Hot and Cranky Writing Roundup for 2015

I'm hot and cranky. I was hot and relatively happy until I discovered my blog post draft had disappeared. It was just the intro, but it was a good one. Or was it? Maybe this rambling one is better. Anyway, it was the foreword to a list of stuff I've learned (sometimes the hard way) through working intensely on my novel this year. Enough banter though - let's get on with it. It might even take my mind off my heat (stress?)-induced headache.

1. Next time I'm going to devise a more  detailed outline of my novel before barrelling in. I wrote up a brief one, which is better than nothing, but I then took many detours that resulted in rejected chapters. (not deleted chapters, mind you, just chapters cut for length and subsequently placed into my 'director's cut' files). The detours are part of the fun; they've helped me discover the story I actually wanted to write. I welcome detours, but too many can result in hundreds of hours of writing all typed in vain.

2. This is kinda related to point one - try not to delve into the deeper lives of too many characters. The aforementioned rejected chapters could've been avoided if I'd focused on just one or two characters. Sometimes these figments of your imagination become like friends to you though, and you're compelled to tell their stories. It is useful to know the backstories of any significant characters, but still, dot points may have been sufficient. 

3. Don't let anyone read your story until it's at least 95% complete. I learned this tough lesson on a previous project actually - I received some constructive feedback that inspired me to alter a few major story elements in order to align with the readers' wishes. I ended up regretting the changes I'd made, resulting in my loathing the novel-in-progress and deserting the book. Doesn't mean I can't return to it one day, but still. Be patient. Wait before handing over your baby.

4. Expect to do a lot of re-writing. The first draft is merely the tip of the iceberg. I probably take this recommendation way too far, working towards the unattainable perfect manuscript. Still, it's better than phoning it in! 

5. I watched a lot of YouTube videos on writing this year, as well as reading a deluge of online articles on the topic. Most of the gurus agreed that you shouldn't edit as you go. Ideally I would get the germ of the idea on the page in one hit, before tweaking anything. I don't know if I'll ever do this though. I'm kinda married to the idea of editing as I go. I'm one of those freaks who love editing and proof reading, and besides, it's a magnificent procrastination tactic. I can still work on the novel without actually contributing new content that might suck!

  

6. I must give myself props where props are due: this year I developed the delicious habit of being addicted to writing. My social media writing mentors, such as K.M. Weiland and Jenna Moreci stressed the importance of writing every day. It's true what they, and countless others say: after a while of writing every day, it becomes a compulsion. On the days I couldn't or wouldn't write, I was kinda pissed off at myself and the world. Acquiring a gorgeous laptop helped me on my mission, as did seeing the incredible achievements of friends and family (often younger than me.) I'm not getting any younger. My dream of writing a novel of publishable standard is not to be put off any longer!

7. I've always kept drafts, but I don't know if all writers do. Many cringe over old writing, putting it through the shredder/in the fireplace/ scattered to the four winds. I say, hold onto a few drafts. I thoroughly enjoyed reading an early twenty-page draft of my current WIP, written in days of yore. It illustrated for me how much the story has changed and evolved since then. It was another reason to get all self-congratulatory for sticking with the task! Besides, they might be worth something when I'm posthumously famous! 

8. Don't be afraid to promote yourself and your work. It's frightening, sure, but anything worth doing is. Not everyone's going to love your work, or even bother to read it (close friends and family included), but it wouldn't be fair to deprive those who might read, and even enjoy, your writing now, would it? One mummy friend and I used to discuss nothing deeper than the cuteness of our kids and tasty recipes, but a piece I wrote and shared on my Facebook writing page opened up more meaningful dialogue between us. It was exciting for me, and encouraging too. You might be surprised as to who gets something out of you baring your soul. 

9. Read your work aloud. Read it quietly. Put it aside, then get it out again. Looking over your writing with fresh eyes helps with self-editing. I enjoyed reading my work when I was no longer going cross-eyed from looking at it too much. I congratulated myself (again) on how funny my dialogue is. It gives me hope. Even if I'm the only one to really appreciate my novel, it still makes me super happy! (Bonus part is, a couple of other people like it too!)

