Author Interview: Paula Vince

Please welcome to my blog author Paula Vince. A fellow Aussie and amazing woman. I recently had the pleasure of interviewing her and I think you will find her answers as insightful as they are inspiring. And perhaps a bit of a glimpse into what the 'Christian Fiction' market is like in Australia and some of the battles many authors from Down Under face.

What can readers look forward to in your novel, “The Risky Way Home?” I hope they can look forward to plenty of riveting drama that’s balanced by good doses of humour. The characters are easy to either love or hate, depending who they are. My own local area, the beautiful Adelaide Hills of South Australia, is the perfect setting for an intriguing story. It’s a place of contrast itself, with boiling hot summers, icy cold winters and glorious autumns and springs. I like to draw upon all the different types of weather and stunning scenery for my stories. I’m convinced that a good novel needs both light and shade. If you have too much character development and not enough action, or vice versa, readers sense that the story is flat and something vital is missing. I like to try to get all these elements equally balanced, like a very tasty blend of coffee.

Your book has an intriguing title that automatically makes me want to know more. How did you come up with the name for your book? Its original title was actually “Afraid to Love.” But Wendy, my editor for that book, advised me that I’d be wiser to choose a title that might reflect some of the suspense as well as the romance. So I started thinking about my theme and plot. In my main story, Casey, the heroine, is trying to find her niche in life; a place to fit in. And there is also a crucial story-within-the-story. It delves back into the past of the Bowman family, who are crucial main characters, showing how they were forced to flee to Australia from Europe in far more desperate circumstances. And in the end both stories blend into one as past and present dangers merge into each other for everyone. Casey’s journey mirrors theirs in a way. Her quest turns out to be essentially the same as the Bowman family’s. Finding a perfect home is tied up with values and choices of the heart as well as geography.

When I came up with that title among other possibilities, it struck a chord. Often when I hit on something good it sets off a little spark of confirmation in my heart. So I knew that would be the one.

Who has been the most influential person in your life as a writer? There are many people I could choose here but I’ve decided to give my husband, Andrew, a plug and say that it’s him. Just at the time we were married, I was feeling washed-out and fragile in my emotions, after finishing my English degree and deciding to drop out of a Post Graduate Diploma. At that stage I was almost ready to drop my life-long ambition of writing novels. I never felt that I’d ever come up to scratch after several hopeful starts. I was trying to think of ways I could channel my writing skills into non-fiction instead. That would have been settling for something far different from my original vision, but at the time I thought that was just being sensible. But Andrew convinced me to keep giving a fiction a go and told me, “I think you’d write a good novel.”

A few years down the track, he helped me set up our little publishing business, Apple Leaf Books, when it seemed there were no other outlets. And he’s always willing to read my early manuscripts and give me suggestions from the point of view of the typical reader, risking my arguments and frustration. Then he’s helped me to sell books too. A friend of ours once told me, “You’re very lucky to have Andrew behind you in all this,” and I know she was right.

Where do you draw your inspiration from for the themes and story line in “The Risky Way Home?” Mostly from going about my day and letting my mind wander. As a Primary School student, I used to get in trouble for daydreaming, but it’s my natural inclination so I’m putting it to good use. Sitting down with a blank sheet of paper and pen has never worked but it took me years to work that out. Doing that just scares any ideas away. Maybe that’s why some of the writing courses I’ve done in the past haven’t worked either, for the same reason. I pray, then put it all out of my mind and trust that God will nudge my mind somehow.

I love listening to music to help me get ideas. Good pop, rock and easy-listening songs from the 70s, 80s and 90s are among my favourites. I find taking inspiration drives in the car with music flowing helps ideas to flow. I just drive and think about the characters and plot. Some of the things which have popped into my head in the past have been dreams, snippets from newspapers or history books, magazine articles and stories by other people. It all goes into a big melting pot.

How do you go about making character voice clear and distinct from your author voice? The characters are my favourite part of the story. They always come first. I think of them as friends rather than people I’ve cooked up to fit a story. I like the opportunity to try to think the way people who are different to me would think. I think it helps me develop tolerance and empathy and I hope that it would do the same for readers.

In fact I love getting into their heads so much that I often find myself planning lots of jokes and trivia for them to say that have nothing to do with the storyline and don’t make their way into it. But I don’t consider that these are wasted at all. Having them in my head makes the characters seem even more real to me, and I think this finds its way into the story, making them more well-rounded and lovable.

