Storytime

I've had voices in my head for the past week. Not THOSE kind of voices but I've had the inkling of a story going round and round. Just a wisp of an idea, no real theme or plot but I could hear the voice of the narrator. So of course I did nothing and waited for the story to crystallise. Nothing happened. I did my usual tactic when this happens. I headed out to the garden. Surely a quick walk around between showers, in the cold cold winds will jog the old brain. Unfortunately, I got to admire the jonquils and the first of the daffodils but nothing came. There was no great insight. No AHA..that's what's the story all about.  I worked on something else (the dreaded novel WIP). All the time this voice kept harking away. So I began to question who was this woman? Who was she speaking to? And why did I keep seeing this family next door? What did they have to do with the story? Is this a story at all? Well of course, after so many days with the question...

 I do love the way children have such an imagination. To them, anything and everything is possible. They have no editors or critics. Their stories feature themselves as hero, naturally, sometimes mum or dad will make an appearance, sometimes a bestest ever friend...sometimes their pet. They live in the now, and the now is really quite amazing. One of my regular Storytimers loves superheroes. Batman, Superman, Spiderman, Hulk, Green Lantern. His favourite though is Spiderman. And he can tell me every episode he has watched...in minute detail. And this is what he did last week. His story went a bit like this....... so Spiderman came out of the house, but this wasn't the real Spiderman, this was the bad one, the black one, do you know the bad one? he's the one that isn't really Spiderman but looks just like him, except he's not, and he's bad..and he's black...which isn't what the real Spiderman looks like ...not the good one...and then when he ca...

Another year, another writing retreat. It was all it was meant to be. I'm not saying I began a novel, wrote twenty seven poems or even two short stories... But...I did edit seven poems, read one poem out for workshopping and edited my junior novel. Work was done. As usual we walked... When we walk, we talk. Sometimes about our families and our home life, but mostly it's about our writing, our process, our dreams, aspirations and goals. It is often interesting how a different location, getting out of our comfort zones, can make us realise many truths. Do we really want what we say we want? Cryptic but so apt....does that person REALLY want to write short stories or are they now more poetry focused. We do tend to end up down Philip Island way---usually very close to the beach. This time we landed a bit more rurally bucolic. More rolling green hills than surf--but lots of nice cows to look out and admire. Even when we were locked in while a farmer went to get hi...

I have more first drafts than finished pieces. A lot more. In fact if I really thought about how much more I think I'd panic. Because in truth I'm pretty good at first drafts. First drafts- or better yet- call it an idea. A glimmer. A speck that gets put down. Yep, I'm real good at that. A few lines here, a thought there, paragraph there....few hundred words over there, few thousand way out there. And usually that's where they'll stay. This is the latest 'first draft'. My junior novel, nearly 12, 000 words. And it is soooooo first draft...in actual fact it's more like a series of scenes with no connection or flow. But it is printed out, ready for me to go over and edit this weekend... and take copious notes. Lots and lots of notes. My big question is -  will I do any more to it? I don't have a great track record. Oh there are short stories and poems and even novels, yes novels, that I've worked on and edited and re-edited and po...

Last week I had the chance to catch up with my friend Tiggy . We do the usual email, facebook and phone calls (although they are the rarity) but haven't actually had any face to face contact since her move years ago to sunny Brisbane. In reality I was a bit worried, what if we had nothing to talk about? Those of you who know Tiggy will know I had nothing to worry about. I think her opening sentence was 'This is summer, where the hell is the sun?'....and we didn't stop talking till I dropped her back off at the corner (sounds much worse than it actually was). Catching up with a friend who you haven't seen in a long time- usually goes the same way. You talk about your life- your children,  your partners, about your home...and since Tiggy and I both work in libraries, we talked about work as well. Although she doesn't tend to dress up in santa hats, reindeer antlers or pirate costumes as much as I do...perhaps that is just me? No, it's simply Youth Serv...

