongside him.

I have many old VHS tapes of Pavarotti concerts, including the first (and best) of the Three Tenors performances. One of these concerts is, 'Pavarotti in Hyde Park', performed in front of Charles and Diana. What made this concert stand out from many others just like it, wasn't so much what took place on stage, but the weather. About half way through the show, the sky opened up with a great deluge, turning the the audience - including Charles and Di - into drowned rats.

In spite of that, Pavarotti's divine voice held the audience captive, and nobody left their seats. Diana and Charles appeared enthralled, while becoming more sodden by the minute. After the show, the members of the orchestra and Pavarotti lined up backstage for the traditional royal 'meet and greet'. The image of a completely soaked Diana, her hair plastered to her skull, but nevertheless glowing in the presence of the great Luciano, is powerful and enduring.

Back in 1993, I sat in the audience of Pavarotti's concert in Melbourne's Rod Laver Arena. I'll never forget his incredible performance, and the energy radiating from the crowd. It was as if we all knew we were part of history, that night. He saved his signature aria, 'Nessun Dorma', for last, and it gained him a standing ovation. The applause was deafening, and I thought my hands would fall off from so much clapping. What a thrill to see him live, and only a few rows from the front.

Every star in the music world sang with Pavarotti if they were lucky enough to get the chance. I've seen the likes of Andrea Bocelli, Bono, James Brown, Meat Loaf and Queen - among others - take up the microphone. But the clip I've chosen for this blog is of Pavarotti singing alongside the Spice Girls. Never my favourite band, that girly bunch, yet this unlikely coupling works. The mix of feminine voices contrast with Luciano's reverberating tenor surprisingly well. This collaboration also highlights what a versatile performer Paravotti was, and demonstrates what was probably his greatest achievement: making opera accessible to the masses and creating a whole new generation of fans.

Thank you Luciano. The world loves you and will always miss you.

Sometimes, you just gotta....

2007-08-04T15:11:00.000+10:00

LAUGH!

Does life get too serious, sometimes? It certainly does for me, and then every little thing seems so big, other people's annoying habits become unbearable and days can go by without a good belly laugh. This is why it's so good to stop and have a bit of fun for no particular reason, as often as possible. And the best laughs are the ones that come unexpectedly, sometimes shared with strangers.

Today I was in the video shop, and I decided to borrow a Seinfeld DVD. While reading the episode blurbs on the back, I remembered just how funny the show used to be, and I started laughing. A woman looked at me, and all I had to do was to hold up the DVD cover, and say, 'Pez Dispenser'. She got it, and laughed too. There was a moment of real connection, though I'd never seen her before, and probably won't ever again.

This morning my kids found this little piece of comedy, and thanks to the creators, we shared a few laughs in our pyjamas. Here is the talented troupe of Harry Potter Pals. Enjoy.

New Project

2007-08-02T20:09:00.001+10:00

I have a new project. Not that I've abandoned the last one, but this one has kind of taken me by storm. The idea for this medical romance was such a good one that I kind of ran with it. Sometimes it's good to give ideas and themes enough time to develop, so Hugh and Libby are having a short rest as they make way for Matt and Evangeline.

My strong visual sense demanded some real-life inspirations, and for my central characters, I chose Joaquin Phoenix and Julianne Moore. Joaquin is exactly Matt - nothing needs changing, but in order to become Evangeline, Julianne would need spiral curls. I still want her red hair, but it's just too straight for the heroine I envisaged.

The plot is quite dramatic, and the first chapter works hard to establish the tension. Difficult thing - as always - will be not only to maintain that tension, but to escalate it. I'm working a lot harder with my chapters, trying not to ramble too much. I give myself 5 points of reference, 5 things that have to happen before the chapter ends. So far I've stuck to it quite well, and it's been extremely enjoyable. Though I have a busy life, the nights I fall into bed after midnight with a few pages under my belt, I swear I go to sleep with a smile on my face. When I'm writing, producing well, I feel an enormous sense of satisfaction and feel really happy.

Winter in the Alps

2007-07-25T13:39:00.000+10:00

Just got back from a fabulous week at Mt Buller. We got there as the mountain was engulfed in a blizzard of biblical proportions. Gale force winds kept all but about four lifts from running, so we enjoyed a snug day in the lodge on the first day there. There was a bit of snow play outside, which kept the little ones happy, and the white stuff was awesome. With more than a metre on the ground, a steady supply coming out of the sky, and below freezing temperatures, it stayed powdery all week.

