A peek into my processes*:

(Kinda-part 1 here). With thanks to James for this fun tag.

What am I working on at the moment? I work as a social media and marketing manager and also as an English tutor and workshop instructor, so commercial and editorial-style writing is part of my daily life. The real dream, however, is fiction. So when people ask me about my words, it’s stories that I think of. After I completed my Master of Arts last year (and finished up a work placement of two years just a month later), I fell into a period that felt a lot like creative paralysis. I was frozen. It wasn’t even that I had things to say but didn’t know how to say them; I was truly empty. Ideas weren’t floating in, and words weren’t flowing out.

That season lasted more than six months, and I found it terrifying. Finally I had been set free to do the thing I cared about – and it felt as if the thing no longer cared about me. I’d talked about writing since I was a kid. I didn’t know myself without that dream, without that work happening on the sidelines. And I couldn’t really do anything other than hold on and hope that whatever I’d lost would somehow return to me.

This year has been more about inching back towards that fragile creativity. I’m certainly not at the place where, as a teenager, I thought all writers lived: a flurry of words pouring out in a feverish rush, pen at the ready for ideas to strike out of nowhere. (Gosh I miss those days. The feeling of it all, I mean, not the rubbish I wrote). Rather, there’s a sort of steadiness to where I'm at with words, along with a slight sense of frustration at the constant pull between work, family, community, and creativity.

So what am I actually working on? I’m working on a screenplay treatment for a friend who works in the independent film industry. I’m in the very tentative early stages of a new story that I think is going to be novel length. And there’s a little short story that’s been simmering for two years but is close to being done. I’m writing lots of thoughts about what I’m reading lately, too, and there’s a novel first draft sitting on the backburner while I work out how to take it from A to, if not Z, then at least B, C, or D.

How does my work differ from others in my genre? My last few published pieces have been for children, some other recent stories have been a little speculative, while still another is a piece of adult fiction that is bit (a lot) autobiographical. So I’m no longer quite sure what my genre is. But my heart is with young adult fiction, always and forever.

Something that I find myself exploring, often not realising it until the work is finished, is the idea of otherness. Being other is often viewed with some awkwardness or perhaps even shame. We tend to blame ourselves for our otherness, thinking that “If I was more [whatever],” then maybe I’d belong. But otherness can have great value. It’s healthy to be able to step back from the crowd occasionally. It generates a sense of wonder. It allows us to form our own opinions. And it builds compassion within us for those who may not learn, work, look, speak, or live like ‘everyone else’ does. What’s more, I suspect most of the great men and women of history could be counted as quite “other” in one way or many. The jury’s still out on whether otherness actually turns you into a genius (or a sociopath, for the unfortunate few), but I definitely think it can help.

Of course, there’s nothing unique about exploring the other within literature. One could argue that all literature is about otherness, to some degree. So how does my work differ from others in my genre? I guess one way is that my stories tend to be light on the romance side of things. I enjoy romance, but show me friendships, too. Show me families, show me communities, show me diverse relationships that go beyond high school sweethearts. As I read or write young adult characters, I can’t help thinking that the all-consuming crush that’s occupying the character’s heart and mind might not be there in a couple of years or even a couple of months. But I hope the best friend will still be around, and I’m more interested in his or her feelings about the main character than I am in the feelings of Bad-Boy-With-A-Heart-of-Gold McSpunkypants.

Why do I write or create what I do? It recently occurred to me that I might not actually like writing. It’s really hard work. I’ve never been the sort to be able to churn out thousands of words a day, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that whirlwind frenzy of feverish inspiration and had words just fall from my fingertips. Instead, I slog and yank and tug and grimace and fight to get the words out of me and onto a page, and I’m even not sure why I do it. I only know that words are incredibly important to me, and this is the thing I want to do, even when I’m not quite certain what it’s all for.

How does my writing/creative process work? I love boundaries and feel like my creativity thrives under them. Briefs and deadlines and word limits are great. When they are in place, the scope of possibility narrows to something within my vision and, instead of being overwhelmed by the vast expanses of whatever that stretch out before me, I can look just a little way ahead and start to think. I like having themes or content requirements or specific prerequisites imposed upon me. They don’t feel like an imposition; they feel like a starting point. And when such limitations don’t exist, if I’m left with something formless, I have to impose the limitations on myself so I don’t shrivel up or drown under the weight of all that could be.

So my process begins with examining my creative boundaries or inventing some for myself. I’m a fan of pulling out a notebook and scribbling down anything relevant on an open double page spread, then examining the work for links and ideas and a proper starting place. If I can’t start at the beginning of the story, I’ll start with a scene that I know that I know, a moment that’s real for me, that reveals my characters, that might even be an instrumental moment in the story. It doesn’t matter where it comes chronologically; I can write away from it or up to it later on. The important thing is to start.

A couple of years ago a friend introduced me to the idea of the writing sprints, and, quite seriously, they've really changed how I write. Now, when I have a project to complete, I set a timer for 15 mins and write fast and furiously just for that fifteen. I don’t pause to look up words, to self-edit, to ponder the decisions I’m making for my characters. I just write. If I’m unsure of a word or a direction to take something, I can fill in that space with nothing words. (I have written BLAH BLAH SOMETHING HERE more times than I could say). After the fifteen minutes is up, of course there’s time to go back and tweak things or check the outline to see if the story is on track, but it’s amazing how many words one can spout when the timer is going. And it’s inspiring to just hit reset and go for another round. I can’t tell you how much easier it is to write in four fifteen-minute bursts than it is to write for an hour.

The primary advantage to this is that words get onto paper. Then there’s the fact that I don’t waste time self-censoring or overthinking my writing decisions. Finally, it’s a way to write even when I think I don’t have time for writing. One of my projects lately is being written in ten-minute snatches, just a few days a week. You can’t do a lot in ten minutes, but you can do something, and it keeps the story (and the hope) alive.

*not a double entendre. 

So... that's a little peek into my creative process. Now I'm going to invite two writerly ladies, Jodie and Katie, to answer these questions for themselves. I'm looking forward to hearing more about what makes your wild mind bloom!

Rock pools and sketches and notebooks, oh my.

As a kid, I loved to read books that were about people making books. There were two in particular that I read a lot, one in comic-strip style about the building of a picture book from start to finish, and another about the actual manual work of collating and binding a book of your own. I borrowed these books from the local public library so often that I’m sure a little part of me felt that the librarian should just take pity on me and give them to me for keeps. 

These days we’d say that reading books about writing, illustrating, and making books is kind of meta, but childhood me had no such word for it. I only knew that these books provided a peek into a process that was like drawing aside a magical curtain and opening up the world beyond, like lifting the lid of an upright piano and seeing the intricate innards of the instrument, like peering past the surface of the water to the microcosmic life of the rockpool beneath. Looking at the processes behind books was mesmerising.

