Writing in the Tropics

Life in the Tropics

2011-10-27T00:57:00.000-07:00

Three exciting & motivating things have happened for me on the writing front during the past two weeks. Firstly, I was privileged to have one of my favourite short stories Miss Josephine of Cherry Tree Bay featured on Dr Hurley’s Snake Oil Cure an American Ezine of very high standard. Check out the site www.snakeoil.com to read Miss J & a host of other stories, poems etc.

And to commemorate Queensland Writers Week, Townsville Writing & Publishing Centre invited Hettie Ashwin, Philip, Shaun Allen & myself to form a discussion group on ‘Beating Writer’s Block’. We presented a mixed bag of genres & age groups. It was a great session, lots of fun and a very responsive audience. I see this as good practice for future panel discussions at Writer’s Festivals.

Third, but not least I have placed A Hint of Darkness in the very capable hands of Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke to do a final copy edit for me. Having my MS professionally edited is the final step in a long line of editing processes, as a friend remarked recently I’ll have to place a sticker on my published book that reads ‘Most edited book of all time’. Once completed I’ll have no excuse for not getting it out there.

All this has completely overshadowed the excitement of painting the main bathroom & toilet!!!

Melding the mundane with the creative

2011-10-18T01:25:00.000-07:00

I have been very remiss in the writing department, but very active in the house building area. We have been building a long time yet still I underestimate the amount of time it takes to do things. A positive in the slow progression of building your own home is that what others take for granted is so utterly gratifying. You buy a house everything is finished & you just walk in. Hey that can be ho-hum. Now with us when something fantastic happens like finally getting water connected to the kitchen it’s an absolutely WOW moment.
So now instead of washing up on the deck, I didn’t really mind that it has a spectacular view, I can simply turn my tap on and voila!!! And the view is still there. I really think there is a book in this. I can see it now- ‘The House that Peter Built.’ But while bedroom walls are being sheeted painted etc, I’ve been guilty of putting my writing on the back burner. Not totally of course. No writer ever does that. So I’m back to holding a brush in one hand and a recorder, note book or some random old sheet of paper close by to take notes. New novel taking shape.

WRITING & PAINTING

2011-05-17T19:28:00.000-07:00

It's all happening. Just a bit slower than anticipated. Painting lounge/dining room ceiling. I'm sure it would have been easier to paint the Sydney Opera House.
So painting, doing revised edition of A Hint of Darkness for the Qld Premiers Literary Awards. How to take out 37,000 words was the biggest problem. But its gone so fingers crossed. I'd love to be short listed at least.
More painting, doing research on Ancient Greece for 'Virgin' novel. Painting, fulfilling my role as President of WITS (Writers in Townsville Society), & still more painting!!!
But, the positive side of all this is: while I'm brushing, rolling & getting covered in paint, my brain is creating.

PARALLELS BETWEEN BUILDING A HOUSE & WRITING A BOOK

2011-04-21T19:06:00.000-07:00

As our house moves slowly but surely towards completion it has occurred to me that there is a parallel between building a house and writing a book. Obviously the writing process doesn’t require quite the same tools, the only hammering has been on my keyboard & I’m not into biting my nails. However, a writer needs a toolbox from which they can produce the tools of their specific craft.

A commercial builder would never go about building a house that he didn’t think would be attractive to the market, the same principle applies to writing a novel. Unless of course you are writing purely for yourself you have to focus on producing a book that people will read & enjoy & hopefully take something away from the experience.

An architect or builder’s plan shows the design & the outline of the house. If you didn’t follow the necessary steps of progression then it would take an awfully long time to finalise. And there’s no guarantee that the finished product would look as you envisaged.

Although our house did undergo some design changes along the way, there was always the basic plan to follow. My novel, A Hint of Darkness, which is now undergoing its final edit, was like a house constructed without a well thought out plan to guide me. Not spending enough time on writing a highly structured plot, meant re-fashioning some of my rooms or chapters, several times over. The up side was that I produced numerous short stories & magazine articles on the way. Having learned the benefits of plotting, I am now a disciplined writer aware of the pitfalls of not putting in the groundwork.

So by good fortune, good management or by the luck of the gods my finished structure is well & truly worth all the back tracking & re-writing that I have put myself through. I’m glad though that Peter didn’t have to knock down walls or cut holes to make doorways. Though not quite finished yet our house is definitely heading towards a happy ending.

PAINTING & CREATIVITY

2011-03-06T00:49:00.000-08:00

No, I haven’t changed my artistic inclinations. However, even though I love seeing my dining/lounge room walls come alive with colour, it doesn’t take a great deal of concentration to wield a brush. So while operating on autopilot Isabella- the protagonist in the novel I’m working on is coming to life.

WHEN IS A HOUSE NOT A HOUSE?