10. Last but not least, keep updating your blog even when it's depressing 'cause nobody looks at it. Keep improving your craft in the hope that people will start to take notice. It's disheartening when your audience drops off, but I intend to keep plugging away. At worst, it's fun and useful for me to look back on later. And hey, who knows when the tide'll turn! As Journey would say (because journey is more important than destination), Don't Stop Believin'!

The Invisible Writer (a.k.a: 'Look, it's a kitten on a skateboard!')

Having thoroughly enjoyed another life drawing class last night, I began thinking about the instant gratification that comes from visual art, as opposed to writing. Visual art can be assessed by the viewer in the swiftness of a glance. If I've done a decent job of drawing a brave naked person, I will be complimented. It's so much better for the ego than writing.

In these fast-paced times, a well-orchestrated sketch can still attract the attention of busy, over-informed, stressed humans. Writing however, demands so much more from the consumer. It takes time and effort to read something; there are so many other things vying for one's attention: shopping lists, enrolment forms, the car manual and that neat story on Facebook about beautiful child stars who later became ugly. 

Heck, sometimes I think I should give up this fruitless writing bizzo and just share photos of cute kittens tripping over themselves. People would actually look at those. 

I used to share my writing on redbubble.com, where they'd actually plead with viewers to take time to read some amazing poetry, short stories and the odd limerick as well as checking out the visual art. Even as a writer, I had to force myself to do this - I mean, there's no guarantee that you're going to like what you read. What if you lose ten minutes out of your day to something that doesn't rock your world? 

I shared my photography and drawings as well as my writing. Maybe I stumbled upon an effective way of getting people to read my stuff - they'd like what they instantly saw of some of my drawings or photography and were moved to delve further. Or maybe redbubble garnered sympathy for us poor overlooked writers.

I've spent years on my novel, 'A Fine Invention' (working title) and maybe it's  all in vain. All those nights spent staring at my laptop (or in the old days, my desktop) could've been spent making money by returning to my Tupperware gig, or watching more movies (I still haven't seen 'Top Gun') or being more sociable, like a well-adjusted normal person. 

The writing I spent my time, heart and energy on that I post on here doesn't garner much attention. Meanwhile, the odd post of a sketch that I share gets plenty of views. (Not likes, just views. I really should buy a puppy, make it wear costumes and photograph it). Yes, I put effort and heart into my drawings but writing is my first love, creatively speaking. 

It can be disheartening. But I can't think about my ego, as difficult as that is. Praise is wonderful. Being noticed for my creative endeavours is addictive. Still, I intend to 'Keep Calm and Continue to Write' because it's my passion. I can't improve my writing skills by giving up on writing. If people aren't taking time out of their day to read my stuff, then that just means I've got to step up my writing game. 

I love life drawing classes. Anything that massages the creative temples is worth doing, even crucial to living a fulfilling life, if you ask me. It's a lot more sociable than writing, and so relaxing. There's nothing quite like sitting in a room with other creative people, playing with light and shadow while enjoying a glass of wine. It's all part of my ultimate goal - to experience more life and art in order to strengthen my writing. 

So I'm going to leave my ego at the door and keep on keeping on. Because I'm not Kim Kardashian; I'm a writer. I owned the title once I created a Facebook page titled 'Michelle Ham - Writer.'

So just watch me (or ignore me, whatever) while I write my little heart out. You never know, there might even be a piece about adorable kittens clumsily trying to roller skate (accompanied by video). Watch this space.

Introducing Saskia

As the tome lies in the hands of a couple more readers, I lie in wait for the feedback. I'm not even nervous about it this time. I think having shared it around a bit already, I'm used to putting a piece of my heart and soul out there. Just goes to show you can grow accustomed to anything. Now I'm just excited to hear back from the readers, and grateful to them for taking time out of their busy lives to look it over. 

No rest for the wicked, so now to interview the protagonist: the star of the story, Saskia Brookes.

Me: 'So what did you get up to at the weekend, Saskia?'

Saskia: 'Not a lot. There was homework, Youth Group, church - morning and evening services, door-knocking for Red Cross and I worked on my cross-stitch. I hope to achieve more next weekend.'