I still feel the same sense of fascination with these backstage tours. I have a small but serious collection of books that each explore someone else's creative processes. One of my favourites is about the writer andillustrator Eric Carle; it has a giant fold-out page that shows the step-by-step process Carle uses to create his trademark collages. Another book shows pages from EH Shepard’s childhood sketchbook, with annotations in a scratchy, childish hand. I can’t really explain their fascination for me; I only know that processes are delicious. Show me your first drafts, your sketchbooks, your outlines, and I’m a little bit in awe.

For that reason, it’s been fun to follow the trail of bloggers passing along the Blog Tour Award and talking about their creative processes. (And gosh, reading about how people write is so much easier and more fun than actually writing.) I was nominated to take part in the fun by James Cooper, chief editor of the author.docx blog and lecturer at Tabor College in Adelaide (you can read his answers here). I took several units under James when I was studying my BA, and loved them all. In fact, James’s recommendation introduced me to Francine Prose’s Reading Like A Writer, one of the best books about books I’ve ever read.

The idea of the blog tour is to answer a series of questions about my own creative processes, and to nominate up to four other bloggers to do the same. I was supposed to post my answers today, but I have a busy house full of local and interstate guests so I’ll be back with my answers tomorrow.

In the meantime, though, I have a question for you: are you a process person? What processes inspire you with a desire to create, do, or become?

"Answers to all the questions and a tale to tell": an interview with Darren Groth, author of 'Are You Seeing Me?'

As most of you already know -- because I flailed about it from here to instagram and everywhere in between -- I really enjoyed reading Darren Groth's recent release, Are You Seeing Me? 

From the back of the book:

Justine and Perry are embarking on the road trip of a lifetime. It's been more than a year since they watched their dad lose his battle with cancer, leaving nineteen-year-old Justine as the sole carer for her disabled brother. Now, the twins' reliance on each other is set to shift. Before they go their separate ways, they're seeking to create the perfect memory. For Perry, the trip is a glorious celebration of his favourite things: mythical sea monsters, Jackie Chan movies, and the study of earthquakes. For Justine, it's a chance to "free" her twin, to see who she is without her boyfriend, Marc -- and to offer their mother to chance to atone for past wrongs.

This sums up the story beautifully. I suppose it's not the done thing to also add sentences to the effect of: 'a beautiful emotional story that somehow manages never to descend into melodrama,' or 'finally a love story that's more about familial love than the romantic type,' or 'characters you'll wish were actually real so you could give them a big hug (if they were up for it of course).' These are the kind of postscripts I'd tack on if it was my job to write a blurb for this book -- which tells you what a good thing it is that this isn't my job.

Are You Seeing Me? is set partly in Brisbane and partly in Vancouver, Canada, echoing the author's own background. Darren Groth is a Queenslander now writing from Vancouver, where he lives with his wife and thirteen-year-old twins. Recently I got to chat with Darren about his work.

Before talking about the text itself, a process question because I'm fascinated by the processes of creativity and the rituals (or lack of them) that creators employ. What does your writing process look like? And how long did it take to write AYSM, from idea to final draft?

My process is pretty organic. I'm not a huge planner of a novel -- a lot of the details reside in my head and unfold on the page. I tend to start with a simple idea or scenario which, through the thousand and one questions that result, ends up becoming a full blown story.

With AYSM, it began with an idea close to home for me: a set of twins -- one with a disability, the other without -- left on their own after their father's passing and their mother's departure many years ago. From that basic premise, the questions commenced: who are they? Where are they at in their lives? What happened to the father? Where is the mother now? Eventually, I had answers to all the questions and a tale to tell.

The first draft of AYSM took almost a year to write. Unfortunately, it would turn out to be the first of many. Final draft would come after six previous! I think it turned out for the best, though.

I'd agree with that.

The relationship between AYSM and your own family story is quite clear. When did you first realise you wanted to write a book like this? Did you wrestle at all with finding a balance between following the story you were writing versus exploring the story you are living?

I knew soon after the release of my previous novel, Kindling, that I would do AYSM. I wanted to write a book that would be a gift to my daughter and explored the idea of a young woman trying to find her own way while caring for her brother. As you mentioned, there were plenty of touch-points I could bring from my own family's circumstances -- not enough that you would call the work "faction", though. Historically, I've tended to do that with my novels: I'll use compelling narratives from my own experience, add lots of made-up stuff, give it all to caracters I create, and then see where it ends up.

This makes perfect sense. And I suspect we can't help but imbue our fiction with some of our own history, even if we are writing in worlds completely different to our own.

Have your children read the story? Did they offer any feedback?

My kids are thirteen; neither has read the story yet. My daughter will read it one day -- as it's dedicated to her, I hope she loves it. She's more into The Hunger Games and The Simpsons at the moment. My son, due to his ASD, may never be able to read AYSM or Kindling (the book that was my gift to him). He has progressed very well over the years, though, so never say never!

It's very important to AYSM that both Justine and Perry have a voice. It's not solely Justine's story; neither is it solely Perry's. Did you always intend to tell the story like this, even from its inception? And did you encounter any special challenges in writing a story with two protagonists?

For a while, I entertained just writing AYSM from Justine's perspective. Not far into it, I understood Perry needed to be heard, too. He was actually far easier to write than his sister. Justine is far more nuanced than Perry and required a lot more care during editing to ensure her voice was consistent and authentic. Putting Perry on the page involved a greater amount of research (everything I now know about earthquakes, sea monsters, and Jackie Chan movies, I owe to him), but he was a dream to author.

The editing and crafting shines through. Justine's character is gently deep and manages to authentically straddle the sometimes awkward divide between youth and adulthood.

Speaking of divides, the book, with its dual settings of Brisbane and Canada, has a very strong sense of place. How important to you is this sense of place in what you read and write? Is it always as significant within the text as with AYSM? How does being an Australian living in another country help (or challenge) you as a writer?

Place, when done particularly well, is like another character. One of my favourite reads of all time is I'm Not Scared by Niccolo Ammaniti, and the backdrop for that -- a remote rural town in southern Italy -- is remarkable and plays as much of a role in proceedings as any of the protagonists. If my sense of place in AYSM is half as good as Ammaniti's then I'm rapt.

Regarding living in Canada as an Aussie, I think it offers a different stimulus to my work than I otherwise would've had remaining in Brisbane. As Justine herself might put it: no better or worse -- just different.

Beautifully said. Thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts and background on this important story. Good luck with all your future work!

Writers and procrastinators, hear ye:

Hello, writer. Yes you, writer-person there. Have you written anything yet this year? Have you got a darling little piece of unfinished something that's been jostling around in your heart but isn't yet actually on the page? Are you sitting about waiting for a deadline to kick you into gear? I might have just the thing.

Tabor Adelaide, the college that gave me my BA in Creative Writing and said, "go, little bird, and off you fly into the big wide grown up world!*" has launched a literary award this year which looks exciting. The award is open to Australians over the age of 16, and offers prizes for a work of short fiction or poetry on the theme of 'Homecomings.'

Entry is free and the works will be judged by a great panel of authors, including Roseanne Hawke, a beautiful YA author whose work is incredible and which you should totally go read right now. Actually, you should go read it after you submit your entry, because the deadline is this Friday.**

All the details you'll need to know are here. Now make some words.

