“In Autumn we often drive through the Australian countryside to visit family. From the road I spotted it, an old tree there on its own heavily laden with bright yellow fruit. The ghost of an old home stood by, long forgotten.
Wanting to pick some my husband and I drove along the dirt lane. Soon a bucket full of ripe fruit sat on the boot of the car. The quinces were fuzzy and slightly oily. In no time their aroma filled the car, a smell so unique and rich; it immediately provoked a sense of comfort.”
The author talk is an exhilarating experience, a juxtaposition of highs and lows. It begins long before the actual presentation, beginning with the call or email that says, “yes”.
The Author Talk
I psyche myself up,
Make the call, send the email and wait.
An invisible face, clad in the cloak of self-publishing.
I kid myself,
It’s not as hard as I think, it will be okay.
Writing a book is just part of the lifestyle, thinking one can hide anonymously behind the keyboard, a misnomer. Upon reflection I understand how clueless I had been. As I adopted my new role, I found it opened up boundless opportunities.
As writers we rely on the honest opinions of a select few around us. You know them, those patient, loyal souls who listen to our ramblings as the characters and plot emerge out of the unknown onto the page. They love us.
Here we go again
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Small as a child,
What can I be?
I see all your questions looking at me.
In my mock hospital,
I manage their ills.
Nursing them tenderly, making them well.
Changes, life and partings
I began to write Schicksal five years before its publication. Now a year after publication another epiphany dawns …….
I remember NYE when I sat on the floor before a laundry basket; dubbed the too hard basket. The unit had been packed up after my father’s death and I purchased a house by the sea, realizing a dream.
Yesterday began a bit fuzzy around the edges, my stomach still a bit off after something I ate at lunch, the day before. My delicious meal raced through my system with unprecedented speed and left me squeaky clean on the inside.
Going about my domestics, a sudden bolt of enthusiasm tore through me. I looked at my writing desk and pondered. It appeared tidy enough but whole layer of old and outworn junk; notebooks mainly hid in the jammed drawers.
Well the pre-Christmas frenzy dims in our memories, Christmas over for another year. Now we are in between, awaiting the New Year with its own specific hype and promises, promises of new beginnings.
New Year evolves as we spin faster around the sun. A time of reflection can help us to plan. The unpainted canvas of our lives eagerly awaits something new and unique from us. Often we hesitate, scared to change.
Christmas challenges many, for all kinds of reasons. December arrived and with it our ICU welcomed suicide attempts, ODs and road trauma. It began with the tinsel, early December. Already the stores heralded Christmas consumerism.
Among the decorations, fake snow and up beat carols, shoppers milled and mulled looking for the perfect gift. Some faces shone with the sheer pleasure of it while others fondled the array of offerings in a distracted way. Obligation.
Growing up can be confusing. Our mothers the bulwarks of our beings guide and love us. Our fathers love us too but often the responsibility of work, family finances and survival of our family unit takes them away from the home.
Writing Schicksal, I found myself in a place of deep divide. From my mother I had only ever received one perspective of my maternal grandfather.
Unfortunately this perspective was harsh, fueled by the anger of desertion; a child hurt and trapped in a past where forgiveness eluded her.
“An idea of the closeness underground.”