Gender bender

Bit of a laugh... Bookblog.com reckons that by analysing a sample of your writing, fiction or non-fiction, its Gender Genie can tell whether you're male or female. I tried it and lets's just say....two out of three ain't bad.
How did you go?

How to write a novel

From the keyboard of Australian author Max Barry comes....
15 ways to write a novel. 
He's had a few novels of his own published (Syrup, Jennifer Government, Company) so he's obviously doing something right. I like the 'Word Ceiling' - it gives me all the justification I need to only write 500 words per day!
Different strokes for different folks though. As Barry says - if there was a single method of writing a great book, we'd all be doing it.
What method do you reckon would work for you?

I'm gunna...

Here's one for my Literary Salon-ers...
The Official Catalogue of the Library of Potential Literature, by Ben Segal and Erin Rose Mager. 'A catalogue of textual desire, of wished-for and ideal books, that were dreamt of and desired by 62 writers, critics, and text makers.'
The NY Times says it's 'a flurry of blurbs for non-existent masterpieces, a fierce tear through conceptual imagination'. 
Love it. Our writer's group is full of potential. Bursting! Keep writing keep writing keep writing.
What's your potential blurb for your potential literary gem?

The first step

I was excited after reading The Poetry Lesson because it meant I got to choose the magnificent Greek Constantine P Cavafy as my Ghost Companion. Andrei Codrescu's method is already working for me - opened up C.P. Cavafy Collected Poems and landed on this one. Aah the synchronicity....

THE FIRST STEP

The young poet Evmenis
complained one day to Theocritos:
“I have been writing for two years now
and I have composed just one idyll.
It’s my only completed work.
I see, sadly, that the ladder of Poetry
is tall, extremely tall;
and from this first step I now stand on
I will never climb any higher.”
Theocritos replied: “Words like that
are improper, blasphemous.
Just to be on the first step
should make you happy and proud.
To have come this far is no small achievement:
what you have done is a glorious thing.
Even this first step
is a long way above the ordinary world.
To stand on this step
you must be in your own right
a member of the city of ideas.
And it is a hard, unusual thing
to be enrolled as a citizen of that city.
Its councils are full of Legislators
no charlatan can fool.
To have come this far is no small achievement:
what you have done already is a glorious thing.” 

Unplugged

Advice for writers' blocked, coming to you from the short story guru and heroine of the ordinary woman, Grace Paley:
'The best training is to read and write, no matter what. Don’t live with a lover or roommate who doesn’t respect your work. Don’t lie, buy time, borrow to buy time. Write what will stop your breath if you don’t write.'
What stops your breath?

A Pound for your thoughts

We were talking about Ezra Pound in my writing workshop last week, in particular, his observations on storytelling. One quote that stuck in my mind was this gem:
'The fundamental accuracy of statement is the one sole morality of writing.'
He recognised what many would-be writers overlook...that is: never underestimate your reader. You can't pull the wool over the eyes of your audience with convenient plot twists or character contradictions. Flimsy fluff balls.
Pound also happened to write one of my (many) favourite poems...

The Encounter
All the while they were talking the new morality
Her eyes explored me.
And when I rose to go
Her fingers were like the tissue
Of a Japanese paper napkin.