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*no one actually said this. I just have a vivid imagination.
**I hope no one wonders why I didn't post this sooner. I'm going to go with: "posting such information late in the game leaves everyone with no room for procrastination" and not "my blogging schedule is shot to pieces lately."

Bookish gifts for writerly types:

Christmas is on its way, which for most of us means gift-giving, which for some means shopping anxiety. For me, the only anxiety about Christmas shopping is keeping to a minimal budget. But I love the activity itself, and I love hearing what ideas others have come up with to bless and cherish the people they treasure. Here are my favourite picks for the writerly people in your life. I promise I've test-driven each selection.

On Writing Well by William Zinsser This one is a classic for a reason. Originally based on a college nonfiction writing course, the book is divided into chapters that are themselves sorted into useful sections: principles, methods, and forms. Zinsser's crisp but warm teaching style discusses the nuts and bolts of nonfiction writing in depth and then provides specific advice related to different nonfiction disciplines, whether it be sports writing, memoir, or travel journalism. The final segment of the book, however, delves into writerly attitudes, and it's as much about being a writer as it is about doing writing. This is the kind of book you dip back into to refresh your memory (and your motivation).

Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark My mother found this one for me and it's like a complete little writing workshop in a book. The fifty chapters provide fifty writing guidelines which range from the intensely practical ("Begin sentences with subjects and words") to the motivational ("Limit self-criticism in early drafts") to just really good craft ("Know when to back off and when to show off"). Each chapter also offers accompanying activities so you can try out the stuff you're learning. This book would appeal to newbie writers but there's lots of meat for old hands, too.

The Elements of Style by Strunk & White, ill. by Maira Kalman People seem to get a shock when they realise that the White half of the Strunk & White writing team is actually E.B. White, author of Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little. But it's true, and that just makes this little book all the cooler. Another writing classic, this book is pure craft and yet it proves its own rules over and over again. If you think a book about punctuation, grammar, and word usage will be dull and dry, this book will make you... unthink that. It's subtly funny and just solidly good advice. Plus, this edition has gorgeous full-colour illustrations by Maira Kalman (vivid and amazing and occasionally just vaguely unsettling) which makes it basically a picture book about writing. What more could anybody ask for? I mean, seriously.

Now Write!: Fiction Writing Exercises from Today's Best Writers and Teachers edited by Sherry Ellis I've been dipping into this one a bit over the last few weeks as I try to edge my way back into some writing that's not dictated by professors and university deadlines. The irony of this is that the book is composed of fiction-writing assignments created by great professors at universities. (Yes. I didn't put that together until right now.) This book is a lot of fun because a bunch of seriously good writers sat down and write a little about craft and then provided us with prompts to get us going. But it's not simply the "You find a mysterious object. What is it?" kind of prompt. These are prompts that push the writer deeper into the core elements of writing craft -- aspects like pacing, characterisation, dialogue, and revision. It's educational but it's also fun. (And I just noticed that there's a nonfiction counterpart covering memoir, journalism, and creative nonfic. Family members, feel free to take note of the fact that I don't own this book and jot this down for possible future birthdayness).

Self-editing for Fiction Writers by Browne and King This one was recommended to me a trillion times before I finally got myself a copy. And of course it was perfect and I should have read it five years earlier. Revision is something that has always overwhelmed me. Short pieces are fine, but looking at a first or second draft novel and contemplating how to wade into the mountain of muck and cull the good from the bad is frankly terrifying. Self-editing for Fiction Writers wades through that muck with the writer, taking you through the editing process from big picture to the finer details. This is an excellent read especially for anyone who thinks editing is synonymous with correcting typos and punctuation (in case you're wondering: it's so much more than that).

Reading Like A Writer by Francine Prose This is a book I know I've discussed before, but it's just so good. The title sums it up sufficiently, but essentially Reading Like A Writer encourages the writer to read deeply and read not just for the story or the information, but for the craft, to look beneath the words and recognise the structure of the story, the criss-crossing architecture that made the work solid (or shaky). The text itself however is a beautiful read on its own, and the author's rapturous dips into various great stories makes the act of reading it something akin to trawling a library for hours and dipping into all the best passages of beloved books.

Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss Sometimes snarky and always funny, this book, supposedly "the zero tolerance approach to punctuation" is really just a celebration of good punctuation, well-employed. Those who struggle with punctuation will learn a thing or two, but those who turn into an enormous green rage monster at the sight of such literary beauties as "MANGOE'S: TWO FOR $5 DOLLARS" will get a smug sort of satisfaction from seeing themselves as the upper echelon of textual intelligence. Either way, it's just a really great book. Oh, and there's a hardback children's version which is hilarious.

There's my list of bookish recommendations for the writer you love. What would be on your list?

DanoWriMo

I don't think I ever talked about how NaNoWriMo went last year. I mean, I talked about it while I was in the midst of it, but did I ever say how it ended?

It was amazing. As you know if you were reading back then, I'd wanted to take part in National Novel Writing Month for years. Finally -- thanks in large part to the prompting of the ever-inspirational Laura -- it happened, and I couldn't have loved it more. I was genuinely rather terrified about the whole experience (not least because I think I got the beginnings of a plot idea like one week before start date? It was so sketchy!). I'm not a fan of failure and if I was going to do it I really wanted it to actually happen. Well I got there -- I got to 50,000 words on the very last day or perhaps the last-day-eve of November -- and I had thought prior that I'd be limping to the finish line if I got there at all. Not so -- which is the part I was so excited about. I reached the word count and there were still words left in me and I didn't hate it and I hadn't had too many moments of staring at a blank screen in the wee small hours while my retinas burned out. There were definitely moments when I was like, WHA? WHAT IS THIS STORY? And there were times when I wrote the most melodramatic waffle just to keep my fingers moving over the keys. But one of the best tricks was one that Laura (again) put me onto: word sprints. Set the timer for ten or fifteen minutes, and write like crazy for that time. Add a word count goal (try five hundred words in fifteen minutes!) for extra pressure. It sounds simplistic, but I'd never written faster in my life. Since NaNoWriMo, I've tried the technique at other times when the writing is lagging but I need to get some words out quickly. It's quite the miracle.

"Are you doing NaNoWriMo this year?" my mum asked, as we drove somewhere together yesterday.
"I'd like to," I replied, "but I'm doing DanoWriMo instead."
"Oh, good!" she replied. She took her eyes off the road for a sec to glance at me. "Is it good?"
"Oh, DanoWriMo is where I spend a month writing Hawaii Five-O fanfiction. You know. 'Book 'em, Danno.'?"
She frowned at me.
"Just kidding," I said. "It's Danielle Writing Month. Basically, I'm going to write a lot but on a lot of different projects."
And who'd have thought? That answer was so much more satisfying for my mother.

One of the reasons I've relished postgrad studies is because I'm forced to write on a lot of different topics and to deadline, but one of the things I hate about it is that it sucks my soul dry of any other writing time or headspace. With uni on hold between semesters, my goal is to dip into some unfinished writing projects, to submit to some places, and to get back into the swing of writing the stuff I can't get out of my head.

