Calling To The Void (and an echo returns)

Writing can be a lonely job. You work at your book, fretting and fiddling, and you launch it out into the world, and it flies away.

Silence.

Is anybody reading it? What do they think? Is anybody out there? Hello?

I know I'm not the only author who googles her own name for some faint hint that someone, somewhere out there in the wild, has reached up and caught my book in their hand.

The very nicest part of being an author is when a reader takes the time and trouble to actually write and tell you that they've enjoyed your books. ("loved," "adored," "LOVED IT!!!!" "my favourite book EVER!!!" is, naturally, even better.) But then you also stumble across weird little acts of appreciation like this...

...which led me to a lovely You Tube book review of the Chanters of Tremaris trilogy, by Kate (no relation). I smiled wryly when she says that no-one she knows has ever read these books. She speculates that they may be really huge in Australia (sigh!).

But the best part was when she says that she liked the hero, Darrow, because he "acts like a MAN." No one has ever said that before. Kate likes it that Darrow doesn't sparkle. He's not sensitive. He can be difficult, and moody, and uncommunicative, even though he clearly cares. Because, let's face it, men can be hard work sometimes.

But they're worth it.

Changing Spaces

We're building (or rather, paying other people to build for us) a big new living/dining room at the back of our Californian bungalow. As extensions go, it could hardly be simpler - it's just an box of an addition, no demolition, no plumbing. So for the last few weeks, we've enjoyed a succession of new spaces.

At first it was a dance floor outside our back door, a stage, a platform for performances.

Then, when the frame went up, it became a patio, open to the sky, where we could sit in the sun and read and drink beer, paint pictures and set damp towels out to dry in the fresh air.

As the walls closed it in and the roof was laid, it became a magical cave, where we could peer out at the garden through the gaps where the windows would be.

And today, as the last of the big windows was manoeuvred into its frame, it's become almost a real room. We can see where the TV will hang, where the couch will go. We can stand in the nook where the window seat will be and gaze out at the riot of bouganvillea just beyond the glass, and imagine the days when we can curl up with cushions and a book. We realise that there will space for a sideboard along that wall after all.

Living with the new space as it grows every day, we're getting to know it gradually, learning how the light falls, discovering new views. It's only one room, but it will change the way we use the rest of the house, too. The present cramped living-room will become a quiet, darkened study and library, a room for adults to retreat to and children to hide away. The kitchen will open out. We'll have room to build railways and cubbies, a long bench for jigsaws and model castles, storage for games and blankets, and a table where we can eat and be warm and see the TV all at once (yeah, okay, we're bogans, get over it).

It's not a new house. It's better than that.

Whoops

Just one more player to mention - I can't believe I forgot Jarrod Harbrow! Sorry Jarrod.

40. Jarrod Harbrow
Geez he's good. He played up forward until last year, when they tried him up the back as an emergency and he took to it like a duck to water. He is stunning - quick and creative. See that blur in the backline? That's Harbrow.

Sadly that blur may disappear over the horizon as the new Gold Coast team are very keen to snaffle him next year, and he has family up there so he's quite likely to be tempted. Enjoy him while it lasts.

How To Tell The Bulldogs Apart, Part The Last

The final installment of our (very) rough guide to the Western Bulldogs. Today, players 36-44.

36. Brian LakeSo laid-back he can seem catatonic. A top-notch defender who had us all on tenterhooks last year when he took forever to re-sign his contract and we were scared he was going to go elsewhere. Seldom smiles. Even on his wedding day he looked bemused rather than happy. Every so often Bri-bri makes a mistake so spectacularly stupid it puts even Wilbur in the shade. Not often though. Rodney Eade loves to yell at Brian; they have some weird love/hate thing going on.

38. Dale Morris
The other pillar of the backline. Known as "The General," his organising ability was sorely missed when he was out with the flu in Round 1. Played with a broken leg for six weeks last year. How tough is he??

42. Liam Picken
The fairy-tale success story of last season, the overlooked son of a Collingwood star was picked up as a rookie by the Bulldogs and instantly cemented his place in the side as a hard tagging midfielder who could shut down opposition players for a whole game. Very useful.

44. Brodie Moles
Looks as if he might become this year's Liam Picken. Picked up from Geelong where he couldn't manage to break into a strong side, he seems to be fitting in nicely with the Bulldogs. From Cat to Dog? Stranger things have happened.

And last but not least -- the coach!

Rodney Eade has coached the Doggies since the end of 2004 and has turned the team from bottom-scraping stragglers to a proud and (more) confident squad. "Rocket" doesn't hold back his emotions and is always a treat to watch in the coaches' box, especially when things are going badly. But he's refreshingly upfront with his opinions, tells it like it is, is often funny, and is a supremely clever football tactician (even a genius) who has shaped the way the game is played. We love Rocket. But we're glad he's not around to give us one of his famous sprays when we stuff up.

So there you have it -- the individual parts that add up to the whole team that is the Western Bulldogs. One of the things I find fascinating about football is the way that players and coaches come and go, but clubs somehow retain their own over-arching personality. Do players learn how to be a Bomber or a Blue, or is the personality of the club composed of the sum of the individuals who reside beneath its roof? I'm inclined to think it's the former.

So if the Western Bulldogs was a person, what would they be like? I see him (yeah, it's a bloke, get over it) as the shy, self-deprecating guy in the corner of the pub, perhaps a tradie, from the rough end of town, very good at what he does but wary of big-noting himself. He's used to being put down by the flashy blokes with more cash, and the boofhead blokes with more muscle and swagger, and he's learned to keep quiet and keep his head down. He might be clumsy, he might say the wrong word at the wrong time, but he means well. If he lets you down, it's because he's trying too hard. He's had a hard life, he's known disappointment and betrayal, and he doesn't trust easily.

But maybe, just maybe, this is his year to find some cash in his pocket. Maybe, come September, he'll be shouting us all a beer.

How To Tell The Bulldogs Apart, Part 5

I'm going to focus on the senior players now and knock this thing over.

21. Jason AkermanisCome on, even you must have heard of Aker! Everybody knows Aker. Limelight-seeking, goateed player who has signed on for one last year with a massive pay cut, because he knows the Doggies are this close. Always controversial, refreshingly honest and a very smart footballer who can pull a goal out of thin air. Used to play for Brisbane, where he'd perform a handstand at every victory. The Dogs have put a stop to that, but we still love him. Guaranteed media career after retirement.

22. Dylan Addison
Other players love DFA because he's so hard at the ball. Fearless, even when he's not skilful. Known as Dylan ****ing Addison because when Johnno presented him with his jumper before his first game, he gave an expletive-riddled speech of encouragement to the new player ("You've earned this ****ing jumper, Dylan ****ing Addison!") not realising he was live on national television. Ha ha ha.

25. Ryan Hargrave
Michael's favourite player. Known as Shaggy. As in Scooby Doo. Occasionally very, very good goal-stopper, but again, inconsistent (think I might be onto something here...)

27. Will Minson
Ah, Big Will. I could write a whole blog post about Big Will and still not fully explore the paradox that is, according to his coach, the "dumbest smart man in football." As someone else pointed out, most footballers are clever on the football field and stupid off it. With Big Will, it's the other way around. He speaks German, plays the saxophone and possesses an eclectic fashion sense; not only does he have chiselled cheekbones and sculptured pecs, he can speak in whole sentences. And yet at least once a game he does something totally dumb, like walk across the mark and give away a free kick. But he is turning into an excellent ruckman.

28. Barry HallYou must have heard of BAZZA!! At least if you live in Melbourne, you must have. Big Bad Bustling Barry Hall became a Bulldog this year in a blaze of publicity, after being sacked from Sydney for thuggish behaviour on the field (ie he couldn't seem to stop punching people). Will the Bulldogs be his salvation? Will he be the salvation of the Bulldogs? The signs are promising so far. He is the big marking forward that the Bulldogs have conspicuously lacked in the last few years. And Barry looks happy, getting much more of the ball from the free-flowing Dogs than he was allowed to enjoy with the defensive, stop-start style of the Swans. A match made in heaven? Let's hope so. Everyone says he's a lovely guy. But gee, he looks scary. I'm glad he's on our side.

How To Tell The Bulldogs Apart, Part 4

Players 16-20

16. Ryan Griffen
Another player who is due (overdue?) to reach his great potential. Looks cross-eyed to me, surely that can't help. Mid-fielder.

17. Adam Cooney
Ginger mid-fielder. Has new tattoo all over his lower leg. Unexpectedly won the Brownlow Medal in 2008. Certainly he wasn't expecting it, and his acceptance speech was quite entertaining as a result. Famously proposed to his girlfriend with a Burger Ring. This guy is all class. Bulldog fans love to yell Cooooooon when he gets his hands on the ball, which the uninitiated can confuse with booing.

18. Brennan Stack
Only played a handful of games. Don't need to worry about recognising him yet.

19. Liam Jones
Look at him! He's a baby! Hasn't played at all yet.

20. Josh Hill
Ah, Joshy, Joshy. I love Josh. He's quick and graceful and he has flair. He can very exciting to watch when he leaps up to take a mark or boots a goal that looked impossible. Okay, sometimes he looks as if he's not concentrating and he's a bit of a whippet -- definitely not a bullock -- more of a gazelle. I'm prepared to forgive his lapses because he has that indefinable something that you just can't train into players if they ain't got it. I'm sure that's a great weight off his mind.

How To Tell The Bulldogs Apart, Part 3

Players 11-15
(Lucky it's school holidays and I can bang this out instead of making lunches...)

11. Sam Reid
Baby burly midfielder. Was diagnosed with diabetes Type 1 last year and has become a diabetes ambassador. Brave boy.

12. Tom Williams
Tall goal-stopper. Very fragile! Handle with care! Has been the great white hope for about the last three years but keeps breaking himself so hasn't played much. Also tends to panic under pressure (hey, I would too, with all those big scary footballers coming at me).

13. Daniel GiansiracusaKnown as Gia, or to my sister-in-law, "Gira." Spunk of the club and he totally knows it. Always chosen to model the Bulldogs merchandise in the catalogue. Plays pretty well from time to time too. "Silky." Mmmm.

14. Callan Ward
Lovely boy with a shy smile. Grew up round the corner from the Whitten Oval and walked to training. Always wears one sock up and one sock down. A star in the making.

15. Ben HudsonHis beard has its own fan club. Big tall scary ruckman. Came late to football so has a sense of humour about the whole bizarre business. Gotta love the Beard!

How To Tell The Bulldogs Apart, Part 2

Players 6-10

6. Brad Johnson
Goal-kicker. Our captain. Already ancient, he may well play until he's 80. Known as the Smiling Assassin. Because he's always smiling. Except when he's swearing. Just played his 350th game.

7. Shaun Higgins
Goal-kicker. Possessed of a large head and walking with a swagger, Higgins will probably be our next captain. Club legend Scott West personally chose him to inherit his number, which is like being anointed by John the Baptist.

8. Mitch Hahn
Goal-kicker. Tough nut with a head like a Prussian bullet. Strong like a bullock.

9. Lindsay Gilbee
Goal-stopper. Supposedly the best kick in the league. Would be nice to see evidence of this more often. His dad died last year.

10. Nathan EagletonMid-fielder. Known, entirely predictably, as the Bald Eagle. Senior players took a pay cut so he could play for one more year.

More tomorrow!

How To Tell The Bulldogs Apart, Part 1

And so the heady euphoria of the pre-season gives way to the painful reality of Round 1: a 36 point thumping by Collingwood. Ouch.

Suddenly all those giddy hopes that 2010 will be The Year of the Dogs, the media hype, the seemingly miraculous resurrection of Barry Hall, have been punctured. Hangovers are never pleasant, and all the worse when they're self-induced. But at least there is comfort to be gleaned in the reflection that there are still 21 games to go. It's a long season; anything can happen... can't it?

In the un-Bulldog-like spirit of not giving up hope at the first hurdle, I hereby embark on the first of a series of player profiles. Warning: this series will contain no more than trace elements of actual football information. It is designed to share the stuff that I find interesting. It is perfectly possible that no one else will agree. It is also quite likely to be wildly inaccurate.

And so, in numerical order, players 1-5:

1. Jarrad Grant
Future goal-kicker. Young, tall and spindly. Has only played one senior game and kept getting knocked over. May be the first Vulcan to play AFL football.

2. Bob MurphyGoal-kicker. Not your average footballer. Writes a weekly column in The Age about the romance of football, among other stuff. Creative and clever on the football field as well as off it. Hurt his knee last year but was back to his twisty-turny best yesterday. My favourite Bulldog.

3. Andrejs Everitt
Goal-stopper. Young and rangy, hasn't played often. St Kilda tried to grab him in the pre-season draft so he must be good, right? Sulked last year because he wasn't playing often but seems to be trying harder. Used to have dreadlocks but perhaps realised that they weren't helping in his quest to be taken more seriously.

4. Daniel Cross and 5. Matthew Boyd
Sorry, I still have trouble telling these two apart. The busy Bobbsey Twins of the midfield, they both rack up heaps of possessions without being particularly noticeable. Boyd was picked in the All-Australian* team last year, one of only two Bullies selected.

* An odd and purely hypothetical concept as there isn't really anybody for them to play.

Writing, Rewriting, Writing, Rewriting

I wasn't expecting it to be like this.

It's bedlam at the airport.

It was long ago, but not so far away.

I'm a Territory kid.

I step off the plane at Jackson's Airport and the heat hits me like a furnace blast.

I stepped off the plane at Jackson's Airport and the humidity hit me in the face like a hot wet towel.

This is my sixth attempt at beginning Independence (which may not be called Independence any more, by the way), my "New Guinea" novel. Some writers spend days on a paragraph and don't continue until they've got it exactly right. In this way, their novel falls from their fingers like a heap of perfectly formed leaves.

But when I get stuck, I start all over again. I am a chronic re-writer. And even after I get a whole draft, I will cut and paste and type it out all over again, tinkering as I go, three, five, a dozen, twenty times over, poking and moulding and tweaking, shaping and trimming and layering.

There is a Jorge Luis Borges short story in which an author strives to understand the mind of Cervantes so well that he can rewrite Don Quixote word for word -- yet it is not the same book, though the words are the same. Sometimes (though I ain't no Cervantes, nor Borges either) that's how I feel when I type out the same words for the twelfth or thirteenth time. They are the same words, but the story is not the same, because of the those twelve or thirteen versions that have gone before.

The Party's Over

Sorry for my long silence but I spent most of last week on the Gold Coast, at the Somerset Celebration of Literature. I've just discovered heaps of photos and a much better description of the event than I could muster here at Camille Santiago's blog -- she was the official photographer and her photos are a lot better than mine! (If you scroll right down to the end of the post there's even a picture of me.)

If I said I'd never had so much fun in all my life that would sound a bit tragic, so I won't. But it was really, really good. I got to hang out with a gang of lovely, funny, sweet, droll and clever authors and illustrators (downside - had irresistible urge to blow all my earnings on all their works, conveniently located at the festival bookshop. I may have come out in front, but it's close...) And I got to sit in on many sessions and hear them all talk about their work with such passion and humour and love and energy. It was inspirational for me, I can only imagine how it affected the thousands of kids who attended.

Highlight of the festival was the last night, when we all let our hair down, elbowed the other guests at the literary dinner aside, and took over the dance floor. The band (Somerset students) were all about sixteen, but they belted out "Blister in the Sun" and "Throw Your Arms Around Me" as if they were ooh, at least two years older, and us authors were loving ourselves sick as we partied like it was 1999 and as if we didn't all have to go home tomorrow.

But it was really all about the books -- and it's confirmed to me just how lucky I am to be surrounded by people (alas, not often enough!) whose main aim in life is to bring the joys of reading and writing to kids of all ages. What a great business to be in; what amazing, generous, gifted people you all are; what a privilege to meet you.

Thanks, Somerset. If only the festival could run all year round. But then I guess it wouldn't be so special.

* I'm labelling this post as "work." Hah!

Advice From My Daughter

Alice: Mum, you should write a series called "The Bum-Droppers" -- you'll laugh so hard, your bum will drop off. This will improve the money you earn and the prizes you win. Every child will know your name. You must aim to beat Andy Griffiths. People will be screaming for your autograph! They'll be hilarious books that will catch the tweens. The tweens are the starting point. Andy Griffiths will have only a handful of admirers, you need a bagful, you have to make them love you.

