Bring It On

A dear friend has given me, albeit in a roundabout manner, a huge opportunity.  A chance to spend some time with a professional writing coach, to have my writing read and critiqued by someone who gets paid to do this for a living.

This is not to say that I do not value the support and critique by you, my nearest and dearest, friends of friends, new friends and perfect strangers.  It's just that thus far, it has been all praise and little criticism.

I am not so deluded to believe that this means that you all think I am the world's best writer and they should just hand me the Nobel Award in Literature right now.  I am quite sure you would all have some pretty scathing advice should I actually press you.  I would actually welcome this, for if I cannot accept criticism from friends then I probably don't belong in this field.

But for now I am excited at the opportunity that lies just over the horizon. 

A writing coach. Bring it on!

The Christmas Story

On Christmas Eve I sat down with the Blonde Bombshell (3 and a half years) and read her the story of Christmas.  I explained that Mary and Joseph were having a baby (she understood that) but that the baby was actually the son of God, not Joseph (a small wrinkling of her forehead but no comment).

I explained that they had to travel a long way on a donkey because there were no cars ("no cars?") and when they got to Bethlehem there was no room at the inn ("it's like a hotel") so they had to stay in the stable with the animals, which she though was great ("I like cows, Mummy").

I told her that when Baby Jesus was born, although he was only a little baby, everyone knew he was very special and people came from all over to see him.  We looked at pictures of the shepherds and the wise men, and all the angels flying in the sky ("are they are white fairies, Mummy?").

It was easy to establish that Christmas was really a celebration about the birth of a baby called Jesus.  The Bombshell is all about birthdays, she tries to have one at least every month.  It was difficult though to segue our conversation, which had been going well up that point, into Santa and his reindeer.

"So is Santa Baby Jesus' friend too?"

Ummmm.

I didn't want to cheapen the Christmas story with a lie, but I could not figure out how to explain how Santa with all his jollyness and modern day festive bling fit into the picture.  Was he a modern day Wise Man bringing gifts to modern day children? What did they teach me in school about St Nicholas? Think, Shannon, think!

In the end I kissed the top of her head and said "that's right, we are all Jesus' friends".  Good save Mum.

Then before bed we got some carrots out for the reindeer and a chocolate or two for Santa.  Then it was time for the advent calendar - a felt one with a little nativity character each day. Being the 24th, the final character was Baby Jesus in his manger.

"Look Mum, it's the Baby Jesus!  The Baby Jesus is beeeyoootiful.  The angel says the baby is back and all the other children come to see the baby.  The angels are Baby Jesus' friends".

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Merry Christmas everyone.

All Quiet on the Western Front

And so they have finished for the year.  Tools have been laid down, the skip emptied. The scaffolding has come partly down and removed offsite. The remaining tarp blows lonely in the breeze.  The builders have gone back to their own families for Christmas.

I have been quite used to having them around, an endless parade of men in short shorts and big boots.

Now the temporary clean-up can start.  I started with the dead bird in the carport, though I hope that had nothing to do with the builders.  I can blame them for the empty drink bottles and cans dotted through my rose garden and the occasional cigarette butt under the scaffolding (it says No Smoking On Site guys!).  I think it's cute that I keep finding bits of Gladwrap along with the Red Rooster litter, someone must bring his lunch from home. 

I collected a Bunnings store worth of nails and screws and other bits of functional metal, and dumped them in a box next to the broken bags of cement, spilling into little piles on my verandah.  Although it's not really my verandah at the moment.  Nothing here is ours until everything is finished, and the last piece of scaffolding has been removed, the last sign packed away. 

I want the weather to cool so I can begin to sweep away 6 weeks worth of sawdust and brick dust.  That's all it's been - 6 short weeks and a new house has sprung up where once there was nothing.  I have floors and external walls, a new roof, windows, the skeleton of the plumbing and electrics and what looks likes hundreds of dirty little sheep shoved in between the timbers of the roof (apparently it's insulation).

                                                                         Before                                                                                              

                                                                          During


So to my friendly builders, thanks for building us a house!  Merry Christmas and I will see you in the New Year.

Novel Inside - Every Single One of Us Novel Inside*

I do a lot of reading about writing.  And I do a lot of writing about living. 

But it is not deep, thought-provoking National Geographic living.  It's living-lite. 

