Name and shame?

I recently entered a short story contest.

It had several peculiar characteristics (danger! danger!), so I wouldn’t have entered except that (a) It didn’t cost anything to enter, and (b) It was backed by one of Australia’s biggest and most reputable publishers (I checked on their web site and it was indeed legitimately based there).

The results should have been announced yesterday. Instead, all traces of the contest were deleted from the internet.

It looks rather like I’ve been had.

A few moments ago, I emailed the publisher with the details and let them know they had six weeks to explain and/or fix what I graciously pretended to assume was a technical glitch.

After that six weeks, if they don’t do the right thing, I will share with you – and any blog or media outlet that will listen – exactly who they are. Which of course I also told them in the email.

Will this be the greatest showdown since my cats decided they didn’t like getting picked up? Or will this reputable publisher explain that actually it WAS a technical glitch and they’re awfully sorry?

I hate that thousands of dewy-eyed writers get preyed on every year by unscrupulous people claiming to be real publishers/agents/contest judges. It’s not gonna happen in MY town. . . not without consequences.

Killer Idea (PG story)

Detective-Sargeant Hobson shrugged off a trailing end of crime tape and straightened up to his full height. The flat was only slightly larger than a shoebox, and had slightly less inside. Grey carpet, grey walls, no curtains. He dismissed robbery and diagnosed poverty instead.

There was a mattress against one wall, covered in crumbs. Against the opposite wall a folding table held up a computer and several piles of paper. And there was a dead body stretched out on the floor.

The man was twenty-something, unshaven, and thin with malnutrition. His left wrist gaped open, and the kitchen knife that had opened it lay on the floor beside him. It looked like a suicide, except that the piece of paper beside him was covered in writing. The kind of reddish-brown, dripping writing that could only be the result of a daying man writing in his own blood.

“Johnny Boy did it,” Hobson read aloud. “He loves Aurelia, so does it to impress her. Almost accidental.”

The medical examiner met his eye, blank-faced from years of her work. “No phone, or he could have called for help to keep him alive rather than asking us to give him justice. It must have taken a while to write that.”

“Do we know a Johnny Boy?” Hobson asked. “An Aurelia?”

“We will soon,” came another cop’s voice from outside. “The vic is Thomas Seneca. The neighbour called us in when she didn’t see him at the mailbox. Apparently he’s always there first thing.”

“I wonder why he didn’t ask her for help. He had time to write down the murderer’s name, but not enough time to call out?” Hobson knelt and picked up the top sheet of a jumbled pile of A4 paper beside the computer. “The Morning After,” he read aloud. “By Thomas Seneca.” He turned to the next page. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl. The world knew it, and she knew it. Her name was Aurelia.”

The page slid from his fingers, and narrowly missed Thomas’ pool of blood. He took one step across the room and flicked the light switch.

“Bulb’s blown,” said the M.E.

“No,” said Hobson. “The bulb is fine.” He pushed the power button on the computer. Nothing happened.

The M.E. sat back on her heels. “I know that look, Hobson. What is it? Why does it matter that he hadn’t paid his bills? Are we even surprised?”

“Do you see a pen? Pencil? Crayon?”

“No. If there was, he could have saved himself some trouble leaving us the whodunnit message.”

Hobson leant back against the wall. “There is no Johnny Boy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Thomas was a writer. On a day with no pens and no electricity, he had an idea for his novel. And he wrote it down.”

The End

PS I had this idea literally years ago, but it didn’t coalesce until very recently. As I researched bushrangers this year, I read about a real outlaw that kept a diary (aww) while on the run – using his own blood for ink.

Young Symphonists on Strings

Liza Picard’s Victorian London book quotes the following advice for elegant young ladies: “Playing the violin-cello is of course out of the question, while the violin, while not so openly obscene, necessitates an awkward position of the head and neck which is not recommended.”

Today, it is difficult to imagine anything more elegant than stringed instruments – or more beautiful to hear. The low notes make you weep and the high notes make you shiver.

CJ and I saw a fantastic (and free) performance last Saturday – and the most surprising part was that most of the participants were around fifteen years old. They played with stunning precision, having received extremely rigorous extra tutoring from the Australian Youth Orchestra’s exclusive program – leading to the laughable understatement, “They’ve worked very hard all this week.”

Kids these days!

