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PLANS FOR A NEW YEAR

2012-01-26T15:33:00.000+13:00

2011 is well and truly over and as I look back on it I can say I'm glad it's passed. For lots of reasons it was a hard year. However, there are always high points and interesting diversions to even the worst of years.

It was the year I was able to stand back from my first WIP and make some much needed decisions. At present Blackbird is quietly marinating in my bottom drawer, but not forgotten.

I started two new projects, faltered on one and am slowly progressing through the other.

Putting my hand up and becoming the president of our local Writers' Workshop was a moment fraught with nerves, yet it has turned out to be a very positive move. Sometimes it's good to step outside of our comfort zones.

Fountain at Versailles, France.

After much fundraising we were able to send our oldest son on a European tour. The experience is something he will treasure for many years.

2011 was also my final year as a homeschooling Mum. My daughter is set to start high school next Friday, leaving me with a lot more hours in the day.

As life takes it twists and turns we can never really know our future, but despite that we lay plans for the days, months, and years ahead; hoping at least some will come to fruition.

These are my plans for 2012:

1 Finish my present WIP: working title 'Tegan's Story'.

2 Be more creative: patchwork, card making, stitching.

3 Read plenty of good books.

4 Blog more regularly than I have been.

And as I work on Number 4, you'll get to hear about my long, hot summer; my first foray into 4 wheel driving; and my best reads of last year. I hope you'll join me.

Old Dunstan Road - close to where Rohan, LOTR was filmed.

Oh, I need to add another: Don't put bread in the oven and then write blogs! (Don't worry, the house is still standing!)

MERRY CHRISTMAS

2011-12-24T14:24:00.000+13:00

I'm having a bit of a break from writing and blogging, but I just wanted to wish you all a very happy and peaceful Christmas.

I hope your days are filled with family, good friends, great food and awesome books!!!

I'll be back again in the New Year.

CHRISTMAS IS ALMOST HERE

2011-12-14T12:43:00.000+13:00

Well, I've done it again, done a disappearing act. I can't quite believe it's been another two weeks since I last blogged. I've been busy getting everything organised for Christmas and for the first time in years I'm totally organised before the school holidays start, which is a wonderful feeling.

The tree is up:

And my favourite angel ornaments are gracing the piano:

By the end of this week everyone in the family will be finished school and six long weeks of summer holidays await us. We're hoping to complete a couple of projects in the garden, go for day trips in the car and find some new places to explore on foot. And for the inevitable cooler, rainy days there is a pile of books and another pile of movies to get through. What are your plans for the holidays?

The writing has taken a backseat for just a little while (just for the Christmas season), although there are the results of a couple of short story competitions coming up at the end of the month. (Fingers crossed!)

Wherever you are - knee deep in snow or basking in the sun - I hope you have a blessed and peaceful time leading up to Christmas.

HELLO SUMMER

2011-12-01T13:24:00.001+13:00

Today is the first day of summer and it is a perfect hot sun-shiny day. This morning I took a scrubbing brush and hose to the table on the deck to remove all that winter had thrown at it. Then I pulled up a chair and ate breakfast under the sun. A couple of resident fantails swooped around me and I spotted a large dragonfly. A lovely start to the day.

Along with the coming of summer is the end of the school year. This week my oldest finished school - forever. Second son has spent the week performing in the school show, playing a mighty mean bass guitar. Last night we went as a family and it was loads of fun. And my youngest is winding down her last year of homeschooling. She's off to high school next year and we are both looking forward to the change. There will, hopefully, be a much more prolific writing schedule for me next year.

An almost completed first chapter got an airing on Tuesday night at Mad Scribblers (the awesome critique group I attend). It received favourable reports. So with that boost to my confidence I'm dying to get stuck in and write up a storm!

I still have no title for this new novel, so I'll refer to it as Tegan's Story for the moment. I must admit to thoroughly enjoying writing a modern story. There is very little research needed, which is a nice change, although I do need to interview a friend with the same illness as Tegan's brother. I've never interviewed anyone so it will be another learning curve.

And I'll finish up with a big shout of CONGRATULATIONS!!!! to all those who have completed NaNo. Well done to you all.

CHASING AFTER CHARACTERS

2011-11-27T20:13:00.000+13:00

‎"It begins with a character, usually, and once he stands up on his feet and begins to move, all I can do is trot along behind him with a paper and pencil trying to keep up long enough to put down what he says and does." William Faulkner

A perfect quote for where I'm at. I really am chasing after new characters, watching how they react with one another and how they cope with what I'm throwing at them. Exciting stuff.

When creating characters, I fill out questionnaires that tell me things like what they wear to their greatest fears and everything in between. I find these really helpful.

The other day I came across a unique idea in an email from Writers' Digest. It was to put your character on the witness stand then interrogate them from both the prosecutors and defenders point of view. A good way to bring out the worst and the best of your character.

But despite all the preparation, for me, the best way to really get to know my characters is to just start writing. That's when they leap off the page and start to tell me their story.

So how do you create your characters?

WHERE HAVE I BEEN?

2011-11-22T19:27:00.000+13:00

Well, I could tell you I've been on a dream-come-true trip to Italy, or a road trip across Australia, but I'd be lying! Truth is I've been here all along carrying out all the normal, slightly predictable routines of being a mother and wife. The one difference being: Internet issues!!!

Now I could rant and rave about a particular internet provider, but that won't get any of us anywhere. Instead I'll say a big HELLO to all of you wonderful loyal readers who are still stopping in despite my absence. I must say the Stats button on Blogger is a wealth of interesting information. It seems that for every New Zealander that pops over for a visit, 3 readers from USA come by. This is a new trend in the last week or so. Not sure why, but hey, it's good to have you.

Since this blog is supposedly about my writing journey, I should catch you all up with my latest doings.

My latest short story, written for a speculative fiction competition, failed to get a place. It's a gothic historical tale entitled The Scent of Lilies. I really enjoyed trying a different genre. I've had good feedback on it and will rework it for another up coming competition.

It is now four years since I started on this great adventure of writing, and therefore I've spent the last four years with the characters in my novel, Blackbird. I had put it aside earlier this year and dabbled with a different story, then went back to it. Big mistake! But we're allowed those, as long as we learn from them and I have.