As for my author’s voice, I don’t think much about that. What I do think about is planning what I want for each of the characters, and trying to give them what I feel they deserve. There, I think the author’s voice is found automatically. The message can’t help showing through in the writing. The readers get to sense the author’s heart in the circumstances, observations and descriptions to be found within the text. We don’t need to strain ourselves trying to make our message clear. Our only job is to write a story that people will enjoy. Our message will surely be there.

Are your characters ever taken from real life people or are they composites of various people or are they completely fictional? The short answer, as far as I am concerned, is that they are fictional. They are people I would love (or hate) to meet. But I do ‘borrow’ certain jokes, one-liners and personality traits from people I know. So I suppose that in a way they are composites. That’s why I’m on the look-out for interesting people and regard virtually everyone as raw material to some extent.

Is there any aspect of the writing process that you find most difficult?

Perhaps one of the most difficult things has been learning to trim my own work down, prune off loads of non-essential ‘leafy matter’ and not spoon-feed the readers absolutely everything. Readers need to get some mental exercise out of novels by being able to figure some things out for themselves but writers don’t always take time to do the pruning that’s involved.

It’s human nature to want to move quickly from one thing to the next. I used to resist having to go over and over the same piece of work until I’d trimmed it as neat as it could be. This takes far longer, I’d feel as if I was making no progress and grew very impatient. I’ve finally learned to treat going over and over one section and chapter several times as necessary and even fun.

Was there a time when you doubted your work as a writer and perhaps even your skill? Yes, most definitely. This would be my battle with “Show, don’t tell.” I remember years ago when somebody who assessed a manuscript gave me this advice in certain places. I’d heard this catchy little phrase before but I was puzzled to figure out what it really meant. It seemed to me that showing was the same thing as telling when it came to writing. Then I found out what this saying means. We need to write in a manner that allows readers to experience the story through a character’s actions, words, thoughts, senses and feelings rather than through our own flat statements and summaries. But I tried to correct it by going too far the other direction.

I went through a painful phase of trying to always ‘show’ and never ‘tell.’ I’ve learned the hard way that we need to strike a fine balance. In many cases, ‘telling’ often makes more sense than ‘showing.’ Some scenes are transitions whose purpose is to connect more important parts of the story together. It’s fine to do a bit of ‘telling’ here, to move quickly to the meatier parts of the story. When we try to constantly ‘show’, the parts of the story that are supposed to stand out don’t and readers get exhausted by all the wordy drama. (What’s more, a novel that has only ‘showing’ would be incredibly long).

I’ve learned through experience that the writer’s job is to figure out when it’s best to ‘show’ and when it’s best to ‘tell.’ I think I’ve got it now, but every now and then I still like to take a mental break from my own work and flick through other works of fiction just to get a fresh view of how other writers do this.

Can you describe your path to publishing? I originally tested the waters by printing 200 copies of my first novel. We sold them fairly quickly and received a positive response from readers. I was anxious to try to have it published by a traditional publisher. After several phone calls, I found out there were no publishers of Christian fiction in Australia. This was back in the mid 90s. A gentleman from “Open Book” was quick to tell me that they’d just stopped accepting fiction because there appeared to be no market for it. He said, “You’d be best to put it your chest of drawers.”

I found that not only depressing but hard to swallow. There had to be some market for Christian fiction in Australia or we wouldn’t keep importing reams of foreign fiction!

Next I came across another Adelaide based author who was already selling her Christian fiction successfully. This was Meredith Resce. I found out that she’d set up her own publishing company, Golden Grain. It sounded like a fantastic idea to me. After reading her “Green Valley” series, I summoned my courage to give her a phone call. She seemed to think she’d already heard of me, then remembered that she’d been lent one of my early printed books by the friend of a friend. Better still, she really enjoyed it! This was the first of many strikes of serendipity along my publishing path.

Meredith gave us lots of help in publishing my next novel, “Picking up the Pieces,” with Golden Grain. Having learned the ropes from her and nudged our way into the market, we set up our own publishing company, Apple Leaf Books. I published my fantasy-adventure trilogy, “Quenarden”, as well as “The Risky Way Home.”

You have another book, “A Design of Gold” coming out in early October with a new publishing house called “Even Before Publishing” Could you tell us a little about that book and your journey with the new publishing house? “Even Before Publishing” is a new subsidiary outlet of Wombat Books, which is run by Rochelle Manners in Brisbane. She has a passion to promote Christian writing by Australians in our own country. In March this year, she decided to open her traditional publishing house and her first 5 titles are soon to be released. This is another story of serendipity and chance. Rochelle and I were members of the same email prayer group when she wrote a group email outlining her stunning plans. All that time I’d been wondering how I could possibly publish “A Design of Gold” on the heels of “The Risky Way Home” when our Apple Leaf Books resources were depleted. It was very important to me to do so, because “A Design of Gold” is a sort of sequel to “Risky Way Home.”

