Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

To be honest, I’m pretty damaged; I guess I’ll recover eventually. For 10 days, eight of us, friends from way-back university days toured New Zealand, lurching from meal to meal (we’re old, yn’kow) across the country — watch for my e-book: NZ Picnic Spots I Have Known. After a while, I grew tired and tended to crouch in the back of the minivan, whimpering, when we made yet another stop. But I never complained. Not even when I slipped on the insane tiling of the Hundertwasser Toilets, now a major tourist attraction for Kawakawa in the Bay of Islands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nor did I complain about my experience in the Old Rotorua Bath House, now a museum, where I was underground inspecting the pipes that once brought in the healing waters when the information film showing unknown to me in the theatre above my head, reached the point where it depicted the 1896 earthquake, complete with sound effects, floor tremors and rocking furniture. (The patrons’ seats actually rock up and down, side-to-side.) There were no warning signs underground about the film. As my girlfriend and I fled the scene with our hair on end, I couldn’t help wondering how many tourists were lost to heart attacks while down there inspecting the pipes.

Yep, NZ is exciting. We dislodged retinas on the bungee jump and lost two of our number on the 8-Hour Redwood Epic Walk; but the Inflatable Rubber Hamster Wheel pleased all. Rotorua’s Perorming Sheep were, however, a disappointment. The corps de ballet lacked cohesion, the leading ewe kept falling off her points, and the costumes were uninspired. Top marks to the company, though, for enthusiasm, and the combined Southdown-Border Leicester choir was impressive.

Meanwhile, back in South Golden Beach the cats had devised various schemes to torment their conscientious keeper. The old cat was a challenge, as always — her profession, really. Worse was the young cat’s decision not to walk on the bedroom floor while I was away — some kind of cat oblation to the gods? Who knows. I’m told he leapt from shelves to ledges and pieces of furniture, never once touching the carpet, causing my friend to wonder what horror might be concealed somewhere on the floor of the bedroom she was sleeping in. (He’s the cat who brings in the snakes.) All in all, both cats had a good time, but I wonder about my friend, who never once told me later ‘what a lovely time’ she’d had.

Seriously, if you are in the North Island, a must-see is the Princes Gate Hotel in Rotorua — a beautiful, ornate timber 2-storey building built in 1897, which served a fabulous, 2-course Early Bird dinner for NZ$29.95, the Rotorua Museum (but give the underground pipes a miss unless you like to live dangerously), and the Waterfront Fish & Chip Restaurant (BYO) at Mangonui.

I rounded off my adventures with a 3-hour languish in the Gold Coast airport when the shuttle bus I’d booked failed to appear and I had to wait for another with no money left but the price of a cup of coffee. New Agers would say I attracted this experience with my fear of airports. As long as they don’t say it to my face, they’ll survive.

And so it’s back to my reclusive lifestyle. As the song says: ‘It’s very nice to go travelling, But it’s oh so nice to come home.’

If anyone out there reading this is intending to travel – have fun. I did.

Read Full Post »

This
Christmas
I would
like to put
up a tree in my
heart, and instead
of hanging presents,
I would like to put the
names of all my friends.
Close friends and not so close
friends. The old friends, the new
friends. Those that I see every day
and the ones that I rarely see. The ones
that I always remember and the ones that
I sometimes forget. The ones that are always
there and the ones that seldom are. The friends of
difficult times and the ones of happy times. Friends
who, without meaning to, I have hurt, or without meaning
to have hurt me. Those that I know well and those I only know
by name. Those that owe me little and those that I owe so much.
My humble friends and my important friends. The names of all those
that have passed through my life no matter how fleetingly. A tree with
very deep roots and very long
and strong branches so that

their names may never be
plucked from my heart. So

that new names from all
over may join the existing ones. A tree with a very
pleasant shade so that our friendship may take a
moment of rest from the battles of life. May the
happy moments of Christmas brighten every

                             day of the New Year. My sincere wishes.

 

Love,

Danielle

I wish I knew who wrote and set up this Christmas tree. One of my Byron College Creative Writing students from 2001, Pat Kowal, who lives in the US sent it to me. She didn’t know who had written it, just found it somewhere on the net. I’m afraid it lost something along the way: Her version was every colour of the rainbow, and so pretty. But when I transferred it, the colour disappeared, and I have no idea how to fix that.  Even after 4 months at this, I’m still a Luddite!

Anyway, have a lovely Christmas everyone, and a safe and happy New Year. Let’s hope the Mayans were wrong 🙂

Read Full Post »

 

Like the American Indian narrator of that fine book One Flew Over the Cuckoos’ Nest says at the end of the novel, “I’ve been away a long time”.  Things have been happening here.

First, the landlord decided to replace the living room carpet in my little 2-storey broom cupboard 300 metres from the Pacific; the carpet had come with the building thirty-five years ago. Everyth piece of furniture in the room had to be emptied and the furniture carried outside. This was followed by an orgy of washing 12 years of dust off the furniture – writers aren’t renowned for their housekeeping. After the new carpet had been laid I discovered that the LL had chosen a carpet shade so dark it’s like living on a bitumen road. I have to stop myself from looking left and right when I cross the room): Perhaps it was on special.