One of the most important things I've learned is where to start a story. I have a real tendency to start early, to set the scene etc etc. Three times I have cut the beginning chapters off, once I needed to trim about ten of them. And now I finally have worked out where the right beginning should be and what form it should take. I just have to write it.

And that's the rub. I can't find it in me to write another word. I'm just so tired of the story. So, with a sigh, I have consigned it to the bottom drawer. Do I feel like I have failed? No. I've learnt to write on that story. I've moved from the 'truly terrible' to the 'almost there'. Will the novel ever see the light of day again? Yes. With a long break I hope to pick it up and rewrite it from scratch, because I still love the characters and I believe in the story.

So what will I do in the meantime?

Well there's this techno savvy girl, who's found herself in the black blocks of Central Otago, and she's whispering her story in my ear.

photo of Ida Valley from the Otago Daily Times

HOLIDAY TREASURE

2011-11-04T23:44:00.000+13:00

When I set off on my travels a couple of weeks back, I hoped to return with the inspiration for a story or two. As you know from my previous post the short trip was not what I bargained for. I returned home stiff, tired and a little disappointed.

However, when hubby and I returned to fetch our daughter from camp we stopped off at a little antique store in Clinton. And this is what I found.

My dream is to have a farmhouse kitchen and at the moment I'm about halfway there. I've got pine furniture, open shelves, a collection of old tins and the odd ornamental chicken or cow. And I've got plans involving a stack of T&G wood, some chicken wire cupboard doors and more than a few patchwork creations.

So when I saw this treasure I snapped it up. There's something cosy about those eggs nestled in that lovely warm toned wood, isn't there?

The little metal disc is stamped Northern Prairie Timber Company, so I assume it hails from Canada or USA.

I've never seen anything like it. Have you?

HOLIDAYING IN ARROWTOWN

2011-10-26T14:54:00.000+13:00

As promised here's a post about my trip to Arrowtown with my hubby.

We set off very early last Monday morning with daughter's camp gear squashed into the back of my wee car. By mid morning we had left her at her second home - Pukerau Christian camp.

We drove up from Gore through rolling green farm land to Kingston. Tucked in under mountains at the southern tip of Lake Wakatipu, Kingston is a tiny town where the Kingston Flyer resides. At present the steam train is out of use and in the hands of new owners. Hopefully it will be up and running again soon. Several years ago we took the family on the restored train on its roundtrip to Garston. A 20 minute trip if I remember rightly. New Zealand readers might remember the role the train had in the Cadbury's Crunchie Bar adds. A very western style add with gun-brandishing outlaws!! One of my favourites, of course.

The shore of Lake Wakatipu - Kingston

By the time we arrived in Queenstown the weather had closed in. We ducked between shops trying to avoid the rain. It's almost ten years since I last visited and I was amazed at how large this town has become. In my younger days it was a quiet holiday town. Now it is the adventure capital of New Zealand and even has its own international airport.

A short drive from Queenstown had us in Arrowtown; cold and wet. After settling in to our accommodation we searched out a nice place for dinner. We ate at an old converted stable in the middle of this picturesque little village.

The Stables - built by Bendix Hallenstein in 1873.

I love how this little town, foundered on the discovery of gold in the 1860's, retains its frontier look. Here's some photos. Imagine there's no cars, add a few horses, a wagon or two, perhaps a lady in a bonnet and a long dress ...

The next morning brought torrential rain and after a virtually sleepless night, due to a bed which I'm sure was made from lumps of concrete, we decided to return home. So our holiday was cut in half, but it was refreshing to get away and revisit some interesting and beautiful places. Here's a few more pictures.

Several cottages in Arrowtown built in the 1870s.

A little house close to the restored Chinese Settlement. This place tugs at something deep inside. I've a feeling it's going to feature in a future story!

On the way back home we went off the beaten track to visit The Lonely Graves. Before I took this photo a Magpie dive bombed me and tried to take off with my hood - he failed!

Last year I wrote a story about these graves. You can read it here.

With summer just around the corner, I'm going to have to organise a few more of these excursions. I'll need to pray for soft beds and no rain first!!

KOWHAI BLOOMING

2011-10-16T17:36:00.000+13:00

I can't quite believe that the first week of the school holidays is over. It only seems a moment ago that I was waiting for them to start!

On the writing front, things are ticking along nicely. My short story is finally finished and I handed it in for judging on Wednesday. I found writing in a completely different genre a real challenge. It required me to change my usual writing style, both sentence structure and choice of words. I feel like I've had a vigorous workout and have given myself a few days off!

Recently I had some in depth and really helpful feedback on my novel, Blackbird. It's given me much needed inspiration and I'm looking forward to getting back into the thick of it.

On the domestic front, hubby and I are taking off for a few days. On Monday we're dropping our youngest at a camp near Gore then heading off to Arrowtown via Kingston and Queenstown. It's been almost 10 years since I have been up that way and I'm so excited. Central Otago is one of my favourite places in the world. I'm hoping that tripping around and visiting the cemeteries and museums will inspire some historical stories.

I'll tell you about our travels when we get back.

In the meantime, here's some photos of our Kowhai trees, which have just burst into flower. For my overseas readers Kowhai is the Maori word for yellow and is pronounced - ko (rhymes with no) , phi (rhymes with high). The flowers attract many native birds especially the Tui with its little white throat. We're fortunate to have several of them living close by.

A Tui, but not from my camera

ELISABETH GRACE FOLEY ON WRITING WESTERNS

2011-10-13T10:31:00.001+13:00

Today I'm pleased to welcome Elisabeth Grace Foley on the fourth stop of her blog tour.
Her first eBook THE RANCH NEXT DOOR AND OTHER STORIES - an anthology of western stories - is available at Smashwords and Amazon for US$2.99. It's a great read with wonderful characters and story lines that stay with you long after you've read the last word. You can read my review here.

Elisabeth is a young writer (21) who lives in the north east of USA. Today she is going to tell us what inspired her to write westerns.

I first got acquainted with Westerns in the same way many people probably have—through film and TV. My dad always liked Westerns, and as a little girl I spent many weekend afternoons watching John Wayne movies and classic TV shows like Bonanza with him. I was also a thoroughly horse-crazy kid, so the presence of so many horses in Westerns was probably a big attraction.

