I'm a superstitious character. Don't like it. I don't, for example, walk under ladders. But that's quite sensible. And if I don't know it exists, such as looking through glass at a full moon - well then I happily live in blissful ignorance.
Some omens are just plain unfair. For example, the neighbor's cat sits on the gate post. If I come out of the house with the dog on the leash then the cat hops down, runs in front of me and wallah! That's supposed to be a bad omen.
Not quite sure what bad omens can do. Like bad things happen - is that the result of a bad omen? Like, my husband left me? Did the cart come before the horse. He left because of a bad omen. Or did he create a bad omen? Was he the bad omen?
And if the vacuum cleaner is giving problems. Is it a bad vacuum cleaner. Is there a problem because of my neighbour's cat?
But then I also have my own in-built superstitions. They pop up in my head quite suddenly and they really are quite annoying. Like if I send a manuscript, do I tell people? If I tell them does that jinx it. But if I don't tell them will that also jinx me? I then get confused and in a quandary of jinxes.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Writing as an Adventure - or - Be In It To Win It
Writing as an Adventure - or - Be In It To Win It
Somebody once said to me- "Oh I always meant to write when I retire."
Given the age of retirement is 65 here (recently I think, moved to 67 or something like that) that's a long time to wait to start writing. And while there are many people who don't get published until they might be that age, their motivation to write will have been with them all their lives and they should have spent many long nights writing before or after working all day in the office.
In other words a writer is born that way.
So I nod politely when people say this type of thing because they think because I can do it, anyone can. Either I look stupid, or... ah... I look stupid, full stop.
Writing is an adventure. It is painful. It is fun. It hurts. It can be triumphant. There are good times. There are bad. There are.
Advice to beginners, middlers and patient always have written hopefuls is just don't think - do. Don't plan. Just do. Don't sit down and try to plot the whole story like you were planning an overseas trip. Don't use precision and don't procrastinate. Just sit and do.
Some tips would be to carry a notebook with you at all times. You never remember good ideas. Good ideas are spontaneous little devils and like to play catch me while you can. Cheat them. Just tell them "later" and sneak it into your notebook while they're not looking.
Lucky you if you are technologically savvy. One of my writing group I am totally envious of. She puts them into her cell phone.
Another tip. Have a plot board. One of those cork jobs you can move around, throw in frustration or whatever. But pin things on it relating to a broad aim. I just tear up sheets of A4 and I can rearrange the chapters, ideas, etc. at will. This includes basic facts such as names, relationships etc.
Personally I don't do that, but some people like to answer quizzes about their characters, their aims, well... whatever it takes to motivate you, help you, grab it with both hands - every mickle makes a muckle.
Don't let people discourage you. My mother once said "oh that's just a silly romance" - "absolute rubbish". I also write and illustrate children's books and she was proud of them, but didn't realise that just because she wasn't a romantic soul, doesn't mean I needn't be one. You will probably think what sort of awful parent I have but my father once said to me "what makes you think you are so special as to anticipate you can convince somebody to like this rubbish?" again referring to my romance. Well. Given that he hadn't even read it makes it nonsense. But I don't let them discourage me because my sister once described the sort of books my father like to read then would pass them onto my mother and sister to read. She was most scathing herself. Consequently I learned to keep my own counsel as far as my parents were concerned.
Another tip. Love your characters. People don't like to read a whole book full of some nasty little nark nobody could love. You have to give them somebody to barrack for. I hope you don't hate your baseball, or footy team. Don't know about you, but Greg Norman and the old Tige got a vote of unpopularity from me because of their ego trips, leaving normal moral values hanging on the fence, forgotten.
Biggest, most important tip? Keep writing. Persevere. Thomas the Tank Engine. "I can do it. I know I can do it."
Edit, edit and edit. Make sure that what you publish will never be shamefully hidden away when you are famous. That's a bit like Marilyn Monroe's little nudie calendar done in a moment she needed some cash and haunting her once she hit the big time.
Not every day will shine for you. Good days and bad days happen. But in a way, they are good for you. Good days make you want to dance. Bad days make you (a) try harder and (b)realise what a good day you had yesterday and (c) anti ego.
Okay, enough. I'm off to write. Where are you going?
Somebody once said to me- "Oh I always meant to write when I retire."