When I read Rochelle’s email, I was quick to reply with an enquiry that very same night. Since then she’s had an abundance of queries and manuscripts arrive but I was one of the first through the door. Being in the right place at the right time is very exciting.

“A Design of Gold” is almost hot off the press. It is a contemporary drama set in the Adelaide Hills, like “The Risky Way Home.” The main characters of RWH are now fifteen years older and younger ones have grown up to take their places as main characters. This was a very rewarding book to write and my themes are random acts of kindness, God’s guidance and accepting yourself as He made you. Of course there is always my trademark thread of romance, with a twist of suspense and danger.

What would you say is the most rewarding aspect of being a writer? I love it when people discuss my plots and characters with me as if we are talking about mutual friends. It’s fantastic when others also love who I’ve invented. Sometimes people tell me, “My whole mindset was challenged by your story.” I don’t think a writer can ask for more than that.

I love giving people fun and making them happy. It’s just as if something I’ve created to please myself has taken root and borne fruit in the minds of others too. My aim is always to provide entertainment that also inspires and I’m so grateful whenever I hear that I’ve achieved this in somebody’s life.

As a Christian writer, are there issues or topics that you feel compelled to deal with in your books or perhaps to stay away from? My main goal is always to show through the lives of my characters that God’s Word is true and that His promises are always fulfilled for everybody who takes them on face value. Fiction has the power to make its own sort of impact; one that sermons and instruction books often can’t.

I steer clear of the blasphemy and profanities that I often find sprinkled through other works of fiction. This sort of thing never embellishes writing. However there is an issue of characters swearing which is more problematic because I don’t want to compromise character integrity by not allowing a person to swear when I feel certain he’d let slip the occasional strong language. At the same time, I don’t want to spring much of this on readers. I’ve figured out ways to get around it, such as having another character cut them off just before the language erupts or simply stating, “Mr X muttered a curse.”

How has God guided your writing and what has He shown you that you’ve hung onto? The most important thing He’s shown me is that He has to lead. I’ve grown to learn the difference when I take it my own head to write a book. When I try to come up with the plot, theme and characters all by myself I fall flat. I just peter out and lose momentum. I know better than to do this anymore. With each of the novels I’ve ever finished, the ideas have swept into my mind without straining. The one I’m working on now, called “A Clean Slate” is like taking dictation. I love it when ideas flow this way and tend to see it as a “thumbs-up” sign from God.

Huge thank you to Paula. Both 'Risky Way Home' and 'A Design of Gold' are available for purchase at Amazon.com.

For more information please visit www.appleleafbooks.com or skip over to Paula's blog at http://appleleafblog.blogspot.com/

What are you doing with your words?

I write better when I am reading.

No joke. It is part of the reason I love blogging. And a good chunk of the reason why I love reading. It's not about my posts, it about reading yours. And sometimes it's not about writing books, it's about opening others.

Stringing words together is like jewelry making. Even if I am lacking the diamonds I want to see what you are doing with your sparkly things. And I might even find a few for myself...

Actually, here's a better analogy for writing (since I know nothing about the world of jewelry making) Writing is like getting dressed. I know what suits me, I know my style and I know what size I am. But, hell yeah, I want to trawl through catalogues and see what's in this season. I want to squish my face up against the glass outside the department store windows and ogle all the pretty things. I dream of maxing out my credit card. I spend hours in store change rooms trying everything on half a dozen times. I want to know if my butt looks big in it or if the dress might be see though when the sun catches it.

I want to know what your wearing. Where you bought it and if they have my size. How much did you say you paid? What shoes are you going to wear with it, what are you going to do with your hair and, damn girl, where did you get those earrings?

That's why I read.

I want to see what you're doing with your words. I want to see what they are doing with their words. What goes with green? How did they describe the clear sky after the snow? What did they say about the old lady whose beauty can still be seen, even in the lines of her face?

I want to know how you see life? What moves you enough to make you post about it? What do you find funny? Do you write giggles and the sadness? What does this thing we spend so much time doing look like when you put it down on paper?

How do you write?

I want to see it.