So here's to DanoWriMo! You folks can keep me accountable and ask me pointed questions when you see me, about whether I've written at all in the last twenty-four hours, or whether I followed up that invitation to submit. In the meantime, how can I cheer you on? Who's doing NaNoWriMo this year?

A baby and a legend:

I hope I don't ever get to be so grown up that I lose the thrill of seeing my little words in print. At this point, I'm far from such a level of maturity because when today's mail brought with it the September issue of The School Magazine's Touchdown, I was verging on the edge of delirious. What joy to flip to page 20 and find out that my short story, Remember, had been illustrated by Premier's Literary Award and CBCA Award-winning picture book creator, Aaron Blabey.

As a baby in this business of telling stories, it's such a thrill to see something I've written interpreted into pictures by a genuine professional creative dude who does this stuff for a living -- and does it beautifully. I'm really honoured.

Words take time:

My sister Lauren shared the following quote recently on her blog:

A culture that is rooted more in images than in words will find it increasingly difficult to sustain any broad commitment to any truth, since truth is an abstraction requiring language. -- Kenneth Myers

It explains, far better than anything I could come up with, the radio silence that's been beaming loud (heh heh) and clear from my corner of the internet.

I am a big fan of images, and one of the reasons I love the internet so much is that it gives me access to this massive treasure trove of gloriousness from all around the globe (my reblogging tumblr account is basically a collection of everything I find pretty pretty, lovely, wondrous, or cool). Plus, in my own sometimes pathetic way, I get to contribute to the treasure trove. I can add to the discussion with snippets of my life, and pictures are so easy to capture and share that it can happen in just a few moments. All of this is good and lovely. But I've been realising lately that "snippets" were never the original intent for my blog. Originally, the guiding principle that my blog bounced from was Socrates' idea that 'the unexamined life is not worth living.' I think pictures enhance life and capture life, but -- for me, at least -- to really examine life requires words, and words take time.

So that's why it's been a bit echoey in here. I sort of told myself I wouldn't post again until I had something worth saying -- no, not worth saying, because that's far too great a burden to bear. Who among us would say anything at all if we were forced to weigh our words in the balance every thing throughout history that has been most worth saying? Let us just say, instead, that my goal is to post when I have something worth thinking about. And that doesn't necessarily mean something grave or heavy; no, just something that requires a little space to stop and pause.

I rush to add that in a war between words and images, there is no winner. We need them all, and no single form of artistry is greater than another. That's why I'll still be sharing pictures here, but as accompaniment to my words, not in place of them. For the other little snippets of daily life, there's my tumblr. (Oh, and I finally got around to creating an "about" page -- which goes a long way to destroying everything I've written here about finding things worth saying. Never mind...)

My novel ate me.

Nanowrimo is proving to be an exhilarating, terrifying ride. Whenever I'm called upon to explain the project, there's an inevitable question that follows: "And... is this fun for you?" I find myself pausing before I answer -- a lot. Trying to formulate a response to this question has had me asking myself, "Is this fun? Is any of it fun?"

I've come to the conclusion that, for me at least, there's only a very tiny aspect of the writing life that is just pure, delirious, unadulterated fun. It's those moments when the story has a firm hold on you and the present world ceases to exist while you are sucked down into a vortex of words and people and places that have somehow blossomed into life, apparently on their own. Those moments, when you are just dragged along for the ride, are the most fun.

Mostly though, for me, it's like trying to catch a cloud and keep it in your hand. There is this nebulous, vague, but seemingly important idea or picture or feeling I am trying to lay hold of, and every word I write is either chipping away at the rock that comes between me and the idea, or putting a clear line around it, waiting for each little fragment of the drawing to join up and turn this transparent whisp of condensation into a clear shape, an outline I can recognise and understand. Proving my point entirely, in this paragraph alone I have stumbled into a thousand metaphors in my attempt to make things clear -- and still I've failed.

What I'm trying to say is that, mostly, writing kind of hurts a little bit. There are rarely times when it doesn't feel like very hard work. I write with my stomach clenched and a frown line between my eyebrows. I write slowly, methodically, imperfectly -- none of which sounds like the definition of fun. And when the slow, methodical, imperfect work is done, I must go over it all again, seeing if I can make the imperfect just a little more perfect, the unclear just slightly more clear. I bump up against my own failings again and again, which also is rather not fun, and I see just how not-good I am at forming words into pictures, of making the untrue appear true.

But for some reason, I still want to do it, and this is the weirdest thing of all about writing. In trying to find something to compare it to, the only example I've latched onto is that of exercise. Exercise is horrible. If you're not born possessing the sporty gene, then it's just something that you have to drive yourself to do whether you feel like it or not. You have to wear ugly shoes, and you know you will get sweaty, and you might get a stitch or an ache in that part of your leg where it feels like there's a split between two bones that shouldn't be there. You do it anyway, though, because you know you must, and a part of you hates it the whole time.

But another part of you comes alive, and starts thinking thoughts in rhythm to the beat of your feet against the ground, or in time to the revolution of the wheels whirring underneath you. And you get sweaty and sticky and there's a hard, sharp stitch that the hateful part of you considers might be the beginnings of a heart attack. But the other part of you revels in the humidity and the knife-edge of the breaths going into your lungs, and that part of you tells you to do just five minutes more, and then another five minutes more. And then you are done, and the only part of you making any sense is the part of you that feels most alive now, and you can almost think that you're actually getting healthier with each hard-drawn breath you take, and you feel lighter than you did before you started, even though there's an odd click in your ankle that you suspect wasn't there before. And you know that tomorrow night, when you are tired and you just want to sit and watch tv, you are going to hate the thought of exercise all over again, but that tiny alive part of you will nag at you until you start moving again, and once more you will feel happy and alive and like this horrible horrible thing is what you were actually meant to be doing all along.

I think writing is a little bit like that -- for me, at least. It hurts and makes me ache but it's a good ache, the sort of ache that stays with me into the next day and reminds me that I have flexed a muscle that was made to be moved, that is all the healthier for having been stretched.

All of which, of course, I did not intend to say when I sat down to compose this post. I was going to write, instead, about the hazy sunset my mother and I drove out to shoot last night, and to give you a little sampling of the pictures. I was going to tell you how the nano novel is consuming much of my writing time, and is using up nearly all of my meagre store of words. I was going to say that I have no words left to give to such paltry pursuits as blogging.

But look! My own blog makes a mockery of me. I suppose that's as it should be.

NaNo is a go-go:

I think the face I am pulling here, in this delightfully-grainy webcam photo, is a look of cautious optimism -- either that, or concern for my mental welfare. Maybe it's a little bit of both.

Last year, I bemoaned the fact that NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated) falls ridiculously, cruelly, in November -- almost the worst month possible for such an undertaking, for those of us in the southern hemisphere at least. I mean, there's just so much happening, including (or sometimes especially) the end of semester finals and all the joy that comes with that.

