In which my lovely local paper does an article on me ...

Hopefully you will be able to read this. My gorgeous local paper, The Advocate, did a big article on me. I am awed, humbled and gobsmacked. I hope you like it!

Isn't it lovely? Am so lucky!

In which I redraft ...

I know it's a common thing for a writer to hear: "It's just not quite ready yet", and I know that, in a lot of ways, it's a good thing to hear, because it means the person telling you that thinks that a) It's not horrible, and b) It has the potential to be ready.

But it still stings. A little bit. At first. Even if they say it really nicely.

But then, usually (in my case at least), you go home and you read the MS again and you think "Jeepers creepers! What was I even thinking? ZOMG. Fail!" and you become insanely, intensely grateful to the person who told you it wasn't ready because a) They were, really, being nicer than they needed to be and b) You now have the opportunity (and, hopefully, if the person gave you a tidbit of editorial advice, the tools), to make it ready. Or, even better, to make it awesome.

This exact thing happened to me about a week ago. And, at first, I was gutted. I rang the Husband Bear and I told him I was quitting writing and I was going to go back to being a librarian because I was crap and was never going to be successful. I may have said all of this in a whiney voice. While crying. In the middle of the Melbourne CBD.

Thankfully, I have the sort of Husband Bear who knows when I am being ridiculous (most of the time), and tells me so. He basically told me to harden the frak up, grow some balls and just get on with redrafting it. So I did (get on with it, not grow some ... oh, I'm just going to leave that one right there).

Now, a week later, my MS is 8,000 words longer - which gives the characters much more room to move. My villain is more three-dimensional and less stereotyped. My twist is an actual twist instead of being telegraphed right from the very beginning. My romance is more realistic. Now, I am in the process of making my Grandma less stiff and conservative and horrid (or, at least, give her a reason for being so and the opportunity for redemption). Once I have done that, well, I will just go back to the beginning and start reading again. 

Because I want this MS to be ready. I want it to be wonderful. And because I want to have balls. I don't want to be the sort of writer who gives up at the first hurdle. I want to prove to people that I can do the hard yards. Wish me luck?

In which I muse upon writers and the Internets

This is the first time I have done a slightly ranty-style thing. It is not meant to cause offense to anyone, least of all Cate Kennedy. I think she's super-awesome.

But, see ...

There's bit a bit of a kerfuffle about Cate Kennedy and her comments, in Overland and in the Sydney Morning Herald on the topic of writers and the Internets. Apparently, Miss Kennedy thinks that the Internets are killing our culture (like big, webby zombies, perhaps?). She thinks that they are "toxic" (toxic zombies!). She thinks that fiction is born of "quiet, slow reflection."

Maybe this is the case for Cate but, as I am writing this, 62% of people on the Internets (or, more specifically, the SMH website), disagree with her.

I'm one of the people who disagree. And it's not that I'm a technohead. I'm really not. I love my books. I can't read off a screen. I like Twitter because it's short and snappy and I don't have to spend much time on it. I was, this morning, a little bit bewildered when my Husband Bear told me he'd been up until 2am "reading". It wasn't the fact that he was up late that I found hard to grasp, or the fact that he was reading. In fact, when he told me that, I asked him if he was reading HP Lovecraft (which we had been reading together last night), and I felt all chuffed and proud that my lovely Husband Bear had been burning the midnight oil reading such classic (non-literary but very VERY awesome) stuff. It made me feel like we were a bohemian couple, possibly in a garret (don't ask me why).

But it turns out that the Husband Bear was not reading Lovecraft until 2am. He was instead "reading the Internets."

"It just keeps getting bigger," he said. "I'm never going to read it all."

I think he was joking.

But back to Cate.

I am not going to get stuck into her, as many bloggers have. I'm actually full of admiration for Cate, both as a writer and for having the guts to come out and make comments like these. It's important to take a stand for what you believe in, and she obviously believes this anti-inty (my new phrase!), stuff very strongly.

It's just that, while the whole peace, solitude and quiet writing serenity stuff may work for Cate, it doesn't work for everyone. 

I was watching The First Tuesday Book Club last night, and was intrigued by a comment Lionel Shriver made about Jane Austen. I'm paraphrasing here (badly), but she basically said, "Nothing happens. Maybe in the time it was written people had the time to read such slow-moving books but I just thought, yeah right, you're going to have another party?".