Me: 'That sounds like a lot - how do you find time for friends and perhaps dating?'

Saskia: 'I've been praying a lot in the hope that I can find my purpose in life - whether that is to be healer, prophet or what, I don't know. If I'm dedicated enough, I might hear God talk to me. Then I'll have a vision of the one I'm destined to marry. A shortcut though, would be for him to just have the vision of me. That'd be quicker. He's already amazing enough to be properly tuned into The Man Above, after all. Um, oh, sorry. I mean... Hypothetically speaking. Eliza is about the only friend I can fit into my schedule, and dating... Isn't that something people in American movies do?'

Me: 'Woah. You have someone in mind then?'

Saskia, blushing: 'No. I mean, maybe. Of course it's not for me to try to predict who God has in mind for me, it's just... Some prayer at my end might steer Him in the right direction. Wait, that sounds terrible. Scrap that bit. You know, I'm doing a bunny cross-stitch right now. Once it's done I might sew it to a cushion. I don't know though, maybe that's lame...'

Me: 'I interviewed Eliza a few weeks back. She didn't seem the cross-stitch type. What do you two do when you hang out together?'

Saskia: 'Um... I haven't seen a lot of her lately but we have a blast together - we like to watch Rage and make fun of the film clips. She loves dress-ups and wigs, so we usually have these whacky fashion parades, along with my little sister. Then they dance to some kinda music that Eliza hates but Lexie loves while I catch up on my cross-stitch. Well, that's what used to happen, at least.' *shrugs*

Me: 'You miss hanging out with her?'

Saskia: 'It's fine, really. I mean, I'm following the path God has in mind for me, so that's the most important thing. It's like in Proverbs 3:6 - 'Let God direct your steps.' I'm not too good at deciphering these directions yet, but I trust I'll get there. As soon as I'm given a map.'

Me: 'Right. What will you do if you don't get a map?'

Saskia: 'I'll get a map, okay? (Huffy now) I can be patient. It's a metaphorical map, by the way. You know that, right?'

Me: 'I know that, I just wondered-'

Saskia: 'I don't have time for this. I need to feed the neighbour's cat, edit the church newsletter, make a care package for my sponsor child and bake some goodies for the Youth Group's Progressive Dinner tonight. Oh and I'll have to whip up something for the main too - Monique's sick.'

Me: 'Sorry, I'll let you be on your way. Thanks so much for your time.'

Saskia: 'No, I'm sorry. I was out of line. Want to come along to the Progressive Dinner tonight?'

Me: 'No thanks, that's fine.'

Saskia: 'Maybe you'd like to come along to the evening service next Sunday? It's quite fun and loose, I think you'd like it.'

Me: 'Okay, Progressive Dinner it is.'

Saskia: 'Great! See you tonight. We meet at the church. See you later!' *rushes off*

The Church of Book Sniffers

Theres something about bumping into someone who's had a similar epiphany to me. Nothing turns acquaintances into friends more quickly than having shared a similar, unique experience. I don't think becoming disillusioned with knob jockeys disguised as Christians is truly unique, but finding others to discuss it openly with seems strangely unique. For the most part, most people I know are either religious, or puzzled as to why anyone would ever voluntarily be religious. There's also that group that don't give two hoots but they're technically religious for traditional, superstitious or social purposes.  

Me: I was in it for all the right reasons, I believe. I wanted to be close to God, to follow my purpose and to raise my children 'right'. I wanted to believe that I was immortal.

The major thing me and my friend have in common is that we became fed up with being treated like moronic children who had no hope of doing anything useful with our lives. Or at least, not achieving anything worthwhile unless we adhered to their distinct, unique set of rules.

One of my faults was that I wasn't  attending church often enough. I was eventually informed that 'babies need to wean in order to grow' or something like that, and that the only way to grow in God is to spend every spare moment at the church. To me, it was a cult, in retrospect. Modern churches can't possibly have the whole congregation co-habiting commune-style, so the next best thing is to have members neglect their own lives and earthly families in order to serve the church. When we failed to do that, we fucked with their system. (Hurrah to that!)