This year, however, I'm already done with uni (thank you, bizarre trimester system) and although everything else is still happening, that is one sizable chunk of stress delight which I don't need to think about. I only made this realisation about two weeks ago, and the lightbulb moment brought with it glowing feelings of enthusiasm and a little madness. I could do NaNo this year. I could actually do it.

So I'm going to. And by "do it", I mean "attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days." I know the frenzy is part of it, and I'd really really love to reach that ridiculous finish line, but at the same time I'm excited just to be giving it a go, regardless of the consequences. I've waited years for this! Who else is joining in?

Of course, I feel ridiculously under-prepared. Friends I know have been outlining for weeks (months!) now, and many have their majestic plots all neatly laid out and ready for the prose work to begin. I have a half-baked idea that has been growing in urgency and interest for me, but which still has no clear ending, even though the characters are starting to make themselves known. This isn't my ideal scenario. I'd love to have a fabulous plot outline drawn up, with names and faces and character sketches of all the major players. As it is, however, I just keep getting more and more odd little ideas and filing them away mentally. I take comfort from the fact that NaNo founder Chris Baty seems to have taken the same approach as me every year he's actually participated. Somehow, out of his personal madness and lack-of-plan, novels have emerged.

That's my goal, too. Just a novel. Not a great novel or even a good one, but in the true spirit of Ann Lamott, I just want to have another really trashy first draft under my belt, written in the haze and frenzy of one busy month. It'll be a good kick-start to the writing system during these Summer holidays, when I'd like to get lots of words flowing.

What am I planning to write? Well, it's a buddy story with biblical allusions, and it's set in dystopian Brisbane -- which is frozen, no less. Also, there are aliens, because, well, because.

Yes, please go ahead and laugh. I am.

And while I may be laughing, I'm also super, super looking forward to this. I might just be a little bit in love with my main characters already. Onward!

A writerly giveaway:

It's my birthday week! To celebrate, I want to give you a present. Well, one of you, anyway. Writers need excellent and lovely tools, and this little giveaway bundle is made up of three things I think are particularly handy:

• a brand new edition of the current Australian Writer's Marketplace. This hefty volume, worth $49.95 from the Queensland Writers Centre, contains pages and pages of listings of Australian and New Zealand writing markets, publishing houses, writer's organisations, and writing competitions. There's also a bunch of info on writing and selling your work. John Marsden says, "First, buy a pen. Second, a dictionary... then, The Australian Writer’s Marketplace. That’s the hard work done. Now, just write your book!" So there you go.
• a beautiful little blank journal from Brisbane artisan, Paper Boat Press. To me, there's nothing quite like the allure of the blank page, and pretty pretty notebooks like this one basically cry out to be filled with both brilliant and banal thoughts in scrappy wild handwriting (keep it on your bedside table for those moments of midnight inspiration).
• two Pilot Fineliner pens in black. These are my current favourite writing tools -- so smooth and fine, and they actually make my hideous handwriting look a little neater (or at least more arty).

To be in the running for this prize pack, simply leave a comment on this post. Obviously, this giveaway is biased in favour of writerly types (sorry!) but you're welcome to enter even if you just like a writerly type. Tying a bow around a fat writing book is the perfect way to earn brownie points with your favourite wordsmith person. Or maybe winning this prize will turn you into a writerly type. So have at it. Oh and here's a bonus: if you leave a cool writerly link, resource, or quote, I'll throw your name in the hat twice.

Leave your name and a contact email address before 2.02am August 11th (birth minute!) AEST and I'll draw a winner after next Saturday. Joy!

* * * * *

Conversations:

Laura Elizabeth -- you should know you have launched me on a Nerd renaissance now. I am blaming you.

Sarah -- thank you so much for your lovely congratulations! How's your world of study going?

Andrea -- yay! I'm glad I was your first tagger :). Thanks for the excellent phone call tonight, too! x

Staish -- eee! I'm excited you'll be joining us.

Hannah Joy -- I hope you found some yummy nerds to munch on. Seriously, their colour is part of the delight!

Carla -- it's a Nerds Rope. Find one and eat it immediately!! Plz start practicing gymnastics so you can fit in Meaghan's luggage. Thx.

Amanda -- :D

What comes next:

My imagination has decided that the end of one thing definitely means the beginning of several others. Quite suddenly I am buzzing with project ideas. I want to spring clean. I want to clear out my walk-in-wardrobe and convert part of it into a linen shelf so that my little pantry cupboard can actually house food rather than towels and tablecloths. I want to set up a shop on ebay and sell the clothes I love but haven't worn in a while. I want to pack up bundles of my favourite books and leave them hidden in public places with a note telling some stranger to enjoy the stories. I want to finish all the half-read books on my bookshelf. I want to get back into art lessons with my little brother. I want to get the Pentax fixed and go on a film-shooting spree. I want to start new journals and new writing projects. I want to open a cafe that's open till late at night and people can bring their homework or their girlfriends or their grandpa or their guitars and sit, surrounded by books and freshly-baked muffins. I'd like to do all of the above -- tomorrow, if possible.

Most of this list -- leaving aside the glorious book cafe -- might actually happen someday, but none of those things are likely to happen tomorrow. Because life quickly establishes its own full-to-the-brim rhythm. Before a gap opens up, something else comes to fill the not-yet-empty place. I often bemoan this fact, the sense that there is never time to stop and breathe after one thing before the next race begins. Really though, I'm thankful for it. It's healthy and life-giving to have a sense of purpose, even a small purpose that's only a part of the jigsaw puzzle that is the greater, overarching purpose.

I floundered for a while wondering what would happen post-degree. What about continuing study? What about money? I think I gave myself extra grey hairs overthinking everything. And then of course, things happened in such a landslide that I was left looking sheepish over my own doubt. Within the space of two weeks, I got accepted into the Master's program I'd been hoping to study, I was offered a challenging but right-down-my-alley part time job, and I sold a story! I could almost see God with hands on hips (suddenly it seems irreverent to imagine God standing there hands on hips; does He even have hips?), saying, "Seriously, you assumed I'd forgotten about you?"

So that's what comes next for me. I've got two weeks of work -- teaching English and history privately to two teens and two pre-teens -- under my belt, and I'm one week into an MA in writing. I'm enrolled in some great classes and I have masses of amazing related reading to dive into. In other words I'm blessed, even though I'm a wimp and oh so good at freaking out.

What comes next for you?

* * * * *

The lovely folk at PocketChange included the old blog in their Best of the Web roundup, which is pretty sweet of them! Be sure to check it out; I've been lurking the Best of the Web posts and found some lovely new blogs to explore and enjoy.

* * * * *

Conversations:

Rebecca Simon -- thanks, sweet lady!

Caitlin - Crafty Crackpot -- thank you, Caitlin! And I totally agree: my family is definitely so cool. And please don't consider yourself slack in the letter-writing department. Your supposed slackness doesn't even appear on the graph when contrasted with my intense slackness!

