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!