The musical director was Yoram Levy, and this is the list of pieces played:

CPE BACH Symphony for Strings in Bb, WQ.182, No.2   
DVORAK Two Waltzes for strings arr. from piano, B101 & B105 
BRITTEN Simple Symphony (written at age ten)     
DAG WIREN Serenade, Op.11                                                          
GRAINGER Molly on the Shore   

I made a short video from that night:

PS Today’s Miscellaneous Monday has been switched with Tuesday’s Daily Awesomeness (which you’ve just read). Tomorrow you’ll be reading a short story that I think you’ll enjoy (which I definitely don’t say about all my short stories). It’s a 500-word murder mystery.

Don’t have contacts in the biz? Don’t worry

Last year I spent a bunch of moolah and time schmoozing across Australia, and I ended up with personal contact (handshakes, names, cards) with staff from four of Australia’s six big publishers.

I now have enough data to tell you what those contacts mean to me so far:

*drum roll*

Drastically longer response time.

I am personally convinced that the only – ONLY – time personal contact helps you is if your book is one of the .05% (that’s not an exaggerated joke, sorry) of books that gets to the final stage of the maybe-getting-published ladder – the acquisitions meeting. At which stage, you contact will most likely say, “Oh yeah, I met Louise Curtis. She wore a simply giant dress to some conference somewhere. Seemed mostly sane.”

The good news is that that comment may make the difference between accepting your book and accepting another book on the table at the same meeting (that was written by someone who doesn’t have contacts).

In the meantime – particularly if you’d like a chance at a response time shorter than six months (again, I’m not joking, sorry – six months is standard across all publishers, in my experience), the person you REALLY REALLY want. . . is the assistant.

Here’s an article from Kidlit Blog telling you why:

For my Writer’s Digest webinar, I pledged to answer all the questions sent in by students. This one got me fired up enough to transfer the exchange to the blog:

What can we do to ensure that an actual agent sees my query? I’ve received rejection letters directly from assistants, therefore I know that the agent hasn’t seen my query or sample work. Perhaps the agent would have liked it, but if he or she wasn’t able to see it, then both the agent and I miss out on what could have been a wonderful opportunity.

This writer seems to have what I would call Assistant Attitude. It’s a belief that assistants aren’t really important and that only the big names at an agency can make or break a writer’s chances at representation. A lot of (beginning) writers think very poorly of assistants and are shocked — shocked! — to learn that these are the people reading their queries.

I invite everyone currently suffering from a case of Assistant Attitude to consider, perhaps, the complete opposite viewpoint.

Read the rest here. Always remember – the hard part is writing a brilliant book, so focus on that.

Meanwhile, a kitty (who just saw a bird dare to land on OUR windowsill):

For batter or worse

In 2006 I decided to do nothing but write – mainly in order to discover if I could handle it (I can; I still write for a minimum for twenty hours each week). For a period of three months, that’s all I did. In order to keep going as long as possible before going back to the world of paid employment, I was EXTREMELY careful with money. I worked out later that I’d spent an average of $5/week on food and even less on transport (usually I walked up to two hours in each direction).

(For those who are wondering, this is not a recommended career choice for writers. 95% of us keep our day jobs for life – and that’s just the ones who get published.)

Previous poverty experience had taught me that if I don’t get three meals a day I stop being able to function. So I ate pancakes – generally twice a day, and sometimes three times a day. I had a regular schedule of three actual proper meals each week, which I relied on for my nutrition (I’d spend dinner with my parents – who of course didn’t know how badly I was eating – W, and another friend). Towards the end I staggered when I walked, and was hovering on the edge of illness. But I could still type, so I didn’t care.

(As you can tell if you know anything at all about CJ, this was before we met.)

The pancake recipe I used (really crepes, since they’re so thin they’re see-through) was:

Batter: Mix 1 egg, 2 cups milk (mixed from powdered milk), 1 cup of plain flour.

Fry pancakes in margarine and eat with sugar and lemon juice.

The astonishing thing about this piece of personal history is that I still like pancakes (although they absolutely must be fried in real butter these days). So for our monthly date this month CJ and I went to The Pancake Parlour for breakfast (expert’s tip: If you eat out for breakfast somewhere with freshly-squeezed orange juice, DO NOT brush your teeth beforehand).

The Pancake Parlour in Canberra is a subterranean wonderland of leather-padded seats, wooden booths, and brass fittings. The franchise began in Melbourne, and is found in most large Australian cities.

CJ had a full country breakfast:

I had a “Red Dawn”, which consists of two cheese pancakes with rashers of bacon cooked into them, served with a giant scoop of butter (it looks like the sun at dawn, see?), and grilled tomatoes. (As you can see from photos taken this week, that beanie is staying firmly planted on my head until Spring.)