Katie -- those little white paws are surprisingly good at shoulder massages. :D

Andrea -- I still wish you could've been there, too :). [And glad you like the slightly tweaked layout]

Domesticwarriorgoddess -- thank you, lovely Charis.

Cara -- I think unpacking is sometimes more overwhelming than packing! Good luck with it. I look forward to hearing more when you have a chance... and I need to update you with lots of things!

Rach -- thanks for the tag! <3

Amanda -- yes indeed you MUST have a little party.

Meaghan -- love you. xx

HarrietCoombe -- thank you, lovely. I love you. x

The trouble with dreams:

As I near the end of my undergrad degree, I’m getting more questions about what I’m going to do ‘afterwards’. Aside from the basic and straightforward response – pursue an MA – it’s a hard question to answer because it suggests that it’s only now I’ve (almost) completed a degree that I’m actually able to pursue my goal of writing. Really, though, I’ve been working towards this in one way or another since I was seven years old.

But the degree adds a kind of subtle pressure. In a sense, it legitimises a long-held dream, but in another way, it reduces the dream to a mere to-do list. I suppose that’s the problem with dreams. They are intangible fantasies which only come true when they reach a tangible conclusion.

The way I’m using the word ‘dream’ and making it interchangeable with ‘fantasy’ probably sounds like I’m not a fan. Perish the thought! I’m a big fan of dreams. I think imagination is important. And I strongly suspect that many of our dreams are God-made ones, originating in the Creator’s heart and transplanted into our own.

But lately I’m realising that the tangible conclusions we dream about and work towards are always strictly measurable ones. We dream of adopting a child, or building a house, or being married, or rescuing women out of slavery, or painting a prize-winning portrait, or travelling in space, or writing a novel. We think that when we achieve those things, our dreams will have come true. We’ll be successful!

We don’t dream about the little things along that pathway, though. We never dream about filling out psychiatric evaluations, or taking an architecture class, or building ourselves into the sort of person who would make a good partner. We don’t dream of squirreling away a little bit of money here and there to send to a mercy mission, or cleaning our paintbrushes, or reading dense physics texts, or putting 500 words down on paper every day, good or bad. To us, those things aren’t success. They are the things we do while we’re waiting to be successful.

The other day, I had a nasty thought: if I die and I’ve never had a book published, will I count myself a failure? To give you an even greater insight into the lame depths of my own heart, my next thought was: will people think I’m a joke because I never achieved my dream?

Bleh. My, it’s great to be reminded how pathetically human I am. And I mean that sincerely. It was eye-opening to discover what a place of honour my self-made idea of success had been given in my heart. And not merely success for my own satisfaction – after all, small things make me pretty content. But there’s this idea that I need to be successful to prove I haven’t wasted my life, to ensure that I meet with others’ approval, and to be absolutely certain I don’t mess up what might be one of the main things I was meant to do with this four score years and ten (plus a few, I hope).

How backwards all of that is. How backwards my dreams can be! Wherever did we get the idea that One Great Dream defines who we are – defines our success?

God says that it’s the one who is faithful in little things who’ll be given opportunity to be faithful in big ones. When we pray over adoption websites, rescale blueprints, learn to cook healthy food, attend a seminar, make preliminary sketches, watch a documentary on space exploration, take a red pen to a first draft – then, we are living our dreams. The dream isn’t made real when we hold the baby in our arms, hammer the last nail, open the safe house, stand at the altar, accept the blue ribbon, get outside earth’s atmosphere for the first time, or finally see that paperback with your name on the spine. In fact, those things might never come to pass. But we can be parents, builders, advocates, faithful friends, artists, astronauts, or writers as we faithfully pursue the work that we care about, looking ahead to the final goal but never letting it be the one definition of who we are.

We can work at our dreams and work well – today. Being faithful in the little things is our worship and our success. Which, I guess, is actually the dream come true.

* * * * *

Conversations:

Laura Elizabeth -- thank you for giving me permission to obtain a little teeny piglet. BRB, pig shopping!

Lauren -- What did Arnowld Schwarzenegger say? "Owl be back!" Yes, I did just make that joke up. How can you tell?

Un -- aw, your March thing fizzled out? Start again in May with me!

A Child of Promise -- aw, glad you like them! Haha, trust you to appreciate the "teef" -- and a good reading spot. We are literary-loving kindred spirits :).

Brenda Wilkerson -- isn't it just? I kind of wish it were possible for me to adopt a baby piglet immediately.

Sarah -- the relaxing spot is indeed a great place for studying! Do you have a favourite place to sit down with books and papers for some heavy duty reading?

Wordless:

I sit here in silence writing this small volume of words,
and it seems to me the most public thing I ever have done.
[Richard Rodriguez]

One day last week I realised that, lately, I’ve been communicating to you more in pictures than in words. That jarred with me. Words are meant to be my thing. Pictures are the accessory.

Words are my truest language -- at least, that's how I feel. I like talking, but I love writing. Talking is easy and expected and cultural, and society usually thanks us for it. But the most important things I want to say tie up my tongue and choke me. They bring a lump to my throat or contort my face. After all, it’s only in the movies that people really look beautiful when they cry.

Writing, though -- writing is something else. I can think words through. I can pause, re-say things in the clearest way. I can wait, move on, go slowly, totter around chasing after the right phrase. Words are a luxury. And, even though I’m still a newborn in this world of words, writing feels like the nearest I can get to being myself, the most real and honest version of me.

It’s the same with others who find words (on page, on screen) to be their mother tongue. I know these peoples' faces and I know their voices, but I feel like I know the completeness of who they are when I get to read their words, too. Reading them means looking inside of the person, beyond the smile and the face and – permit to be cheesy for just a moment – into their heart.

I think that’s why my current state of relative wordlessness has me floundering. It's like I'm suddenly mute or stumbling around with only a foreign language to get me through.

I was unsettled by it, but I realise now that we're all wordless once in a while. Sooner or later the stories will push their way to the surface. They always do. In the meantime, pictures.

PS. 400th post!

* * * * *

Conversations:

Laura Elizabeth -- I'm glad I'm still doing the March Photo-A-Day thing, but I've found it a lot harder to take creative pictures of the prompt words. My pictures feel bland and boring (especially this week). So maybe that makes you feel happier about not doing it?

Hannah -- ah YES! Embossing on book covers is amazing! I just like running my fingers over lumpy bumpy book covers.

Katie -- glad you enjoyed the pictures! Secretly coveting iPhones and their far superior camera.

Thelittlebluefishy -- I say don't even worry about catching up! Just start from that day's date and then you can enjoy taking pictures without feeling behind. It's so much fun!

Carla -- ashamed to say YES, I do always have that many books on my bedside table. Obviously the selection changes, but it's always that ridiculous.

Un -- that little HEY graffiti always makes me happy :)

Lauren -- absolutely it doesn't matter if it's not the right day! If a rule breaks down the fun factor, get rid of the rule :). I'm happy you're playing along.

Jess Axelby -- baby smiles might just be the best smiles :). Hey, are you blogging your #marchphotoaday pics, or instagramming them or what? I want to lurk!

Elin -- thank you!