Given the age of retirement is 65 here (recently I think, moved to 67 or something like that) that's a long time to wait to start writing. And while there are many people who don't get published until they might be that age, their motivation to write will have been with them all their lives and they should have spent many long nights writing before or after working all day in the office.
In other words a writer is born that way.
So I nod politely when people say this type of thing because they think because I can do it, anyone can. Either I look stupid, or... ah... I look stupid, full stop.
Writing is an adventure. It is painful. It is fun. It hurts. It can be triumphant. There are good times. There are bad. There are.
Advice to beginners, middlers and patient always have written hopefuls is just don't think - do. Don't plan. Just do. Don't sit down and try to plot the whole story like you were planning an overseas trip. Don't use precision and don't procrastinate. Just sit and do.
Some tips would be to carry a notebook with you at all times. You never remember good ideas. Good ideas are spontaneous little devils and like to play catch me while you can. Cheat them. Just tell them "later" and sneak it into your notebook while they're not looking.
Lucky you if you are technologically savvy. One of my writing group I am totally envious of. She puts them into her cell phone.
Another tip. Have a plot board. One of those cork jobs you can move around, throw in frustration or whatever. But pin things on it relating to a broad aim. I just tear up sheets of A4 and I can rearrange the chapters, ideas, etc. at will. This includes basic facts such as names, relationships etc.
Personally I don't do that, but some people like to answer quizzes about their characters, their aims, well... whatever it takes to motivate you, help you, grab it with both hands - every mickle makes a muckle.
Don't let people discourage you. My mother once said "oh that's just a silly romance" - "absolute rubbish". I also write and illustrate children's books and she was proud of them, but didn't realise that just because she wasn't a romantic soul, doesn't mean I needn't be one. You will probably think what sort of awful parent I have but my father once said to me "what makes you think you are so special as to anticipate you can convince somebody to like this rubbish?" again referring to my romance. Well. Given that he hadn't even read it makes it nonsense. But I don't let them discourage me because my sister once described the sort of books my father like to read then would pass them onto my mother and sister to read. She was most scathing herself. Consequently I learned to keep my own counsel as far as my parents were concerned.
Another tip. Love your characters. People don't like to read a whole book full of some nasty little nark nobody could love. You have to give them somebody to barrack for. I hope you don't hate your baseball, or footy team. Don't know about you, but Greg Norman and the old Tige got a vote of unpopularity from me because of their ego trips, leaving normal moral values hanging on the fence, forgotten.
Biggest, most important tip? Keep writing. Persevere. Thomas the Tank Engine. "I can do it. I know I can do it."
Edit, edit and edit. Make sure that what you publish will never be shamefully hidden away when you are famous. That's a bit like Marilyn Monroe's little nudie calendar done in a moment she needed some cash and haunting her once she hit the big time.
Not every day will shine for you. Good days and bad days happen. But in a way, they are good for you. Good days make you want to dance. Bad days make you (a) try harder and (b)realise what a good day you had yesterday and (c) anti ego.
Okay, enough. I'm off to write. Where are you going?
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Well, it's done...
I met the deadline for two short stories. One of them was a regency. And once again I am charmed by it. And once again, I am talking like it because that is where my head has been whilst I wrote it.
And yet it has led me to contemplate what it is that charms me so much about it. In actual fact it is a period of stilted interraction between people. They did not say what they thought. There was a lot of double standards. The rich were rich and the poor very poor. Children swept chimneys. Women died in childbirth. There were no penicillin drugs to keep babies alive. And Jane Austen didn't have a typewriter.
Of course when I set a Regency, of course it is set in the posh side of town. If it isn't it's going to at least be a rags to riches kind of story because a riches to rags story doesn't cut to the tone.
But heck it does suit my kind of sense of humor. And I do love Jane Austen. And the vocabulary is very flowery.
I wonder were history to go backwards rather than forwards, and they would sit in judgement of us, would they be as fascinated by our way of doing things. Somehow I don't think so. Look at us...
Men don't vacate their bus seats, you can't scold a school kid for littering, they'd only swear at you. Rapes take place every day. Women get themselves tattooed with growing enthusiasm. Rudeness is rife. People have little regard for each other. They'd have to look at the Holocaust and shake their heads at the breakdown of humanity. They'd have to wonder what manner of man can walk into a community and blow himself up in order to seek the comfort of 75 virgins in heaven and to kill as many of his fellow creatures because they didn't agree with his opinion... need I go on...