2011-02-21T02:24:00.000-08:00

Since I am living in a house that is literaly still being built around me I ask myself that question frequently. Downstairs it's a dream. Two lovely rooms plus the foyer feature glossy tiles. The bedroom has silky blue curtains and a decorative and comfortable rug. I sleep in a king size bed and wake each morning to bird call. The family room is furnished with a maroon lounge and chairs, I watch movies, snuggled amongst plump cushions. The foyer, big enough to hold a decent sized party, houses my desk and bookcases. But just like on a movie set I only have to turn around to see behind the scenes.

The walls around the spiral staircase, are un-sheeted so that the silver insulation shines through, the stairs themselves are ugly steel plate. Upstairs the interior walls are still bare, most of the ceiling is missing, revealing the heavy steel beams. Along one wall (complete with finished ceiling, up to a point) stands my perfect, shining kitchen. Every would-be chef's dream it calls to me like a siren. Berrychino cupboards, white stone benchtops, but restricted use only- the white tiles for the splashback like buried treasure, lie waiting in their boxes. And where oh where is the sink? Ah, yes- outside on the deck. Because the servery (complete with sink) must wait until that part of the ceiling is done. And what about the floors. Why are they covered in black plastic? Elementary my dear- the timber floors must stay covered until the ceiling and the walls are all completed.

Yet amidst all this chaos we live. We welcome our friends and family. Each time visitors arrive they get a grand tour of what marvels have been achieved in the last few weeks or sometimes days. We share meals and laughter on the deck, watch the rain, the sunset or simply the birds that abound in our little piece of the tropics. Our grandchildren play hide and seek in the unfinished rooms. Maybe I've reverted to childhood and that's why I seek so many things that for some reason are hidden. Still on good days it is brilliantly clear to me that our house finished or otherwise is our home. On bad days- well...

CYCLONE YASI

2011-02-12T23:49:00.000-08:00

Since my last post I've had to amend my list of things that make life uncomfortable for those of us who call the far north of Australia home. Toads have moved further down the list, to be replaced first & foremost by cyclones, and coming close second, enraged, homeless Green ants. Slight exageration there. Green ants are nasty,biting, aggressive pests that can be brushed off, albeit while doing a dance not unlike a demented orangutan, but this discomfort cannot in any sense be compared to the pounding rain and ceaselss winds of a cyclone lashing the trees and sending branches crashing on the roof.

Cooking on a gas burner by gas light & listening to a battery powered radio while the giant storm wreaked havoc around us, safe inside our house built to withstand an earthquake, we created a sort of family picnic atmosphere. Our three Granddaughters delightfully unaware of the threatening catastrophe were amazed when we produced home-made chips for dinner. Who said children today can't appreciate the simple things?

The following day when at last the wind died down enough for us to venture outside, we surveyed the damage. Along with many other trees our beautfiful Frangipani was torn apart. But it will throw out new shoots and in time be clad once more in pearly flowers and we'll stand in awe of the beauties of nature. But nature can be a cruel & undiscerning mother. On numerous visits the children had watched a pair of Sunbirds constructing a flimsy nest. The nest amazingly survived but one baby bird became just another casualty.

After nine days, two hours and forty minutes our power was restored. Life goes on- the birds are singing, the dragonflies winging, the Green ants have gotten over their hissy fit & with Yasi just a memory, we settle back into life in tropical north Queensland.

A Toady Tale

2011-01-22T00:24:00.000-08:00

Life in the tropics may sound like paradise but it does have a downside. Monsoonal rains, cyclones, the odd bit of mildew & cane toads are part & parcel of Summer in north Queensland. I can live happily with all of the above except the cane toads. Ugly repulsive creatures they breed prolifically. It gives you cause to wonder if Mrs Cane toad isn't hoping (in vain I fear) that one day she'll produce a handsome prince.

When we first moved to Alligator Creek (stupid name there are no Alligators in Australia) to live perched on the top of a hill we felt a certain smugness that there was not a single toad to be seen. Sadly our grand state of isolation didn't last more than one summer. Our lights attracted bugs and the bugs attracted the dreaded toads. With each passing year the population has increased. Disgusting creatures they might be but we balk at using the usual methods of eradication i.e. Toadex, salt, bleach etc & opt for the most humane method of despatching them. This involves a large set of tongs kept specifically for this purpose, lots of plastic shopping bags (for triple wrapping) & space in the bottom drawer of our freezer. Hence forth referred to as the mortuary drawer.

Naturally we don't inform guests that we keep frozen toads just millimetres away from the frozen peas etc. Unfortunately we were remiss in not aprising them of the specific purpose of said tongs. Disaster struck at a recent outdoor function when I nipped inside for just a moment ( I swear) & returned to find one of our enterprising lunch guests serving out the crumbed chicken breasts stuffed with camembert cheese, using the offending instrument. In my defence I held an inner debate lasting at least several minutes weighing up my options. I had spent a large chunk of my morning preparing that chicken & I could hardly offer them frozen toads as a substitute, could I? So silently quoting the old adage about what they don't know etc I smiled and discreetly switched the tongs.