Sarah -- my pleasure! Thank you for commenting :)

The mystic portal (of writing opportunities) awaits:

This afternoon, I got an email from a friend-of-a-friend who is newly free from the shackles of highschool and is looking to develop her craft and expand her exposure to good writing opportunities. Some of you are at a similar stage in your own writing journey, so I thought I'd share with you a few avenues you can venture down and explore, particularly if you are somewhat new to the game.

Hunting out the opportunities and resources that are right for you can provide awesome experience for you to grow and develop your craft. Entering competitions and submitting your work to a variety of different publications and media is an excellent way to mature as a writer. Writing to strict guidelines will really hone your work, help you develop your voice, and teach you that boundaries don't always stand in the way of creative freedom.

One of the best resources for a writer of any level is a membership with your state writers' centre. State writers' centres stand apart from other writerly educational environments (like, say, online workshop businesses) in that they are just as dedicated to the development of craft -- or more so -- as they are to actually running a business. Many of them offer student or concession memberships, and most memberships include access to a print or emailed newsletter. This can provide you with regularly-updated information on a whole array of writing opportunites, contests, and workshops, as well as some good meaty articles. Check out Queensland Writers' Centre (which I love because I know and appreciate it) as a good jumping-off point.

The Australian Writers' Marketplace is like the bible of national writing opportunities. It's a fat book bursting with brief submission guidelines and details for hundreds (thousands?) of periodicals, newspapers, and webzines. It also has a section listing national competitions and entry guidelines (or where to go to find them), as well as information on writers' centres and educational opportunities. It's a hefty book and a bit of an investment, but most libraries will carry a copy (request they get it in!) or put it on your Christmas wishlist. You could really go crazy with this one.

Podcasts are a great way to learn and be inspired without having to fork out dough or commit to a six- or twelve-month course. Currently I'm really enjoying The Sydney Writers' Centre podcast. I've had fun finding some great resources on iTunesU as well. Search the iTunes store and see what you can discover. There are lectures online by great professors at such excellent universities as Yale and Harvard -- all for free, too.

Sign up to mailing lists at your local library, your state library, and your favourite bookstore. Libraries are (obviously) passionate about literacy and this often carries through into great literary and literary education events. Book talks with authors are, on their own, a fascinating way to get inspired and learn from people who have already made it. What's more, attending events like author talks can introduce you to other local writers (and sometimes even publishers), all of whom you can learn from and network with. Writing is a lonely craft; it's nice to have friends.

Finally, I must toot a horn for Katie's frequently-updated list of writing opportunities. Be sure to check it out -- then go write something.

[short + sweet] nano ohno

Are you taking part in NaNoWriMo this year?

And let me pre-empt you by saying that I'm not. It's a dream of mine which means that I definitely want to do this someday, but every time November rolls around, I am newly convinced that in the southern hemisphere, November is the worst possible month to attempt such a project. Okay, December would be marginally worst, because, you know -- Christmas insanity. But said insanity begins in November, coupled with the onset of the first really big hot days of the year, a sudden burst of summery social engagements, not to mention the winding down of school and music lessons and all of that. In an email I just sent to a friend, I proposed June as a far better southern month for NaNo -- which sounds dreamy, but would probably feel lonely and dull when everyone else is immersed in the November frenzy. And having said that, all my excuses just make me feel small when I read this.

Whether you are taking part in NaNo or not, you must check out the StayInTheRoom community at Dreamwidth. During November, they're posting fresh writing prompts every single day. Throw one of them into your novel, or work on them individually as a way to get the writing juices flowing. They're really lots of fun.

Oh, and one last thing. I just started imagining the fun of doing NaNoWriMo and Movember -- squeezing out words and facial hair at the same time. If there is any man doing both, I want to meet him and bestow upon him a cape and a superhero outfit.

In which I get to pretend like I'm semi-famous, with dubious results:

I think I've mentioned before that my local council library system might be the best in the world. The libraries themselves are top notch; my favourite even has its own cafe window. Iced coffee + reading = winning. But what continues to impress me is the ongoing dedication to developing emerging artists within the local community. In particular, I've been privileged to benefit from the Authors in Action program, a series of author talks, worshops, and events facilitated by the Redland Libraries for the purpose of educating and developing local readers and writers by exposing them to great stories, great teachers, and great opportunities.

One of these opportunities is the Redlitzer Award for 2011, a writing contest for prose work of any genre up to 3000 words. I was honoured to be one of ten finalists chosen by the judges, authors Louise Cusack and Anita Bell, and got to spend a day with the other nine authors and nine runners-up as we discussed the craft of writing and learnt from published writers under the facilitation of Arthurian fiction writer MK Hume. The day provided a brilliant opportunity to meet other local writers as well as to workshop our short stories with guidance from those who have been there and done it all before.

Last night was the Redlitzer Gala event, the launch of the 2011 anthology and announcement of the editor's choice for best short piece of the ten finalists. The event was beautifully hosted by the Victoria Point library, with balloons, champagne, and canapes among the bookshelves. Of course, I did not consume said treats since inevitably at such events I am always either a) talking too much, or b) too nervous to risk holding actual food and drinks in my actual hands. Yes, last night I was both.

The Redland Shire mayor, Melva Hobson, opened the evening by commending the anthology as well as the council's dedication to bringing the work of emerging local artists into the light of day. Guest speaker journalist Frances Whiting discussed the ways in which writing has impacted her life, showing us both the poignant and the hilarious sides of writing a personal column for the public to read. Her stories were so good I (almost) wanted to ditch fiction and focus my attention on journalism instead.

Everyone was thrilled when Beverley Asmus (in the picture above, book-signing like a pro) won the editor's choice award for her story, Sticks and Stones, and Jo McHenry received an encouragement award for The Swallows of Wellington Point. Then we all got our hands on a copy of the anthology -- yay! However, in the balance of weights and measures that is life on this crazy planet, there was a price to pay for the joy of seeing work in print, and this came in the form of a) getting pictures taken, and b) pretending to be a breezy, established author. I'm beaming and confident when I'm just a face in the crowd, but the minute any form of spotlight swings even remotely in my direction -- even if it's just a Mini Maglite -- I become strangely non-human.

Of course, with regards to the picture-taking, the Socially Awkward Penguin in me immediately came waddling to the fore. I stood there frozen while the photographer arranged the anthology authors to her pleasing, and by the time we were in an adequate formation, I'd been smiling so long I'd actually forgotten how to.

What do I do with my cheeks?
My lips! My lips! I can't feel them!
Why are my teeth getting in the road?

I guess when the paper comes out I will see the full force of my multiple facial seizures. Until then, I'm going to pretend that didn't happen.

Then someone got the brilliant idea to set up a signing table for the authors to sign copies of the anthology. Soon there was a production line set up with a long white table, nine chairs, and a row of fresh black Sharpies ("Just like for real authors!") and we sat there while people brought us their copies to sign. It felt so very much like playing at being Real Authors that I kept laughing and thinking, This is silly! I'm not a Real Author! Then, when the lovely journalist Frances Whiting pushed her copy towards me to sign, the ridiculousness of it overflowed out loud: "This is so stupid! You should be signing things!"