But writing a regency is great fun.
Go to this site:
http://www.janeausten.ac.uk/manuscripts/blpers/28.html
And look at the wonders of modern technology if you love Jane Austen.
And yet it has led me to contemplate what it is that charms me so much about it. In actual fact it is a period of stilted interraction between people. They did not say what they thought. There was a lot of double standards. The rich were rich and the poor very poor. Children swept chimneys. Women died in childbirth. There were no penicillin drugs to keep babies alive. And Jane Austen didn't have a typewriter.
Of course when I set a Regency, of course it is set in the posh side of town. If it isn't it's going to at least be a rags to riches kind of story because a riches to rags story doesn't cut to the tone.
But heck it does suit my kind of sense of humor. And I do love Jane Austen. And the vocabulary is very flowery.
I wonder were history to go backwards rather than forwards, and they would sit in judgement of us, would they be as fascinated by our way of doing things. Somehow I don't think so. Look at us...
Men don't vacate their bus seats, you can't scold a school kid for littering, they'd only swear at you. Rapes take place every day. Women get themselves tattooed with growing enthusiasm. Rudeness is rife. People have little regard for each other. They'd have to look at the Holocaust and shake their heads at the breakdown of humanity. They'd have to wonder what manner of man can walk into a community and blow himself up in order to seek the comfort of 75 virgins in heaven and to kill as many of his fellow creatures because they didn't agree with his opinion... need I go on...
But writing a regency is great fun.
Go to this site:
http://www.janeausten.ac.uk/manuscripts/blpers/28.html
And look at the wonders of modern technology if you love Jane Austen.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
You gotta admire diligence.
Well, I've been very good. My last blog was at least in 1010.
Today I feel like a wet rag. Maybe rather, a wet dishcloth. There's something strange on in Sydney. It's called a 'footy final'. For me it means Sydney regains some sort of sanity, but for a lot of people it's some kind of rights passing.
People all over Sydney, with strangely painted faces gather - in the rain minus an umbrella to watch a bunch of muddied individuals fighting over a ball.
Why?
Why?
Well, I won't be there. I'd rather show my cellulite in an untouched photograph in Vogue.
There will be 85,000 people in a stadium.
And...
As we speak, the games in Delhi are about to start.
Maybe I'm just not tribalistic? Or patriotic? But sorry. Commonwealth Games? Who'd want to get Delhi Belly or Denghi Fever over this sorry bunch. The Commonwealth of Britain ceased to be a viable entity decades ago. Most of Europe is going under the weight of its illegal immigration and the current financial hardships. Africa is a cot case.
And all they'e got to look forward to is a group leader shot of Government heads of mostly corrupt dictators with the man who talks to plants sitting in the middle in a grey suit and looking totally out of place - as he is. (That's Prince Charles for anyone not in the Commonwealth.)
Hey Canada! Wanna bet? We win the 200 butterfly.
Today I feel like a wet rag. Maybe rather, a wet dishcloth. There's something strange on in Sydney. It's called a 'footy final'. For me it means Sydney regains some sort of sanity, but for a lot of people it's some kind of rights passing.
People all over Sydney, with strangely painted faces gather - in the rain minus an umbrella to watch a bunch of muddied individuals fighting over a ball.
Why?
Why?
Well, I won't be there. I'd rather show my cellulite in an untouched photograph in Vogue.
There will be 85,000 people in a stadium.
And...
As we speak, the games in Delhi are about to start.
Maybe I'm just not tribalistic? Or patriotic? But sorry. Commonwealth Games? Who'd want to get Delhi Belly or Denghi Fever over this sorry bunch. The Commonwealth of Britain ceased to be a viable entity decades ago. Most of Europe is going under the weight of its illegal immigration and the current financial hardships. Africa is a cot case.
And all they'e got to look forward to is a group leader shot of Government heads of mostly corrupt dictators with the man who talks to plants sitting in the middle in a grey suit and looking totally out of place - as he is. (That's Prince Charles for anyone not in the Commonwealth.)
Hey Canada! Wanna bet? We win the 200 butterfly.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The problem with Bloggers
You have to keep at them.