Yes, I say fuck now and yes, it is in direct rebellion towards the church. Not because I'm badass, but because the world is in such peril that me cursing is the least of its problems. And don't give me that sympathetic 'You're lost and you're going to hell' look either!

I think us reformed Christians are reluctant to discuss our situations because a) it seems disrespectful to our loved ones who faithfully follow God and b) we feel, perhaps, that we failed somehow, and c) most talk is cheap and small. 

I'm at the point where I don't feel I failed, I feel I overcame! If only certain Christians could realise their own failings; that in their heroic bids to keep us heretics on the straight and narrow, they often push us away.

Some of us question authority. Some of us get divorced. Some of us have babies out of wedlock. Some of us are gay. Some of us even swear! We're human. It's nice for us to find a like-minded humans who perhaps still honour God but have decided church is toxic.

I look forward to a cuppa and a bitch with this lady. At least I can admit I bitch about things sometimes. Some people don't want you to do grown-up things like bitch about your sitch or just fucking swear. Do it anyway. If you want to. You're a grown up; it's your choice.

I've weaned, but not in the way they would've liked. Now I attend the church of 'standing in the street, talking to someone who totally gets you.' It's like when you find a group of writers who love non-supernatural young adult fiction/vintage clothing/musical theatre/80s music/sniffing books/clothes dryer fluff/Degrassi. It's finding that seemingly non-existent niche and feeling like you have comrades.

That's one cult I'd consider going all communal for.

Waggin' Tongues

I read a lot of writing advice articles and listen to a lot of podcasts on the topic too. In fact, I'm kinda obsessed. It's my Candy Crush, I guess you could say. A few of these vlogs and blogs suggested reading the dialogue you've written out loud to make sure it flows well and sounds natural.

Now that 1 1/2 beta readers have given me feedback on my manuscript, (beta two is on the case) I'm concentrating on doing just this. I have tweaked a lot of dialogue as a result. I've read over the manuscript so many times that I can't bring myself to look at anything BUT the dialogue!

Being a fan of Gilmore girls, I have a thing for long, wordy, humouros dialogue. It doesn't always work though. I go by the general rule that if I get tongue-tied while reading it aloud, I may need to re-think it. Plus, I leave that sort of dialogue to Saskia and Eliza, the two smartest characters in the book. Being besties, they almost have their own unique language that no one else could quite fathom. (A bit like Lorelai and Rory? Maybe.)

A lot of the culling has consisted of removing a whole bunch of 'g''s. See, some characters enjoy 'goin' down the pub and 'avin' a piss-up, maaate.' These characters live in a small Australian town; they can't all be masters of the spoken word! I'm allowed to say this, bein' from Swan 'ill and still speakin' that way 'alf the time!

Reading my work aloud makes me feel closer to the work and the characters.  I almost feel like I can imagine the novel as a movie when I act it out - it's exhilarating! 

I do feel a bit silly if my husband or kids enter the room while I'm technically talking (often arguing) with myself, but that's okay. I just keep on truckin' and censor the swearing if the littl'uns are present!

One of my online writing advisors recommended drinking tea and sucking lozenges as you read aloud. It's great advice - it's amazing how quickly the voice starts to falter when you're literally speaking for everyone.

Dialogue is what I do best, so using this technique to make it even better is my new favourite thing. And if it does become a screenplay one day, then the actors might appreciate the work I put in!

Well, I'm off to wash some dishes. I'm quite good at that too, since I started listening to writing podcasts while I scrub.

Introducing Eliza

One of my favourite aspects of writing a novel is creating characters and witnessing their respective evolutions. When a character takes hold, he or she seems to magically take on a life of their own and start doing unexpected, delightful (and sometimes dastardly) things. They take detours and make decisions and its like I'm just watching everything unfold. It's the absolute best. 

For fun, I thought I'd introduce you to one of the main characters in my book, namely the zestful Eliza Garrett.

She feels like being interviewed actually. She gets in these demanding moods and you don't cross her when she gets like that. You don't cross her at all.