Her comment didn't strike me because I felt empathy. In fact, I think Austen is brilliant. It was just a good example of how reading - and writing - has changed (for some people).

I love being on Twitter while I'm writing. I love communicating with other writers. I live in a regional area, so Twitter is a brilliant writing community for me. I love the stress - and comic - relief it provides, when I am stuck or despondent. I love my "tweeps".

I wonder where Cate Kennedy writes? I imagine her writing in some secluded spot - possibly a garret! - with no noise or distraction. Me? I write on my couch, with Mephistopheles Danger Gordon yowling at me to be fed, my husband interrupting every five minutes to talk to me, show me something he's just discovered, play me a song on the guitar (which I love!). I sometimes write while he's watching TV (we have no spare room in our house, and no doors!), or listening to music, or cooking. For me, there is no quiet, solitary space. Writing doesn't even feel solitary to me. It feels communal and noisy, because I do it amongst the bustle of my life.

 

And, for me, a blog post can be just as valuable as a great book. I love Penni Russon's blog, Persnickety Snark, Gabrielle Wang, Sandy Fussell, Simmone Howell, Katrina Germein and so many others. They all give such good blog - rich, warm, witty, constructive. I get as much from reading their writing online as I do reading books.

I am on Twitter and Facebook (though I keep swearing to leave the latter). I use an RSS reader and I have two email accounts.

And yet, I still write 2,000 words a day (I would write more if I didn't work full-time).

I still read at least two books a week.

And I'm not Cate Kennedy. I'm not anywhere near her sphere of literary greatness. I'm just me - a luddite book reader who happens to think the Internets are pretty darn awesome.

Isn't it lucky this new-fangled modern world caters for all of us?

In which I have a book cover ...

This is the cover of my book.

In the words of the great Chandler Bing, could I BE any more excited?

Just wanted to say a big thank you to Jodie and Eva and their astonishingly talented designy people at Allen and Unwin for somehow distilling the essence of my story into such a beautiful picture. 

It's really special and I am so honoured and humbled that someone put in all that time to create something so beautiful for something I wrote.

I hope you will all read about Daisy (and Paulina), and love them as much as I have come to.

In which I have a story that WILL NOT GO AWAY!

  

Am not meant to be writing at the moment.

Am not meant to be writing at the moment.

Am not meant to be writing at the moment.

Am not meant to be writing at the moment.

This was my mantra all weekend. I pictured myself as Bart Simpson, writing this in chalk along the blackboard of my mind (I don't look very good yellow, by the way).

See, the thing is, I am, technically, "between projects". One round of edits in; another forthcoming; my "in-between-projects" project completed ...

Husband Bear said I should take a break. "Don't start anything new," he said. "You will be very busy again soon."

So I, Sensible Wife Bunny, said, "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll take a break. I'll just ... like ... read lots?"

And so, on Friday night, I said to myself: No Writing This Weekend. Instead, I planned to do lots of gymming, friend-meeting, cat-hugging, reading and maybe watch W, which I have been meaning to watch for yonkers.

It started off pretty well. Saturday morning I got up early as usualy but instead of writing I finished reading Timecatcher by Marie Louise Fitzpatrick (which was kind of made of awesome). Then I went to yolates. 

Then I had a couple of hours to kill before meeting some friends.

This is the bit where I must make a confession.

I kind of, sort of, maybe almost a little bit took my laptop out with me. Maybe.

Okay, so I did. And I was there, in the coffee shop, with a peppermint tea in front of me and two hours to kill and ... a story came.

It just popped into my mind! Unbidden! Honest!

Actually, if I am being TOTALLY honest, it was not a whole story but, rather, a character. 

Her name is Clementine. She is sixteen, in her first year of college, and has enrolled in a philosophy class with an unconventional teacher who instructs the class that, for the whole term, they will spend their time writing whatever comes into their heads. At first, Clementine feels nervous and uncomfortable about this seemingly pointless exercise and the complete freedom it affords her, when she is used to being "taught things" that "fill up her mind".

Clementine is slightly overweight, but wears it well. It's her friends that worry about her weight, not her. They are pretty and popular and they want Clementine to fit in. 

Clem isn't sure she wants to fit in.