Back in blog-land

Literary meanderings through my mind during my last few weeks' hiatus from blogging:
On forgetting to pack my book when travelling: Sydney Domestic Airport's Watermark bookshop is always a treat. The initial disappointment of realising I'd left my book at home (Catch 22) immediately gave way to the delight of having to buy a new one. Picked up Hilary Mantel's 2009 Man Booker Prize winner Wolf Hall, having read screeds about how wonderful it is. I'm not disappointed - 217 pages in and I can't put it down. 
On the Sydney Writer's Festival: came and went in a flash with some great events that were not dampened by Elizabeth Gilbert's last minute no-show. Comment overheard from a gaggle of Goths on a pavement in Glebe at 10pm on the Friday night. "I reckon Erotic Fan Fiction would have been better if Damo hadn't been chucked out for trying it on the dude dressed up as Wonder Woman. He had good legs though, even in blue tights, so you can't say it was Damo's fault."
On finishing my writing course: Saturdays have become a treasured weekly sojourn into the world of books and writing. The eight week workshop has come to a close but the ink is flowing faster and the will remains strong. Nice to know there's 14 fellow souls out there feeling the frustrations and the fever of writing. Write, fingers write, let us find out what we know!
On dark horses: Turns out, one among us in my writing workshop happened to be launching a  book all along... Annette Stewart's biography of the writer and artist Barbara Hanrahan was published in May and sounds fascinating. (Gleebooks' Gleaner magazine has it advertised at $3995...hopefully it's a typo Annette, not sure I can afford it at that price!)  Barbara Hanrahan: A Biography is published by Wakefield Press. 
On blogging: Now that my temporary state of life-overload has passed, blogging will resume as normal :)

Hush please, you're interrupting my eavesdropping

Late one Saturday night, walking through a bar/restaurant precinct in Sydney:
Girl #1 to Girl #2: 'You look like a mushroom in that dress.'
Girl #2: 'Thanks George Michael.'
Girl #1: 'You're such a shit. I like this colour.'
Girl #2: 'Yeah it's beautiful. If you're wearing sunnies.'
What happens next?
Does the friendly banter escalate into a full blown biatch-fight right there in the street? Fingernails ripping through silk knits. Stilettos gouging chunks of flesh from bloodied knees. 
Does the mention of George Michael set Girl #1 sobbing into her clutch purse because last week she caught her fiancé in flagrante with the rock star himself after a chance encounter at a hedonistic post-concert soiree on his tour Down Under. And Girl #1 knows, with fiancé's affections redirected, she is surely doomed to exist, barren and alone, with nought but two mangey cats to share with her their fleas, night after pathetic night, in a crummy dark bedsit, forevermore. 
Or, does Girl #2 flee in an alcohol-induced hissy-fit, only for her body to wash up inexplicably, sodden, lifeless and with three teeth missing, in a storm water drain three days later?
.....who knows...?
We were delving into dialogue in my writing class this weekend, playing around with 'ear' and 'voice', when someone suggested a handy tool. Eavesdropping.
More specifically, using eavesdropping as a means to jumpstart your imagination. It makes sense to me. Suppress those giggles, jot down a few delectable snippets and let your imagination go nuts. I'm giving it a go.
Oh, and as for Girls #1 and #2? They said goodbye at the next set of lights. Tottered home and went to bed. I know, so boring. The imagination is much more fun.

First impressions

Last Saturday, in my first writing session with the class I've joined, we were asked to write a first line and/or paragraph for our novel. Among our group are people at varying degrees of 'readiness' to launch into a full blown novel. Some know that they want to write, but haven't honed in on a specific story yet. Others, like me, have developed characters, perhaps a plot, context, style, and are partway through.
I first blogged about first lines last year.
The first line possibly carries the most weight of any sentence in a novel. I haven't had to suffer the terror of crafting my first line yet, for the simple reason that I'm still not sure where my story starts. I have any number of scenes that could possibly be the opener, depending on which character I choose to introduce my story. And judging by the amount of times I've moved my characters and scenes around so far, I'm unlikely to settle on anything concrete just yet. I figure the further I get into my story, the more my characters will reveal the flow.
Interesting then, to read in the Sydney Morning Herald's supplement, the (sydney) magazine, this week, a number of favourite first lines from some of our own publishing types.
There are two that stand out for me. 
Shona Martyn, Publishing Director Australia and NZ, Harper Collins, chose the opener from the wonderful book Little Women by Louisa May Alcott:
"'Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents,' grumbled Jo, lying on the rug."
Succinct, authentic, intriguing, resonant. It conjures up a thousand plot possibilities in the mere seconds it takes to read the sentence, hooking you right in.
And Julie Gibbs, Publishing Director Lantern, Viking, Penguin Group (Australia) chose a cracker. From Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy:
"'You too will marry a boy I choose,' said Mrs Rupa Mehra firmly to her younger daughter."
Horror, indignance, resilience, suspense. Like a life flashing before your eyes, you want to know what happens next.
I'm not ready to test out my first lines on a live audience yet, but it's fun (not to mention frustrating) playing around with possibilities.
Try it. It doesn't matter if you have an idea for a story or not. Go on - what would your first line be?