I'm not nuts, I swear. Although, if interviewing a fictional character from your own imagination is nuts, I have little to no interest in being sane. So here goes:

Let's start with the big question - what's the meaning of life, Eliza?

'How in the Sam hell would I know? I'm eighteen (almost) and I haven't been anywhere. I used to think God was It, but I was just a kid then. I needed something to believe in. Now I'm all about collecting wigs and partaking in horror movie marathons. I find Wiccan stuff interesting, but it doesn't mean it's the meaning of life. Life is something to discover, not to claim absolute knowledge of.'

What are your future aspirations? 

'Shitloads of travel. A global wig empire.'

Who are the most important people in your life?'

'My outcast friends are my family. Especially Saskia and her biological family. My mum's okay but she's more like a deranged housemate than a mum. Little brother? Well, I worry about him. That must mean I care? Don't tell him I said that!'

What kind of guy do you like?

'Why do you assume I'm heterosexual? I mean, I'm hopelessly heterosexual but it hardly excuses your line of questioning. My ideal guy would be a drummer in a heavy metal band, yet have a penchant for watching Knight Rider with me. He'd also tour a lot so he wouldn't be in my face all the time.'

Do you enjoy being a goth girl? 

'Holy ShitakeMushrooms, I'm no goth! I like black leather and lace, big deal! If you wanna know what real goths are, you should interview my mates David and Lance. Actually, don't do that. I don't want to inflict you upon people I actually like.'

 

What's been the most challenging thing you've faced in life?

'There's been a lot of shit go down in my life but it could be worse. I haven't been accosted by an axe-wielding cannibal. Yet. There's still time. I call the shots in my life though, so just let him or her (equally opportunity murdering and all) try!'

Have you ever been in love?

'Right, I've answered enough inane questions to last me until the Year 2000 so I'll kindly bid you adieu. Whoever you are.'

The Writing School of Hard Knocks

I have no regrets about studying Professional Writing and Editing at TAFE after high school. It gave me the chance to hone my craft, learn to survive away from my parents and meet some life-long creative friends. I got to study cool subjects like 'Myths and Symbols' and 'Short Story Writing'. I was just a train-ride away from Melbourne. (I couldn't afford big shopping sprees on Austudy but I loved it nonetheless. Country girl let loose!)

I must say, though, I think rather than helping me 'find my voice' or improve my voice, the course encouraged conformity. Not in political opinion or dress sense, as most of the students were fairly 'out there', (which I loved) but in writing style. I wasn't as good a writer as all the other more intellectual, cultured students, I believed. I was probably right on that count but the thirty-something Mish cringes at what I did to remedy the situation: I started to mimic their edgy writing styles. Soon came an award; something equivalent to the 'Most Improved' trophy I won in netball a few years prior, the main difference being that the other writers didn't mock me for it. (I hate to stereotype, but in my experience, writers are more sensitive than netballers).

It confirmed my suspicions: I could only be a quality writer if I copied others. When a visiting author asked the group what their ambitions were, one person answered, 'To write the Great Australian Novel.' A few other people echoed her sentiments. I hate to admit it, but I gave the same answer, even though I had no interest in reading a 'Great Australian Novel', let alone writing one. I was born to write Young Adult. Contemporary, humorous, romantic YA novels. The shame! (So perhaps my answer was honest, if you regard 'Queen Kat, Carmel and St. Jude' as a Great Australian Novel).

I truly believe I learned more valuable writing lessons by doing volunteer freelance work for a variety of magazines and online publications, as well as paid work (Alas, that was temporary). The word limits and guidelines meant that I had to be clear and concise with my words. I had to narrow my ramblings down to a core message. It helped me uncover my voice, as did allowing myself to write countless drafts! It probably helped that I was older and more confident in myself by that stage too. I knew where my strengths lay. I still found inspiration in the work of other writers, but I no longer yearned to replicate their style.

I'm glad that I finally embraced my voice. I don't know if voice is something to be found or something that is always there, if only you take hold of it. I tend to believe the latter. My kind of writing is not everyone's cup of tea, nor should it be. I was born to do it and I know some of the people will like it. As for those who don't, I'm still glad of my 100,330 words because they're mine. I'm not trying to be John Green or Rainbow Rowell. I'm just doing my best to give a piece of myself and tell a good yarn while I'm at it.