Oddly enough, my introduction to Western literature came by way of Roy Rogers. One of Roy’s early films, The Border Legion (a.k.a. West of the Badlands) was apparently based (very, very loosely) on a novel by Zane Grey. I’d enjoyed the movie and decided to look up the book.

Well, I never did end up reading The Border Legion, but I began with The Light of Western Stars and went through about a dozen more books by Zane Grey. His often melodramatic novels of romance and adventure were a new reading experience for me. But I think it was the West, rather than the flowery prose, that had me hooked. From there I moved on to other classic Western authors, a variety of styles among them—Louis L’Amour, Max Brand, B.M. Bower and others.

Somewhere during this time my own interest in writing resurfaced. I’d been writing stories for most of my life, and occasionally talked about getting published someday, but all of that had taken a back seat for a while during my teens while I studied music. I got back into writing by participating in National Novel Writing Month a couple of times. And my lifelong interest in history also experienced a resurgence. History had always been my favorite school subject, and the more I read the more it fascinated me. To me, the American West represents a fantastic opportunity for the historical fiction writer, because there’s such a wealth of material to draw on. So many different settings, climates, people and events—plenty of factual inspiration, and also plenty of room to let your imagination go to work with your own fictional creations.

I’ve started small and simply with this collection, but I put a lot of love and hard work into each of the stories. I hope I can take what I’ve learned in writing them and go on to more ambitious projects in the future. It’s exciting to think about all the stories that are just waiting to be written.

Thanks for sharing with us Elisabeth.
You can visit her blog The Second Sentence here.

A BLOG TOUR

2011-10-10T11:57:00.000+13:00

As an addition to my previous post, here are the details to Elisabeth Grace Foley's blog tour for the launch of her book: The Ranch Next Door and Other Stories.

Today: Elisabeth will be at Writing With Style sharing how she got her inspiration for the story The Ranch Next Door and a giveaway of her book.

Wednesday: An author's spotlight at Meg Mim's blog and a guest post on editing at K.M.Weiland's Wordplay.

Thursday: Here with me to talk about what influences her to write in the western genre.

Friday: An interview and giveaway at Writing at High Altitude.

I hope you can hop over to these blogs. One thing I like about blog tours is that apart from the author interviews and giveaways, which are always fun and informative, it's a chance to explore some different blogs.

Well, I'm off now to add the final scene to my short story. The competition closes on Wednesday night. I think, despite my annoying health issues, that I will get there. Phew!

THE RANCH NEXT DOOR AND OTHER STORIES

2011-10-08T16:21:00.000+13:00

Earlier this week, this collection of western short stories was launched by Elisabeth Grace Foley. I have been a regular follower of her blog The Second Sentence for over a year now and it is a great pleasure to be able to review her first venture into the world of ePublishing.

There are seven stories in this collection, all set on the prairies of the American west. The collection opens with 'The Ranch Next Door', a story reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet. The Spencers are cattlemen and the Ryans are sheepherders; never a good mix. So what happens when a Spencer falls in love with a Ryan?

'Disturbing The Peace' came next with a more reflective tone, followed by 'Cross My Heart' that had me holding my breath as the tension built.

'A Rangleand Renaissance' is my favourite. Old man Patton, an irascible old crone, has his granddaughter wrapped around his finger, he's even interfering with her courting! But are things as they seem? Elisabeth's prose shone in this story. Old man Patton leapt of the page fully formed, with absolutely spot on dialogue.

'The Outlaw's Wife' was riveting, with a wonderful twist at the end that I just didn't see coming and 'Delayed Deposit' was a fine end to a great anthology.

These stories are packed with cowboys and outlaws, yet beyond the high stakes and adventure there is a quiet, thought provoking quest for justice and integrity. These stories linger after the last word is read, which, to me, is the sign of a great writer.

'The Ranch Next Door' can be purchased at Amazon or Smashwords for US $2.99.

And join me on Thursday 13th of October when I will be hosting a guest blog with Elisabeth Grace Foley, where she will be discussing why she writes westerns.

MUSINGS FROM A SLEEPY BLOGGER

2011-10-05T11:54:00.000+13:00

It's sometimes hard to come up with a blog when not much has been happening. I'm getting over the last of the shingles, which have left me with an insatiable need to sleep! the weather is bouncing between glorious warm sunshine and cold overcast drabness, and I'm still grappling with the first three chapters of my novel - with a modicum of success. So really I have nothing awe inspiring or exciting to report.

Have I read some good books? Yes, definitely, but nothing I feel like reviewing - yawn - I need more sleep.

What about telly? Well I did watch a doco about three men in a boat in Scotland. I enjoyed that and it rekindled my desire to travel there. A bit of a problem about all the boat rides to the islands though. Not sure I like the idea of little planes either.

Movies? I enjoyed one on the telly the other day. Can't remember the title - what does that tell you?

Oh, a light bulb flash! I watched Young Victoria on Sunday evening. Now that was wonderful. What really intrigued me was her succession to the throne. I always assumed she was the daughter of a king, but not so. This movie really highlighted my ignorance of the monarchy over this period. I know an awful lot about the Tudors - can't avoid them really, can we? Then, thanks to the superb writings of Sharon Penman, I have some knowledge of the Middle Ages, but the Regency? My knowledge of that era begins and ends with what I've gleaned from Jane Austen, and if you know her work then you know that the monarchy gets barely a mention. Well, not that I noticed anyway.

So, there you go. A glimpse into the not very exciting life of an aspiring novelist. I'll think I'll go take another nap now. I'll just find a pretty picture for you first :)

Victoria and Albert - Quite the handsome couple aren't they?

SECONDHAND TREASURES

2011-09-30T18:04:00.001+13:00

Just a few minutes drive from my home is the Gardens shopping centre - so called for its proximity to Dunedin's beautiful Botanic Gardens. Amongst the usual shops we are fortunate to have not one, but two secondhand bookstores.

On a recent trip I came across these two treasures:

WHAT JANE AUSTEN ATE AND CHARLES DICKENS KNEW by Daniel Pool.