I didn’t finish the tomatoes (just empty vitamins). I did, however, steal some of CJ’s maple syrup – because although bacon and maple syrup is gross, when served with a pancake it’s sheer gastronomical genius.

Mmm. . . pancakes. . .

Why not make your own this weekend?

The ex-boyfriend, and an incident with a broom handle

I like my ex-boyfriends. Mostly because I’m only attracted to interesting, intelligent people who don’t hold grudges. Also because I am an interesting, intelligent person who doesn’t hold grudges.

One of my exes is now good friends with my brother, and has also run into CJ at work (which pleases all of us). This ex and I rarely see each other, because something about our complementary flaws makes us both depressed if we see too much of each other – but we always wish each other well and enjoy hearing positive goss about each other.

Also, he’s Koori. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, so for him the main benefit is that he can get into an argument about Koori issues and then spring his Koori status on his opponent just as they think they’re getting somewhere (I may have mentioned I like people who are – and I quote – “interesting”). Also, he’s allowed to eat certain endangered animals – and in the Northern Territory, he can legally ride without a seatbelt.

And so it was that I picked up the phone to call an ex-boyfriend I haven’t seen or spoken to in years – waking him up in the process – and asked, “Do you know what nation you’re from?”

He told me his Koori side is from the Canberra area, which I informed him was no use to me at all. But he happens to know someone who’s Koori and from Victoria – and into speculative fiction. So he gave us both each others’ email addresses, which gives me a brilliant place to start on my place-specific information and permission.

We talked for a while about various things (mutual friends having babies, rather gory traditional funeral rites – you know, the usual) and then he went back to sleep.

Man, I have excellent taste in guys.

Later in the day CJ and I went to the National Library (I badly wanted to read “Triumph of the Nomads” by Geoffrey Blainey and “The Mish” by Robert Lowe – who many will know as the awesome Aussie footballer who also happens to be a Victorian Koori). Every book that’s ever been published in Australia is available at the National Library, so it’s a brilliant resource for obscure bits and pieces (and/or books that are out of print). Here it is:

Naturally I was distracted and spent a big chunk of time looking at books on pepperbox revolvers, the Eureka flag’s peculiar journey, women of the Ballarat goldfields, and convict ships.

“The Mish” (short for “The Mission Base” – where he grew up) was a fun and fascinating book that saw the funny side of poverty and racism and the author’s many childhood accidents.

Here’s a chunk of the book that made me laugh in a manner that isn’t considered appropriate in a library (if you are Koori, be advised that he mentions a deceased Koori by name):

Thanks to the mother’s broom and the father’s plough (he ploughed severely all around the house, making a muddy moat the government men weren’t able to get their equipment through), the house was saved.

The Mish now belongs to the people living there.

And here, because I can, is the pretty view out my window that greets me each Autumn:

BBQ at Pine Island

Bil (Brother In Law) and his girlfriend visited Canberra last weekend, and gathered their friends and relations for a barbeque at Pine Island. It was quite peculiar meeting the girlfriend because I know she reads this blog (which is really flattering  – and makes me think, “Oh dear. What horribly embarrassing things does she already know about me?”) She was exactly as charming as I expected – and now I’m all annoyed because I have another non-Canberra person to miss when she’s not here.

Curse you, rest of the world!

And here’s Bil:

Here’s the paparazzi, in the form of Bil and CJ’s dad:

I’ve been to Pine Island exactly once before. On this occasion it was a cold and blustery day, but there was no way I was going near water without having a paddle.

The water was. . . well, let’s call it “invigorating”. The mud beneath had a surprisingly sticky quality, much like I imagine the slime from the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Totally worth it.

“Is that a. . . ?”

Play along at home: Imagine your own underwater horror and fill in the blank.

Mmm. . . cheap Easter eggs

Today’s awesomeness is one many of you are familiar with – and all of you can enjoy today. In fact, I command that you do so: Descend upon your local shopping centre for massively discounted Easter produce.

Excellent.

I bought “jelly eggs” – that is, cheap jelly beans slightly adjusted in shape. What a brilliant marketing ploy.

In related news, some friends of ours went away for the Easter weekend, so CJ looked after their rabbits. The friends thanked him by buying each of us. . . a Lindt chocolate bunny to eat.

You’re making me hungry. . .

I hope all of you had a safe, happy, and chocolate-filled Easter.

An Australian, an American and a British girl walk into a Chinese recording studio. . .