When I start writing, I usually know how I want it to finish.  When you write about living-lite, you can usually sum it up in less than 500 words.

The thing is, I think I have a novel in me.  The other thing is, I don't know how it will end.

So do I start the novel and just see where it goes.  Or do I succomb to the natural born planner and researcher in me, and have a detailed plot and ending before I even start?

These aren't rhetorical questions.  I really want to know!

I read an article today by Delia Falconer in Australian Author** which was about writing your first novel.  She said that 'no experience is freer or more private than writing a first novel'.  This is because your first novel you write for yourself.  If you are lucky enough to write any subsequent novels, you now write for an audience.

So if I am going to do this, I should write entirely for myself, assume that no one else will ever read it, and luxuriate in the utter self-absorption and self-pleasure (yes, yes get your mind out of the gutter) it will bring.

Funnily enough, in the same edition of the magazine there was an article for new writers by Helen Barnes entitled 'Don't Quit Your Day Job'.   She offers the following sage advice:
'Find something else to do.  That's the only advice I can offer with any sincerity.  Writing is boring, hard and thankless.  It makes you paranoid, ungrateful and snippy to your loved ones'.

Well that's fortunate because I'm sure I am already those things.  Gosh if writing is going to make me merely snippy rather than the raging madwoman I already am, then surely that's an improvement. 

Maybe the key here is venting verbally in a private manner, rather than losing it at the 3YO Blonde Bombshell in a public place

Anyway, novelists/writers/readers out there, please send your advice. I really want to know.


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*Apologies to INXS for this rather lame joke
**Australian Author, Vol 42, Number 3, December 2010, the official magazine of the Australian Society of Authors (of which I am a proud new member!)

Every Cloud has a Silver Lining

In March this year, Perth suffered a horrendous hail storm, the costliest natural disaster in Perth's history.  We came off relatively well considering we were in the eye of it - damaged car, blinds and awnings, leaking roofs in two rooms, flooding to one room, damage to our pot belly and a plastic tub full of baby toys!

But it could have been so much worse.  The room that flooded - our living room - had been completely emptied due to a kitchen reno that was planned for two days hence.  So what could have been the nightmare of flooded rugs and couches and toys and TVs, instead was just me with a mop and bucket cleaning the empty tiled floor.

(Don't get me wrong, there was a lot of freaking out and swearing at the time.  But it could have been so much worse.)

The roller shutter that my hubby bought and had installed - that I hated because they're so ugly - was damaged in the storm, but it protected the glass windows and prevented damage to our spare room (and all the precious bottles of wine that were stored under the window).

Every cloud has a silver lining.

On the weekend the glaziers installed the wrong windows in my new upstairs bathroom.  Obviously they think we are complete exhibitionists and clear glass in our massive bathroom window is the way to go.  But less than 24 hours later there was an unseasonal and massive downpour, and those ridiculously see-through windows protected the new bathroom from flooding.

Ever the optimist, trying to see the positive in bad situations is good for the complexion. Right?

So it is with this in mind, that I ponder the good in today's misfortune.

A cracked tile, a misguided tarp, a pile of bad luck and this morning we wake up to a flooded lounge room.  Water flowing through the ceiling and wall vents, down the wall and pooling on our mantle piece.  The TV, PS3 and Foxtel box I could care less about (sorry Foxtel) but my beloved Grandma's antique clock was sitting in a puddle of dirty water and the wood has already begun to warp.  And that makes me incredibly sad.  That clock was a special gift from my Grandma before she passed away, a gift that my Grandad gave her.  I regard it as one of my most precious possessions.

So I am yet to discover the silver lining in this small cloud.

However, I can say that my 11 month old has already discovered her silver lining in this disaster.   The only safe and dry place for the TV was in her bedroom, and when she discovered the enormous screen on her dresser, it was pretty clear that she thought all her Christmas' had come at once.

How Much is Too Much?

Writers out there, answer me this.  How much is too much information?

Do you share with your loved ones and supporters every time you submit an article, think up a story idea, or enter a competition?  Do you let them give you encouragement and support each and every time?  Do you let them build up your (and their) expectations?  What if everything comes to nothing? 

Is it better to share the rare piece of good news or is it better to share the regular disappointment of rejections?

If  indeed it does end up being the regular disappointment of rejections, should I perhaps be looking at another line of work?