Mothers

For you, Mum.

Mothers are special. They comfort us from the moment we're born until they are no longer with us. How often do we take them for granted? Many of us do, so I'm glad we have Mother's Day to remember all the sacrifices they make for us.

My mother died when I was young, and after having twelve children, she certainly understood what sacrifice meant. Even my older sister who raised me sacrificed much by including me in her family. I am eternally grateful for her love, comfort and support. If it wasn't for her kind heart and generosity, who knows where I might be today.

Many women have taken on orphans, or children who couldn't be raised by their biological mother. You are special; you have given a child the wonderful gift of love in a real and practical way. I hope this Sunday you will receive a special thank you from those who love you, and you will take all the love that comes your way. You continue to give, give and give some more. There is no end to the love in your heart

Are you at a loss what to get Mum this Sunday? Four shopping days to go to buy books by Australian authors at Koorong. If you don't know Koorong, click on this link to find what they offer: http://koorong.com/ When you buy, your name will go into the draw to win a weekend away at Daydream Island Resort and Spa. Find out more: http://www.daydreamisland.com/ Giving books, what better way to encourage Mum to put her feet up and have some time out.

I wish all Mothers, a very happy and special Mother's Day. Never under-estimate the important contribution you make to our community and to future generations. Thank you all!

Tribute To Our Heroes

I write this post on the eve of Anzac Day 2012. Whether I agree or disagree with why Australia sent her best men and women to fight wars half a world away is irrevelant. The important thing today is to remember the sacrifice these men and women made believing they were striving for a way of life that meant freedom for the people they fought for.

Thank God for their courage.

Men and women with big hearts laid down their work tools to answer the call "Your Country Needs You". Prepared to put their lives on the line for others, they were someone's husband, father, son, brother, uncle, nephew, friend or lover, who were out in the muddied trenches with the rats; ducking from the bullets that whistled over their head; not sure when they would find time for their next meal let alone a cup of tea; tired, wet and exhausted as they lived and fought in the rain soaked trenches; men bleeding to death next to them crying out for mercy from the pain of a wound. The women weren't in the trenches, but they dealt with the wounded men and in their other support roles, they died, too. A huge sacrifice. If they survived, most of the returned soldiers lived with nightmares; some without limbs and other psychological problems too numerous to mention.

I'm not sure how and if the human cost of war can be counted. Not only do we need to consider those who have died on the battlefield, but there are those on the home front who have to suffer long after the war is over. In many cases for the rest of their lives. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is common among returned service men and women. As a society we need to uphold these heroes and support them in any way we can because it is the leaders of our country who make the decisions that war be declared, not the soldiers. Surely there has to be a better way.

On April 25, my husband and I will gather at the cenotaph with thousands of Australians and New Zealanders to pay our respects. There are many more thousands who celebrate our way of life in their own way on ANZAC Day, too. Whatever way you commemorate ANZAC Day, let's do it so that we do not forget, so this terrible massacre never happens again.

Thank you to all service men and women, your courage is second to none.

Writing Festivals and Conferences...

Your writing can change lives.

Going to writing conferences and festivals can be expensive, but instead of calling it an expense, think about the cost as an investment in your writing career. Writing is a business just like any other and needs an injection of capital to get it off the ground. So should your writing career be any different? Money invested in festivals and conferences will reap the following, plus more.

Fellowship

Writing is a lonely business. You slog away for hour after hour perfecting your words to create the right atmosphere, intriguing dialogue, and tension between the characters hoping that the the reader will keep turning the page so that she can't put your book down until the early hours of the morning. To achieve this you have to spend many hours at the keyboard, or putting pen to paper, and then some. By going to conferences/festivals you find you aren't alone. Out there in the world there are others who are toiling away into the wee hours of the moning honing their craft and trying to bring something of their life's journey to their reader.

Knowledge

There are many writers who have gone before you. They've walked the experiences of writer's block, procrastination, will my work be exciting to read, the structural edits, the line edits and the many revisions. They have tips and solutions that have stood the test of time and brought them through to the finish line. They know about characters, plotting, setting, pacing, revising, editing, publishing and marketing. These writers have enormous banks of knowledge inside them. At conferences they are bursting to share their knowledge with others. Workshops are the hive for the aspiring author, too. Be honest with yourself and determine your weaknesses and go to workshops that focus on them. Gain the knowlege you need to make you a better writer.

Publishing

Finding an agent or publisher is a difficult and also time consuming part of being an author. Most conferences have editors representing their publishing houses and if you can get a face to face interview, even if it's only five minutes, you are way ahead of someone who doesn't go to a conference. If properly prepared those five minutes may land you a three-book contract with a major publishing house. Being prepared and feeling confident about your work and who you are as an author is one of the biggest challenges. This is your opportunity to get that elusive contract. I will go into depth about this in a later blog. Meeting an agent or editor at a conference can help you by-pass the slush pile. Well worth the investment, don't you think.?

Marketing

The book is written, you've found the publisher, now you don't have to worry about that book because it's going to sell, right? Wrong. Publishing houses do some marketing for the first two weeks a book comes out, after that they expect you to be pushing your book. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I think marketing is harder than writing the book. But clever marketing can bring you more sales, but the most important aspect of marketing to remember is if your book doesn't sing with your readership, your book will sell poorly. It's hard pushing a second rate book, it has to be good and that brings us back to knowledge and craft. Where are you going to get that current knowledge and craft? At a writing conference or festival.

This Weekend

Fill the creative well whenever you can.

So, it seems conferences and festivals offer a lot for the aspiring and published author. Yes, published authors should go to these events as well, because there are always new and inovative ways of writing and what better place to do that than with a band of brainstorming authors. This weekend I'm off to the Bundaberg Writefest to fellowship, gain more knowledge, speak to editors and agents, and to learn more about marketing. Oh, and to have a lot of fun too! If you're going to be there, make sure you say hi, I'd love to meet you.