This video was recorded by a British girl and features an Australian man and an American woman recording a dialogue intended to assist Chinese students learning English. It singlehandedly explains all the Chinglish you’ve ever seen. As you watch, keep in mind that they were not allowed to alter the script in any way. Enjoy the increasing insanity as the Australian man starts playing multiple parts. Don’t forget to listen carefully to exactly what they say.

The fake glasses are Korean.

And here are some random photos from January last year when CJ and I went to Beijing.

I blogged about China here and here, and about the Great Wall here.

Talking the steampunk talk (PG)

The Victorian Era was a time of miasmic fog, elegant manners, and the criminal classes. The slang of the time was often colourful (to say the least).

I took most of the following list from “A Long Way Home” by Mike Walker (and the rest from “Victorian London” by Liza Picard and my own nautical days), choosing those that were fun and/or largely self-explanatory (so I could potentially use them in my book).

I left out three-quarters of the original words because they were too rude.

Most of these words are from cant, and others are unique to Australia.

All nations – a mix of drinks from unfinished bottles

Avast – stop

Bacon-faced – full-faced

Baked – exhausted

Bark at the moon – to agitate uselessly

Barrel fever – illness caused by excessive drinking

Beef-head – idiot

Belay that – hold on a bit

Bingo – brandy

Bit of red – a soldier

Black arse – kettle

Blashy – rainy weather (Irish)

Blue as a razor – very blue

Blue stocking – learned woman

Bollocks –testicles

Botany Bay – vagina

Chunder – to throw up

To have some guts in one’s brains – knowledgable

Brandy-face – drunkard

Brattery – nursery

Break-teeth words – hard to pronounce words

Gold bridge – easy and attractive way to escape

Broganeer – one with a strong irish accent

Canting crew – criminals

Caper – to be hanged

Cast up one’s accounts – to vomit

Cat-sticks – thin legs

Caterpillar – a soldier

Chalk – to strike someone’s face

Conveyance – a thief

Cove – fellow

Cully – fellow

Swear like a cutter – swear violently

Dangle in the sherrif’s picture frame – to be hanged

Deadly nevergreen – the gallows

Gone to the diet of worms – dead and buried

Dilly – a coach

Dim mort – pretty girl

Dip – pickpocket

Dog booby – an awkward lout

Empty the bag – to tell everything

Enough to make a dog laugh – very funny

Duke of limbs – a tall, awkward fellow

Eternity box – coffin

Step into eternity – hanged

Expended – killed

Fence – receiver of stolen goods

Fiddler’s money – all small change

Flash the gentleman – pretend to be a gentleman

Footpad – thief on foot, mugger

Fork – pick a pocket

Game – plucky

Gammon – nonsense

Gentleman in red – soldier

Glass-eyes – person wearing glasses

Glim – lantern

Groggified – tipsy

Gut-foundered – extremely hungry

Half seas over- half drunk

Hanged look – villainous appearance

To be under hatches – dead

Hog in armour – finely dressed lout

Irrigate – take a drink

Jack ketch – hangman

Jack of legs – very tall person

Jaw-me-down – talkative fellow

King’s Head Inn – Newgate

Knob – an officer

Lappy – drunk

Lift – shoplifting

Light-timbered – weak

Little house – a privy

Make – steal

Monster- huge (as in “The Monster School”)

Red-letter man – a catholic

Repository – jail

Ride as if fetching the midwife – to hurry

Rusty guts – a blunt, surly fellow

School of Venus –  a brothel

Scragged – hanged

Shake a leg – wake up/get to work

Shiners – money

Smart as a carrot – very smartly dressed

Snail’s gallop – to move very slowly

Squeak – betray

Swag – shop

Tilter – a small sword

Tommy – lesbian

Whisk – an impertinent fellow

The sad part of discovering such wonderful words is most of them are too startling to work in a book. I cut most of them in editing, because they were simply too distracting. Any vaguely historical book (including medieval-style fantasy) has to find a balance between accurate historical language and comprehensibility to a modern audience. On the up side, some Victorian slang has trickled through to today (“fence” for example) – so that helps.

My advice: always use contractions (I’m, he’s, they’ve, haven’t), never use thees and thous (except in an actual poem – an unfortunate number of fantasy writers use them incorrectly, which is just embarrassing), avoid visual dialects like the plague they are (“‘Ave a good day ya fine chappy, wot wot?” – stick to an occasional verbal tick like “what what” if you must) and of course avoid all modern slang (“My fine fellow, your tale about that strumpet was seriously TMI.”)