From fox hunting to whist this book describes in detail the facts of daily life in 19th century England. Whilst Daniel Pool wrote this to help make the reading of 19th century books easier, for me it is an open window into the lives of the people who often frequent my stories and novels.

There are chapters on subjects such as Currency, Etiquette, Transport, Clothing and Disease. Then at the back there is a comprehensive glossary, covering words like reticule, tiffin, pelerine and cotillion.

It will sit comfortably on my bookshelf next to Ian Mortimer's 'The Time Traveller's Guide to Medieval England' and Candy Moulton's 'The Writer's Guide to Everyday Life in the Wild West'.

BLACK BILLY TEA - NEW ZEALAND BALLADS by Joe Charles.

This fascinating book is filled with ballads about old time New Zealanders. There's ballads featuring gold diggers, swaggies, shearers, drovers and even sailors, all written by Joe Charles. Before each song is a short history or explanation and a black line drawing.

I'm particularly drawn to his ballads, 'Somebody's Darling', 'Gentle Annie' and 'Roaring Meg', well known legends from Central Otago.

Here's a few lines from 'Roaring Meg.'

... No butter-milk maid with shy girlish ways,
But a bull-busting barmaid of the gold-digging days,
Who could handle a team and a full bullock yoke,
A girl you could talk to and share a good joke.
Her voice was as clear as a chime of brass bells,
And the mountains fair rang with her bullock-driving yells.
Her eyes were bright blue, a-roving and bold
And her heart was as true as a nugget of gold.
A bull-whacking barmaid - an Irish colleen-
Was wild Roaring Meg, the gold-digger's queen! ...

There's plenty of fodder in these pages for my fertile imagination! I'm sure they will inspire many a story.

And on a final note, this is my 100th blog post!

SPRING HAS SPRUNG

2011-09-28T21:15:00.000+13:00

Having just got back into the swing of blogging again, I came down with shingles. (Check out my last post.) Now one week and one day later, I'm back again.

Yesterday I ventured out, feeling much better, but still not 100%. And what a surprise was in store for me!
Trees that were bare and wintry a week ago are covered with green buds, pink and white blossom abounds, and daffodils have raised their bright and sunny heads.

Daylight saving started in the weekend and I'm enjoying the extra light at the end of the day. When it was autumn I know I said it was my favourite season, but spring comes a close second. It's the promise of new things, new life. Lambs bleating in the farm land behind us and the birds acting 'twitterpated'. (That's a word stolen from Disney's Bambi movie.)I like the bluer skies and the sunnier days of spring, but appreciate the cool breeze.

Last night was the monthly meeting of Mad Scribblers, which is the critique group I belong to. Six like- minds getting together to discuss our latest scribblings. I took along another chapter of the rewritten Blackbird and was pleased with the mostly favourable feedback. It's not perfect (of course) but it seems I'm on the right track.

Now, for the next two weeks it's back to the short story I'm writing for a competition. All going well, you will be hearing from in the next day or two.

Wish me luck!

SO WHAT DOES THE DICTIONARY SAY?

2011-09-20T10:23:00.000+12:00

noun

a thin piece of wood, slate, metal, asbestos, or the like,usually oblong, laid in overlapping rows to cover the roofs and walls of buildings.

Now in New Zealand we would call these shingles, tiles and mostly they would be made of terra cotta. Although our older Victorian buildings have slate roofs. Our little church, which is well over 100 years old, has a slate roof; several tiles fell off with the Christchurch earthquake.

My favourite type of roof is tin. Good old corrugated iron. I love the sound of rain as it plunks down on it, or the scuttling of a possum as it races across. Almost every house I've ever lived in has had a tin roof. So when I write, my characters invariably live under one. Which works for 19th century New Zealand and the American West. In England there might be a thatched roof, or in Scandinavia a turf roof with a full 'head' of grass. I wonder what it would be like to live under one of those?

However, today is not about the roofing definition of shingles. It's about the following:

noun ( used with a singular or plural verb ) Pathology .

a disease caused by the varicella-zoster virus, especially by reactivated virus in an older person, characterized by skin eruptions and pain along the course of involved sensory nerves.

As I write this, I am sitting up in bed, feeling sore and miserable. I want to work on my short story, the next chapter of my novel, or critique a chapter for a friend. Instead, I think I will read, play some silly Face Book games and snooze a little too.

Oh, and thanks to Dictionary.com for the definitions.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON IN DUNEDIN

2011-09-17T19:48:00.000+12:00

This afternoon I had a pleasant trip into town with a friend. We went to the movies and watched The Help, then chatted over coffee at the newly refurbished cafe - Kitsch.

I recently read Kathryn Stockett's The Help and thoroughly enjoyed it. But sometimes when you go on to watch the movie it's disappointing. I'm pleased to be able to tell you, that wasn't the case with this movie. Yes, they changed a few things so it fitted a movie format, but nothing was lost in the telling of the story. My friend and I laughed and cried and left the theatre feeling like we could watch it all over again.

Driving through town was an interesting experience too. The city is buzzing with Rugby fever. Flags flying everywhere and a general festive air. So many visitors, a good portion of them wearing the red and white of English supporters. Interesting that the English strip is all black now, but that's another matter all together!

Have you been following the World Cup and if you have what team do you support? Being a Kiwi it's the All Blacks for me, although I'm not a serious fan by any means.

At the Kitsch cafe the fire was roaring and my favourite 60's song - Eleanor by the Turtles - welcomed us. As the name suggests this cafe is devoted to all things kitsch. Formica table tops and 60's decorations everywhere. Models of Thunderbirds, pictures of The Beatles, LP records and the list goes on. If you live in Dunedin, or you come visiting, do check them out. I can tell you their caramel slice is divine.

Whatever you chose to do this weekend, enjoy!

MUSINGS FROM A 'BLOG TIRED' WRITER

2011-09-15T14:22:00.001+12:00

It's been a long time since I've blogged. There's no real reason. I haven't been sick, and I haven't been extra busy. It's just the way it is. I have a blogging friend who coined a relevant phrase: "blog tired". It fits the bill.

But here I am back again, refreshed after my blog holiday and encouraged by a new follower in the midst of my desertion. Welcome to Dals.