I want to feel its fur, run my fingers across its sleek edges or just admire the sheer loveliness. And yeah, I even want to see the raw and the ugly; the cliff faces and the rocks on the way down. Because reading adds to who I am as a person, it opens my eyes to worlds I may never see and it invites me to imagine.... what if? Your writing sparks play spaces in my mind, with all their possibilities.

I have time to read. Even when I don't. Because when I stop reading, I find the writing dries up along with it. Reading and writing are two dear old souls who want nothing more than to sit together and chat. And I like to let them.

So, I guess that is all a very long way to say, I love reading and a huge thank you for the privilege of reading your blogs. And to all the authors out there who write and open the porthole for just a little while so I can climb in your heads and watch what you do with these exquisite things called words, I am forever in your debt.

What about you? How do reading and writing go together in your world?

Crawling Back

So, I'm back in blogging world early...

Holidays are great. They rage on...

Mud is fun.

Sand is better. Just ask the tiles in the lounge room, they are covered in it. The sand pit(box) used to live outside... I think.

The weather is warm, ice-cream dripping down your chin kind of warm. Squirt-your-little- brother-with-your-drink-bottle warm. Trees and parks are a must. So is skidding down the boat ramp on your butt. Poor little Cyrus. No one told him we were there just to swim...

We went to the zoo. Cyrus renamed all the animals. Pandas are now cats and the emus are now ducks... who knew?

My dining room chairs have been reclaimed. So have my throw rugs. The cubby house needed walls and a roof. Oh, and the paper under the table has to stay. "What else will the cars drive on Mommy?"

In amongst all that I have re-written my first book. It was time. I wrote it last year and it has been collecting dust and a fresh pair of eyes underneath my desk. Don't ask me why that's where I put it. It just ended up there. The re-write started out as an edit, but then one of the characters decided he needed his own POV. Hard to explain how that one worked, but I am hopeful it did...

One week left of holidays... damn. I am one of those mother's who likes her children at home. It's the child in me. She likes climbing into their imaginations from time to time... you know, fighting the aliens and flying through the air on their swing set... just every once and a while. And then there's the cuddles and the reading... did I mention the sand?

But I miss all you guys in blogging world, so I am back early. Yeah me! Well.. I am happy about it:)

So, I am wondering, what do you work around to write? School Holidays? Children? Work commitments? ...Sand???

Dragonfly Wings

Among the milling

dancing stomp of humanity

she sits 

watching

her childhood flooded

his just beginning

boyhood pockets waiting to be filled

 a mind desperate 

to be the silvery flights

of the birds he watches soar from the shadows

she takes his hands

little hands

to walk him across the islands 

she washed up on

to read him possibilities

to offer the moonlight

and to protect

the sweet sound

of those precious wings

uncurling

transparent as a dragonflies

papery thin

but poised

ready

for innocent days

she knows

are like the kiss of spring

the bubbles 

that will float

through all of later life

~

And on that note I am leaving for two weeks holidays with my babies. We aren't going anywhere. But school is out for September holidays here in Australia and my boys and I have some memories waiting to be made. So I am going to take a break from blogging world from now until the 5th of October. I'm going to go get some sand in my hair and stick my fingers in some cookie dough.

I look forward to reading your blogs :)

PS- Did that poem suck? Do I need to stick it in the cellar with the wine and let it age? Or take up knitting?

Because I like to play

No, it's not my son. But I am a mother and I bet his mother asked him why. Only it probably sounded more like, "What the hell were you thinking?"

I don't ask this question anymore. Because I already know the answer. They weren't thinking. Nup. No thought. Child sees mud. Mud sees child. Mud climbs all over child. Child climbs all over your favorite cream colored chairs. Or something like that. 

But remember when you were so free that you never even thought about having to think through something? When mud and trees were inviting, no, begging you on bended knee to come and... oh wait... maybe that's just me.

Maybe what I am trying to say is that sometimes we forget how wide and blue the sky is from the top of a branch or what it feels like to squish wet sludge through your hands. 

For me writing is like climbing that tree. Like flying. And when it gets to feeling like my feet are too firmly on the ground, I grab some words and squish them through my fingers, just to see what will happen, just to remember what it feels like.  I close my eyes and ride that bike down the hill with no hands on the handle bars. I let go, clear my heart and let the wind speed by me. 

I. Do. Not. Think.

"Writing is magic, as much as the water of life of any other creative art. The water is free. So drink... drink and be filled." Stephen King in his book On Writing: a Memoir of the Craft.

In short...