The rules according to Dyer...

Have you read Geoff Dyer's Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi?
It's about Jeff Atman, an arts journalist who doubles as a travel writer. You know, holidays thinly disguised as work. 
The first part of the book, tripping through the muddled streets of Venice on the arts/party circuit during the Biennale, was engrossing. 
The second part, sliding into an impenetrable state of malaise in Varanasi, just about put me into a coma. Which was perhaps the intention.
Dyer was in Australia a week or two ago for Writers' Week at the Adelaide Festival and is apparently a sparklingly intelligent and entertaining man. Although the India part of his book really didn't do it for me, I do like the advice he gave aspiring writers in The Guardian last month. Among a swag of authors asked to contribute '10 Rules for Writing Fiction', Dyer's first point was particularly resonant:
Never worry about the commercial possibilities of a project. That stuff is for agents and editors to fret over – or not. Conversation with my American publisher. Me: "I'm writing a book so boring, of such limited commercial appeal, that if you publish it, it will probably cost you your job." Publisher: "That's exactly what makes me want to stay in my job."
Sometimes I think my book will be so obscure no one could possibly be interested in reading it. Then I think, stuff it, write it anyway and at least my lovely family and friends will have to give it a go...:)


* A book tree (above). Not sure where this photo was taken but it proves the limitless possibilities of the humble book.

Flow finder...

Anyone who covets beautiful stationery as I do will understand the allure of a fresh piece of pristine paper upon which to deliver your most profound observations. Provided you can think of something to say, that is. 
If these irresistible desk sets from Poppies for Grace don't inspire a stumped writer, I came across a prompt in Monica Wood's pint sized tome The Pocket Muse 2, Endless Inspiration for Writers, that seems to help:


A Wordsmith's Warm-up
First sentence: one word
   Second sentence: two words
      Third sentence: three words
          and so on, until you trick yourself in.

Self-trickery really works. It's kind of like making yourself get off the couch and get some exercise when it all seems like too much hard work. Tell yourself you're just going for a walk, then go a little faster, until suddenly you're running because walking is just too slow and unsatisfying. 
Same with writing. A three line sentence sits there teasing me to flesh it out. I have yet to master the art of minimalism when it comes to word-smithing. At least it gets words on the page, and that's a great start.

On rivers #2... symbolism and writing

It may be esoterica to some but I adore myths and symbols and legends and the exploration of the unconscious...so when my own writing becomes knotty, I'm drawn to the bookcase in my bedroom. Of the five sets of bookshelves in my home I think of this one as the First Class Lounge, where the most precious volumes sit, must be dusted off regularly and given extra special attention. They're also the books I'd grab first in a fire. If only I could disarm the window and activate a bright yellow escape slide to shoot the bookcase out, should such an emergency occur.
Anyhow, this is the one (middle shelf on the right) where Laurens van der Post, CG Jung, dreams, symbolism, Greek heroes and Roman goddesses contently nestle, and where I seek asylum from the honk and blare of the 21st century.
In Jung and the Story of Our Time, the most-excellent van der Post says that a river succeeds in moving from its source to the sea "only because it finds its own way without short cuts, straight lines, or disregard of any physical impediments but in full acknowledgement of the reality of all that surrounds it, implying that the longest way around is the shortest and only safe way to the sea... The Rhine is one of the great mythological rivers of the world, a dark and angry stream, as dark and in as strange a rage and passion to get to the sea as the Congo issuing straight out of the darkest centre of Africa."
In van der Post's river, my writing process is reflected. 
I'm learning there are no short cuts. Definitely no straight lines (plenty of squiggles). And there's no getting around the impediments of detail and detritus and history and hazards that must be explored then traversed to breathe reality into my story. To this metaphor I add our own famous river system the Murray-Darling - dried up - for those moments when my pen feels empty of words altogether. 
The sea is a long way off yet. I can't wait to swim in it when I arrive.