This thing needs to be hilarious. You have to make your reader believe there is an actual fight in there. Give them a turnover, give them a hit! That's the kind of children this world needs. They'll fall on the floor and laugh their heads off. You need the exact right peppermint of violence -- too many and you feel sick, not too less, give a teaspoon of violence, 1% of the whole book is violence.

The tweens love good hilarious books, that's practically all they read these days. Catch the boys: whole schools, packs, countries of boys! Andy Griffiths has that. Throw him out of the way! You can do it! Also you have to beat Zac Power.

Put letters in, telegrams, more describing words. Super Gun Ball, come home immediately, your father's had a heart attack. They'd find that hilarious! You must express anger -- maybe a few swear words, but they have to be beeped out. Everyone loves a good swear word. Cars exploding! Maybe a murdering footy player. If you don't grab these teens and tweens, who knows what they're capable of!

Me: So what should these books actually be about?

Alice: (gives me a withering stare) I don't know. At the moment we're just talking about marketing.

Seven Things That Have Inspired Me

Sandra Eterovic has inspired this post, by tagging me to reveal seven things about myself. (She looks at seven aesthetic themes that inspire her visual art, here.) (You can also find seven sources of inspiration for Christine McCombe, a composer friend, here.)

I thought I might share one source of inspiration for some of my books -- of course every novel has too many seeds to count, or even remember, but here are some that sprang to mind.

1) Blake's 7This dystopian British sci-fi series ran from 1978 to 1981 and I used to stay up late in a darkened house to watch it. The sets wobbled but the dialogue sparkled with wit and moral complexity. I developed a hopeless crush on Avon, the darkest and most cynical of all the characters, played by Paul Darrow. The character of Darrow in The Singer of All Songs was named in his honour, but the notion of a roaming band of outlaws, each with their own strengths and weaknesses, was the ultimate inspiration for Calwyn's motley band of chanters. (Blake's 7 was itself inspired by Robin Hood, Westerns, and South American revolutionaries.)

2) The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon


I read this thousand-year-old Japanese notebook of personal reflections, observations and poetry as I was beginning work on The Waterless Sea, and something of the atmosphere and rituals of life in the ancient Japanese royal court seeped into the culture of the Palace of Cobwebs in Merithuros - elaborate wigs, poetry tournaments and strict rules of etiquette, as well as political intrigue.

3) Belly dancing classes
Bless my friend Heather who persuaded me to join her in a belly dancing class at our local Neighborhood House. For six weeks we self-consciously tried to shimmy our post-baby hips, convinced the instructor was staring pityingly at our pathetic Anglo attempts to gyrate and undulate. But Ozlem's instructions turned up in The Tenth Power as Briaali's encouragements to the stiff priestesses of Taris to shake their booty for the final dance of Becoming that heals Tremaris.

4) Kissed a girl
The story of Jem and Mackenzie in my first Girlfriend Fiction title, Always Mackenzie, was inspired by two (girl) friends who had conducted a passionate affair at school and attended their school formal together. Still the closest of friends, one is now good-as-married (to a bloke) with two kids, while the other is good-as-married (to a lovely lady) with one daughter. Love you both.

5) Quakers
While I was writing Winter of Grace I remembered attending a meeting of Quakers in North Carlton, and how deeply impressed I was by the silence and stillness of their communion with God. In the first draft of the book, Bridie ended up joining the Quakers, but in the final version I decided to leave her still seeking. I think their mediatative approach to worship and their staunch social activism would appeal to her, though.

6) Burnham Beeches

This beautiful old house in the Dandenong Ranges outside Melbourne was the model for Eloise's enchanted Art Deco house in Cicada Summer. Though as far as I know there's no swimming pool.

7) Tarot cards
I've told fortunes since I was at school, but never found a way to include the tarots in a book until Penni suggested that India in Dear Swoosie should share my psychic gifts! India is a bit more psychic than me (though I have had some startling successes). For me the attraction of the cards is more the psychology that lies behind them, and the seemingly magical way that they elicit confessions that wouldn't appear in any other context. Hmmm.

If you've read this far, consider yourself tagged!