I found my own steampunk voice by soaking in books and letters written by real people living in Victorian times – and then just writing what felt natural to me.

Some of the words stayed, however, and I’m glad.

How to be awesome (here)

Today’s article is written by Nathan Bransford, who is a writer, ex-agent, and social media expert.

It’s called “How to write a good blog comment” and I can heartily confess to rampant self-interest in sharing it here.

Let’s begin:

The art of writing blog comments may at first blush seem like a frivolous and unimportant one, but that is not actually the case!

Writing excellent blog comments is perhaps the very best way to build your own blog and/or social media presence. Consider a blog comment an audition to show off your own personal awesomeness.

Not all blog comments are created equal. Here are some good rules of thumb as you work your way up to becoming a blog comment ninja.

Read the Post You’re Commenting On, Then At Least Scan it Again

Yes, this takes time and the careful suppression of twitchy fingers. But there is no quicker way to leave an ineffective blog comment than to miss something in the actual post or to accuse the poster of saying something they didn’t actually say.

Accuracy is important. Good blog comments take into account the entire post and then come up with a good and original response. So not only take the time to actually really read the post, keep the comment on topic rather than bringing in an outside and unrelated agenda.

That said……

Get There Early

The most effective and influential comments are near the top of the comments section.

Read Nathan’s other four excellent points here.

My own personal tips:

1. Always assume everything you post online will be read by your mother, your boss, your worst enemy, and your best friend.

2. Never, ever express anger online (see # 1) unless you are fighting for a cause outside yourself.

I’ve also discovered that writing about where your manuscript is at with agents/editors/publishers (or how long they take to reply) is also a no-no. Unsurprisingly, they don’t like to be publicly discussed.

Perhaps more importantly, proudly reporting – or weeping over – your dozens of rejections has the effect of making you look unpublishable, which can put professionals off – because they definitely do look at your blog and google you before offering representation (see #1). Which is why you won’t be hearing any more about the publication process until I have an offer (and permission to talk about it here).

3. If you’re young, invent a fake last name that you use everywhere online (if you’re a writer, it can become your pen-name, so make sure it’s distinctive but easy to spell).

I also recommend you visit Nathan’s blog and/or his top-notch writer forums.

Here’s an Easter-themed cat picture – this is Indah pointedly ignoring the Lindt Bunny bell I tinkled and then threw at her.

Hosting Christian Passover

My family has two feasts each year: Christmas and Passover. Both are hugely significant. In some ways Passover is more special because I’ve never knowingly met another family that celebrates it – so there’s absolutely no commercialisation (not even presents – not even *gasp* chocolate!)

I blogged about our Christian passover ritual last year, and I’ll almost certainly blog about it again next year.

This year was unusual. My Mum was running a passover at her church, which meant I could either join her church for the day or do something completely different. Since I’ve recently developed a strong phobia of church and even church buildings (sad but true – although a Bible Study group still meets at my house each week), I decided to look at it as an opportunity rather than a barrier, and run my own.

It was actually quite special to run my own without my parents’ presence – it meant I could do things in whatever way felt best to me – instead of trying to recreate past Passover experiences. (For example, my parents have a script with questions and answers that we read aloud – but I just told people what things mean.)

Sidebar: Passover is a Jewish festival. According to the Christian Bible, Jesus celebrated Passover with his disciples just before he was arrested (Christians know that meal as the last supper). The reason Easter moves around each year is because it’s linked to Jewish Passover (which moves because it’s linked to a different calendar) – which is the Thursday night before Good Friday.

For better or worse, CJ and I celebrated our own version of Passover this year (with four friends who had never been part of a Passover ritual before). Be advised that I’ve blurred together several quite different rituals with information from google and my own family’s traditions.

As people came in, they washed their hands in a bowl of clean water.

All the ritual foods (except the lamb) were set out on the table:

In the centre is the matzoh bread – bread made without yeast, representing the hasty departure of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt.

Beside it is a full wine glass that doesn’t belong to any of the guests. It is called the Cup of Elijah, and it represents the expectation that Elijah will return. Many Christians leave it empty, on the basis that we believe Elijah has already returned.

On the right and left of the matzoh there are bitter herbs (I used mustard, ugh), representing the bitterness of slavery; and sweet charoses (a blended mix of grated apple, grape juice, cinnamon and crushed walnuts – yum), representing the cement used by the slaves to bind bricks together.

On the right there are boiled eggs, greens, and salt water. The eggs represent life and the perpetuation of existence. The greens (parsley) represent hope and redemption. Salt water represents the tears of slavery.