I have a wonderful book. It is the diary(ies) of Blanche Mitchell. 15 year old in the 1850's, daughter of the Public Surveyor of early settled Sydney government. He's deceased but his family live in the affluent eastern suburban expanses down near the harbour of Double Bay (very posh) at the grace and charity of her brother who inherited the wealth.
Her father was a very educated man and Blanche is a product of his affluence and influence in believing an education is as important for a woman. He is also the benefactor of the main library of NSW/Sydney - The Mitchell Library. His own extensive library is housed in this library. And I have had the honor of exhibiting my illustrative artwork there - as well as lecturing on being an author.
Blanche is in my soul. She infiltrated it to the extent I felt the need to seek out her grave in Newtown, an early suburb of Old Sydney. Her father is buried there. Interesting, maybe even spooky that I could not find the grave. Frustrating! I looked and looked but nothing. So I gave up and walked back to the car. But I fell over in the long green rather neglected lawn. The gardenia I had brought with me for her fell out of my hand. I sat up and dusted me down feeling slightly awkward. Looked around to see how unnoticed I'd been and I had been totally ignored. BUT GET THIS... I looked up and guess where I'd fallen. Right beside Daddy Mitchell and Blanche Mitchell. He did expect the gardenia was for him, but I reassured his presence that this was well and truly meant for my little friend, Blanche.
Blanche lived in the 1850's and sadly died early... not much into her twenties. She wrote beautifully about the things she did on a daily basis in that time. And when one reads these things, though they are/were mundane they take on a new context in another age.
Toothaches end up at dentists who don't have the sophistication of todays adherents.
The internet doesn't exist so a sister marrying and living in Britain might write and receive mail twice a year. Excitement came in the form of parties involving the visiting officers of the Royal Navy. Walks and picnics on beaches with officers from the barracks. The arrival of packets (boats), or a navy ship was a big deal. Sundays were for church, and teaching Sunday school. Does anyone remember mending. It was a real activity.
But the real point about diaries is this. Even though it was a yesterday, it takes on an element of here and now. Our lives as we go through them are progressing through a daily round on nows. For Blanche it is a future. For me it is now. And for me, Blanche is a past - at least I thought so until I read her diaries and realised that this is a confounding fact.
If I didn't sleep last night, that is important to me. I will wake up tired and possibly angry in the morning... if I don't eat dinner at some point in time I will become ravenous. If the postman doesn't come today I am frustrated but he'll probably be here tomorrow... mundane things.
Of course I'm being philosophical. I wonder if this is part of my makeup as an author. Whether it is people like me who reflect on things like this that might end up in elements of my sense of being and eventually in my writing. I need this kind of world in which to place my characters.
So blogs are very important. They are like diaries. But diaries are nasty little nagging duties. You have to be persistent. But so do you as an author. Without persistence you don't end up with a story. Without a story your frustration grows because being an author is being part of you.
Therefor:
I will blog.
I will blog.
I will blog.
I have a wonderful book. It is the diary(ies) of Blanche Mitchell. 15 year old in the 1850's, daughter of the Public Surveyor of early settled Sydney government. He's deceased but his family live in the affluent eastern suburban expanses down near the harbour of Double Bay (very posh) at the grace and charity of her brother who inherited the wealth.
Her father was a very educated man and Blanche is a product of his affluence and influence in believing an education is as important for a woman. He is also the benefactor of the main library of NSW/Sydney - The Mitchell Library. His own extensive library is housed in this library. And I have had the honor of exhibiting my illustrative artwork there - as well as lecturing on being an author.
Blanche is in my soul. She infiltrated it to the extent I felt the need to seek out her grave in Newtown, an early suburb of Old Sydney. Her father is buried there. Interesting, maybe even spooky that I could not find the grave. Frustrating! I looked and looked but nothing. So I gave up and walked back to the car. But I fell over in the long green rather neglected lawn. The gardenia I had brought with me for her fell out of my hand. I sat up and dusted me down feeling slightly awkward. Looked around to see how unnoticed I'd been and I had been totally ignored. BUT GET THIS... I looked up and guess where I'd fallen. Right beside Daddy Mitchell and Blanche Mitchell. He did expect the gardenia was for him, but I reassured his presence that this was well and truly meant for my little friend, Blanche.
Blanche lived in the 1850's and sadly died early... not much into her twenties. She wrote beautifully about the things she did on a daily basis in that time. And when one reads these things, though they are/were mundane they take on a new context in another age.