When I Was Fourteen...

Life is what you make it.

When I was fourteen , we spent our holidays at Noosa Heads. The surf crashed into a foamy mass that raced up the beach and clung to the sand at the edge of the water and when the water receded the sand became shiny as glass reflecting the blue sky and headland. It was an idyllic place for a troubled teenager.

I was becoming a woman and I wasn't sure if this was really what I wanted. My head filled with frightening thoughts of what it meant to grow up and be concerned about work, marriage, babies, life and death. How did other girls do life? Did they live in a perpetual state of fear where they didn't know who they were? I was confused with how to make friends and keep friends. My peers' language confused me: one moment we were buddies, the next they turned away and whispered behind their hands while glancing back at me. I chose to be alone.

That summer I was determined to find where I belonged in the world.

I body surfed every day, diving under the waves pretending I was a dolphin, swimming deeper and deeper into that silent world. When I came up for air, the salt water stung my eyes, but it didn't matter. The cool water on my skin made me feel special. I was a dolphin and dolphins were perfect. As I waded through the water, I used to cup the froth floating on top of the water in my hands, trying to capture perfection.

Perfection was what I longed for. It was how I saw my future. If I achieved perfection and cleanliness I'd be made. Little did I know perfection isn't possible, or did it come under the disguise of something else?

Every afternoon at about five o'clock, I sat on the rocks with my friend, the ocean breeze. We talked about life and it was perfect. The wind told me stories of other people's imperfect lives and how I could make mine perfect. The wind whispered to me that I had to listen to and trust the voice within me that had spoken to me ever since I can remember. I developed a wild mind that could take me to any place I wanted to go. I longed to get inside another person's head to see if their wild mind was the same as mine.

The weak afternoon rays of sunshine let me know I may have gotten just a little bit too much sun, but I didn't care. It was fun pretending to be a fish in the quiet world under the water away from the cacophany above the water. However, beneath all that calm I sensed a sinister more subtle chaos. When I learned to scuba dive in my early twenties, I experienced the sinister world that lurked beneath the surface of the water: fish eating fish.

I envied the eagle flying free above the chaos soaring high on the thermals above the rubble of human life. Years later when I had the opportunity to para-sail I sampled that space above the world, but I soon became bored with hanging in mid-air . However, under the sea, I was intrigued by what lurked under rocky ledges and in coral caves: a delightful discovery of a world beautiful and separate from humanity. In that watery atmosphere I understood sealife lived to the beat of their own intrigue, and so do humans.

Sitting on my rock that summer and staring out to the horizon, I decided the world was a dangerous place. Temporary peace surrounded me as I retreated into my own world. I understood I had a yearning for peace in my heart, but I sensed I had to live a life in order to find peace. I had to live a series of experiences: great and exciting; boring; painful; heartbroken and every other emotion in between in order for me to find the peace I craved. Otherwise how would I know peace when I found it.

That summer I had peace for a short time. I couldn't live on that rock of peace forever. If I did I would be dead. I had to get off the ledge and taste life. That meant living in the band between sky and sea: hearing; seeing; tasting; smelling; touching; loving; and hating. It meant walking beside others, stepping into their lives and trying to see life as they did.

It was the summer that changed my life. I had a glimpse into the journey that would end my search for perfection. I chose to live and take all that life was going to throw at me, and I knew I would survive. A quiet conviction settled on my heart that I wanted to be on the earth for the long haul. I didn't know God then but there was someone watching over me, and taking care of me. I had proof of that. I was an orphan and I'd travelled fourteen years into my life. I was alive and well. I had a quiet assurance there was more for my life and I wanted it, no matter how hard it was going to be.

I've returned to my ledge of peace many times to pause in the hectic schedule of life, to catch my breath, draw strength and renew before I step out for the next adventure. It's worth returning for renewal. My life has taken many paths: some good and some bad, and the paths I take in the future some will be right and some will be another learning experience.

Many challenges, but this life is the perfect life for me. How about you? Have you found your perfect life, or are you on the journey to finding it? I'd love to hear from you.

Charlotte's Web

“Never hurry, never worry”.

I came across these words from Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White while cleaning out old files during the last three weeks as I waited impatiently for my landline/internet connection. I’m still waiting…

I began to think about why I’m hurrying for it to be connected and why I’ve been worrying. Firstly, I feel cut off from the world. Writing is a solitary occupation. I need to connect with family and friends. I rely on the internet for marketing and research.

I’m using a mobile broadband, but the connection is only one bar’s worth and it tends to drop out every now and then, and it is sooooo slow. All because our home is in a bit of a hollow.

What did I do before broadband?

I waited patiently for the internet to load because that was all that was available. I've been spoilt with the new fast broadband. I realised there is no point hurrying and there is no point worrying because the landline will be connected when the technicians are able to do it. No amount of huffing, puffing or blowing by me is going to get me my landline any sooner. Instead, all it’s doing is upsetting those around me and stressing the person at the end of the phone who's doing the best they can to help me.

So calmly, does it. I’ve forgotten about the internet. I've written this in Word, and copied and pasted it onto my website that I downloaded without hurry and worry as the connection speed allowed. I can do nothing about the speed, so this week I’m endeavouring to remain cool, calm and collected. I'm working on my third novel, working title, Operation Rainbow's End, and trying to forget the internet exists. It will be an interesting exercise to see if I become more productive. Keep posted to see what this forced exercise reveals.

How about you? Can these wise words from Charlotte help to make your day less stressful, and more productive, too? I’d love to hear from you.

Charlotte's Web