Art. Science. Craft.

Two issues I'm having today (yes, only two. It's a good day!) :
1. Sometimes my story seems so vast I have trouble steering though the excess to find the core. The true grit. The bits that move the plot forward.
2. Can you learn how to write a novel from a book about how to write a novel? Or should you relegate thoughts of how-to books to the desperado rubbish heap and just go with your gut?
I'd never bought a book on how to write a novel. Until...um, today. But it had a lovely cover and the blurb spoke to me*. Not in an epiphanous [ethereal breathy voice] "if you build it, they will come" kind of way. More like a gentle nudge from a old friend saying "glad you found me, let's sit down and have a cuppa".
In her book Bird by Bird, some instructions on writing and life, Anne Lamott remembers being 10 years old and watching her brother struggle to write a school report on birds. He'd had three months to do it, had written nothing, it was due the next day. Their father, seeing the boy frozen by the enormity of the task ahead, sat down beside him, put his arm around his shoulder and said 'bird by bird, buddy. Take it bird by bird'.
I like it. 
To break down my vast ideas into bite size pieces, I'm trying an exercise Lamott calls writing what you can see through a one inch picture frame. Choose one single piece of your story and write about all that you can see of it through a one inch frame. 
"One small scene, one memory, one exchange... This is all we're going to do for now. Just take it bird by bird."
At the same time I'm navigating my course via my gut instinct. 
What's the best writing advice you've come across?


*The bird theme first piqued my interest. The synchronicity of discovering the author and I share a birthday (albeit a few decades apart) came later.

The novelist's apprentice...

Pretty much every day I discover something new about writing. One step forward, three steps back. If my learning curve could be graphed, it would look something like this:

Stephen King, in his book On Writing, says he writes 10 pages a day without fail. Even when he's on holidays.
Truman Capote wrote lying down, either on the couch or in his bed. He wrote longhand for the first couple of drafts and then switched to a typewriter, balancing it on his knees while horizontal.
Vladimir Nabokov wrote standing up. For his novels Lolita, Ada and Pale Fire he wrote all his scenes on index cards so he could work non-sequentially and mix things around at will. That's a lot of index cards. I think I would get totally confused.
Ernest Hemingway's target was a modest 500 words a day. He rose early to write in the cool and peace of dawn. And he never wrote when he was drunk, which perhaps explains the two previous points.
James Joyce wasn't known for setting himself a daily word or page count. He preferred to let the words come to him in their own good time. Asked by a friend once if he'd had a good day writing, he replied with a satisfied smile, 'Yes'. 'How many words did you write?' 'Three sentences.' 
Rubyfire writes at the break of dawn. Or in the afternoon. On her grandfather's recliner chair. At her walnut workbench in her writing room. On the aeroplane. At a cafe surrounded by hubbub and chatter. In bed until lunchtime. At the pub. In the bush. Listening to soft music but only if it has no lyrics. Longhand. On her computer. 1000 words a day. A couple of paragraphs. But the story is unfolding... and will get there eventually, no matter what.
For deep concentration and productivity I like my writing room best, although I'm on the lookout for a more comfy chair...
Where do you write? And can you recommend a great chair?

My writing room (Looking way too tidy. In real life there are piles of books and journals everywhere. Photo magic.)
Top: artwork Curves, Anne Naylor 

What's your story...?