Clem has a perfect big sister, Sophie, and a brother who never comes out of his room. Her friends are moving on to a cooler crowd. She has a big crush on Hayden Justice, college rock star. Her friends are trying to set her up with Brett, who is friends with their new boyfriends. And then there is Frederick Paul, who is in her philosophy class, too. He's a geek who wears old-fashioned clothes and hangs out by himself at lunch time. He isn't exciting, like Hayden. So why can't Clem stop thinking about him?

So, this is my story. Can you see why I couldn't get it out of my head? Do you blame me, now, for being very weak yesterday and writing 5,000 words?

I just couldn't stop.

Don't tell the Husband Bear!

Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever got a book-worm?

In which ... stuff starts happening!

I started writing - for real, not just scribbles in the many journals my Dad bought me - about two and a half years ago. I was enrolled in my Masters in Arts (Literary Studies). I enrolled thinking it would be a good string to my bow in my career as a librarian. I was working in a high school at the time and so I enrolled in a unit in YA literature. The unit was half theory/half creative, and for the creative portion we had to write a short story.

It was during this unit that I discovered I cannot write short stories.

I got to the end of my word limit and realised that my "short story" was actually a first chapter - the first chapter of my first ever novel, Dear Sally Sunshine.

 Dear Sally Sunshine was a simple story about a secret admirer who helps a geeky girl find her strength. It was also the book that found me my amazing agent, and helped me to meet the incredible team at Allen and Unwin, who will, in October, publish my first published novel, Three Things About Daisy Blue.

Three Things About Daisy Blue has been the making of me as a writer. It taught me to plan, draft, edit, redraft, work to deadlines, take and use editorial guidance. It also taught me this is what I want to do, as a job, for the rest of my life.

Three Things About Daisy Blue doesn't come out until October (and between now and then I will experience another big milestone - my first European trip), but the process has begun. In the past week I have seen a book jacket, found myself on the "Title Page" book database we use for work, and heard from a friend that Three Things About Daisy Blue was presented as a "highlight" at the Allen and Unwin conference. 

It feels real now.

I know I will get a chance to thank people inside the book jacket (squee), but I really want to do it right now as well.

So! My eternal gratitude goes to my precious Mum, Dad and brother Richard, and my fabulous in-laws; to Nan, Jodie and Eva; to my best friend, Julia, and her best man, Ryan; to my North Westie mates; to my colleagues at the bookynook; to my Nan and Auntie Shirley; to my Twitter peeps who are a constant support; to Mephistopheles Danger Gordon, my writing companion; to beloved Dolly; to my Mures Writing Group; and finally, to the Husband Bear, without whom my heart would not beat. 

Enough of that! Getting teary!

I know this week is just another step on an amazing journey, but it feels momentous and I feel so privileged.

In which I started an exciting new project!

Ever since I read Joel and Cat Set the Story Straight, by the stupendous Nick Earls and the super-wonderful Rebecca Sparrow, I have been dying to cowrite a novel. And when I say "cowrite", I actually had very specific ideas about HOW I wanted to cowrite. I didn't want to cowrite in the same way Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl cowrote Beautiful Creatures (much as I loved that book). I wanted, specifically, to cowrite a book the way Nick and Rebecca did; the way Penni Russon and Kate Constable did with the glorious Dear Swoosie. 

I wanted my own character. I wanted the other author to have their own character. I wanted a chapter each, back to back. I wanted a conversation between characters and authors. Oh! And I thought it might be fun if the book was (what I call), straight fantasy (i.e. wizards, dragons, faeries, but no vampires, werewolves or fallen angels).

Too much to ask?

Apparently not!

After all this time (Joel and Cat came out a whole thirteen years ago), I have finally received my wish. I have begun work on a tandem cowritten novel with a very, very, very super-dooper awesome fantasy writer. 

AND I AM HAVING SUCH FUN!

It's like how going to see a fabulous movie is SO much better when you see it with a great friend. Youcan talk about it afterwards; dissect it; reminisce about favourite scenes and spunkiest actors. 

I love my character - a princess forced into hiding amongst a troop of footsoldiers. I love my cowriter's (SQUEE! Love saying that) character just as much. I love that she (my cowriter) insists on manticores, and I am really keen for a bit of human-faery lovin'. I think it is going to an awesome book and great fun ta boot.

Writing is such a solitary profession. It is also (in my opinion) the most fun profession OF ALL TIME, but it is SO much more fun when you do it with a friend!