My novel may not equate to anyone's idea of 'The Great Australian Novel', but that's okay. I'm gunning for 'The Kick-ass Global Novel' anyway!

Formal learning is a great thing, but getting down in the trenches really tests your mettle. Maybe I'll never receive another cent for my writing, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to embrace my passion anyway. Volunteer, practice, improve yourself, read, and most importantly, bloody well write!

Negative Nelly's Noose

I'm having one of those self-loathing days. The sun is sorta, kinda shining; the children are happily playing in their pyjamas and I have my much-awaited coffee. I'm pretty happy it's the weekend and I'm spending the whole thing with my family. 

Doesn't change the fact that she lingers in my veins; that girl who's been coming up in conversation quite a bit lately: Negative Nelly.

Nelly is insidious. You could have everything in life going quite swimmingly but then she comes to crash your wave with her surfboard of despair. I'm feeling like I've wasted 4667 hours of my life working on a load of crap when maybe I should've been doing something worthwhile like washing dishes, improving on my finance knowledge or cleaning the grout with a toothbrush. I should've been doing anything but allowing myself to become deluded enough to think I could write a worthwhile book. 

Haven't I read other writers' work before? They're all so much better than me. Why do I bother? Why hasn't anyone stopped me? The worst part is, I've been waffling on about it to anyone who'll listen, and even letting people READ IT!

I'd be better off going outside to trim the lawn with kid-friendly scissors. 

I think writing is like drug addiction, or being in a bad relationship. It's a roller coaster of highs and lows (but with less track marks). You suffer the lows, trusting that a high is sure to follow at some point. A deluded, useless, pie-in-the-sky high. One of those highs where you say, 'I know why I bother! Because it's the one job I really love when I don't hate it. It's the one thing I've always had a knack for when I feel I suck at most other things. Because sometimes I read my work and I laugh in all the right places; because it feels like maybe there'll be some sort of legacy of me through my writing, however small. Because my daughters see me with my laptop and promptly whip out paper and pens to make their own picture books. 

Insanity prevails and I start thinking of reasons not to put my manuscript in the recycling and delete all of its files (including 'director's cuts'), and then I'm ascending on the freaking rollercoaster. I'm beginning to find my second wind and next thing you know, I'm eyeing off my pretty blue laptop.

It's a cruel and unusual curse, wanting to  write, but it's one I wouldn't trade for anything. Even those days when I feel like  putting my head in the toilet bowl and just flushing. Luckily, I'm too much of a busy creative mother and writer to have a pristine toilet so I never quite go that far. 

Nelly, I'm flushing you down that permanently stained loo! Until you resurface... 

Let the delusion begin!

The Unlikely Writing Muses

Have you seen my notebook? It’s unmistakable; it has the Clueless Betties on the front – it’s a Typo one. I’ve been running around like a chook sans head looking for it. It’s probably at the bottom of the porta-cot/makeshift giant toy box. Let me check… oh, okay. No luck. You see, I wanted to write about some unlikely writing inspirations of mine and there’s a rough draft on the topic in the uber-cool notebook. The ironic part of this is that one of my inspirations is a fictional TV character who lost his entire novel manuscript in a house fire (ie. Writer’s worst nightmare). His name was John ‘John-Boy’ Walton Jr., and he was the eldest child in a poor, close-knit God-fearing family, living during The Great Depression and World War II.

 

As a fellow writer, I keenly felt the devastation of the eldest sibling from ‘The Waltons’. He lived in a time where you couldn’t print out multiple copies or email one to yourself at work just in case computer crashed. Years’ worth of sleepless nights, effort and emotion was poured into his manuscript, only to go up in flames. From memory, a good pep talk from his parents convinced him that he should be thankful that no one died in the fire; that he shouldn’t waste energy regretting the loss of his manuscript, and biggest of all – he should just start from scratch with the book. His parents didn’t have time to sit around mourning the loss of their family home filled with memories. They had to get on to rebuilding so that they could put a roof over the head of seven children. Surely if they could manage that, he could find the will to suck it up, feel the gratitude and write his novel again. I don’t remember a lot about it, but I’m pretty sure the second incarnation of his book was superior to the original. After all, the loss of his home and the frustration of a novel up in flames would add a bit more anger and emotion to the new version, I imagine.

