I miss this skirt

I really miss this skirt. It was covered with bees and strawberries. I don't remember seeing it in a while. I wonder where it went! Where do skirts go? At least I still have the puppy.

What's in your bushfire bag?

My mum grew up in Leura, a beautiful little town in the Blue Mountains where Sydneysiders like to go antiquing. (There is also a place that sells Devonshire Teas and the scones are baked inside little terra cotta flower pots. You need to go there.)

The Blue Mountains are beautiful, but they are also dangerous, particularly during bushfire season. Mum can still remember the fires of '57, when her own school burnt down. She and the other kids were sent running, there was no orderly evacuation like we'd have today. Mum remembers racing across a wooden bridge when a smaller child dropped his school-case and turned back to get it. Mum yelled "leave it!" as the bridge itself began to burn.'

For most of my childhood, we also lived in bushfire-prone areas and, every summer, Mum had a "bushfire bag" packed and ready to go for if we ever needed to evacuate in a hurry. Around October each year, with the smoke of the first planned burn-offs in the air, we'd pack the bag. It contained a change of clothes for each of us, some basic first aid, and the family photo albums. We all knew our evacuation plans, and who was responsible for the care of which pet.

The Burning House project is inspired by a similar concept. It asks people from all over the world to list what they'd take with them in the event of a fire.

Take a look at some of the lists here: www.theburninghouse.com. Their lists are not exactly as practical as my mum's, but they are fascinating.

It gives you something to think about, doesn't it.How about you? What would you pack in your bushfire bag? And why?

Poetry bombs

This guerilla artist in Miami has been sneaking into thrift stores and sewing tiny lines of poetry into the clothes. She says she’s doing it “so that poems can be in everyday life.” How lovely! [youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vneTvZ-d-44]

I think it would be kind of magical to pull on a new jacket and there, stitched into the inside pocket, is a jewel of wisdom, or humour, or beauty, from one of the world’s great poets. I would treasure that jacket.

It’d be like a fortune cookie that you can wear. Or a tiny message in a bottle.

Aunty Bev's emails

I have an Aunty Bev. Actually, Mr B has an Aunty Bev, but I have adopted her and I call her mine too. She is a corker. And extremely funny, although most of Aunty Bev's best jokes cannot be repeated for this blog's PG audience. She makes delicious dinners and wonderful cakes and slices, of which you will hear more some day very soon. Aunty Bev also reads this blog on a semi-regular basis. Hi, Aunty Bev!

For the past couple of years, Aunty Bev has been learning computer skills, and one of the upshots of this is that she sends me emails several times a week. Most often, these are jokes, or political or religious statements (Aunty Bev is impervious to conversational taboos), or inspiring pictures.

And on occasion, they are simply things of beauty and wonder. Things that neither have nor need explanation. This is one of them, sent to me in an email from Aunty Bev today. I thought I'd share it with you, too.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSKyHmjyrkA&w=853&h=480]

Fathers' Day

It's Fathers' Day in the US of A. Aussie dads have to wait until September for their special day, but I thought I'd give my dad a head start with this post. It doesn't matter how old I get, my dad is always there for me with love, humour, and wise counsel (as is my mother, for that matter, but that's for another blog post. This one is about dads). This is my dad teaching me to ride a billy-cart. Tell me YOUR dad sported a mo, a fro, a purple tie-died t-shirt, navy blue aviators and shoes that defied awesomeness, and I will take it under consideration that he almost might have been almost as cool as mine. So today, randomly and by no means exclusively, I want to list some of the things I love about my dad:

* I love that he and Mr B text each other every other night and play silly mind games with each other, like they are BFFs

* I love that he cares for me like I'm still his little girl, while respecting my independence and intelligence

* I love that he and I fixed up a bike together for my little brother's birthday when I was about nine, and that I got to say "I made the bike" even though I did precisely nothing, except get in the way

* I love that my father would always pretend not to love the pets in our family but, when he thought we weren't looking, he would give them cuddles and treats

* I love that for the first 12 years of my life, I thought there was a song called "Oh-ho me o-ho" because it echoed through the house every morning as my father sang in the shower (this was actually his personal interpretation of "O sole mio")