I collect rocks because I like how they feel, I let the watermelon drip down my chin, I blow bubbles with straws and then I go write... anything, whatever I have inside me. Because something happens to my writing when I set me free.  This is art, not just punctuation marks and sentence structure. It's not all about the writing if I haven't scrapped my knee climbing trees or squished mud through my hands in quite some time. 

I play first. Then ask why later. Much later... I think they call that editing. Why is a good question and it should have an answer. Books should matter, even if it is just to the writer. They should be about something. But maybe not to start with. Maybe at first, they are just good fun?

But that's just me...

What about you? Play first? Stack the building blocks and crash em? Stomp in that mud? How do you approach your writing? What do you do when you get stuck?

The Seventh Wave

I don't often do this, actually, I have never done this, but I am a sucker for a good short story. And I am a bit of a sucker for the often humorous writing of Wendy from On words and Upwards. Yesterday she posted this story... and my little blog jumped up and down and looked up at me with those big bloggy eyes and said, "Ooo, can I have it? Can I? Can I?" So I asked Wendy, cause I like to give in to my little blog...

So please read and if you enjoy get over and check this girl out. If she isn't in print shortly I will want to know why! 

The Seventh Wave. By Wendy Prior

He had found me on the beach one day. I was lost, alone and bruised. My mind was on other things, like counting the waves. I was hoping that the seventh, the biggest, would carry me away. It might as well, I was all alone and no one would notice that I was gone. All I had left was me.

“Would you like to borrow my umbrella?” He asked. I looked up, trying to make out his face, lost in a halo of sunshine.

“Why? It’s not raining?”

“No, it’s not. It was a line. I suck at lines.” He raised his hand to shade his face from the glare of the sun.

“You could just try saying Hello.”

“Ok, hello. I’m Daniel, idiot but all round nice guy, mostly.”

“Hi, I’m Kelly, no idea whether I’m nice or not anymore.”

He sat with me then, on the beach with its disappointing surf and made me laugh. I learned quickly that with him, there was nothing to fear. He was warmer than the sunshine, brighter than the moon and more constant than the tide.

#

We sat on my sofa while a movie played unnoticed on the television. His finger stroked along my brow, gently shifting the hair from my face.

“I can’t see your eyes.” He said.

“You’re not missing much, they’re just eyes."

“Oh how wrong you are. They’re a time machine. In those eyes, I see our future.”

“Ah really, so what do you see?” I nibbled my lower lip as a smile teased at the corners of my mouth.

“I see you, standing on the beach in a white dress, waiting for me. I see you again after a few years have passed. Your hair is longer. You’re holding a tiny baby in your arms and smiling. The baby has your nose.” His finger traced its way down my cheek and drifted to my lips.

“Does the baby have your hair?”

“Mm hm. It has my hair with your eyes and nose. It’s the most beautiful baby in the entire world.” He nibbled along my jaw line, his hands lost in my hair.

“I like time travel; does it have a happy ever after?” I asked.

“It does, it has a very happy ever after, I promise.”

#

Daniel had apologized to me the day his doctor told us he would die. He was sorry for the promise that he couldn’t keep. But he didn’t fail, it was all me. He had saved me, been my family and been my life. When his turn came, when he needed a hero, I was helpless. Useless.

#

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” I whisper into his ear, my lips grazing the light stubble that decorates his cheek.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.” His voice is strong today, his eyes still bright as he looks up into mine.

“I see a time machine in your eyes,” I say.

A smile creases his cheeks, torturing his dry lips. “What do you see?”

“It’s beautiful. I see perfection, the most wonderful life in all the world."

“You do?”

“I do. I see me standing on a beach in a white dress with a minister. I'm holding a handful of roses, I'm waiting for you and I'm smiling. I see you standing in the door of a hospital room while I hold our little baby in my arms and we name her Katie. I see a little house with flowers in the garden and you sitting beside me under a big shady tree. I see all the things that we have had in these few years.”

“I like time travel. Does it have a happy ever after?” he asks. His lip quivers just a little and a tear rests at the corner of his eye.

“No, not this time, but it had the most beautiful of beginnings.”

But I am wrong.

#

It is over and I sit on the beach, watching the surf and counting the waves. In a flurry of sand she stands before me, hand shielding her eyes from the bright sun.

“What are you doing Mama?” she asks.

“I’m just wishing that I had an umbrella,” I say.

Katie sits in my lap and looks up at me. “It’s not even raining you know.”

“I know sweetie. Look at the waves, aren’t they pretty?”

She doesn’t look at the waves; she keeps looking up at me. Her eyes are golden, like the sand, like her fathers. And I see it, our future. It’s there, swimming in the eyes of our child.