Yep another Christmas has been (and gone)....Boxing day today and I'm off to visit my sister (and nieces and nephews)  in the countryside....I'll return just before work on New Years Eve.  Just in time to get ready for the new year which of course leads one to thinking what on earth happened to this one? In one way I did  a lot....hell of a lot----went to Tasmania for last years Christmas present (hubby and I retraced the first days of our honeymoon over 30 years ago) - have to go back as I so want to do some walking.... We holidayed in Vanuatu which was stunning and surreal and wonderful - a lot of personal firsts for me on that trip---snorkelling, allowing huge mother of a spider to walk on my hand, to stand on the edge of an active volcano.... We even managed to get some stuff done around the house...wardrobes refitted, bookcases stained,  new lighting, blinds for the lounge and dining rooms, new car and lots and lots of trees cut down and g...

One of the first plays I ever saw was Chekhov's The Seagull . It was for year 12 Literature and I still remember the ending. The sound of the gunshot ringing through the theatre, then the announcement that Konstantin was dead. Over the years I have been to more plays. Some good, some not so good. Some very slick and some very amateur. But I have never thought about writing a play. Well a 'real' play. I have written a children's play that was published in a magazine and then shortlisted for a competition and came quite close to being performed. But that has been my one shot at being a playwright. Until recently. A few weeks ago I went to a local theatre with some friends. It was to be a night out, some fun. Nothing more.But as I sat there I began to edit. Yes, I will put my hand up and say I wasn't lost in the magic that was in front of me,  I watched and listened as a writer. And I began to edit, thinking to myself 'if they cut that there and re...

I'm sure I've mentioned the fact that I live in a log cabin on an acre of lush greenery up in the Dandenong Ranges. The lawn slopes softly, paths meander around well tended garden beds. We wake to the gentle call of birdsong and a gentle breeze. Well that's the idea, the concept I aim for. Not the continual battle with weeds and grass (so NOT a lawn) and I WISH our lawn sloped gently. It would make mowing so much easier. I love the unreliable narrator. Writers ( think Edgar Allan Poe - The Tell Tale Heart ) who tell a tale from the POV of a narrator that we, the reader, come to doubt. At the beginning we are taken along for the ride, we believe what we are being told, we have no choice. Then we realise that things are all not what they appear to be. Agatha Christie did it with The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (to shouts of UNFAIR), she then did it again with Endless Night (one of my personal favourites- thanks Mum) And I must admit one of my all time favourite m...

The end of August- the end of winter....the year is racing ahead and I'm left wondering what on earth have I done? This past month went too fast. And for most of it I was on holiday. It was such a good time. No planning, no preparation, no meetings or work clothes, no deadlines or HAVE TO BE HERE AT SUCH AND SUCH A TIME. It was relaxing and enjoyable. It was refreshing and recharging. I had thought I wouldn't write...but inspired by new sights, new experiences, new landscapes...the words flowed. I came home with the beginnings of a short story (that I have already worked on) and five poems...some of them based on the sights and sounds...some of them based on the characters we met...like the three taxi drivers (each with a dream), the woman coming to visit her grandchildren, tears streaming down her face at the airport...or even the Banksia Nut. Or George- in one of his many guises. And images are still whirling in my thoughts. I had hoped to put most of them...

I'm a character person. Don't get me wrong, hopefully something happens as well in one of my stories but to me, it's the character that drives a piece of writing. I'm not talking 'she was 175 cm tall, weighed 70 kg, had long blonde hair, blue eyes' To me that's boring. For me it's the small details that add interest, that help to build a multi-layered character. Let's create a character. How about a woman, a stay at home mum. And that is boring. It's a simple sketch- we have no idea about this woman at all. Let's add some details. She is shy and finds social occasions something she has to do, rather than want to do. Parties tend to send her into a panic. She's still boring, and now sounds like a wall flower as well. How about if we add this information - She had an idyllic beachside childhood, with assorted siblings, loving mother and father. Although she is terrified of deep water and never learnt to swim, she loves boa...