* I love that, despite zilch in previous experience as a builder - my father was a social worker - he built a dream house in the country for us to live in

* I love that I can go to him for advice, whether it's personal, business or anything else, and he's always smart and always loving

* I love that he makes nearly every family get-together involve a belly-laugh

* I love how wonderful he is to my mother, that the two of them set a ridiculously high standard for marital bliss, and the absolutely brilliant childhood that gave me

* I love that when I do stupid, crazy, impulsive things, he says "I trust you"

* I love that he pretends to like my book Airmail and tells me he is proud of me, even though I know it is the polar opposite of his cup of tea

* I love that French is the language he grew up with, but he speaks it with such a broad Aussie accent that he failed it at school and most of the relatives can't understand more than one in three words he says

* I love that he models the following of crazy dreams: from family, to life without electricity, to worm farming, to photography and publishing

* I love that he has to wear the right outfit for every activity. My dad has a fruit-tree pruning outfit, a block splitting outfit, a stamp collecting outfit and many, many more

* I love that he has obsessions, not hobbies (my mother's phrasing), because I am the same

* I love that when my horse Starbrow died... Starbrow, who had been in my family for more than 20 years and, if I sat in the paddock and crossed my legs, would go to sleep with his head in my lap... I love that when my old horse died, my father's sobs were as ragged as mine

Sookie Stackhouse + literary snobbery

Embarrassing admission: I am addicted to the Sookie Stackhouse novels. This did not start at Book 1, with which I was nonplussed. "Pshaw," said I, nose in the air, "this be too juvenile a style for moi." Instead, I stuck to the TV series, True Blood, that was inspired by the books.

But everywhere I turned, online and offline, I was being told "Sookie will win you over, Sookie will win you over." I began to wonder if I may have been indulging in a teensy bit of literary snobbery (No! Could it be?), so when a friend offered to lend me the True Blood Omnibus (the first three books), I figured I'd have a go.

(This poster went up in my neighbourhood in SoHo before the first season of True Blood came out. We were all, like, "Waah!?")

Within three days, I'd read all three books. After another generous loan, the next two books were very quickly read. Not able to wait until I met up with my friend again (sorry, Ruby!) I made a trip to my local Borders bookstore, during the 50 percent off sale before it closed.

I purchased Book ELEVEN at the airport on Monday morning and, thanks to some lengthy flight delays, finished it that same night. I now wish to urge Ms Charlaine Harris to hurry up and finish the next one. While I'm at it, I'd also like to take the opportunity to state that I am most definitely of the Team Eric persuasion, and hope she will bear this in mind as she writes.

(Interesting fact gleaned in literature classes: when Charles Dickens wrote The Old Curiosity Shop in instalments, he was inundated with letters imploring him not to kill off Little Nell. It didn't work then, but this reader is hoping Ms Harris will be more open to a heartfelt plea.)

So I have my friend Ruby and the lovely ladies of the Book Lover's Hideaway group on Goodreads to thank for slapping me out of my snobbery, encouraging me to try a new genre, and unintentionally giving me permission to get lost in what amounts to pure entertainment.

Most often, my reading choices are like fine dining. I want something clever, something unique, something that challenges me to think differently or face difficult issues, or transports me to a depth of emotion or experience that I could never have conjured in my own imagination.

There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but my foray into Sookie's world has been like sinking my teeth into a spicy meatball pizza at Arturo's on West Houston, and washing it down with a bottle of rough chianti, after a year-long diet of fois gras and alpine riesling. Lip-smackingly good!

ps. I am so inspired by Sookie that I will shortly blog about my own experiences hunting down the REAL vampires of America. Stay tuned...

The business of art

This is an excerpt from a guest post on The Australian Bookshelf. So really, you can just skip the rest and go straight to The Australian Bookshelf. What a good idea! Here's the link >>

Or, you can read on. And so:

It’s a common enough problem. For years, you dream of making a living as a writer, an artist, a musician… whatever creative passion floats your boat. But when your hobby finally becomes your career, the endless deadlines, clients and financial constraints sap your creative inspiration and motivation until you wonder why you entered this industry in the first place.

As a writer that’s certainly happened to me. More than once.