I found it Daniel. Our bright future, our happy ever after.

Here comes the sun

He's six now, this sun bathed baby. My first born. My breath of air right from the blue sky above. I look at this photo and remember that his brother wasn't born yet. I was five months pregnant and yes, in a bikini at the beach. That's my butterfly tattooed ankle there in the background. I can taste those fish and chips, no they were not fries... chips people, chips. And feel the baby squirming beneath the already taunt skin across my belly. There in that moment I felt like the mother I always imagined, my hopes immense like the sea beneath the warmth of that sun. Happy and settled. The new year just begun and summer in full swirl of sand and beach picnics...

September in Queensland (which is a state in Australia if you aren't too sure) is the beginning of the season of seagulls and sun, water babies and bare feet. How I love bare feet. We live but 35 minutes from the Gold Coast and 5 minutes from local beaches.

Today my youngest, the one I am pregnant with in this photo who is now two, was watching kids programs when a song came on that made me think of finding this picture. The song talks about the sun coming out after a long winter and the edges of ice melting...

That's how I feel today. Like the sun is coming... in many ways, the sun is coming. I feel like I have waited a life time. Maybe I have. And in many ways those rays are already touching my life. "Here comes the sun, little darling..." You know the song? I can't think of the name..

Just wanted to share the happy thought. I love summer in Australia. Wood burning BBQs and seafood and the promise of lots of drippy ice-blocks. Happiness. I am glad seasons turn. Especially those of the heart.

What about you? Does your season have sunshine, even if you are heading into winter?

You Need...

A writer needs:

a comfy rear end

a good laugh

a good cry

a good shoulder to cry on

a good couple of pain killers 

a good couple of hours

a good couple of hours past the good pain killers

a good place to hide

a good place to run

a good place to return

a good return run from hiding

a good friend to call

a good book to read

a good friend with a good book she'll let you read

a good drop of wine

a good night sleep

a good sleep after a good whine

a good idea...

a good plan B

a good trash can for throwing out plans

and lastly..

a good swift kick in the procrastinating comfortable rear end

by a good friend who knows how to swift kick good.

You? What do you need?

Home

Where is home for you? 

Is it nestled in his favourite armchair, or beneath the throw rug that the two of you bought when you were newlywed? Does it sound loudly in the silly sayings that only the two of you understand? Do you hear it in the rain on your roof when you lay awake together just to listen? Do you feel it when he reaches for your hand or in the way he says your name? Are lead down the path to home every time you walk along that beach, through his park or beside your river? 

Is it a place beside a window where sunlight can hold you while you snuggle with your children? Is it seen in the scuff marks down the hallway from new leather shoes bought for the first day of school? Do you find it in the pages of your favourite book from childhood, or in the picture books your babies are now too old to read? Do you hold home in the softness of your newborn's fingers wrapped around your thumb? 

Do you hear it in the song you first danced to? In the music that made you sing when you were a teenager or in the lullabyes you hummed during those first wakeful nights?  

Is it in the yellowing photographs that take the hands of time back to when your grandmother was just a girl or your father just a boy? Is it in the scent of her perfume, in the way she brushed her hair, in the little movements her hands used to make when she talked? 

Do you find home in the garden that you planted to grow tomatoes just like you used to do when you were a little and your grandfather showed you how? Do you find home when your fingers trace the script of your great aunt's recipe for leek and potato soup? Is it there in the birthday cards from friends of all the years gone by? 

Do you taste home in your family's favourite meals or see it in the games you play on clover filled days under blue skies in the backyard? Is it in the squealing and pounding of small feet, far too early on a Saturday morning?

Is it beside him late on a Sunday night?

Where is home? 

How many people does it hold?

How many places has it known and how often do you live there?

Mine is all around me when I look when I choose to see. It is on the face of everyone I keep close. I have many little homes tucked away in all the thousands of memories that connect me to both my past and my future, but most importantly to my present.

What about you?

Where is your home?

How do you come to it?

"You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair- the sense that you can never completely put on the page what is in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change to the world. Come to it in any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page." 

-Stephen King 

in his book On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.

I came to writing not knowing I could write. I came to writing to answer a question within me that didn't seem to have any other expression or way to be heard. I came to writing because I couldn't think what else to do with the burn inside, the thunder in my head or the silence that was strangling my life. I guess I came to be seen. But I also came to see. 