Being strictly a fair-weather skier, I waited until the sky had cleared a bit before venturing out, and when it did, I had four good days on the slopes. It's so magic up there on top of the world, and I get as much of a buzz out of the beautiful scenery all around as I do skiing.

The kids went to ski-school some of the time and are now good enough to keep up with us older skiers (okay, actually skiing past me now!). Some friends joined us on the weekend, and they were kind enough to cook a Thai feast on Saturday night, followed by gorgeous blueberry mini-cheesecakes. If that wasn't enough indulgence, on Sunday morning, they cooked pancakes with berries!

What a great holiday... Just what I needed before getting back to work next week.

The Spirit of Romance

2007-07-10T20:28:00.003+10:00

Grace Kelly (the screen icon, not the real woman) has always embodied the essence of romance, for me. She was sublimely beautiful, looked spectacular in anything she wore and she was the epitome of style, refinement and... perfection. Of course, her seemingly perfect private life was anything but. I still find many of her movies a delight to watch. 'To Catch a Thief', 'Rear Window' and 'High Society' are among my favourite classics. In these, she plays heroines who are courageous, independent and strong-willed. What's not to love?

Mika's song - 'Grace Kelly' - is cool and boppy, it's loaded with the real goods. A rock solid melody that won't be forgotten overnight. Don't know if I agree with him that '...her looks were too sad', though. Dear, lovely, Grace Kelly. The silver screen misses you.

Check out the groovy video clip below...

And by the way...

2007-07-10T20:28:00.001+10:00

I'm bald!!!

A career change, shifting commitments and a new sense of adventure deserve a crazy new look! Today I took the plunge and cut (nearly all) my hair off. I didn't do it myself, of course. I let a professional do it, and did it feel good. Man oh man.

When the hairdresser was finished, she spiked me up until I hardly recognised myself. Next step will be to experiment with some wild colours. But I think I'll wait a couple of months to do that. Best to let the shock of the new subside, first.

Winter by the beach

2007-07-10T20:28:00.000+10:00

Just got back from a wonderful week away at Rosebud.

Rosebud, what a beautifully evocative name for this special place on the bay side of the Mornington Peninsula. It's named after a ship that was shipwrecked off the coast there, many, many years ago.

I'd say the defining feature of our time away at Rosebud is always sleeping in and lazy mornings in pyjamas until noon, when we finally emerge from the house and go looking for things to do. In Summer, it's almost always the beach, whereas in Winter, we have to get a bit more inventive.

It was a rainy week, this time, and we had one outing to the Ashcombe Maze, but it turned rather dark, rainy and cold while we were there. We explored the place, found all the fairies and almost all the gnomes, but it wasn't as pleasant as it could have been on a fine day. The man-made landscapes there are quite breathtaking.

I always, always take my laptop and write late into the night, or catch up on reading that I have less time for at home. Sometimes I take a notebook to the beach so I can write down ideas that come to me. Supervising children playing on sand, or swimming (in the warmer months) does lead to a lot of pondering, and from that can spring some gems of ideas, which have to be captured before they vaporise.

My coat of many Daemons

2007-06-28T23:49:00.004+10:00

You got me, AbFab and Ellen. I finally succumbed and took the Daemon test. And aren't I magnificent? The most beautiful, the most revered, the most breathtakingly magnificent animal that ever walked the earth. Immortalised in poetry by Blake, too:

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? etc. etc...

Well, I have a confession to make. I wasn't always this impressive. The first time I took the test I was... (drum roll) a MOUSE. But that test kind of didn't count for the blog, as I took it using my real name. Which meant I had to take the test again as Scribbly. This next time I was... (bigger drum roll) a HARE. A hare???? Mouse was bad, but hare was bordering on ridiculous.

Then my children got in on the act. The eldest has read the books the movie is based on, and apparently, they're fantastic. I guess we'll all be lining up to see it when it comes out. They took the test and came out as a jackal, a fox and a tiger. Not bad, I thought. Then husband had a go. He came out as a big chimpanzee. We all laughed. But when we tried to save his effort, it didn't work, so he tried again. This next time, his Daemon was a snow leopard. Which was much, much more dignified a result. And it got me thinking. Maybe if I answered the questions a bit more assertively, with a bit more, say... attitude, I'd score a better Daemon. Still being truthful, I reached inside the non-mouse and non-hare part of my psyche, and took the test a final time. You can imagine my thrill when I saw a tiger's shadow appear.