Writing wise I have put the first two chapters together on my rewrite of Blackbird and had them critiqued by my fellow Mad Scribblers. Still lots of work to do, so I've rolled up my sleeves in grim determination. This story will be whipped into shape!

Also I've been playing around with a different genre for an upcoming competition that the local writers group is running. We have to write speculative fiction and I have chosen something completely different than my usual historical settings. I was about to write a few lines describing the story, but as the judge sometimes reads my blog I'll have to keep Mum. All will be divulged in November!

NaNoWriMo will be all go in November. Well I haven't heard anything about it yet, but I assume it's business as usual. Have you any plans for taking part? I'd love to hear about it. I'm toying with the possibility of writing something completely new, or maybe resurrecting the NZ story I started at the beginning of the year.

My oldest son has been back from his European tour for a few weeks now. He's come back older and wiser and I know all that fundraising was worth the effort. To make up for my absence of late, I'll spoil you with some of his wonderful photos.

This is St Francis of Assissi, Italy

This is a statue of Mary and Jesus at Le Puy in France

A street in Le Puy, France. A bit much light, but I love the narrow street, the cobblestones and the old buildings.

In the grounds of the Palace of Versailles

Louis XIV The Sun King, Versailles

Snapped somewhere in London. St. Georges dragon, perhaps.

AND ONLY TO DECEIVE BY TASHA ALEXANDER

2011-08-25T17:23:00.000+12:00

Yet another book that sat on my shelves collecting dust, until finally I picked it up. Of course, now I'm kicking myself for delaying the pleasure of such an absorbing read.

Lady Emily Ashton, newly widowed, is finding that Victorian society allows her more freedom than if she were married. Despite her guilt at feeling no grief at the demise of her husband she throws herself into learning about his life and interests. Which leads her to a study of Greek, the Antiquities and Homer.

But she also unearths mysterious goings on at the British Museum, falls foul of burglars in Paris and meets impressionist painter Renoir. To tell you any more is to give the plot away.

This book has been described as Jane Austen meets The Da Vinci Code and I couldn't agree more. Here is a heroine who is completely at home in the drawing rooms of high society, yet does not flinch in immersing herself in dangerous mysteries.

I enjoyed this book immensely and look forward to reading the next five books about Lady Emily Ashton.

This review is an entry in the Historical Reading Challenge 2011

A DIFFERENT POINT OF VIEW

2011-08-23T14:42:00.001+12:00

This Sunday our oldest son returns home from a four week tour of Europe. He went with a church group from Christchurch to attend World Youth Day in Madrid, they have also visited London, Paris, several smaller towns in France and Spain and are now in Rome.

In typical male teenage fashion his communications have been brief and often monosyllabic: "London is fantastic" or "I ate escargo in the artist's quarter". What he liked about London and whether or not he enjoyed those escargo will have to wait until I see him in person. I suspect I may need to tie him to the couch and beat it out of him, but I will at last know!! His most informative comment has been "The Eiffel Tower is a blot on the landscape". I do wonder if that is related to his fear of heights. Personally I like the Eiffel Tower and was hoping for some memento from it.

The thing is, we all have our own point of view. We all see things differently. And that translates to our writing. Supposedly there are only eight different stories in the world. (I have heard of varying numbers on this, but all of them are small.) So how come we don't get bored reading these same stories? Because they are all told from a different point of view. By this I mean the author's point of view, not the character's.

We all have different world views which colour our renditions of similar plots. We have different life experiences, faiths, beliefs etc and these emerge in our writing without us even trying. Our personalities live between the lines of our writing.

I'll leave you with two photos from my son, as they were the inspiration for this post. The first is Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square. Now I have photographed this many times but never had I thought to do it this way. My photos always included the whole column and a lion or two as well.

The second is St Paul's Cathedral. The first time I looked at this photo I thought how it was crooked, that he was too close, and the angle was all wrong. But on second glance I feel in love with his different 'point of view'!

THE GLASSBLOWER OF MURANO BY MARINA FIORATO

2011-08-18T12:47:00.000+12:00

Despite a fascination for Italy, I haven't read many stories set in this beautiful country. There was Cornelia Funke's wonderful 'The Thief Lord' which I read to my children and another YA book who's title eludes me and now this, an adult historical fiction set in Venice.

The name Murano drew me to this book. I had only heard this name in association with the glass beads that are so popular at the moment and I was fascinated to discover that Murano glass is Venetian glass and has been made for centuries.

The story crosses between Corradino Manin, a great glassblower of Venice in the 1600s and Nora Manin, an English girl with a Venetian father, from the present day.

Escaping from an unhappy life, Nora returns to Venice dreaming of using her glassblowing skills in one of the famous Venetian glass factories.

Nora unveils the secrets of her ancestor - the great Corradino, the story playing out against a background of Venetian history and the intricacies of glassmaking.

This is a book which not only tells a great story, but paints a perfect picture of Venice and illustrates the intricacies of glassblowing. I highly recommend it.

This is an entry in the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge.

A TROPHY ON MY SHELF

2011-08-11T16:00:00.001+12:00

Last night the results of the latest competition for the Dunedin Writer's Workshop was announced. Actually, being the president, I've known who the winners were for a week or more, but of course was sworn to secrecy.

The theme for our 3000 word story was crime/mystery and as I mentioned back in June here, I wrote about a stagecoach journey. And now I'm very pleased to be able to tell you that I won first place!

After all the stops and starts and various interruptions to my writing this year, winning the trophy is just the shot in the arm I need.

Here's the story:

Added 28th November 2011. As I have entered this story in another competition I have removed it from this post.

THE EVOLUTION OF CALPURNIA TATE BY JACQUELINE KELLY

2011-08-06T17:33:00.001+12:00

This is one of those wonderful books that elicits a satisfied sigh as you turn the last page. I finished reading it this morning and the characters are still with me. Although it ended in just the right place I can't help wondering what happens next in this young girl's life.

In a year where the telephone comes to town, new wind machines cool the air and inventions like automobiles are heard of but yet to be seen, Calpurnia discovers her Grandaddy: a cantankerous figure who spends his days studying plants and insects. He opens up a whole new world of science and nature, but in 1899 an eleven year old girl needs to learn to cook and sew and knit.