I came to writing unplanned, unprepared and unknowing. I threw my soul on the page and I let the words take root before my eyes. I let wild things grow in sentences and edited the jungle later. I let the first draft be just that, a first draft. The blank pages reflecting turmoil and joy and tragedy, all the colours and gray scale of life. I just wrote. 

Now that I have a healthy appreciation for the art... I have not changed my approach one bit. I don't think it is the only way to come to writing, or even the best way to come to writing. It is rather like the joy my baby derives from a bowl of spaghetti. And really, what is pasta if you cannot mash it through your hair and spread it around the table? And oh so much the better if the deliciousness creeps up the walls around and splatters on the floor below. That's me and writing. It ain't pretty, but I enjoy squeezing the pasta between my fingers. I like mashing words through my hair and so much the better if they end up spread from my office desk to the back of the house. 

But I  will say this- although I roll in the pleasure of the whole writing process, I am humbled that I get to add my words to this world...even in small ways. And I hope I never take that for granted.

What about you? How do you come to the act of writing? What works for you?

Before us 2 Became 4

BEFORE US 2 BECAME 4...

Giggling never interrupted our morning sleep ins

someone picking me clover would not have been a wonderful gesture

We'd never kissed  chocolate coated chubby cheeks

Our bath water had not been dyed blue with food coloring

We didn't bake Play doh cakes, and then pretend to eat them

Seagulls were not called chickens

Ants were never called fugs

We didn't lick people's fingers clean

We couldn't recite the words to any picture books

And we never broke into spontaneous songs about wheels on the bus,

 just because one drove by

Thomas was someone I worked with, not a train.

Cars didn't have eyes or voices

Daddy was not a name I referred to him as

and the pleasure of someone calling me Mommy was unknown

 

I wonder....

What did we ever do

Before the 2 of us became 4?

 

 

 

Whatcha Yakking On About?

G'day mates (Hello everyone),

Feel like a cuppa (cup of tea) and a chinwag (chat/talk)? I'll chuck (put) the jug (kettle) on then and get out the bikkies ('correct' term for cookies). Here's some we have left over from Chrissy (Christmas)...no they are probably a bit on the nose (off/not edible). If you stick around for a yak (talk/chat) and don't mind the little ankle bitters (children) running around... oh and don't mind the front room. It looks a bit like the dog's breakfast (a bit of a mess), and I see one of my rug rats (children) have left their daks (shorts) on the floor again.... I'll throw some shrimp on the barbie(BBQ) for lunch in a tic (shortly/in a little while). Sound good? So, let's kick back and have a yabber about all the wonderful atrocities us Aussies commit when we open our mouths to shoot the breeze (chat).

It's been donkeys years (a long time) since the Brits (English) were here tryin' to promote some proper English, my own mother put a fair amount of elbow grease (effort) into makin' sure I was intelligible, but I am the first generation born Australian in my family and felt that it was my duty to Queen and country to be as true blue (real) as we Aussie's come.

Then today Fiction Groupie posted about slang words on her blog and that just dead set (for real/completely) egged me on (encouraged me) to write this. I kid you not (I'm telling the truth) when I say that no one here actually uses this many slang words in one paragraph... well, maybe they do out back (in the country) I dunno. ( I don't know). I'm iffy (not sure) about that... yeah, you get the picture....

Well, I'm pretty chuffed (happy) that you managed to read this far down without chucking a wobbly (throwing a fit) at all my wonderful examples of Australian slang. We are actually a pretty nice bunch of blokes and sheilas (guys and girls). And you would more than likely be able to figure out what we were on about. Oh, if we say we are going to shout you some Macca's (McDaonalds) we didn't just threaten to do something nasty to you. I once told my American buddy that I'd shout her lunch and she asked why I was going to shout at her. Fair enough. We mean we are going to pay for you to have lunch with us. But if you want fries with ketchup when you get there, you are going to have to ask for chips and sauce. Nah, we watch enough American sitcoms to understand what fries are. But no one says ketchup here. It's just...wrong.

And if you get here and hit the local pub don't ask for Foster's beer. That's the crap we export. Try VB (Victorian Bitter) or a XXXX (self explanatory?) instead. Oh, and 'empties' are what you have when those amber gold babies are drained. (when you have finished drinking your beer the bottle will be empty- yeah?)

Okay, I think I have this post in the bag (have this one nicely tied up and finished) . I think I have waffled on (rambled on/chatted on) long enough. You look zonked (tired). I'm gonna make tracks (leave) and hit the sac (go the bed).

So, your turn. Fire away. What slang is local to your neck of the woods? (Um, do I need to translate this? ... Got any local slang to share?)