It’s one of those TV re-runs that renews my vigour whenever I feel like giving up.  It reminds me that I have at least one story in me that needs to be shared with the world and that I’m prepared to fight to make that happen. Come fire, flood or apocalypse. (Even constant rejection? Maybe.)

Another unlikely writing inspiration of mine is the one, the only, David Hasselhoff. He doesn’t throw in the towel EVER. He is well known for being sup-par. It seems that he was oblivious to the fact he was being laughed at for years, but then it dawned on him and he milked it for all it’s worth. I admire him for a making me laugh with the cheesy music videos he made in the 90s, the bad acting he displayed in Baywatch, and most of all, his determination to have fun with it all.  In my mind, simpletons write him off as crap, whereas smart people with a sassy sense of humour appreciate what he brings to the world – a crazy sense of fun in a world where fun is sorely missing. I don’t know if he’s ever tried to write a book, but his ability to laugh at himself, endure the criticism, and keep making the most out of life and every opportunity always inspires me to keep on truckin’. Plus, he has a car that does all the driving for him and exchanges witty banter with him. Who wouldn’t want that?

A younger, new-generation inspiration of mine is one Jenna Moreci. You may not have heard of her, but I discovered her while looking for YouTube videos re: writing advice. There are quite a few out there, but this lady is one of the few that has personality and wit. She swears like a trooper so I’m best off listening to her at work on my headphones so the kids don’t pick up on the colourful language. Her potty mouth is endearing to me though – especially when she recommends telling Negative Nellies and naysayers to f*ck off!

She’s independently published herself on Amazon.com. I’ve started reading her rollicking sci-fi novel, ‘Eve: The Awakening’ online and it’s hard to put down. She’s works tirelessly to promote herself. Not only does she make a writing advice-type video once a week, she also has a blog, impressive looking headshots and is active on all social media that I use. I admire the way she takes advantage of the technology available in this day and age to make herself known as a writer. She obviously has worked her arse off to write this book (and others to come) in the first place, and she doesn’t need to rely on traditional publishing to make a name for herself.  Jenna inspired me to start my Facebook page, ‘Ink and Coffee Beans’, actually. (So did a couple of my personal arty friends, but that’s a story for another time.) Her videos re: marketing yourself before you even finish the first book put a fire up under my behind. They spurred me on to do the unthinkable: put my name out there and risk rejection. Because Jenna shows that amidst all the rejection, something amazing can happen – you can actually finish your book and be crazy enough to let others read it! And if you work really hard and commit to it like Jenna, you may even get a whole bunch of Five Star reviews like she has on Goodreads! Feeling like I know the lady personally made me eager to read her book. There’s something in that for all of us, I think. Give a piece of yourself and people will want more. (But don’t do it in a Kardashian way. Unless that floats your boat.)

So tell me. Whether you’re a writer, an artist, or a taxidermist – who are the unlikely (or likely) muses who inspire you and motivate you to keep going despite self-doubt, rejection and a cruel, cruel world? I’d love to know. (Is it devastating to lose your taxidermied animal in a house fire? Guess it must be…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Discarding the Sham

I was precariously close to writing a sham of a book. I wrote with God in mind as I slaved over my work-in-progress, A Fine Invention. That seems sensible when you consider that Roberta, the main character, is a God-fearing teenage girl dealing with a church drop-out of a best friend and an irresistible boy who’s not a believer (among other things). The reason I had that niggling feeling that I wasn’t writing with authenticity was that I had doubts about God, although I was working towards a manuscript that unabashedly lifted Jesus higher. 

Eliza (the gothy BFF) was the perfect character to take on these doubts – I could live vicariously through this feisty teen as she said sceptical things out loud and questioned the hypocrisy of the bible. Meanwhile, Roberta, the faithful servant of God, explained it all away. I wanted to feel right about it all – I was downright passionate about feeling right about it. I wanted to create a story that would honour God, and fill each reader to the brim with ‘the spirit’. I wanted to ignite everyone’s faith with my words and enthusiasm. It would’ve been complete with explanations as to why I was right – that my god was the one true God.