If I believed in any of this, I'd say that people don't have just one Daemon. It all depends on what mood we're in. One day's mouse is another day's tiger.

My (latest) Daemon

Leunig magic

2007-06-28T23:49:00.002+10:00

How I love Michael Leunig's cartoons, poetry and general commentary on life. With a few simple strokes of the pen (or paintbrush), he manages to convey so much about the human condition. This image is one of my favourites. With its poignant and universal theme, I'm sure it's been the driving force behind many a profound lifestyle - or career - changes. The signs read: "THE LIFE YOU LEAD", and "THE LIFE YOU COULD HAVE LED"

Are we living the life we really want? Or did we instead choose one that disappoints us? If we are indeed walking along that darkened stretch of road, how do we turn around and get on the path of light? Every time I see this cartoon, it drives home all the things that are important to me. The message is loud and clear: 'Carpe Diem' - Seize the day!

In yesterday's edition of The Age, another vintage Leunig made me think - and laugh - about my choices in life. The cartoon in question was about writing, and had no particular title. In it, a man is talking to his therapist and the conversation goes like this:

MAN: Help me doctor. I've got a book inside me!

THERAPIST: Most people have a book in them. Perhaps I can refer you to a publisher.

MAN: No! I don't want it published. I want it surgically removed - or dissolved with herbs or something - maybe some sort of therapy. I WANT TO BE RID OF IT! PLEASE!

THERAPIST: You seem ashamed of your inner book?

MAN: Not at all. It's just that I don't want to become a... a... I don't want to become a WRITER!

THERAPIST: There, there - it's not so bad. We all have to become writers sooner or later. We must learn acceptance. We are born, we live and then, sadly, we must write.

MAN: It seems so unfair. Life is so cruel. I thought I could escape.

Dear, dear Leunig. What would we all do without you? Sometimes the writing process feels just like it's described in this cartoon. Writing is agonising and confronting at times, but could I stop if I tried? I'm definitely in too deep, now. There are moments of exhilaration, and yes, there is the book - or many books - inside that are screaming to be written.

I'm baaack!!

2007-06-28T23:49:00.001+10:00

This sounds like a lame excuse, but I really wanted to post this week. Blogger, however, had other ideas. No matter what I tried, it wasn't letting me sign in. I've finally managed to do it for the first time today, but am still having problems with saving drafts and editing. Fingers crossed and let's hope it works from now on.

The X Factor

2007-06-28T23:49:00.000+10:00

Last week I went along to see my child compete in a short play competition. The stakes were not at "sheep station" levels, so it was relaxing and entertaining. The kids did a great job, and we (a few mums and the teacher) were thrilled to see them enjoying themselves to such a degree. Performing in a "real" theatre in front of an audience they didn't know was an obvious boost to their confidence as well as an invaluable experience.

But the interesting thing for me, was watching the development of the competition as each of the eight schools performed. It was obvious early on that our school's play was going to be in the front running for a prize. But soon we had a serious contender. The consensus amongst the other parents and the teacher was that this other school could take first prize off us.

As it turned out, we came second. The kids were thrilled, and waited to hear the expected result for first place. However, there was an upset. The school we thought would get first prize didn't get a mention, and the winner was instead another school, whose performance was - quite frankly - not that good (I'm being kind).

It's fascinating, isn't it, how things turn out. Sometimes what we think is marvellous, and deserving of accolades doesn't - for whatever reason - make the grade. Perhaps there was something we - as audience - weren't aware of. Maybe something that caused the entrant to be disqualified for some unknown, but valid reason.

The parallel to writing in all of this, is obvious. A rejection letter doesn't equal a failed manuscript. And sometimes, something unexpected catches an editor's eye. The X Factor. Assuming the work is presented in a professional and appropriate format, it's difficult to know what drives the selection process. Sure, great writing is always going to get there in the end, but a little luck can't hurt.

I write this as I await my response from Harlequin. My partial was sent off at the beginning of March, and I know that soon there will be a letter in the mail. And wouldn't it be wonderful if my three chapters caught some editor's eye? How would it feel to have a full manuscript requested? But writing is full of pitfalls. A rejection letter is just as likely, and I'm fully prepared to face that possibility. As I'm halfway through the next novel, I'll have lots to keep me busy.