Toothaches end up at dentists who don't have the sophistication of todays adherents.
The internet doesn't exist so a sister marrying and living in Britain might write and receive mail twice a year. Excitement came in the form of parties involving the visiting officers of the Royal Navy. Walks and picnics on beaches with officers from the barracks. The arrival of packets (boats), or a navy ship was a big deal. Sundays were for church, and teaching Sunday school. Does anyone remember mending. It was a real activity.
But the real point about diaries is this. Even though it was a yesterday, it takes on an element of here and now. Our lives as we go through them are progressing through a daily round on nows. For Blanche it is a future. For me it is now. And for me, Blanche is a past - at least I thought so until I read her diaries and realised that this is a confounding fact.
If I didn't sleep last night, that is important to me. I will wake up tired and possibly angry in the morning... if I don't eat dinner at some point in time I will become ravenous. If the postman doesn't come today I am frustrated but he'll probably be here tomorrow... mundane things.
Of course I'm being philosophical. I wonder if this is part of my makeup as an author. Whether it is people like me who reflect on things like this that might end up in elements of my sense of being and eventually in my writing. I need this kind of world in which to place my characters.
So blogs are very important. They are like diaries. But diaries are nasty little nagging duties. You have to be persistent. But so do you as an author. Without persistence you don't end up with a story. Without a story your frustration grows because being an author is being part of you.
Therefor:
I will blog.
I will blog.
I will blog.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
On writing novels
Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin?" said she. I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?"
"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. IT is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."
Once again Jane Austen has summarised for me the act of authorship.
Can anyone put it better?
That once can find themselves in the middle before they have realised it has begun?
"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. IT is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."
Once again Jane Austen has summarised for me the act of authorship.
Can anyone put it better?
That once can find themselves in the middle before they have realised it has begun?
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Time flies said the monkey...
As he threw the clock over the cliff.
Why do people wait for New Year to make resolutions? Well, I guess that's another way of asking why don't I? I seem to make resolutions all the time. Some are good, some are bad. Some are fattening. Some are good for your head. Some are good for your credit card (it's called Sense and Sensibility)...
Here are some of my resolutions:
Drink more water during the day. I try to.
Edit, concentrate, edit, concentrate, edit, concentrate. I try to.
Eat more greens. I've got a crush on spinach and cauliflower at the moment.
Edit, concentrate, edit, concentrate, edit, concentrate.
Eat more fruit, and... speaking of fruit...
I wrote a cute poem this week. It was following a call from a magazine which needs filler stuff. It's for kids of course, but I also intend to illustrate it.
But it has been a mixed week. I bought a Kindle on Ebay. Of course the person I bought it from would never have known but it was a first generation model which was only available in the US for the US market. And it took me a day to find this out. I was so disappointed. I've sold it to somebody in the U.S. who can use it like normal and re-purchased - I do like the look of the text on the little machine. I have an iphone and I know I don't need the iPad because I will not use it for a lot of the things many people would do with theirs.
But my today's resolution is to come to blog more often.
That way all none of you get to know what's going on in my creative life.
ZP
Why do people wait for New Year to make resolutions? Well, I guess that's another way of asking why don't I? I seem to make resolutions all the time. Some are good, some are bad. Some are fattening. Some are good for your head. Some are good for your credit card (it's called Sense and Sensibility)...
Here are some of my resolutions:
Drink more water during the day. I try to.
Edit, concentrate, edit, concentrate, edit, concentrate. I try to.
Eat more greens. I've got a crush on spinach and cauliflower at the moment.
Edit, concentrate, edit, concentrate, edit, concentrate.
Eat more fruit, and... speaking of fruit...
I wrote a cute poem this week. It was following a call from a magazine which needs filler stuff. It's for kids of course, but I also intend to illustrate it.
But it has been a mixed week. I bought a Kindle on Ebay. Of course the person I bought it from would never have known but it was a first generation model which was only available in the US for the US market. And it took me a day to find this out. I was so disappointed. I've sold it to somebody in the U.S. who can use it like normal and re-purchased - I do like the look of the text on the little machine. I have an iphone and I know I don't need the iPad because I will not use it for a lot of the things many people would do with theirs.
But my today's resolution is to come to blog more often.
That way all none of you get to know what's going on in my creative life.
ZP
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