Last weekend we had the 'official' opening of our new library - 3 weeks after actually opening. There were entertainers and balloons, family storytimes and Spot the Dog. It was a lot of fun- so I'm told, and I was there. But like everyone else that works in the branch, I have not yet had the time to sit back, relax and actually enjoy the new surroundings. We are too busy planning new activities and programs for the year ahead...and just working. Sound familiar? After I receive notice that a story or poem is to be published, say YEAH out loud (perhaps a smallish jig if this is a magazine that I've been trying to get into for quite a while) I get back into. Work on the next piece to send out. Not that you have to have fireworks every time you receive an acceptance... However I don't think we celebrate all those small steps. Yes it's great to be published, more so if payment is part of the proposition. But do we celebrate when that poem finally wor...

Is one of my writing goals for the year. One of only six - but a good one I thought. What does it mean? It means that when I go away, for a weekend, for a holiday, no matter where - to soak up the experiences - really see the place that I'm in- the people - the buildings, the atmosphere - to take notes for later use. I have done this before. My first overseas trip became quite a few poems and a short story (which went on to win a prize). Our trip to the Flinders Ranges a few years ago became more poetry and another short story (yet to find a home) I even use other people's experiences. Last year I wrote about my husband's 'boy's only adventure' to India - and sold the article :) It's been too easy to take for granted the places I go, people I've met. This weekend we spent  two days showing a Dutch IT student as much of Tasmania as we could before he goes back home ... We walked Hobart's Constitution Dock and  Salamanca Place, climbed the stair...

Stories that is. Everywhere. Some come from snippets of overheard conversation * 'I don't date anyone over twenty two.' I HAD to turn around to see which guy was talking.- can I mention he was no longer in his 20's- perhaps not even his 30's. From observations * A couple are dancing on the footpath- not waltzing but he's holding her close and swinging her round and round - no music plays I wound down the window on the car to see if I could hear music - nothing- but the image made me smile- and wondering.... From personal anecdotes. *Celebrating a friend's 70th with coffee and cake and he says he would love to write down his story (he has had the most INTERESTING  life) but doesn't know where to start- how to put it down on paper - he left school at 13 so thinks that he can't. When he began the story 'Did I tell you we owned a boarding house in Wellington during the war?' you know you're onto something. I've offered to help ...

I was asked this recently when I worked on the mobile library. In the middle of a Storytime session (we were making musical instruments out of paper plates, dried pasta and coloured paper) one little fellow asked 'Can you drive the bus?'. Then he nodded and answered his own question. 'Yep I think you can.' I can't drive the bus but in this boy's eyes I could. He believed in me. It was simple. Any lady that came into his life, told stories, sung songs (albeit badly) and made musical instruments all within 40 minutes, must be able to drive the bus as well. If only we believed in our writing abilities as easily. Imagine what we could do There would be no hesitation, no thinking that so much was beyond us. We would 'delve into the darkness' as one of my TAFE teachers used to say. There would be no fear, no editor sitting on the shoulder saying 'you can't write about that. What would your mother/father/husband/wife/children/best friend say?' ...

By day I work part time in a public library (Youth Services where I run a weekly Storytime), I write by night. Well that was the original idea....By day earning a dollar, being surrounded by people (see material for my work), allowing my day/s off to be used for my writing. However did I mention I'm very good at procrastination. I would seemingly rather mop floors, vacuum, dust, put a load of washing on and even clean the oven - then face the cold blank space of my computer screen. And today I scoured my en-suite- I think this is due to a friend's influence who is spring cleaning her house ready for a sale. I'm not selling my house but I appear to be infected by the spring cleaning bug :( However I do write. The guilt of not writing builds, as well as the urge to create. And with the support of family, friends and my writing group (Lazy River Writers) I do manage to put words down, to try and pin down those whirling thoughts, to make sense of what I'm thinking. ...