Calling Chenna...

2007-06-23T00:34:00.001+10:00

Dear Chenna,

I've been reading about your plight and I have to say, I simply can't stop thinking about you. Your evil owner is guilty of a particularly callous type of abuse. Leaving you alone in the house, locked up for days at a time, is bad enough, but your bathroom ordeals sound unbearable. It's no wonder your joy for life and creative spirit struggle to break free during these intolerable periods of solitary confinement. Being forced to use a non-flush bathroom system that would have been considered primitive in the dark ages is nothing less than emotional torture.

That Ellen is a cruel owner not deserving of your sweetness and devotion. Who is she to question how you use your time when she's guilty of such neglect! Who is she to put you in therapy! She's the one who needs a shrink. I'm sure therapy would uncover quite an interesting and twisted history. More than that, she needs a padded cell!

I have been so disturbed by your pitiful story that I have been looking for ways to help you. I trawled the internet for hours, and finally found a charitable organisation set up by the late Madame Adelaide Bonfamille (You know, the one who had that beautiful Persian cat, Duchess and her three adorable kittens: Toulouse, Marie and Berlioz. Later there was all that trouble with a butler and a stray cat with a heart of gold called Abraham de Lacey Giuseppe Casey Thomas O'Malley). With her considerable fortune, she set up a fund for unwanted, undeserved and maltreated cats. For years, her mansion in Paris has been home to a cat refuge/resort/spa (see above photo).

Unfortunately my limited finances don't allow for an international air ticket to France, but perhaps if you start 'borrowing' a few gold coins from Ellen's purse or 'tidy up' where she leaves money laying around, perhaps you could save enough to get yourself there. Leave me a message here to let me know your intentions. One miaow from you and I will make all the arrangements.

I understand your suffering and dearly want to help you. Love, Scribbly

Blog Challenge!

2007-06-23T00:34:00.000+10:00

Had a very pleasant evening tonight with my two writer friends, AbFab and Ellen talking about writing and our lives, childhoods - some with and some without television. We shared a lovely dinner at Chocolate Buddha in Federation Square, enjoying sushi, sashimi and some very relaxed beef. Conversation was varied, but there was one hot topic: blogging. My friends waxed lyrical about all things to do with blogging. They discussed how to do all that fancy stuff I've only half learned. They compared their blogs to others of note. They explained how they follow links from blog to blog to find themselves in quite unexpected and surprising places. A couple of blogs mentioned were one about the art of scrapbooking, and another about places to have breakfast in Melbourne (very useful, I say). But there were many, many others. My friends mentioned that they do check my blog quite regularly and find that it's not updated very much (surprise). Of course, there's always something to blog about, so I've set myself a challenge to satisfy their obsession - and my burgeoning one. I must blog more. Even once a day, if I can stand it.

So I'll need to add another section to my writing ideas' notebook: Blogging ideas to thrill. I have a very select audience, I know, but it's a discerning one. And another challenge: images to suit. This one is dedicated to us crazy book cats. Let's keep the sisterhood going and the blogging passion alive.

Artist Date

2007-06-21T05:08:00.000+10:00

Well, it wasn't really, not in the way Julia Cameron advises (a day spent indulging in something to replenish creativity). But it was the first day I'd spent at home with time to write for ages!

I finished chapter 6 today. Sent it off to AbFab, who advised some minor changes. It was the chapter when my hero and heroine have dinner together. They haven't seen each other for twenty years and their lives have just intersected once more. Libby doesn't quite know why she's let Hugh drag her to this fancy restaurant, where she feels like an outsider. She doesn't know why she's there, yet she is, and this is the beginning of their journey. More complications will arise out of her decision to open the door and let him into her life. I don't quite know what these complications are going to be... Well, I have a few ideas, but for me nothing quite works like putting it on the page.

In the name of research, I had to delve into music from the 80's and into exotic cut flowers. I had in mind an amazing arrangement of Heliconia as a way to enhance the setting for this important scene. The images I found were striking, bold, and exactly what I was looking for. They come in shades of green and yellow, but the most spectacular images I found were stunning reds.

Crazy Woman!