I am pleased to inform all future visitors that the toady tongs now have a new home- well away from the hands of the unsuspecting.

New Year New Start

2011-01-17T03:13:00.000-08:00

While we have not grown webbed feet things have been pretty damp in our little corner of the world. Still, while fighting off frogs, geckos & mildew there has been definite progress in two significant areas of my life.

Major project number one- our dream house is in the final stages of completion. That comment has a ring of deja vu but each month, week, day, it becomes more of a reality. The downstairs area is complete. The kitchen is almost finished and I'm sort of using it. In just a week or two (a champagne event for sure) it will be complete. Meanwhile I'm washing up on the deck. I'll almost be sorry to move inside away from the spectacular view of mist shrouded mountains and impossibly green palm fronds and ferns.

Major project number two. My novel A Hint of Darkness is undergoing its final appraisal by my very exacting daughter. ( I hesitate to say nit-picking, but if there is a fault to be found she will find it) Editing a hundred and thirty seven thousand words is a formidable challenge even for a very meticulous writer and total involvement with the story tends to be a distraction. So its now in her very capable hands.

Meanwhile, my Angel book though still in outline form is shaping up nicely. I've had to put Emmaline & Ellie right out of my mind and concentrate on Issabelle. Otherwise its like reading two books at the one time. I know some people can do it. I'm not one of them.

It's part of my time management plan for 2011 to add a post to my blog every week. Starting now!!!

Life at Alligator Creek

2010-11-17T21:55:00.000-08:00

Since it has somehow become November, I've come to the conclusion that blogging is not exactly my strong point. But in my defence I have been achieving in other areas. Writing -first and not necessarily in chronological order I have had two short stories published in the past six months Kathy doesn't Live Here Anymore and Terror in black & White as well as two articles published in Artgaze.

However my biggest project has been to re-structure A Hint of Darkness. I have rewritten the contemporary part of the story which has rounded off and developed the character Ellie and added emphasis to the theme. Putting the MS aside for twelve months has given me greater perspective on what I want my readers to take from my novel. Writing is such a personal occupation, its like being an actor and trying to please an unseen audience. I'm now ready to do battle with the publishing industry. My research & outline for my next novel while time consuming is shaping up well. We had a recent trip to Sydney where I made copious notes, took umpteen photos haunted art galleries and asked people all sorts of weird questions.

I have almost completed another year as President of WITS and with the help of our marvellous committee Writers in Townsville is continually moving on to bigger and better achievements.
This year I have branched out into an entirely different field as well, by becoming a mentor to Vet Science students as JCU. Not that I know anything about animals except which end is which. My task and one I've absolutely loved has been to help students develop their communication skills.

On the home front I have been in serious danger of being made redundant. Luckily I have a wonderfully patient husband who works steadily on, with or without my help. Building a huge house such as ours completely on your own is somewhat daunting. Still I've had bursts where I've painted, plastered, made curtains, cushions etc. as well as offering emotional and physical support. I'm not exactly built to carry sheets of ceiling and wall sheeting. I definitely need more muscle and typing just doesn't do it.

That elusive thing: time

2010-03-15T01:22:00.000-07:00

Life in North Queensland can have its drawbacks. Our lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer are interspersed with rain, rain and more rain. By March, time oozes by in a sticky stream, as we wait impatiently for the wet season, with its steamy interludes when the sun comes out and the temperature soars, the bug invasion, (our bushy nine acres is an entomologists paradise) to come to an end. So bearing in mind that my last post was in July 2009- how did it get to be March 2010? Answer. Travelling, Family, Writing (I'm well into researching and writing the first draft of my second novel) and working. In fact nothing whatsoever to do with the seasons. My full time on call job of T.A. to other half in building our house is a labour of love, but doesn't leave room for all the other things I want to pack into my life. I've decided that instead of racing madly from one project to another, I'll invest in some dedicated time management. It's working brilliantly and it's been in place a whole week. On serious consideration this is probably a more feasible option to the alternative of expecting to live to a hundred.

Great night at the Motor Boat Club

2009-06-11T01:09:00.000-07:00

On the 1st June, Writers in Townsville Society was privileged to host a Literary Dinner at the Townsville Motor Boat Club featuring authors Matthew Condon, Greg Rogers and Belinda Jeffries, who then headed out to the wild west the next day on the Q150 Writer's train. Belinda's debut novel Brown Skin Blue hit the book shops that day. Congratulations Belinda, it's a great read. You're a sensitive and discerning writer. I was very impressed with your use of simple language as befitted the character, yet the subtleties revealed a complex and powerful undercurrent running throughout the story. It would be very difficult not to empathize with Barry Mundy, he's done it tough and he's a survivor. The use of stream of consciousness in the river scene (no pun intended) packs a powerful punch and I must confess to shedding a few tears. Barry was a wonderful character and I hope that you do go on to write a second book featuring him.I feel sure you are definitely on a winner. Best wishes for your book launch Belinda.