The lamb represents the lamb sacrificed and eaten at the original Passover. On God’s instructions via Moses, the Israelites put lamb’s blood over their doorways on a particular night. The Angel of Death passed over those houses – but killed the firstborn children of the Egyptians (note to self: don’t make God angry, particularly after being warned by Moses and by numerous miraculous plagues). That night, the Israelites were finally released from generations of slavery.

And on to the ritual. . .

We drank the first cup – the cup of sanctification.

CJ took the three pieces of matzoh, broke the middle piece, and hid it.

We ate the other two pieces of matzoh with the bitter herbs and then with the sweet charoses (putting the charosis in a matzoh sandwich to represent bricks).

We drank the second cup – the cup of deliverance.

We ate the eggs and greens (first dipping them in the salt water – they taste very nice that way).

We drank the third cup – the cup of hope.

At that point we served main course and dessert, and I took this photo of my friend’s seven-month old trying sweet charoses for the first time:

We drank the fourth cup – the cup of praise (which for Jews is the final cup).

At that point, with a teensy bit of help, our youngest guest found the hidden matzoh from the start of the evening and gave it back to CJ.

I personally believe that it was at this point in the last supper that Jesus (like CJ, the patriarch of the ritual) took the matzoh – the bread that was broken, buried, and then brought out again –  and said, “This is my body broken for you. Eat this in remembrance of me.” I believe that he then took the Cup of Elijah and passed it around for everyone to drink saying, “This is my blood, shed for you. Drink this in remembrance of me.”

I believe that when Jesus was crucified the next day, he fulfilled the symbolic promise of the original sacrificial lamb of Passover – saving us from death and slavery to sin – and that the Passover ritual was designed as a supernatural foreshadowing of Easter. Because God knows his literary techniques.

Christians echo the bread and wine of Passover every time they take communion – but most don’t realise the fact that Jews celebrated this ritual for centuries before Christ was born.

Get it right – this time

I knew before I began my steampunk novel that I would need to learn a whole new set of rules when it came to my Koori character, Matilda (you’ll notice that’s not a Koori name – names are just one taboo area).

A week or two ago I attended a lecture (in the gorgeously squished building above) by bestselling chicklit author Anita Heiss, who is a member of the Wiradjuri nation.

The lecture itself was very interesting (especially the various covers – some early drafts had Koori art from utterly the wrong nation, ugh), but the best part for me was that, as I’d hoped, Anita was able to tell me exactly where to look to find out how to write respectfully about a Koori character.

These are the two documents she recommended I read before approaching the correct Koori nation for more detailed consent:

http://www.australiacouncil.gov.au/__da … _guide.pdf

http://www.asauthors.org/lib/ASA_Papers … tralia.pdf

The bits about copyright were especially fascinating, because of course copyright law isn’t designed for oral stories – which means extremely valuable stories are not legally protected. Not yet.

Also, I’ll probably need to pay actual money to representatives of the nation I choose for Matilda’s background. I can handle that. Given the classic steampunk theme of rampant colonialism, it’s neat that I will be giving something back in order to honourably write about that era.

There is a huge wealth of religious tradition that non-Koori Australia is largely unaware of – not because we’re helplessly undereducated, but because much of it is secret, and needs to stay that way. My rule when it comes to other religions is, “What if they’re right?”

What if it’s true that a woman playing a didgeridoo causes terrible harm? What if outsider knowledge of sacred rituals destroys a people group?

Frankly, I’m not going to risk it.

This was part of the reason I made Matilda half-British, and a rebel against both her parents’ cultures. That way I can steer well clear of a lot of traditional knowledge or ritual – since Matilda has left much of it behind her.

And of course I’ll take care that the facts about historical Koori that make it into the book are accurate.

If you are writing about a people group you’re not a part of, here’s a good list for you to think about:

1. Respect

2. Indigenous control

3. Communication, consultation, and consent

4. Interpretation, integrity and authenticity

5. Secrecy and confidentiality

6. Attribution and copyright

7. Proper returns and royalties

8. Continuing cultures

9. Recognition and protection

And here’s a great resource for finding Koori artists by state:

http://www.theblackbook.com.au/

I’m setting my book in Australia because I love it with all my heart. Matilda exists because there is no WAY I’m going to pretend Koori people didn’t exist in 1854. (That’s exactly what was done at the time – nice work, Empire.) I’m so pleased to have finally found some detailed resources so I can make the book something special for all Australians.