2007-06-17T19:59:00.000+10:00

At least I'm not weeping, that's all I can say! But I am crazy, that's confirmed. What a week! Not much writing, but just about everything else in between. But busy is good, I suppose, as long as no disasters strike.
I love the NGV's 'Weeping Woman'. It says so much about our condition. She's green and all in pieces, and not too impressed about something (I'm being flippant - I believe the cause for this one's distress is WAR), but she still manages to look bloody arresting. Beautiful. We went to the gallery for an hour last Sunday, and she was there. See, I haven't had a minute to even blog since then! Anyway, she's a particular favourite of middle child. So when at the gallery, we have to say hello. We have a few favourites: 'Cleopatra's Banquet', by I don't know who, 'The Pineapple Girl' (not the actual title - our nickname for the gorgeous 14 year old heiress to a pineapple plantation fortune), by Joshua Reynolds, and the weepie lady.

What a great place, the NGV. And it's free! I can't actually believe these wonders are there for everyone. Because they're free, you can take kids and just "keep 'em movin'" from room to room as you view the magnificence. At one point, we had two a-rollicking on one of those austere leather squares in the middle of one hall. You know, the ones you're meant to sit on in silent contemplation. Even the lady guard had a smile on her face. We just kept right on moving before she had a chance to catch us.

Then there was the crying session in the NGV shop. Little one says, 'I didn't know there was a shop!' and demanded to go in there. I warned, 'We're not buying anything. Just going in there for a look.' Amazing really, that they don't charge you to look. Middle child picked up a bookmark of her favourite sad green lady and asked if she could have her. I said, 'Ask the price at the counter.' She did. $5.95! For a piece of printed cardboard. I reckon Picasso's smiling. It was lovely looking around at all the nice stuff, and we did leave, eventually, with little one shrieking all the way out and husband telling her she could grab any one of the free brochures instead. That only made her shriek louder.

Anyway, since that beautiful interlude, there's hardly been any time to write. I've worked, worked and worked some more. Today, sunday, I worked for about six hours, finishing some heavy duty marking that has to be done by tuesday. Tomorrow and wednesday, more work. In between, there's been the evil sore throat that left me speechless and a few other unexpected events such as finding myself on the committee of the sporting club I belong to. I went off to the meeting telling my husband I wasn't interested in getting involved in the politics and came home to announce I'd accepted a nomination, thinking I wouldn't get voted in. I'm new, after all, and nobody knows me. Just my luck that they've been looking for new blood, so my unknown face was just the thing everyone was looking for. And so I guess new blood will become 'fresh' blood. Mine. All over the floor, once those old guys assert their supremacy. I can see myself become green, weepy and fragmented already. But no matter what, I declare the mascara and lipstick will stay on!

Winter Reds

2007-06-09T20:01:00.000+10:00

It's Winter. The garden looks gorgeous, particularly the plants that change from their Summertime incarnations, transforming into something quite magical before they lose all their leaves. I don't mind the look of naked trees, quite love it, actually. And it makes so much sense. Mother Nature is a clever cookie. More sun while it's cold, while a leafy cover in Summer is so refreshing.

But it's these moments of contemplation about seasonal change that usually remind me of the relentless marching of time. It's already halfway through the year, and what have I achieved? When I start the year, I'm always over-optimistic about how much I'll get done. Oh, yes, I'll get that novel finished and send it off to the publisher, or even more ambitious: will get another novel on the drawing board.

So what have I achieved so far this year? Well, I did send off a novel in March, and I'm now on the sixth chapter of a fifteen chapter project. In my idealistic schedule, I write a chapter a week. Realistic schedule? One chapter every two weeks, and that's keeping a mighty fine pace.

I wrapped up chapter five last night at about midnight. I could have written for hours more. That's the problem with my progress, I suppose. Time doesn't stand still when the words are flowing. During the working week, it's even worse, with consecutive days when I don't get near the laptop. What happens to all the creative energy in that time? How do I stop it all leaking into the nothingness abyss of forgotten ideas? I know I'm not alone in this. Most writers' lives are crammed with other obligations, just like me.

It's during these non-writing times that wonderful revelations can strike - a new twist to the plot, or a great idea about how to 'stage' a difficult scene - I hold on to the thought in a variety of ways. Writing it down immediately is the most reliable way, but a pen and paper is not always handy - especially when I'm in dreamland. The idea is always so clear, so obvious and perfect that I think I wouldn't forget it in a million years. But if I haven't written it down, I arrive at the keyboard with the gem floating amongst other debris in the abyss. I can spend hours hoping to re-generate it, or just get on with it and pick an alternative route.