Yesterday my good friend and fellow book lover, K, said she started writing a book once. 
'For like - a day. Then I stopped.' 
I asked her what it was about. A curious look played about her face. 
'Can't remember.'
There's an old adage that says everyone has a book inside them. It's just excruciatingly difficult to get it out.
I have mates with such a gift for storytelling they could spin a yarn right off a passing Merino's fluffy white behind. But put it down on paper? Not likely.
One who springs to mind is renowned in Africa for her gift of the written gab, and often thinks about putting her pen where her paper is and pounding out a book. But though she undoubtedly has the skill, she has no pretentions towards literary greatness.
Briefly caught in the daydream of scribing deeply philosophical and profound works of colossal importance, she screams with laughter and the facade shatters to earth amid our howls of mirth.
'Mine would be indulgent trashy pulp. All about my mates...' she confesses proudly.
And I'd snap it up straightaway. There's a time and a place for stories of every nature. 
So tell me, if everyone does have a book inside them - comedy, tragedy, thriller, farce, whatever - who and/or what would yours be about?!

To think and then to do...

Last night I saw Bright Star, Jane Campion's 'learned and ravishing' new film about 18th century poet John Keats and the love of his short life, Fanny Brawne. 
The New York Times describes it as: "Perfectly chaste and insanely sexy..."
"A sequence in which, fully clothed, the couple trades stanzas of 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci' in a half darkened bedroom must surely count as one of the hottest sex scenes in recent cinema."
Ah you see boys! - there are no bounds to the merits of poetry :)
The other interesting thing about the story was that Keats wrote in a kind of tag-team with Charles Brown, who was his patron and collaborator. Is that how it works? 
I always imagined the greats - especially the Romantic poets - worked alone. But maybe this is just an early example of what we call mentoring? Or a novelist working with an editor?
I've spent the last eight weeks trying to figure out how to make constructive headway with my own novel and one line truly resonated with me. 
Keats and Brown are lying around staring dreamily into space and appearing, to the outsider, to be lazy sloths. On being rudely roused by Fanny and her siblings, Keats' eloquent explanation goes something like this: 
"Doing nothing is the muse of the poet."
It's taken me a while, but I've found that simply sitting and thinking is essential to the writing process. (So is talking to yourself. Don't think I'm weird.) 
I've been really frustrated by the amount of time I while away thinking, because I've felt unproductive. But I've discovered that by giving your unconscious time and space, bit by bit, word by word, scene by scene, it will gradually bring forth your story. 
I've also discovered - and this is REALLY important! - the only way the thinking part works, is if you then glue your butt to the chair, put pen to paper and write. 
That's the hard part!

Secrets to sleuthing - part 2

Thanks to a great mate, let's call her my friend Flicka, I found an answer to my question from a previous post, 'how do I sleuth (ie. conduct research) without being cast as a voyeur?'
Preparing to venture over the Bridge on a research mission to check out the fictional boyhood home of my male lead character, she volunteered to come along as a decoy. 
Genius!
What is it about the power of company that gives one a sense of permission and liberty to do something, which, to do alone might make one feel slightly weird (even though it's not, of course). Maybe it's just comfort in knowing there'll always be a witness, one who can also double as your bail-poster if need be?
So off we went to the inner West to explore his stomping ground and I'm happy to report a most successful adventure. 
Street: ideal.
House: perfect, and yes Hills Hoist confirmed.
Park: I could almost taste the icy cold Sunny Boys and feel the zinc cream on my nose imagining the neighbourhood kids playing cricket in the hot blanket of summer, then tearing home on their BMXs in the half light of dusk.
Foreshore: suitably mangrove-y and home to an aquatic menagerie of curious creatures just waiting to be picked at by grubby, inquisitive fingers.
The mind is now full of inspiration from which to grow my character. And as back up, the camera is stocked with photos (featuring said decoy) from our little expedition as visual reference.
There's something about being in the surrounds of your character that helps to tap into their presence and find their voice. Would this be the writer's equivalent of method acting I wonder?
So for this stage of research, Mission Accomplished. And, thanks to my friend Flicka, accomplished without interrogation. Phew.