When I thought all that awkwardness was over, I went to say goodbye to one of the authors whose workshops have taught me so much and really given my writing education a big shove in the right direction. She had some encouraging words to say which really meant a lot. In response, I turned into a malfunctioning robot and could only make repetitive gushing sounds which probably sounded something like THANK YOU OH THANKS YOU HAVE TAUGHT ME SO MUCH I AM NOT WORTHY I WILL KEEP TRYING THANK YOU IS MY FACE SHINY. But even malfunctioning robots such as myself have hearts, and those words found their way there -- so thank you.

Perhaps all this is to teach me that with every small gift comes some measure of awkward pain. And should I someday have figured out enough of life and of words to be a Real Author, and I am seventy-five years old and signing copies of My Very Own Books in a Borders store somewhere (because in my dream world there will still be Borders stores and we'll still be reading paper books when I'm seventy-five), and I seem confident and gracious and I actually have a nice signature -- and should you be an introverted youngster still learning and hoping and wondering if your writing dreams will come true, and should you go home and Google my name and somehow come across this blog post (because of course Google will still be around in 2055), then know this, my friend: that graciousness and confidence you see in the seventy-five-year-old me? I'm probably faking it. Inside is a malfunctioning robot just busting to get out.

Imma go practice my signature now.

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Conversations:

Laura Elizabeth -- you and me and our mums and IRA!!!!!!

Becalmed on a windless lake

The novel rewrite I'm currently engaged in feels something like a neverending story -- or, if we're looking for more comparisons, running in place. There's a lot of puff and even some sweat but I'm getting nowhere.

Part of that, I think, has to do with the fact that the rewrite hasn't been a regular part of my days lately. The gap between when I worked on it last to when I work on it next might be two days or two weeks (or --*shamefaced*-- two months); either way, letting it sit between editing sessions means that each time I tackle it again, I have to think my way back into the story. This wastes time, and it makes the work feel much scarier than it is.

More than that, though, when I finally do force my way back into the life of the characters I love, I bring with me such a weight of my own expectations and pressures that the result is almost paralysing. This has to be amazing. This has to be brilliant. This has to be good enough to be published. I bet Harper Lee had no pathetic manuscripts lying around her study. Oh no! This is not amazing. It's lame. I can't write! FOR PETE'S SAKE WHAT ON EARTH AM I DOING?

It's like my own dreams and desires cripple the work. Self-sabotage? I'm an expert, and I'm left picking away at my story and feeling like I'm dragging a haycart up hill: taking forever to get nowhere. Then comes the volley of the next round of expectations, the comparison with the mythical wonder-writer. Real writers don't feel like this. Real writers are swept along by their own stories. Real writers get there quicker. Oh, there's quite the saga going on in my foolish little brain.

This week I read something which reminded me that it's okay. All of it. It's okay for the work to feel hard. It's okay for it to hurt. It's okay if I don't know what I'm doing. It's okay if it takes hours. What matters is putting in the time and doing the work. I can't predict whether I will ever be any good at this, but I can try to be good. And if it's not all plain sailing on a sea of sparkling inspiration, it doesn't matter. When there is no wind, row.

* * * * *

Conversations:

Katie -- I'm doing some really exciting subjects this year; I'll post about them soon and go on a schoolish rant.

Samantha R -- who knew you could paint with a brush in each hand? ;)

Dory, and the value of writer's events:

I spent today at The Word Writers Fair, sitting in on author panels and workshops and mingling with writers from as far afield as Adelaide, Sydney, and New Zealand (dedication, peoples). One of my favourite paths of writer's events is the opportunity to hear the stories of authors' paths to publication. Everything has a different story to tell, but they all leave me with the same sense of possibility and of hope -- and also the reminder that usually it's the hard work, not the raw talent, that makes the difference between lonely scribbler and published author.

It was very cool to meet two of my classmates, women who are taking the same creative writing classes, as well as two girls who reminded me just how very high-octane fourteen year-olds can be (hi, Abby and Xanthea!). Their enthusiasm was catching, and they mingled merrily with the adults at the event. I also discovered that Christian writers might just be the friendliest; I'd never before been to a writer's event where so many people boldly introduced themselves and struck up random conversations. That was pretty great.

I didn't learn any world-shaking insider tips that blew my mind -- nor did I meet a publisher who wanted to fall at my feet and worship whatever words drip from my golden pen of wonder (judge thou not my writerly fantasy) -- but I found that an entire day immersed in a discussion of words and word-making worked its old enchantment. I came home more inspired than ever before to be a Christian woman who writes fiction (and writes it well, I hope, someday) rather than a woman who writes Christian fiction. The Christian worldview doesn't need to be wedged into whatever we do. Rather, if a healthy worldview is present in the writer, it will be present in the words.

Most of all, I walked away reminded that the best writer's philosophy is something similar to that of Finding Nemo's Dory: Just keep swimming. If I keep swimming, it makes sense that -- eventually -- I'm going to get somewhere.

(Excuse me now, please. I'm going to investigate my Fair showbag and my free books. Also, did I mention there are licorice allsorts?)

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Conversations:

Staish -- seriously. It's been two years (well, two years of study. Officially it'll be two years in April. Remember I started at a weird intake time and took that Summer semester?).

Julia -- it's the best thing, isn't it? I could probably be an eternal student with very little persuasion.

Mothercare -- well you have passed your dorkiness onto me, because I got all excited reading your comment about covering books with brown paper and decorating them with magazine pictures.

Katie -- it's always surprising -- and even a little embarrassing -- that one can come to love something previously considered dorky or boring. :)

Samantha R -- hee! It makes me grin that many of your reasons for not wanting to go to college fit in with my reasons for liking it. But yes, it's definitely hard to lock myself away from people and study.

Keeping the clocks wound

'There's a story of a small village where lived an old clockmaker and repairer. When anything was wrong with any of the clocks or watches in the village, he was able to fix them, to get them working properly again. When he died, leaving no children and no apprentice, there was no one left in the village who could fix clocks. Soon various clocks and watches began to break down. Those which continued to run often lost or gained time, so they were of little use. A clock might strike midnight at three in the afternoon. So many of the villagers abandoned their timepieces.

'One day a renowned clockmaker and repairer came through the village, and the people crowded around him and begged him to fix their broken clocks and watches. He spent many hours looking at all the faulty time pieces, and at last he announced that he could repair only those whose owners had kept them wound, because they were the only ones which would be able to remember how to keep time.

'So we must daily keep things wound: that is, we must pray when prayer seems dry as dust; we must write when we are physically tired, when our hearts are heavy, when our bodies are in pain.

'We may not always be able to make our "clock" run correctly, but at least we can keep it wound, so that it will not forget.'

Madeleine L'Engle
Walking on Water

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Conversations:

Mothercarey -- YAAAAAY!

Katiefoolery -- highlighters can frequently equal joy :).

Rebecca -- ah, thank you so much! What a lovely comment :).