The best thing I can do to keep the novel alive when I don't have time to write is to invite the story into my life. The characters keep me company constantly, sometimes speaking to me... or to each other. As I go about my business, I see them in their world, and I learn new things about them all the time. Quite an amazing experience, and one that confirms that I am a writer, and not just pretending. In this way, the story continues to develop, organically, on an almost subconscious level. The act of placing my fingers on the keyboard completes the process, releasing the ideas for further tweaking. Some of these actually make it onto the page.

But that's not all. Partly to allay the fear that I'll never be able to think up another novel, I find myself constantly looking ahead to the next novel. Already, I'm auditioning characters and a situation for the next project. Like seeds in the ground over winter, the characters need a home to germinate and develop into three-dimensional beings. They can't just 'come to be' one day and be thrown on to the page the next. I've tried it before and the result is generally flat and lifeless.

So as my garden sleeps, gathering strength for the regeneration phase, so the creative process keeps rolling on. My sleeping beauties, nurtured through their winter sleep will hopefully emerge as robust and graceful creations when the time is right.

Well, that's just me being optimistic. Fingers crossed.

Slash and Burn

2007-06-01T11:21:00.001+10:00

Writing is such a rollercoaster. One minute I'm in the depths of despair and the next I'm completely chuffed with myself.

Right now, I'm taking a huge dive, stomach in my throat as I jam the gear stick into first draft mode. Honestly, half the time I don't even know what I'm writing!!! Yes, I have the scene in my mind, but what comes out of my fingers is not the same. It's a jumbled version, clogged with too many conflicting thoughts, images, distractions... You name it, I've put it in there.

It's like my characters are screaming at me, 'Let us shine. We can be better than this!'

And they are better. They improve with fiddling and much, much shaving. More like slash and burn in my over-writing kind of style. I tend to do the same when I'm dressing to go out. I'm one of those people that gets ready, then has to take off 5 things.

It's hard to know what's going to work on the page - or not work - until I trial it. When it's there in black and white, it's easier to cut the crap. And there's a lot of it to cut. But even then it's a fine balancing act. Over the years, I've found that if I over-work my writing, it sucks the life out of it. What seems to work best is to throw down the first draft, get the emotions, sensual details and dialogue right, then stand back and work out what needs to be slashed and burned. After that, though, it's best not to agonise. There are many 'right' ways to say something, but I believe there are a lot of writers out there who think there's only one right way, and they fiddle and fiddle - for years, sometimes - to find that writing Utopia. Great if you find it, I suppose, but not that good in terms of creating, shaping, polishing... AND MOVING ON.

Writers' Rest

2007-05-25T20:23:00.001+10:00

I wonder, do writers ever rest? Since deciding to put my writing in 'full throttle' mode, my life seems to have spun out of control.

Naturally, writing doesn't cancel out the other compartments of my life. And those compartments were full to bursting before I decided to squeeze in writing. So how do writers do it? I imagine that, like me, they 'juggle', and perhaps it explains why writers are always interested in other writers' routines. 'When do you get time to write?' is an oft repeated question, and writers everywhere crane their necks to hear the answer, hoping it might yield a secret to how to do it better.

When I decided I was going to give my writing a serious chance of succeeding, I didn't imagine how it would take over my life. Yes, I had to make room for writing, while the usual demands remained - family, work, household chores and keeping connections going with friends, which are the important threads in our lives. Without these, there would be little to write about.

Creating room to write has definitely put a squeeze on everything else. My house is messier than it's ever been, my husband has less time to spend by my side in the evenings, my children - loved to the extreme as they are - forget excursion notices and party invitations in their school bags, because I'm one of those bad mothers who forget to check!!! I only ever skim the newsletter, and one day my husband delivered the youngest to a deserted school only to be told by the bemused office staff, that it was curriculum day. And yes, it had been advertised in the newsletter for weeks. Obviously one of the bits I'd skimmed - repeatedly.

To compensate for this 'squeezing' effect, the less-important things had to go. One of those was spare time - LEISURE. Now, that is a sad thing, and I think my writing has missed it. Lately I have been besieged by migraines that are aggravated by lack of sleep and no time to relax, so I have decided that my writing future is demanding back some of that greatly missed spare time. Bring back a bit of TV time-wasting, I say. There are some great romance movies that will inspire my writing in all sorts of ways. Plotting, dialogue, characterisation, setting and visual stimulus, which I thrive on. And watching telly always brought with it another pleasure: knitting. Perhaps if I force myself to have some 'down time' in front of the telly, that other love will be revived and I'll finally finish the beanie I started three winters ago.