Or at least, all those who like steampunk.

Zombie Begonia

Not all plants die horribly immediately after I bring them home. Some manage to live despite the odds.

Others die. . . and then claw their way back from the grave.

You may remember my heavy metal begonia. It looked cute for a bit, and then it died – emphatically.

I googled begonias and decided to keep it inside, and water it less.

So, after a few weeks of having a dead plant on my writing desk, I was as surprised as anyone to see new leaves emerging beneath the dead sticks.

It’s ALIIIIIIIIVVVVVVEEEEE!!!!

I might not be good at caring for plants, but this is also not the first time I’ve watched a dead plant spontaneously revive after getting moved inside. Evidently it’s not me that kills things. . . it’s nature.

*walks off whistling innocently*

Today is day three of my writing binge, and I’m loving it. Ana decided to get in on the paperweight action (FYI, the gun on the left is a pepperbox, and the other is a Colt – the same type Ned Kelly used):

Writing Binge

Guess what I did yesterday?

I slept in, then did some writing.

I rode my exercise bike, then did some writing.

I went shopping, then did some writing.

I did a load of washing, then did some writing.

I cooked dinner, then did some writing.

I saw friends, then did some writing.

Due to the vagaries of my tutoring schedule, I have absolutely no work – not a single hour – for the next two weeks. So from my absolute lack of lemons, I’m making lemonade.

The Easter Weekend is pretty busy, but before and after that I’m doing almost nothing but write.

Today, for example, is just like yesterday except without the shopping and the friends coming over. Instead I’m vacuuming the house and getting the car blinker fixed.

Tomorrow is similar, except I may dust. Or not. And I may have a job interview (for reasons that I think are pretty clear). Or not.

On Thursday I’ll emerge blinking into the non-fictional world. Until then, I’ll be wearing my pajamas and having a ball.

And, as always, discussing the finer points of grammar with my paperweight, Indah:

Top Ten FREE Awesomenesses

It’s finally here! The ultimate awesomenesses for my poverty-striken peeps. I’ve marked with an asterisk those I think are worth clicking on (either for stylish writing or for pictures). And without further ado. . .

10. Feed ducks

9. Blob/No Plans

8. Join the Library and Read Scott Westerfeld’s Leviathan trilogy*

7. Lord of the Rings Movie Marathon*

6. Sculpture Garden or The National Carillon or whatever’s free in your area*

5. Kidnap your date (or a friend)

4. Light a Fire

3. Steal Flowers*

2. Bubbles!*

1. Frolic in a Fountain*

This is it. . . the youtube clip that’ll soon reach 13,000 views. I can only conclude that the internet was expecting something else.

I have a special treat for next Monday. You’ll never guess what it is, but here’s some random clues all the same:

1. It involves a visitor from China (who is not Chinese).

2. Americans should find it especially entertaining/horrifying/insulting, depending on their personality (but it’s not at all mean in any way).

3. It is, allegedly, educational.

4. It is very, very funny.

Love in a time of corsetry

This is a true story that took place in Victorian-era Australia.  

The “rather mature” man-servant, Mr Supple, asked permission to marry the “very young and pretty” servant-girl, Mary.

My husband thought, as she was so much the younger of the two, it was a pity for her to throw herself away, so he spoke to her.

“Mary,” said he, “what makes you think of marrying Supple, a man old enough to be your father – and such an ugly man, and you such a pretty girl?”

“Well, sir, John Supple is NOT a pretty man, but his manners! Oh! Sir, his manners!” said Mary.

We could say nothing to this, and manners carried the day.

-From “Colonial Ladies” by Maggie Weidenhofer.

Tomorrow: The top ten awesomenesses – that didn’t cost a cent.

In the beginnings. . .

Time to hide in your box, quivering in terror.

Today we’ll be visiting the Pub Rants blog (“pub” as in “publication”, you lush) for the bad news about beginnings: 99.9% are rubbish.

You can tell an experienced writer because they don’t bat an eye when someone says, “Send me the first two hundred words of your book, and I’ll know whether I want to read the whole thing” – because that really is all it takes to sort the maybe-quite-good from the heh-no-way.

Don’t believe me? Go to a critique site like this one and critique twenty first chapters. You’ll soon see exactly how easy it is and exactly how little time it takes. And if you’re serious about writing books, critique at least fifty first chapters and you’ll learn more than you’d learn from reading fifty bestsellers (which you should also read, but that’s another article. . . ).