Then my male cat bought in Snake No. 3 (it’s Spring over here in beautiful, downtown Australia). He likes to take them into the bathroom upstairs, figuring the shower recess is the best place for an interrogation and easy for me to hose down afterwards. BUT this one was larger than the previous two and he lost it halfway up the internal staircase. I couldn’t do the bucket trip I’d applied in the bathroom scenario on the previous two occasions and had to resort to waiting until the snake  reached the living room floor and corralling it with a straw In basket, held down by an antique flat iron; these were the only things to hand at the time. What to do next? That took some thinking. I managed to slide an old Barry Manilow vinyl record cover under the In basket and then transfer the whole lot to a giant garbage bag which I carried down to the canal. The captive looked none the worse for wear when I released him – standing well back and retrieving the various items afterwards. He made for the water and I made my way home with tips for writers the last thing on my mind.

Read Full Post »

Shaune Lafferty Webb. Image supplied by Leslie Downie Photography, Noosaville. http://www.downiephotography.com.au

Back again, although it isn’t Sunday. Thought it might be interesting for writers out there struggling with writing their novel, memoirs, whatever, to learn of the experiences of two very different authors after their books were written.

This week’s author is Shaune Lafferty Webb, author of the speculative fiction novel Bus Stop on a  Strange Loop, published by Winterbourne Press. Next week – or maybe fortnight, depending on when he can bring himself to the task – it will be Chris Shaw, author and publisher of It’s All Relative, a collection of humourous short stories.  Both authors are based in Queensland, Australia.

And now to Shaune’s journey.

ONE WRITER’S JOURNEY

Five years ago, a change in circumstances offered me a rare opportunity: the chance to pursue an old dream. I wanted to be a writer … a writer with a published novel. I knew it would be a long road fraught with obstacles and blind turns. But I was prepared for the hard work; I could tackle the criticisms; and I’m nothing if not persistent. Finally, the writing was ‘finished’; I’d come to my first cross-road. Should I look for …

… an agent or a publisher?

A study of agents’ websites quickly led me to conclude that an agent was equally as difficult (impossible?) to snare as a publisher. Few invited new clients, certainly none I found encouraged writers of speculative fiction. So my course was set. I was off in search of a publisher.

Well, my quest degenerated into a frustrating and demoralising two-year process of submitting to every publisher I could find in Australia – and overseas – who was willing to look at unsolicited material. Sometimes I received a response; many times I did not. While the responses I did receive were polite and sometimes expressed interest in my work or complimented me on my writing style, my story was inevitably not what they were ’currently looking for’.

I’d hit another cross-road: what to do? If I were ever going to see my work published, it seemed the only direction left was Partnership Publishing, a phenomenally expensive gamble, which I did take but, for a number of reasons, elected not to pursue to completion. Was it worth the money? Not really. Did I learn anything from another editing experience? Yes: all constructive input refines writing skills. Would I do it again? No. However, a positive result of my investment was that I now had in my hands a professionally printed galley that I could send out for review.

Now there was a new obstacle in my path: I’d listened to my reviewers and refined my work accordingly, but I had already tried every publisher I could find. However, by a stroke of good fortune, Winterbourne Publishing had just opened its doors and it was a small publishing house geared strictly toward speculative fiction. You don’t find one of those every day. I submitted my manuscript yet again.

Not so fast. You thought I was going to say they accepted it, didn’t you? Afraid not. What they did offer me was the chance to work with them to revise it — one more time. After a brief fit of hysteria at the prospect of even more editing, I gratefully accepted the offer. Four months down the track my novel is out there for readers to buy from any on-line bookstore — if they happen to stumble across it, that is. Which leads us to …

… the marketing phase.

What can I say about marketing and self-promotion? Beyond expressing my sincere appreciation to my publisher who’s definitely given it all she’s got, not a lot that’s printable really. I have the website, but I am not a born blogger or social networker. I’m registered on Amazon as an author, but I don’t have a following or a bevy of enthusiasts ready and willing to promote my book. I’ve knocked on the doors of bookshops and been knocked back in return. Goodreads has brought my book to the public eye to some extent through their ‘give away’ program. But, as far as exposure goes, I haven’t even managed to scratch the surface.

I wouldn’t say that the writing was the easy part, but there is an element of satisfaction in putting images into words and in tying those words into a tale, that serves to offset the difficulty. Some writers might enjoy the hunt for a publisher or revel in the marketing scene. I’m not one of them. For me, there simply isn’t the slightest element of satisfaction in being repeatedly rejected or failing to succeed with a promotion.

Even a writer friend, who has managed to get her self-published books on the shelves of one of the major bookstores, has become dejected with the promotional phase of this business. Her book-signings have proven to be an expensive and unsuccessful approach. There might be a clever trick to marketing, but to date it continues to elude us both. So …

… was it worth it?

What were my expectations when I began this journey? To become famous and make a fortune with my writing? No, I wasn’t that unrealistic. To reach enough readers to make a living? Well, perhaps not a good one, but maybe if I were exceptionally lucky, I might bring in a little money. To attain just enough success to justify the selfishness of spending so much time writing? I’ll admit to that. Will it ever happen? No, I really don’t think so. Along every step of my journey, I doubted I’d ever really reach my goal.

Then what of those fine notions about being prepared to work hard and take criticism? Ah, those aspects were under my control. As was persistence. But it seems even persistence only gets you so far. Maybe there are just too many writers out there — a lot of hopefuls in a time and place where there simply isn’t enough hope to go around. Some make it by luck. Most don’t.

I was lucky. Although I won’t make it big, I did reach a few people who seem to like my work. I guess you could say that I’m stuck in a ditch part way down the road. But by the look of things, the odds are against me ever finding a way to crawl out.

 Shaune Lafferty Webb

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts