Self-doubt and writing

 
Writing is one of the most liberating processes for me personally. I journalled endlessly as an angst-ridden teenager and young adult. It helped me to get my feelings and thoughts out of my system, read over them and make sense of them. The words were a true reflection of my disposition at that time. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes black marks on the page. These days we blog or post on Facebook. Same difference.

The art of letter writing too, has evolved into emails and texts and I have to say, I'm ok with that. I would rather write short greetings, day-to-day catch ups or verbose soliloquies, than say them. Writing to someone is a great equaliser. They can't talk over you or respond their thoughts without considering your voice. They are forced to read what you have to say and then reply. I find it not only an efficient way to communicate but a leveler of the proverbial playing field.

Writing books has been a blissful and wrenching process simultaneously. I love nothing more than to sit alone and in silence; (this never happens, I write among the chaos of a young family most of the time!), and to thump out the work of my mind and heart on a keyboard. For me, the hardest part is definitely not the writing. Not even the re-reading, editing or re-writing. It's the sharing.

When I journalled, I assumed, and rightly so, that the words on those pages were mine alone. Nobody would ever read what I wrote. Maybe my children or grandchildren, or great grandchildren, after I'm long gone, would discover the chest of journals in some dusty garage and pour over the ramblings of their long dead relative. How romantic!

When I decided that I would write books and self-publish them, it was with the intention that I would manifest my desire, regardless of what an industry's rules were, and whether or not I was lucky enough to ever set foot in that world. Without the approval, hmm maybe that's the wrong word. Promotion? Endorsement. Without the endorsement of an industry: having a publishing house pick you up, give you a contract, market and promote you; without that machine of commercialism behind you, it's just you and your words, out there in the wind, naked and for all to see and judge or ignore. It's a bit masochistic because that is what I love most about self-publishing. That authenticity. It's just me out there. Purely what I have written, by myself, without much interference, with no one but myself to blame if it all goes pear shaped. It's very scary, but it's very liberating and I get control over the entire process of creating a book. I'm aware this may be a bit dysfunctional, but it's the only option I have to live out my dream right now. People don't have to read my books. They are not coerced or encouraged to, other than by my piss-weak self-promotion on social media, to my handful of followers (most of whom I'm convinced are bots!). And if someone does read my work, they don't have to like it. It's not trendy to. They don't even have to finish it. They can be completely indifferent. There's no popularity to cloud their vision or entice them. I have to say, I really like that. I can stay in the shadows.

But, and it's a big one, I'm still terrified about writing the wrong thing, causing pain, getting it wrong. Despite there being no real contractual consequences, (I don't owe anyone anything. I can write and publish the same word over and over again if I want to); despite that, I don't! I want to write something good. I want to write with integrity, honesty, emotion, passion, authenticity and fearlessness. I want my words to have impact. I want them to be enjoyable and entertaining, to make people feel and think. I want it to be the best it can be at the time I do it. Subject to change of course, and hopefully for the better.

It is now time to publish my second book, a prequel of sorts, in the trilogy that has become the guinea pig of this whole journey. And I am plagued by fear and doubt, which some may say means I'm on the right track.

When I wrote and published the first book I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. The story took 10 years to develop and building the architecture of a book, setting up a business from scratch and fulfilling the needs of this experiment were a massive learning curve. This second story was a smoother process, from the benefit of experience, but I have some major doubts. I'm getting to the main point, stay with me!

So, my biggest fear with the first book was creating and writing characters that were Aboriginal. I was terrified that I would get it wrong. I worried about appropriation mostly, and so many other issues that I had no idea how to even approach it. I asked questions, did my research and let my imagination and intention speak for itself. Then I came across a great paper by the author Anita Heiss who addressed this issue. Dr Heiss' paper talks about white writers and their fear of not getting it right when creating Indigenous characters. Whilst I still had lots of discomfort about my amateurism, my lack of experience, my limitations in research, I forged ahead and did my best. I worked hard to portray my Indigenous characters with sensitivity and respect and to ensure that it was clear that the voice of both the author and protagonist was clearly a white person. In this way, I did my best to be descriptive without appropriating. I'm not sure if I succeeded completely, I'm sure there is always room for improvement, but I worked really hard to get it right and as stated in Dr Heiss' paper, I simply could not omit an Aboriginal presence in a story set in Australia, and in particular, in the countryside.

The Indigenous characters have returned in the second book, and I hope to include them again in the third book. I felt more comfortable the second time around. They felt more real and accessible to me than ever. I felt better about writing them and even bringing them closer to the central narrative. Again, I wanted to make sure it was clear that the story was fictitious, the author and the protagonist were still white and still mostly describing, from their perspective, their experiences and relationships with these fictional characters, which sometimes exposed their bias and ignorance. Again, I have doubts and I'm sure there is room for improvement, but I'm happy to stand by that, and if necessary grow and learn. 

Now I have a new uncertainty and this one is a little harder to make peace with. In the first book (spoiler alert), the protagonist starts off being a heterosexual woman, who later falls in love with a woman, the protagonist in the second book. I had some concerns about writing from the first person about being bisexual, when I, the author, am not. How can I speak for someone's experience, when I haven't had that experience myself? Do I even have the right? There was no way to make clear that the author was observing the character, because the protagonist tells the story in the first person. I justified my actions by allowing myself to explore a "what if" scenario. What if I, a heterosexual woman, found myself falling in love with another woman? It's not entirely impossible. I delved into that possibility as the fuel to my creativity.

This time it's a little different. I have to say from the outset that it's too late and I can't change it. As I write this, the second book is in the final stages of publication. You see, this time, the protagonist is a lesbian. She discovers her sexuality in her teens and I wrote the story in the first person. It feels a little deceptive and I'm not sure that I have the right to do this. I have a million justifications. I tried to be respectful and authentic, it's fiction, I should be able to imagine characters that are far removed from myself. But it still doesn't make peace with the appropriation of a gay woman's voice. I knew the only way around it as I was writing, was to write from the third person, making it clear the author was a straight woman, observing and describing a fictional lesbian character, but I felt the impact would be stronger in the first person and I felt strongly about not 'othering' the character - I didn't want her sexual orientation to be trivialised. I am aware that I may have done the wrong thing. That I may have made a mistake, but I simply didn't know how else to achieve the continuity of the style of story telling that I began in book one. I even considered writing the third book in the third person to prove myself wrong, to highlight how I should have written book two, but I'm not sure I can. I even told myself that the central issues of the story in the second book weren't the sexual orientation of the main character. That family breakdown, relationship dysfunction, addiction and recovery were the main themes. That it doesn't matter that she happens to be a lesbian. But it does matter. Her orientation is central to the character's being and I have appropriated that voice as a straight woman, by telling the character's story in the first person.

Therefore now, all I can do is stand by my decision, whether or not it is right or wrong and let the storytelling speak for itself. The politics are something I am willing to admit I got wrong, and knowingly! It is not something I am only discovering now, or that has been pointed out to me. I knew it was problematic from the outset, but I did it anyway. I'm not hoping to get away with it and this blog in part is a way to address my doubts, not exonerate myself. Remember, the industry machine does not exist in my writing and publishing. There is no media attention, no social media mob, no consequences. Lucky for me. It is very likely that not many people will read this book. So I want to make it clear that I am aware and mindful of my possible misstep and that I am willing for it to be a point of discussion if it comes up for people who do happen to read this book and find it odd that a straight woman is writing from the perspective of a lesbian.

In saying all this, I am proud of the work I have done so far and hope to do more. I adore the characters I have created and their journeys and truly feel that the story honours the issues and themes I hoped to highlight. This year I hope to write the final book in the trilogy and bring all the characters together. It might make all the mistakes of the past worth it. After all, that seems to be the central message of the saga. That life is just a series of experiences and decisions that we make with the tools and knowledge we have in that given moment, and that in retrospect, these events form the tapestry of our lives. We don't live in a vacuum. We share our life's voyage with those who we are intertwined with through kinship, friendship, love and chance.

The second book in the Space trilogy will be available for purchase on Amazon on the 14th February 2018.

Why Books are Magic, Especially for Children

When I was a child, my nickname was Booka Book. I repeated the phrase over and over again: "Booka booka booka booka", whenever I wanted a book. My parents gave me books, they let me flip through the pages and absorb them, they read to me. Golden books and Lady Bird books were favourites and I still have many of them, that I have now passed on to my children. 

My kids are at the age, (my eldest is three and a half and the twins are almost two), that they are finally appreciating books. They no longer squirm and lose interest and become distracted when I try to read to them. They will sit together immersed in a pile of books, alone with the pages and the stories inside. Sometimes swapping between themselves, the eldest 'reads' to the siblings, reciting from memory what happens on each page. Sometimes word for word from those stories that rhyme or making up sentences as the pictures come to life in the mind. The twins are transfixed when they listen and jibber away in their own baby language, when they have a book to themselves. 

We have finally nailed down the bedtime story ritual. Whatever happens with books during the day, at bedtime we choose one or two books, sometimes three if it's early, and I sit on their bedroom floor and read to them. For the most part, they listen and join in. They know the last words of a familiar rhyming sentence and we say it together:

"...and his favourite food is roasted....?"
"FOX"

That's from The Gruffalo. It's a favourite in our house. So is The Gruffalo's Child, Room on the Broom, The Paper Dolls, in fact anything written by the incredible Julia Donaldson. 

Another staple in our house is anything by the incomparable Lynley Dodd. Hairy Maclary and his friends visit our place often and they are as familiar as family members.

These days, our children are so lucky. Not only do they get to delve deep into their own imaginations through the magic of these stories, the books come to life in animated reality. Some of their most beloved tales have been made into cartoons that not only bring the pictures and words from the pages to life, they fill the gaps in the stories, highlighting the nuances that can be easily overlooked. Like in Room on the Broom. The dragon flies low and menacingly over a bog filled with a large toad and her babies. As he passes, they fart bubbles into the mud. That isn't in the book!

As fantastic as technology is, and it is, despite how much whining and criticism we hear about how everyone's face is stuck in a screen these days. So what! They once said novels would destroy young people's souls too. As fantastic as technology is, it still doesn't compare to flipping the paper pages of a colourful book. Children slow down. They go places while sitting still. They do it alone and independently and they grow as a result.

Solitude, self sufficiency, a quiet space to let the cogs of your brain turn and link up happens in a special way when you hold that bundle of paper and absorb it, letting it seep into your psyche and do what it needs to without distraction. Because that, to me, is the biggest difference between reading anything on the internet and reading a book. It's the volume of messages and pathways reaching out for your attention all at the same time when you're on an electronic device that makes your brain and your being travel too fast sometimes. That's not always a bad thing. It teaches you to be discerning and efficient. With practice you learn to skim and only take in the stuff that you need, the important information you require and discard the junk. But it's only when you're focused and expert at skimming that this works. Other times all sorts of junk falls through the cracks and derails your thinking. Again, not necessarily a bad thing. Who knows what you might learn by mistake!

A book, on the other hand, well it's a kinder journey. It's a cruise not a speed boat and sometimes the adrenaline flood is best put aside. 

When I Typed The Words THE END

Image credit via thebookrefinery.com

It's been almost 10 years since I started writing my book. A novel. That sounds like a long time, but it didn't really take me 10 years. I just started that long ago. I have finally typed the words The End....for the final time, after 3 edits, none professional and I'm scared. What now? I miss them all already. All the people I have grown to know and love in the story. What'll I do without their unfolding lives in my life.

When I started writing this book, I was in a great place in my life. After years of renting itinerantly and jumping from one casual job to another, I had finally hit a comfortable plateau. I'd been living in the same unit for three years and had been working in a secure and stable workplace for a year. I was saving money and had just come back from traveling through Europe - albeit a Contiki at the age of 31, but it was bloody awesome. I was healthy and I was happy with myself. My landlord wanted to sell the unit and offered it to me to purchase for $250,000. Can you imagine? A two bedroom unit in Marrickville, in the inner city of Sydney for a quarter of a mil, in 2006. I didn't have that kind of money. I didn't even have a deposit and the bank wouldn't loan me anything without one. I was doing ok, but I was not going to be able to afford it, I was happily living fortnight to fortnight. 

When he told me that if the new owners weren't investors, that I would have to move on, I didn't panic like all the other times I'd been evicted. He said he would put in a good word for me, but it didn't matter. I had another option.

My brother was share housing in a great ground floor apartment in Surry Hills, only a few suburbs away. It was an incredible place with two bathrooms, a courtyard and a complex gym and pool. His flatmates had finally moved on and he asked me to move in with him. The rent was reasonable and we were both excited to have the opportunity to live with family again. 

The weekend before I moved out of my unit I met my now husband. By the time I got to my brother's place I was finally at the end of a very rocky and tumultuous few years. Great job, great apartment, great flatmate, great boyfriend. It was time to start the book.

And so I did. I sat down at my laptop one day, a shitty old one I bought on ebay and just started. The main character started off loosely based on me. Lives with her brother, works in a government department, socially awkward. Other people who had walked in and out of my life over the years emerged as other characters. I was so unclear about where the story was going, but I made some rudimentary plans and just figured it out as I went along. It took on a life of its own.

A year later, I hadn't gotten very far. I was too busy loving my life. My brother bought his own place and I moved to the northern beaches of Sydney to be closer to my partner. Soon the book was on the backburner. Something I picked up every now and then and then put down again when life got busy. 

My partner and I went overseas together. When we got back we bought our first home. We got married. A year later I was pregnant and then 10 months after the first baby, I conceived twins. Suffice to say, I've been a little busy.

But this book, this dream, this thing I always returned to when I wanted to feel completely and utterly satisfied and immersed in my own thoughts, this story filled with people that were so much a part of me whose lives were unfolding almost separately to me, it was just there. Like an old mate that I caught up with when the time came. That was enriched with the progress and changes happening in my own life. 

The moment I was away from the obligations of full time work, from the time I went on maternity leave, I vowed to myself that I was going to spend more time on my writing. To finally finish it. And since the twins moved out of their newborn phase and I found myself with a more predictable and more forgiving schedule, I've slowly nutted away at it and now it's done.

It's no secret that doing two Gunnas Masterclasses and the Gunnas Self Publishing were huge influences on my motivation and momentum to get this book finished. I could finally see it as a real possibility. That I wouldn't have to worry about trying to sell it to a publisher and prepare for the inevitable knock backs. I could publish myself. I could do it myself. I could do it for myself. Who cares if no one buys it or reads it. I wrote it.

As the story took shape and the characters evolved, I not only saw the end of the book, I can now see the second and third books and I guarantee, they won't take me 10 years to complete. Although life is still pretty busy and I'm sure will only get busier. But so what. I'll make the time.

So the next step now is to work on getting it out there and start the other two. Stay tuned.

 

I'm a Writer - 20th blog post

So this is my 20th blog post. When I started doing this, it was just an outlet for me to write. To have a say about the things I felt passionately about or wanted to rant about, outside of commenting and combating online. I still do that by the way. If the situation requires it.

I've kept a journal since I was 13. I have a box of them stashed away somewhere. Those pages have witnessed all the turmoil I felt growing up as well as all the things that inspired and motivated me. There was a time when I would have been mortified for anyone to read my diaries, but now I think I'd have a new perspective on them. I should start publishing random pages. That would be bloody hilarious. You can't make that kind of stuff up. It's gold! (That will never happen by the way....NEVER.)

10 years ago - give or take - I started writing a book. A novel. It's about a woman and a whole bunch of stuff that happens to her. Partly informed by my own experiences, mostly made up. It's a bit idealistic and sometimes overly dramatic and mostly just interesting; to me anyway. It has taken me ages because life is very time consuming and motivation is fickle. Then I did a Gunna's writing masterclass with Catherine Deveny and everything changed. Mind you, I was three weeks short of giving birth to my first baby so everything really did change shortly after, but this class made me see myself as a writer. Whether or not I was getting paid, despite what I wrote about. It was as she says 'a creative enema'.

So I picked up where I left off with the book and started to see the end. When you start writing something; actually start not just think about it and then when you can see how it will end; the middle takes care of itself. I'm not finished yet; it's finished in my head, but I still have to get it all out. I'll get there, I'm in no hurry. I'm certainly not going to 'die with my music inside me.' Thanks Catherine.

This blog is a tool for me to pursue writing and it got me through the birth and early rearing of my kids, especially when I had the twins. The piece I wrote for multiple birth awareness week was one of my most rewarding. Slowly my purpose has grown and when something moves me and an idea comes together, with practice I am finding it easier to articulate myself. I'm also learning as I go about how this online world works. My blog still has no advertising and I haven't consolidated myself on social media, but I'm a baby step kind of person. I can't bite off more than I can chew. I need to take tiny bites and enjoy and savor every morsel. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, which is sometimes my biggest downfall. 'Perfect is the enemy of good'. I'm quoting CD again.

In the last month I have started writing for Lifehack.org. You can find my articles here. They actually pay me. It's not that much, but it's not about the money. It's about learning more and the editorial help they provide is really valuable. Plus, I'm actually building some experience and my motivation is soaring. I'm a published and paid writer. Another baby step conquered. 

I don't care for fame and fortune. I don't care if people don't bother reading or sharing my work. I don't care if nobody engages. I don't care if people disagree or agree. I don't care for competing. I don't care for a standard or an expectation or a definition of who others think I am or what they think I am doing. I don't care. I am a published and paid writer. End of story. Well no actually....it's just the beginning.