I enjoyed this book immensely. The insights into the workings of an eleven year old mind and the relationship with her grandfather are truly convincing. Her six brothers stand out as completely formed characters and the interaction between them was delightful.

This is Jacqueline Kelly's first novel. I hope she writes many more.

WRITING UPDATE

2011-08-03T14:49:00.001+12:00

A whole week has passed since I last posted. A week where I have worked hard at getting my Blackbird manuscript into shape. I've juggled with the time line; had scenes that were set in winter that I've had to change to summer, deliberated over which scenes are important and which can go. Said good bye to a couple of characters and stepped up the importance of others. And I've blended a few scenes together too. They have been the most fun. Upping the tension and drama, moving the story along at a much better pace.

Last night I finished writing out the new plan on a time line then wrote a post-it note for every scene. I found when I was doing NaNo last year that this is what works for me. I stick the post-it note on the wall in front of me and write that scene and nothing but that scene.

Now I have to knuckle down and write. I haven't got as much free time as when I did NaNo, but I am determined to get this story finished.

Today's scene involves a ride into town, the surprise purchase of something very special, then finishes with a heart stopping episode.

THE DITHERER

2011-07-27T19:24:00.000+12:00

I'm almost too scared to tell you about the latest developments in my writing. If you've followed my blog for the last six months, or so, you will be well aware that I've put one project away, started a new one, rehashed the new one, battled with distractions and generally been rudderless. But this last week everything has changed - I hope. (see, I'm living up to the ditherer moniker.)

I've always maintained that there is nothing more helpful than putting a distance between yourself and your newly completed work. It needs to marinate and the writer needs to have a chance at objectivity, and I believe the last six months have done that. So I pulled out the manuscript to Blackbird and bingo!

It took me less then a day to realise I needed to chuck out the first 300 pages and make what had morphed into two books, back into one. So I sat down and wrote the new first chapter and amazingly my MC Maddie popped out more formed than she ever had been and my style of writing has changed too. I'm writing in a much closer 3rd person perspective and I think it serves the story well.

Now I'm wading through the manuscript. I spent three years learning to write on this story and I wrote far too much. There are too many 'events' and a few too many characters. So I'm making great use of my literary shears: slicing off unnecessary scenes and splicing together others.

I know some writers would turn their back on the story they 'practiced' their craft on, but this is a story I care about and the characters just won't leave me alone.

I'll keep you informed of my progress. And don't worry, Amelia's Strath Taieri story is tucked away safely, but not forgotten.

THE SCHOOL TERM ENDS

2011-07-15T16:26:00.001+12:00

Today is the last day of the school term and I'm thankful to have finally gotten to the end of it! It has been a term filled with illness, unusual busyness and hockey - which has taken over our lives: All of the family play plus hubby coaches, the eldest umpires and the youngest plays for two teams. Let it be noted that I've never played a game in my life, but I'm a really good taxi driver! Between games and practices there is only two hockey free days per week.

Now you may have an inkling as to why the blog posts have been somewhat scarce. Unfortunately the writing has suffered the same fate, but as this term draws to a close, I'm happy to report that my health is back on track and there is an easing of the busyness in sight.

One good thing about being laid up is that while I may have been too miserable to write or blog, I have read a good number of books. Here are a few that stood out as great reads:

THE HOUSE AT RIVERTON by Kate Morton.

I thoroughly enjoyed this. It reminded me of the books I read as a teenager. A lovely long read with a cosy feel.

At ninety-eight Grace Bradley looks back on her younger days as a house maid at Riverton Manor. The Edwardian era is drawing to a close and the Great War looms. Both a romance and a mystery, it had me hooked from the first page. Interestingly, I watched the first episodes of Downton Abbey at the time I read this - a wonderful double dose of Edwardian England.

THE MERCY SELLER by Brenda Rickman Vantrease.

I picked this book up at a library sale, in a very dilapidated state. From the first paragraph, where the burning of an heretic takes place, the story grabbed me by the throat. I have since bought my own copy and also her previous book THE ILLUMINATOR, which should tell you how much I loved this.

In fifteenth century Europe, when the copying of the Bible was an act of heresy, Finn and his granddaughter, Anna, work in secret. When all she holds dear is lost to her, Anna must flee to England. Along the way she meets up with Little Bek - a disabled boy and Brother Gabriel, masquerading as a Flemish merchant.
But when she finally reaches England, her safe haven has already been breached.
As colourful as the richest tapestry, this book drew me in with wonderful depictions of the era and a multilayered story with plenty of twists to keep the pages turning.

THE GENTLEMAN POET by Kathryn Johnson.

This book opens in 1609 with a storm overtaking The Sea Venture, a sailing ship on route to Jamestown, Virginia. On board is Elizabeth Persons, a young servant girl.

Shipwrecked on the Devil's Isles (Bermuda), Elizabeth splits her day between cooking for the survivors and caring for her cantankerous mistress. Wooed by ships cook Thomas she turns to her new found friend Will Strachey for advice.
Finding the father figure she lacks, she also finds the great playwright: Shakespeare.

In a cleverly wrought story, Kathryn Johnson presents a 'what if' explanation of the writing of Shakespeare's The Tempest.

Roll on holidays, where much writing and reading - in front of a roaring fire - will take place!

These reviews are part of the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge.

THE SINCLAIR SISTERS OF CRIPPLE CREEK, COLORADO

2011-06-29T16:13:00.002+12:00

I've been a bit absent lately, due to family commitments. But here I am, over the bugs that have been hanging around and glad to 'talk' to you all again.

As promised here are the first of several book reviews. These two are by Mona Hodgson. She has written extensively for children and for magazines and newspapers. This is her first foray into adult novels.

The year is 1896 and the four Sinclair sisters are living in Maine with their widowed father. When his work moves him to Paris, he decides it's time for the two older daughters to marry. He chooses a mining town out west as the best location for them to settle.

In TWO BRIDES TOO MANY, mail order brides Kat and Nell Sinclair, travel by train to Cripple Creek, eager to meet their future husbands. But when they step out onto the platform nothing goes to plan.

Cripple Creek is in a state of emergency as the second fire in four days sweeps through the town. And there are no husbands for the sisters.