My book changed once I became a church drop-out like Eliza. I went cold turkey and never looked back. Among other issues, my attendance record was poor. ‘Why don’t you come to church more often?’ I was often asked. One woman in particular, would invite me out for seemingly innocuous coffee and cake, in order to interrogate me in the second hour.  I began to associate my beloved kid-free outings with a Spanish inquisition. That was the beginning of the end for me.

There were some amazing people in that church, along with some fake-ass creeps. It’s the same anywhere you go, of course, but Christians are held up to a higher standard, (at least by me). I loved church because the messages (sermons, whatever) gave me something meaningful to reflect upon each week. It was like a cleansing; a purpose – a release from the mundane life of washing dishes, changing nappies and cooking nutritious meals. It made me feel wonderful to consider that there was more to life - that we're here for a reason and beautiful in God’s eyes. I was raising my children to feel special and loved, not just by family and friends, but by their maker; their designer. There was even one surreal moment when it felt as though God possessed my body (in a good way too.)

It wasn’t all good and it certainly wasn’t all bad. It was an experience. Although some memories of it all make me cringe, I appreciate them, if only because we writers thrive on experience.

I truly feel that I only felt genuine peace once I left the church. I began to question God’s existence without fear. More importantly, I began to question the church – all churches. It was a ‘coming-away-from-God moment’, to paraphrase our shitty Prime Minister. It allowed me to start investigating alternate options, to study other types of phenomena and philosophy; to quit limiting my knowledge and to stop feeling guilty over things that don’t matter. (Like swearing and blaspheming. Christians tend to worry about committing those two crimes more than they should. Jesus Christ!)

It wasn’t just the insistence that my church family trumped my actual family (‘Your father-in-law had triple-bypass surgery? That’s no good – but why weren’t you at church last Sunday?’). It was more than just the disgust I felt when I sat in on Sunday school to witness the teacher inform the kids that they’d eternally burn in rivers of hell if they didn’t accept God (although that’s a pretty major one, obviously.) It was all of that and more.

It was, most of all, feeling that any teaching that insists you only consider one option, one choice, one possibility, one point of view – is dangerous.

I can’t imagine I’d ever call myself an atheist. Who am I to proclaim that there’s definitely no higher power? I like to pray still sometimes. I’ve gone back to the god I had before – the one I’ve customised to suit my needs. He thinks I’m the greatest and concedes that some of the people who reckon they’re so high in His estimation are actually wankers. In my mind He’s actually a black woman. Just to stick it to da man, y’know?

It was a tumultuous journey, from joining a church, to being ‘saved’; from being baptised, to completely cutting myself off from the whole shebang.  It has made my writing richer, I believe. A Fine Invention was going to be what you might call Christian fiction. Eliza, our gothy friend, was slated to discover that her good friend was dying, and then he would be healed by God’s power, therefore bringing her back to God (and getting the sick gay friend on board at the same time – nifty!).

Now though, the book is less about affirming beliefs or giving answers. It’s about the effect beliefs have on believers, non-believers and those in between. It’s all about the questions rather than the answers. Answers bring you to an abrupt halt. They can box you into a corner. Questions lead to more questions; more discoveries, more adventures. 

I find myself learning and delving more into so many possibilities as I write the book now. Rather than preaching or giving all the characters a neat Western Civilisation God-aligned happy ending, the work is more nuanced.  I feel more authentic as I re-write this honest incarnation of the book.

It’s not a satire of religion like ‘Saved’ (starring Mandy Moore), nor is it a love-in for God like ‘Left Behind’ (starring my teenage crush, Kirk Cameron.) I like to think it’s somewhere in between – that it’s something that could make the reader think, question, analyse, and perhaps consider that there are at least forty-nine, if not fifty, shades of grey when considering what the meaning of this whole life thing is.

I think my own personal ideal of God in her beautiful African wisdom, would approve.