Art therapy...

I had a breakthrough earlier this week - drawing my story instead of trying to write it.

The story that has been in my head for so long - years - for some reason just wasn't gelling. I couldn't make it sit right or make any headway every time I sat down to tackle it.
So I followed the advice of my wise old friend in Africa, put the pen down for a few days and let it mull away in my unconscious mind.
And then it came to me, my story. It's quite different, but not entirely, from my original direction - so goodbye perplexion and hello excitement!
The ideas came as imagery rather than exact words, so to capture my muddle of thoughts before they evaporated, I got out the textas and mapped out my characters through pictures.
And it's coming together, albeit in bits and pieces. I'm figuring out how the characters are connected and the way they interact through mapping their personalities in pictures. When I get stuck on structure or credibility, I go back to the pictures and it starts making sense again. It starts to flow.
See mum and dad - maybe all that mess I made as a kid with pens and paints and oil pastels will be worth it after all!

The undiscovered road...

Took time out from writing today to refresh the brain...spent some time in a little indie bookshop by the beach and brought home two finds. 
The Songlines is a famous and hotly disputed text by Bruce Chatwin, recommended to me by a very wise old friend in Africa. 
"The songlines are the invisible pathways that criss-cross Australia, ancient tracks connecting communities and following age-old boundaries. Along these lines Aboriginals passed the songs which revealed the creation of the land and the secrets of its past..."
I'm told it's an absolute essential, and I believe it. Though I suspect I may need a couple of reads to grasp it properly.

The second one is Nikki Gemmell's new book, Why You Are Australian, a letter to her children, being raised in London, to instill in them the wonders of growing up across the sea in our wide, free land and what it means to be Australian right now.
Flicking through the hardback volume, a quote by Nigerian poet and novelist Ben Okri caught my eye and snagged my unconscious mind... I didn't have a pen to write it down on the spot so I had to buy the book.
In the context of writing, tapping into the imagination and accessing the story within, it seems like good advice:
'Learn to free yourself from all things
That have moulded you
And which limit your secret and
undiscovered road.'
I like the idea of an undiscovered road in each of us. Where do you think yours might lead...?

A milkshake, French Fries and a meatball walk into a bar...

Season 4, Episode 5: Frylock makes a new dog called 'Handbanana' for Meat Wad using Make Your Own Dog 1.0. 
Season 4, Episode 4: After winning a contest, Carl fears getting his penis cut off and taken by a group of dicks, so Frylock turns him into a woman.
Season 2, Episode 16: Shake uncovers a delicious, demoniacally possessed submarine sandwich in his front yard. A voice tells him if he eats the whole thing he will be killed.


People who can look at the monumentally ordinary and out of it dream up imaginary worlds that fascinate and delight others, are amazing.
Case in point. Right now I'm watching a cartoon series about a milkshake, a packet of French Fries and a meatball who live in a ghetto. Aqua Teen Hunger Force is, like junk food, addictive. 
Master Shake, Frylock and Meat Wad are detectives whose nemesis is the evil Dr Weird and whose escapades see them pitted against characters like a giant rabbit robot with a spray gun full of hair-growth hormone perfume, brain-burning leprechauns with a penchant for rainbows, and a piece of mould that comes to life in a greasy kitchen (and turns out to be a really nice guy). 
With episode descriptors like 'a Pink Man sets out to destroy the moon but can't find anyone to help him', its surreal morbid humour and total lack of continuity between each 12-minute story (at times even within storylines) is completely bizarre. The show has a cult following in America and I can see why. It's ridiculously funny! 
But as a result I'm having a crisis of confidence in my own imagination...
How do people come up with this stuff? 
Will my story be even remotely interesting? 
Why does it feel incredibly difficult to write with an original voice?
Argh - this writing gig is so hard!