The story takes us through a time of repair and renewal in the town and in the hearts of the sisters. Along the way we meet an eclectic cast of interesting characters. My favourite would have to be Boney, an old miner who turns up at the most opportune moments.

In TOO RICH FOR A BRIDE, it is a year later and the third Sinclair sister, Ida, heads for Cripple Creek. Nell and Kat who have found husbands are keen for Ida to find one for herself, but she has other things on her mind: business.

Having completed a course at business school back in Maine, Ida attains a position working for real life business woman, Molly O'Bryan.
But two men attract her attention: one is a lawyer and colleague, the other a Californian pastor helping out with his father's ice box delivery company.

Which one will she choose, or is the lure of business too strong?

I enjoyed both of these inspirational historical romances. The first story was predictable, yet I kept turning the pages. There were so many intriguing characters and the setting was described perfectly. I particularly liked the sister Kat. She had a strong personality and I liked that she was a writer. The second story was much stronger. Ida zinged on the page right from the start. Set in the male dominated times of the 1890s, Ida meets resistance at every turn as she seeks to become a successful business woman. And matters of the heart are fraught with complications. For me this made a much more exciting story.

Characters from the previous book, including Boney, turn up again and provide a real depth to the story. Mona Hodgson plans to pen two more books in this series. I look forward to reading her next story.

You can read more about Mona and the Sinclair sisters here. And if you go to 'videos' on the left hand side of her site you can watch her walk through the streets of Cripple Creek.

These reviews are part of the Historical Reading Challenge.

I'M STILL HERE!

2011-06-11T15:22:00.000+12:00

It's been awhile since my last post. I've had a dose of the 'flu and ended up with a sinus infection that just doesn't seem to want to go away. So while I've been reading blogs, I haven't had the energy to write one.

I have, however, been reading plenty of good books. As you will see on the left I have a separate thingy for what I'm reading on my Kobo eReader. Since I bought my eReader I'm finding I'm always reading two books at once. One on the Kobo and a good old fashioned paper one as well!

I have several books I aim to write reviews for, especially ones I can include in the Historical Fiction Challenge. Hopefully I'll post them in the next week.

I managed to get one story finished and polished for a local competition. It had the theme of crime/mystery and I wrote about a stagecoach journey with an interesting twist. The story I've mentioned before about the Maungatua sticking-up fell foul of my recent 'flu. It is almost finished and will get an airing sometime soon.

Tonight hubby and I get the treat of all three children being away from late afternoon until tomorrow morning!! They are involved in a Pentecost celebration at church. We're thinking of having some exotic tasty take aways for tea and watching a DVD. I'm looking forward to it.

Here's a photo I found on the net, just because I like to look at pretty things. Enjoy!

I'VE BEEN WRITING!

2011-05-25T16:38:00.000+12:00

Lately, trying to get words down on paper has been like pulling teeth. At the last meeting of my critique group I had nothing to bring. An absolute first and not one I wish to repeat. And now it is almost time for another of the Dunedin Writer's Workshop short story competitions. The last one, in February, took place with no submission from me. Now I have been known to skip one if the theme was "children's" or "fantasy", but this one had an open theme. Yet no matter how hard I tried, the page remained blank.

The competition which closes in a couple of weeks has the theme "Crime or Mystery" and I'm happy to report that I have two stories, almost finished.

The first I have mentioned before and is based on an historical 'sticking up'. It spent a very long time rattling around in my head before it finally emerged, but it's out and I'm happy.

The second story came about in one of those magical moments, when you least expect it. This morning, as I was about to throw off the bed covers and face the world, it just 'popped' into my head. Complete from beginning to end! I like it when that happens. I wrote almost 2000 words today and it is taking shape quite nicely. The word limit is 3000 words so I am almost there.

So what is it about, you ask. Well, it's historical - no surprise there. Set in the American West in the latter part of the 19th century it involves stagecoaches, outlaws, a curious carpet bag and a captivating heroine named Violet.

Fingers crossed for a place in the competition!

NEW FANGLED INVENTIONS

2011-05-20T13:21:00.000+12:00

What would our ancestors, or even our parents, make of today's technology?

I vaguely remember a time before 24 hour tv and multiple channels. I recall oohing and aahing over the new Commodore computer - green writing on a black screen. As a 12 year old I played Pacman at the local fish and chip shop, and I remember the first mobiles were as big as the average handbag!

It really doesn't seem that long ago that I wrote on an old Olivetti typewriter. Then there were the electronic typewriters, followed soon with the inclusion of word processors. Now I just love my new sparkly white Mac notebook and with a Broadband connection, the world is at my fingertips.

I could discuss forever the pros and cons of such advancements; there are valid arguments on both sides of that debate. But earlier this week we lost our internet connection to some elusive fault, and I was surprised by what I missed the most.

I thought the loss of the ability to google - to fill in any gaps in my research as I wrote - would be the greatest loss. It wasn't. The ability to e-mail my friends, to join in the discussions on Facebook and catch up with fellow bloggers were what I missed the most.

I'm a bit old-fashioned at times and mostly I'm disdainful of this high tech world of ours, but at the end of the day it's still all about people. And that makes me happy.

A NEW BEGINNING

2011-05-15T12:35:00.001+12:00

Yet another week has flown by. A week where I was laid low by the 'flu. I did however manage to attend the Dunedin Writer's Workshop on Wednesday evening. A red letter day: my first meeting as the new president and my good friend Ruth as the new secretary. Nervous as we were, it was an enjoyable time.

Our exercise for the evening was on developing characters. First we filled in a questionnaire for a new character, then we wrote that character into a scene. There were some interesting scenarios read out at the end.

I created a character - Mary - who sold flowers at Covent Garden, London, in Victorian times. It was fun, and she has captivated my muse. There may be more of Mary to come. I think Shaw's Pygmalion had just a little influence on my character - though there isn't a Henry Higgins in sight! Just a young butcher boy with an ailing younger sister.

Now for an update on my Catlins novel as promised. It has been one of those stories that is quite bothersome. Nobody does what they are told and writing it has been a real struggle. I decided to move the location, but then I still battled with it. So yesterday I consigned it to the scrapheap. Having purged the horrid story from my mind I lay down for a nap (I'm battling 'flu, remember) and bingo! A totally revised and workable plot dropped like a great weight into my lap!