Excerpt: A Hint of Darkness

2009-04-14T21:14:00.000-07:00

A Hint of Darkness is a 150,000 word novel. The title alludes to the darkness of betrayal. Emmaline and Ellie are born in different centuries, yet linked by kinship and the bonds of sisterhood.
Blurb
Where there’s gold there are men, where there’s men there are brothels. Cooktown in its heyday is the gateway to the booming Palmer River goldfields. Emmaline’s life of affluence and privilege is gone. Pregnant with a mixed-race child she finds refuge with Maggie, a local madam. She can fall no lower on the social scale. Still Emmaline refuses to bow to the dictates of Victorian society; to be defined by the status thrust upon her. Ellie has her own demons to battle. A successful, intelligent and attractive young woman, she has been conditioned by her mother to think of herself as second rate. Her acerbic wit covers her insecurity. Entrusted with Emmaline’s journals, Ellie comes to realize that she isn’t bound to seek anyone’s approval, and that she has the power to free herself from the bondage of social image
Prologue
My throat aches with the effort of keeping silent. I want to scream out to Paddy and Timothy, to help me. They’re supposed to protect us. Where are they? Please don’t let them be dead. Please don’t leave me here alone.
I should run, and hide; flee into the bush, but my legs won't move. I am too afraid to move. That terrible scream echoes in my ears, and I huddle against the hot earth, hide my face in the folds of my dress and pray silently. “Dear God, please don’t let them find me.”
William Jennings Bryant wrote: ‘Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved.'
Emmaline
Chapter 1: Excerpt
Taken from the journals of Emmaline Gidley-King,
Cooktown, North Queensland, Australia.
Journal entry: 11th February 1879

Mama - will the ghost of her ever be laid to rest? Somehow I must free myself from the past, exorcise the demons. I don’t have any real expectation that the simple act of recording my memories, my thoughts of past and present, will assuage my soul. But perhaps it will act as a panacea, a salve for my wounds. If someday, someone should read these journals and know the truth, so be it.
Rain taps with gentle fingers on the iron roof, a respite from the deafening tattoo of the past hour. Through the open window sounds drift up from the street below. The Cobb and Co coach is newly arrived and guffaws of male laughter greet the travellers picking their way through the squelching quagmire of Charlotte Street.
I’ve found happiness in the strangest surroundings. That my haven is of dubious standing, my circumstances socially unacceptable, and my respite in all probability temporary is of little consequence. This is my reality and I accept it with utmost gratitude. My contentment seems totally apart from and yet stems from the same sources that have brought me to this point in my life. Fickle fate has softened her heart, taken pity on me, and though I’m a far cry from the grand existence I once knew, for the moment I am safe.
Chapter 3: Excerpt
Ellie
January 2008
The butterfly has emerged. I now have wings- can fly.
She was born more than a hundred years before me yet Emmaline has become my constant companion. The sense of her presence so strong that looking up from my writing late at night, I fancy I catch a glimpse of dark curls, a waft of floral perfume, the whisper of her laughter. I ache to find myself alone. How sad that the mother I so dearly wished for exists only between the pages of Emmaline's journals.
There is a parallel between Emmaline’s story and my own, our lives are intertwined. I have faithfully transcribed her diaries. I can do no less with my own.

Excerpt from Miss Josephine of Cherry Tree Bay

2009-04-13T04:24:00.000-07:00

An aura of expectancy hung over the open grave. Onlookers dressed in Sunday best, sweltered in the afternoon heat, watching the dark earth rain upon the coffin. They made no pretence of sorrow. In a gesture of courtesy the men stood, heads bowed, hats held to their hearts. The women eyed me covertly from beneath veiled hats, hopeful of some small snippet of gossip. I guessed the thoughts hidden behind the prying eyes. Surely in three years Josephine Langley must have let something slip to me, her young companion, perhaps towards the end; unburdened her conscience.
The mystery surrounding my elderly employer and friend had not palled over the years and those who remembered the beautiful, young, effervescent Josephine talked knowingly of ‘the tragedy’ at Cherry Tree Bay. Others whispered of betrayal and murder in that house of secrets.
I kept my back to the spectators, my jaw aching with the effort of holding back tears. No one offered condolences. I wasn’t family. I dropped a spray of frangipani blooms into the grave; pearly white upon the coffin, a travesty of life and death.