Happy Sad

Big sobs in our living-room last night as the delectable David Tennant signed off as the tenth Doctor Who. Despite my lifelong loyalty to Tom Baker (no 4) and Peter Davison (no 5), DT takes out my award as Best Doctor Ever. The perfect blend of intense, funny and drop dead gorgeous, he's going to be a hard act to follow. Good luck, Matt Smith - you're going to need it. Though I have to say, I'm slightly disturbed that the Doctor is now being played by an actor who was born a couple of years after I started watching the show... But hey, that's the paradox of time travel, isn't it?

And also much happy this weekend when Penni and I visited The Younger Sun bookshop in Yarraville to talk about Dear Swoosie (and sundry other topics). We got the girls to guess which of us wrote India and which wrote Poppy (they got it right). The cupcakes were delicious, the girls were delightful, and Kate was very welcoming. It was so lovely to meet a bunch of keen readers who were so enthusiastic about sharing their love -- not just for our books (though, hey, that was nice, too!) Thanks for having us!

Wicked Sisters

Confession time: I love the Mitfords with a passion. For the last week I've been utterly lost in this mammoth book of letters between the six sisters, spanning almost eighty years of hilarious, poignant and always fascinating correspondence.

For those who aren't familiar with the Mitford family, a quick summary:

1) Nancy
Witty, biting comic writer; author of The Pursuit of Love and Love In A Cold Climate, lightly fictionalised and screamingly funny accounts of her own youth as a daughter of a shabby, quite mad English aristocrat (he used to hunt the children with hounds). (These were the books that made me fall in love with the Mitfords.) After an unhappy marriage, moved to France to be near the love of her life, Colonel Gaston Palewski. Tragically, he didn't love her back as much as she loved him.

2) Pamela
Known as "Woman." An accomplished cook, she could recall in smallest detail meals she had eaten fifty years before. Became an expert on chicken breeding.

3) Diana
The acknowledged beauty of the family. Left her first husband in a huge scandal to marry Sir Oswald Mosley, then leader of the British Fascist movement. When war was declared, they were both thrown into prison for years (Diana's baby was only eleven weeks old). After the war, more or less ostracised from public life, they moved to France, where they became friends with the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, also exiles.

4) Tom
The only brother. Killed in the last days of the war (sob).

5) Unity
Gawd. Big, bold and generous, she developed a huge crush on Hitler of all people (!), and pretty much stalked him until they became friends. When war broke out, she went to a park in Berlin and shot herself in the head, but didn't succeed in killing herself. Brain damaged and much altered, she was nursed by the Mitfords' mother until she died a few years later (sob).

6) Jessica
An avowed communist (she scratched hammers and sickles on the nursery windows; Unity scratched swastikas), she eloped with her Spanish Civil War-fighting cousin Esmond at the age of 17. They moved to America after the death of their baby (sob), Esmond joined the Canadian Air Force and was killed in the war (sob). Jessica remarried and became a civil rights activist and very effective muckraker, writing exposes of the funeral industry (The American Way of Death) and prison system (Kind and Usual Punishment), and also a memoir, Hons and Rebels. Often feuded with other members of the family, especially Diana, for obvious reasons. (Jessica regretted that she never took the opportunity of going with Unity to meet Hitler, whipping out a pistol and assassinating him -- she could have done it quite easily.)

7) Deborah
The youngest sister and the only one to be always on speaking/writing terms with all the others. Married the Duke of Devonshire, restored his gigantic ancestral home, Chatsworth, and ran it as a business. Hobnobbed with JFK (his sister married her brother-in-law). Amazingly, she is still alive at 89, the last surviving sister.

What fascinating lives!! Though all of them knew misery and tragedy, the predominant note is one of amusement; sentimentality is sternly banished and all their writing is lively, witty and utterly engaging, the greatest fear that of being a BORE.

They are so English, so repressed, hardly ever saying how they truly feel. The letters are peppered with slang and in-jokes, salted with wicked humour and stabs of glorious bitchiness. And yet, the enduring bonds of sisterhood can't help shining through (how they would all loathe such a sickly sentiment). Oh how I adore them all.

But all the same, I'm quite glad that they aren't my sisters.

PS If the person who stole my two volumes of Nancy's letters from my East St Kilda flat in 1998 is reading this, I would like them back -- no questions asked.