The full article for today is here. If you’re a writer, read the whole thing – please. My favourite part is when she lists the most common first-page mistakes. Here is that list, with my comments underneath each item.

1. Telling instead of showing.

Don’t say, “I felt scared” – say “My mouth went dry, and I willed my hands to stop shaking.” It makes a surprising amount of difference. Also, know when your scene should be described in full excruciating detail (when there’s action, interesting dialogue, or some incident that makes a difference to the plot) and when not to (when characters are unconscious for three days, or talking about non-plot-relevent geraniums, or quietly grieving someone that they also grieved in the previous chapter). Your first scene should always be interesting, and full of blow-by-blow detail with no summary.
2. Including unnecessary back story.

You should know that the main character was attacked by an aardvark when she was three and that it caused her to hate all animals – but you will probably NEVER mention that incident in the whole book. You’ll just show her flinch when a dog walks in. That SHOWS us she’s had a bad experience instead of telling us.

We don’t actually care about the aardvark incident, or anything else that was exciting at the time – sad but true. Only the present truly matters.

We really don’t care about the fifteen changes in the government of your fantasy world that led up to this particular crisis. Again, keep it in your head.
3. Loose sentence structure that could easily be tightened.

Grammar is important for two reasons: So you make sense, and so your writing is invisible. Any time someone has to re-read a sentence, they are no longer inside the story. Learn how to talk good.
4. The use of passive sentence construction.

See what she did there?

“I hit the cop in the face” is a million times more interesting than “The cop was hit in the face.”
5. Awkward introduction of character appearance.

Please, no glancing in the mirror.

I use a lot of tricks for character appearance including action (I pushed my hair out of my eyes), comparison (Robert towered over me), style rather than lists of hair/eye colour (He pulled at his lower lip again, not realising he was doing it), senses other than sight (I heard a scratch at the door and realised Miss Smith couldn’t quite reach the bell), and other people’s reactions (Harrry stopped talking mid-sentence. Sure enough, Miss Aurelia was adjusting her top again). Anytime you’re physically describing someone while doing something else at the same time (showing character, moving the story forward, etc) you win.
6. Awkward descriptions/overly flowery language to depict.

If you must have an adjective, don’t have a list. “The fat dog wagged its tail at me” is stronger than “The fat little brown dog wagged its tail at me”. But verbs tend to be stronger still – “The dog waddled over to me, wagging its tail.”
7. Starting the story in the wrong place.

Start with something happening. Look at action movies, and you’ll see that the opening scene is often a mini-story that is related to the main plot – eg one young woman is killed by a guy in a mask, and later we realise he’s stalking another. It’s SO much more interesting that starting with a placid/static scene, or a conversation. Ideally the opening scene is the inciting incident that kicks everything else off. But there has to be some kind of risk.
8. Not quite nailing voice in the opening.

Be yourself. Or at least, be that small part of yourself that you have in common with your narrator. Sarcasm? Short sentences? Big words? Yeah-I-couldn’t-think-of-the-exact-word-so-I-made-it-up adjectives? In my opinion, you’ll find your voice somewhere in the first draft, and then if any parts don’t match you can fix them in editing. So relax about voice, and it’ll come.
9. Dialog that didn’t quite work as hard as it should.

For starters, use contractions (“I’m, he’s, you’re). Listen to real-life dialogue and you’ll see how much information people leave out. But do please skip the boring bits of real life – notice how rarely fictional characters say “Hi how are you?” “I’m fine, how are you?” and “Goodbye”.
10. A lack of scene tension even if the opening was suppose to be dramatic.

You get tension by having a clear, important, and difficult goal right away – anything from “Nerdy kid asks out popular girl” to “Bruce Willis defends USA against terrorists”. (To get readers to care, they need to be interested in your character – there’s another article in that.) You keep tension by having things go wrong – the girl’s mean friends show up to watch his humiliation, or Bruce Willis is barefoot in a place full of broken glass.

Again, detail helps. I find that the longer a scene takes, the more time readers have to feel stressed. And readers love stress.

The original article

Mmm. . . cafe

The other day I discovered a new cafe – the Red Herring (near Canberra’s merry-go-round). It’s all couches, books, movie and TV posters, free foosball, ug-booted staff, and young ruffians either playing acoustic guitar or sleeping.

Yes. Literally people sleeping, and others playing acoustic guitar with their friends. And I was only there a few hours.

It’s not Melbourne-ish, but it’s pretty darn good.

Unsurprisingly, it’s run by uni students. All the best cafes are run by uni students, artists, or both.