Some years ago, while editing a business magazine, I interviewed Irene Grishin Selzer, a sculptor and the artistic director of jewellery outfit Iggy and Lou Lou. Irene had an amazing capacity to separate out the business and artistic aspects of her career, while maintaining both.

So when Jayne Fordham of The Australian Bookshelf invited me to write a guest post on her website, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to share some of what I learned from Irene for other artists of all shapes and sizes.

So, fellow artists, without further ado: get thee to The Australian Bookshelf to discover the top five tips for remaining an uncompromising artist while still making a living! (And when you get there, leave a comment at the end and say hi and thanks to your host Jayne. She's lovely).

Stranger than fiction

Monday morning. It's raining outside. I have so many deadlines this week I don't know where to start, although I suspect blogging may not be the best place. I still write at the kitchen table, sitting on a wooden kitchen chair, so my back is already aching although it's not even morning-tea time. I'm worried about the dog, he's not himself today.

To meet my deadlines and appease my editors, I will need a miracle. Or two. I need some serious inspiration. Perhaps you do, too. So here is a little reminder that, on some days, the impossible may just become possible.

Like the day it snowed in Sydney (almost) Or the day I sailed through the air with the greatest of ease The day these ladders, soaring above the elders' houses in New Mexico to pierce storm clouds in the desert, really did pierce storm clouds in the desert The day I found 6000 year-old pottery shards while digging post-holes at Cranborne Chase Or the day I learned to breathe under water The day I witnessed this, after a gruelling pre-dawn climb up a Peruvian mountain The day I moved to this neighbourhood in SoHo, New York Grew this Wrote this And the day I married the love of my life and gained a wonderful new family

Really, anything's possible. I can fly. I can breathe under water. I am loved. Deadlines don't scare me! Now back to work.

Inspiration for a life's work

I simply have to share this extraordinary video. As writers, we can spend years working away on the one book. Sometimes loving it, sometimes just wishing it could be accidentally consumed in a house fire. And when we finally think we're done, the gruelling edit process begins and that, too, can last years. After that, we're into the marketing and promotion phase. But all this is nothing compared with sculptor Scott Weaver's commitment and achievement. He has spent almost my entire lifetime building this incredibly detailed and complex sculpture of San Francisco, out of toothpicks! But what's most impressive is that the sculpture is kinetic, taking ping-pong balls on various tours through the city's districts. Take a look.

[vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/22461692 w=525&h=394]

When I see something like this, after I overcome my amazement and incredulity at the sheer talent of what this artist has done, I start to reflect on my own work. And more to the point, I start to reflect on my own dedication to my craft.

I once read that Picasso was banned from some galleries because he used to try and improve his paintings where they hung. It's hard, sometimes, to stop, and certainly Scott Weaver is constantly adding to and improving his own work.

However for writers, once our books hit the stores and go into the hands of others, there's nothing much we can do, even if we see compelling room for improvement. So I take two lessons from Scott Weaver's work that I intend to apply today:

1. Give it your everything in the first place. Take as long as you need to take to make it the best it can be. And look for new places, characters, intricacies in your book that you can love, to keep up the motivation. Add little pieces of you to make it personal and special (like Scott added his own, his wife's and his mother's time of birth to the clock tower).

2. Keep going. I'm proud of my novella Airmail, don't get me wrong. I still love that book and I humbly think it's a fun read. But I couldn't improve it now, even if I wanted to. It no longer belongs to me because it's in your hands. So I will continue adding to my body of work with new stories and new novels. And if I apply myself, keep learning, keep reading, let's hope each new work will be better than the last.

A piece of work

I have Alchemy of Scrawl blogger Coral Russell to thank for alerting me to this clip of Joan Rivers, sorting through her life's work. I just enjoy the notion of creativity being catalogued. It's not a process that appeals to me, nor, I imagine, many creative writers. But if it was there... If I had a meticulously kept wall of drawers containing all my ideas, thoughts, unfinished work... WHAT a resource that would be.

The lesson in this appears to be that I need a butler. Or housekeeper. Or valet. There could also be a lesson in keeping myself organised, but that would imply personal responsibility, something I am trying to avoid while sipping my first cup of tea of the morning.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=87yztkvEsIk]