Yes, it's definitely time to make a pledge:

Tomorrow, I welcome leisure back into my life. My dear, dear friend - also a writer - AbFab and I will meet for a brunch and a chat, and when I return home, I vow to spend Sunday on the couch. Sunday on the couch - it sounds so decadent, but isn't that what Sundays used to be for? When I was a child, my mother (the devout Catholic) used to tell me it was a sin to work on Sundays. If a button came off my father's shirt, she would refuse to sew it back in place, on religious grounds. She - the ever industrious housewife - had a dispensation from the Pope to have some time off. So where's my dispensation? Six days of work deserves a day off. Tomorrow I will start to claim back my seventh day of leisure. For the sake of my health - body and mind - and for the sake of my future writing career.

If I'm a good girl, I'll allow myself some writing time after dinner. Promise.

Queen of Procrastination

2007-05-25T20:23:00.000+10:00

Procrastination must be my middle name. Good thing I seem to hear it's a familiar theme amongst other writers. Blogging is a great procrastination tool, as is checking out other people's blogs, interesting websites, etc. etc.

The last few days I've been busy with work (yes, we do have to make a living until the publishing contract kicks in - and then don't quit your day job is the advice from many published writers) and family commitments.

Then there are always other distractions that come even when I've got all my writing paraphenalia arranged attractively around me, the computer is turned on, I've rubbed my magic stone (a present from thoughtful sister in law) and my fingers are poised on the keyboard. That's the moment I think, 'I'll just play a quick game of Solitaire, or Spider Solitaire, or Freecell, or Hearts until the creative juices flow.' That's the theory, anyway. What usually happens is that I end up staring at the screen - bug eyed - for a half hour or longer, thinking nothing about my characters, plot, setting or anything remotely useful. Yes, if I was using the half hour to dream up, or recall some frisson of passion that would end up on the page, that would be useful. But no. Computer games are a total waste of time. And just when I thought I might have finally become bored with the card games, finally managed to get a grip on my dependence, something happened...

I bought a new laptop. The new laptop has newer versions of all my old favourite games, and then some new ones I'd never even heard of. Enter: MAJONG TITANS! Oh, my God! Another way to waste precious writing time glued to the screen, thinking nothing about writing. It's such a satisfying game, too. All those gorgeous little tiles with decorative images, and the dragons and flowers make rewarding sounds when you match and remove... Oh, I feel like playing a game now. But I won't. Time to write. Chapter 4 beckons.

I made a start yesterday, and a good start, too. My hero and heroine confront each other. After I'd put 5 pages down, I realised it was all a bit of fancy 'how-de-doody'. A lot of hollow chatter that seemed to address their issues, but didn't feel quite right. My heart wasn't in it. It was only when I'd been away from the page for a few hours that I thought: nothing happens. My scenes work best when there's an event, an action - something happening. So I thought that tonight I will return to the page and make some changes. My hero won't just turn up wanting to dredge up the past (for a whole lot of complicated reasons to do with his emotional conflict). He will turn up bringing with him SOMETHING from the past. An object, something that the heroine will connect with her past with him.

Now I should go and make a start, shouldn't I? Well, that's just the thing with procrastination. I do believe that in my case, procrastination has a lot to do with fear. I put off going to the page because it's so hard to create the vision in my head. How do I convey all the details of setting, character and pure gut-wrenching emotion I've built in my head. The written product always seems to fall short of the mark. So to avoid that feeling... I procrastinate. But procrastination doesn't solve the problem, doesn't improve the situation. Only facing the fear - or the page - does that. So goodbye dear cyber-friends. I now prepare to remove my armour and face the page. Wish me luck.

Describe... or not

2007-05-13T18:37:00.000+10:00

Being a visual person, I tend to over-describe in my writing. As my friend AbFab said, 'You see everything like a movie, and you want the reader to see what you see.'
'You're exactly right,' I told her.
She then proceeded with some terrific advice. I'd been told before - mostly by her - but this time it really hit home. She said, 'Don't put in description for description's sake. Only put it in if it moves the story along.'