See ya later. (Not literally. We never actually mean we are going to catch up with you at anytime in the near future. We just mean, 'goodbye'.)

Ta for the visit. (Thanks for the visit)

PS- Gary Corby, no laughing. You know you use these words... go on... I know you do! :)

PSS- I do here by solemnly swear never to be so in your face 'Aussie' ever again :))

Lemonade Sipping Adverbs

One of the first things I learnt about writing was how to pack the suitcase of every adverb I had met, tell them our relationship was over, they were not the clever words I thought they would be, and give them a first class flight to the land of Anywhere- Other-Than-My- Manuscript. Oh, they look pretty, batting their eyelashes so your don't comprehend the devastation that the "ly" hanging off their butts can bring. 

Good sentences become clumped with empty, fat words lazying on sun decks, flat on their backs,  sipping lemonade no less, while squeezing out all the other words that would work hard to create mood, paint pictures and become an original voice. In short, we start writing things like, "she yelled loudly."  Do people yell any other way? Worker ant verbs like smash, clomp and splatter used in earlier sentences might have shown the reader that She ain't happy... 

I don't think there is writer anywhere who can afford to let there words become a  six course meal of mashed potatoes served up in fast food boxes rather than a delicious extravaganza of flavour served on the best silverware we have to offer. 

I am thus  ignoring knee- bended groveling and blatant pleading from adverbs that sounds a lot like, "Your readers will never understand the angst in that sentence you just wrote if you don't use me! What kind of a writer are you?  I am the word Menacingly after all!" 

I have heard similar sobs stories from the words quickly, clearly, surely and finally. 

And frankly  I now skip the tearful goodbyes and dump those bad boys on the street. That's right. I don't even drive 'em to the airport. 

Yeah...I am editing. Can you tell?

But I cannot say it better than the master, Stephen King:

"I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout if from the roof tops. To put it another way, they are like dandelions. If you have one on your lawn it looks pretty and unique, if you fail to root it out, however, you find five the next day... fifty the day after that...and then, my brothers and sisters, your lawn is totally, completely and profligately covered with dandelions. By then you see them for the weeds they really are, but then it's - GASP!!-  too late."

Ah yes.... said by the man who also wrote "... for all have sinned and fallen short of editorial perfection."

I fall short Stephen, how I fall short. 

But thanks to a few wonderful editors, the input of talented writers and some diligent trawling through every piece of advise on writing I can legally download, google, beg, borrow or buy I am learning to spot those lounge dwelling, overinflated, lemonade sipping adverbs before they invite their friends over. 

What about you? Do you have to constantly work at weeding you garden? What's the best advise you ever got on editing your writing? 

Disclaimer: No adverbs were hurt in the making of this blog post.... okay, I lie. I hurt plenty of them... and I don't care. A lucky few made it to the airport...

 

AWARDS- Pandas and Sparkles

Awards

Huge thank you to Karen at Following the Whispers for my Super Comments Award. Love the panda! And I must say that I was pretty blown away by Karen's kind words about me. Karen's blog often makes me stop and think and I admire anyone who can inspire me to stop... the thinking is a bonus :) If you aren't reading Karen's blog then... why not?! You are missing out. Her honesty and insights are like wings. And the world looks different from way up there in the blue sky.

If I could I would pass this award back to her, because her comments are often just what I need to hear. If Esther or Shelley were blogging I'd pass the award to them, because they too know plenty about wings and blue skies. But I am also thrilled to pass the award on to;

Suzanne at Tales of Extraordinary Ordinariness

AND

Jessica from BookingIt

And I have to say, Thank you to those of you who bother to comment on my ramblings, especially those who do so regularly. Your thoughts matter and they often lift me up.

Now for the Splash Award for having a blog that, um, sparkles... Glad my little blog is shining away and didn't have any spinach between its teeth on the day Fiction Groupie awarded me this :)

I would like to pass this award on to:

Wendy from On Words and Upwards. This girl makes me laugh! Maybe I just get her zany humour, but honestly between her posts about DJ Rinse Cycle, the washing machine with other life aspirations and her 'creative out lets' while educating other drivers on road rules, I about trip over my smile trying to get to her blog when she posts. Funny funny girl.

AND

Sarah from I Think Therefore I Blog who also posts laughing inducing stuff in between the posts that make me all reflective and misty eyed and wishing she'd post everyday. J.D's not the only one with gold stars Sarah, and I am happy to use them!

Okay all, that seems like a good way to end the blogging week. Have a great weekend and thanks for those awards. I am still smiling :)