Of course, I thought. I knew she was right. I had sent her my 2nd chapter, you see. I'd polished it and was quite pleased with myself. It was 22 pages long. In this chapter, the hero and heroine meet again after 18 years apart. The chapter is a chronicle of the evening's events before they reach that moment. I switch between their POVs, in increasingly smaller sections. I thought this would heighten tension, make the reader want to reach the point where they come face to face.

She e-mailed back a lukewarm response, and suggested I cut out what was unnecessary. In her opinion, my 'stringing' out their meeting for so long actually dissipated tension. She said she found herself 'skimming' the writing to get to the vital point. My reply must have sounded so disheartened that she was on the phone in a few minutes. We talked for over two hours, going through what she thought was superfluous.

Now you might be wondering why on earth I would let someone tell me to slash a quarter of my chapter, but it's easy. Her writing is absolutely fabulous, and I trust her judgement. So I got off the phone at about eleven at night, and couldn't go to bed without fixing my ailing chapter. I finished making the changes after midnight and sent them off to her. My chapter reads much better. Paragraphs of description that weren't central to the characters or plot are now a sentence - and some that were completely irrelevant are gone altogether.

As I said, I'd been told this before, but Saturday night, I really GOT IT. Now I tackle my chapter 3 with renewed focus. No more waffling, useless description. As AbFab said, it diffuses tension rather than increasing it. And the big question is: can I stick to it, or will I fall back into my old ways?

SCRIBBLY'S PROGRESS

2007-05-08T18:32:00.000+10:00

My dream of having a romance novel published is still that... a dream. I have two great writing friends (one of whom has been a close friend for years and was a work colleague in a previous life) who are striving ahead beautifully. The old friend has had a full manuscript requested by Harlequin and is frantically keeping her fingers crossed. No need to be so nervous, I tell her. Her writing is absolutely wonderful. I wish I could write that well. And the other friend, the newer writing buddy has also had a manuscript requested. Her writing is very powerfully evocative, so much so that when I'm reading encounters between the hero and heroine, I feel weak in the knees - as if I was there. Her request for a full manuscript came about as part of finalling in a writing competition, not through submission, which shows there are several ways to 'get there'.

Either way, their journey has begun in earnest, and I hope to soon join them. Every day, when I check out my letterbox, I expect to see the Harlequin letter sitting there. It's giving me mail anxiety, let me tell you! And it's hard to believe it could be good news, but a dream doesn't stay alive without positive thinking.

Still, positive thinking doesn't write books. At the moment I'm writing the third chapter of my current manuscript. I've veered off the track of my usual Harlequin line: Harlequin Romance (Sweet, here in Australia), by tackling a new line: Harlequin Everlasting Love. These novels are slightly longer than the usual 55,000 word Sweets, and follow the 'history' of a romance - think 'The Notebook'. This manuscript is my first novel ever written, which I just kind of shelved. I knew I didn't have the experience and skill to tell the story the way it ought to be told. It's amazing coming back to it now, after three years and finding half of it is redundant. There is so much that isn't central to the story, or to be more precise, so much that doesn't move the story along. There are minor characters that wouldn't be missed if cut, so of course I've cut them, along with the subplots that would do well in a long-running soapie, but have no place in a 75,000 word novel.

So, I take heart in what I've learned and keep at it. Amazingly, my desire to write has only grown. The pleasure I take in it is quite addictive. Most nights I sit at my laptop fiddling - or scribbling - to my heart's content.

Tonight I have to fix the part where my hero and heroine meet again (after 18 years). I have to approach the scene with more courage. When I first wrote it, a couple of nights ago, I just had my heroine running away! She just ran out of the crowded room (an art gallery exhibition) into the night. Imagine that! I am such a coward. It was only later that I realised how I was dodging the conflict that makes novels great. Of course they have to talk, I told myself. But what are they going to say to each other? What can they say after all that time? Their history wasn't a happy one (they had a teenage love affair with dire consequences), so they both would like to avoid stirring up the broken pieces they left behind. So much to convey, and so difficult to do it just the right way...

2007-05-06T12:43:00.000+10:00

WHERE DO I START?

It's now my 4th year of serious writing. It's been an amazing journey so far, and though it's been difficult at times, turning back is not an option. A huge romantic at heart, I've focused my efforts and talents towards writing romance (of course).

With a manuscript in the post, I'm now dedicating my writing time to a new novel while I wait for the verdict!!! This is my writing journey.