The main characters will remain the same. The back story will be tinkered with. The plot and all its conflicts are brand new, however, the ending will still look the same. There is one sub-plot to be wrought and another to be streamlined, but I'm confident it will now fall into place.

Unfortunetly I still have no title, but I can't refer to it as my Catlins novel any longer. It is now set in Strath Taieri. A wonderful combination of Scottish and Maori names. The Taieri River meanders through a wide shallow valley- a strath, an hour's drive inland from Dunedin. In typical Central Otago country, brown grass and golden tussock is broken up with protrusions of crumbling schist rock.

The summers there are hot and dry and the winters bitterly cold. I used to holiday in this area as a child and I've always loved the solitude of the place, the sense of being millions of miles from anywhere. There's something magical about the rocks: they take on the shapes of animals, mythical beasts or strange turreted castles.

The small township of Middlemarch is positioned in the centre of the valley: a cute little railway station where the rail trail begins, two stores, two cafes, a museum, a handful of houses and the odd church. I drove up that way a few weeks ago for a poke around and to capture the landscape on camera. It feels like the right place to set my story.

THE MAUNGATUA STICKING-UPS

2011-05-08T16:03:00.000+12:00

As promised, here are the details surrounding the first 'sticking-ups' in Otago.

Dunedin, prior to the discovery of gold at Gabriel's Gully in 1861, was a quiet little village with an almost total lack of crime. The one small gaol was used primarily for the incarceration of runaway sailors and the Gaoler, Mr Johnny Barr, often released his prisoners for the day with strict instructions to return before nightfall or they would be locked out! It would seem that the prisoners were obedient.

Along came the advent of gold and the sleepy village became a seething mass of newly arrived diggers from Victoria, California and further afield. Although most of the miners were hardworking, honest men, there came with them a criminal element.

One such criminal stands out: Henry Beresford Garrett. A tall, strong man who was reportedly good natured and humorous. Transported from England to Norfolk Island in his youth, he went on to lead a life divided between spells in prison and outlaw pursuits. A more in depth look at this man's fascinating life can be found in THE FIRST NEW ZEALAND BUSHRANGER by David McGill. I haven't read this book as yet, but it promises to be a good read.

The very first 'sticking-up', which has been attributed to Garrett or one of his gang, occurred on the track between Gabriel's and Tokomairiro. The robber, with blackened face and pistol, relieved his victim of 3 pound.

It is the second 'sticking-up' which has caught my imagination and provided fodder for a short story. This robbery was executed on a much larger scale with Garrett's gang of seven men.

The trail from Gabriel's came through the township of Waipori, crossed the shoulder of Maungatua (almost 3000ft high) and dropped down through bush to the Taieri Plains and on to Dunedin. On a lonely spot on Maungatua, near Woodside, Garrett's men laid a daring plan.

At the bottom of a gully, by a creek surrounded in trees, they accosted passing travelers. Holding them at gun point, they robbed them, then tied them up. By the end of the day, the victims numbered fifteen and the gang had amassed four hundred pounds in stolen cash and gold.

The good natured Garrett cheered the prisoners as the day wore on, lighting their pipes, holding cups of tea to their lips and imparting nips of gin. Toward evening he told them he was leaving, but would send someone along soon to release them. His parting gift was to wrap them up warmly with tents and blankets, before the gang mounted their horses and galloped away.

Only two men were ever brought to trial for this crime. A Mr Anderson who was nabbed from a local hotel and Garrett himself who was caught in Sydney and shipped back to Dunedin where he was imprisoned.

But for me the most interesting and humorous event of the day is the large shipment of gold that escaped Garrett's gang.

Sixteen year old George Calder from the North East Valley quarry, in Dunedin, was transporting 200 ounces of gold in the back of a dray, when he came across two of Garrett's men. Posted at the head of what is now called 'Sticking-up Gully', these men were charged with advising travelers to take the short cut down to where the gang lay in wait. Ascertaining that the track was too steep for Master Calder's dray, they offered him a drink of water and sent him, and 800 Pounds worth of gold, on his way!

ME AND MY KOBO

2011-05-04T22:28:00.000+12:00

Two and a half weeks since my last post! Where did the days go?

The school holidays flew by, filled with trips down south to Gore, a jaunt to Middlemarch and shopping trips to town. Then there was Easter in the middle weekend, which sliced up the holidays with church services, the walking of the cross and numerous tasty breakfasts of Hot Cross Buns.

It had been my intention to spend a good part of the time writing, but it just wasn't to be. I did however begin a short story for an upcoming local competition. The theme is crime or mystery and I unearthed an interesting historic event that occured not far from here. It was labelled at the time as the "first sticking-up" in Otago. What a quaint expression. My muse was taken with this event and a story based on it is developing nicely. More on this in a later post.

After some careful consideration, I am moving the location of my novel - hence the jaunt to Middlemarch.(A little township in the midst of a remote plain, an hour's drive inland from Dunedin.) And more on this in a later post too.

But what I really want to post about today is: My new Kobo e reader!

Now let it be said that I adore books. The real kind, made with paper and ink. I love the smell of new books and the musty aroma of dusty old books. I admire the colours on the front cover and the fancy embossed writing that you can run your fingers over whilst marveling at the fancy fonts. I like the way they look placed in a bookcase in their sets, or stacked horizontally until they bulge from the shelf. There is nothing nicer than turning the crisp white page of a new book, or wondering about the stains and smudges of an old treasure. And nothing beats the thrill of finding just the right book in a dark corner of an op shop, or unearthing a long forgotten book at the bottom of a storage carton. I love books!

So, how could I have succumbed to an e reader, you ask?

The answer: logistics and cost.

Logistics: There are only so many books that a house can hold.
Cost: There are only so many "real" books that I can afford.

Now that I actually own one, there are more considerations to add: no need for a bookmark, it slips easily into my handbag, and reading in bed is so much easier. You know those chilly evenings when you snuggle down and only your nose and the hand holding the book pokes out? And there is always one side of the page that is harder to get at? And you have to squint because wearing glasses lying down in bed is impossible. Well, with an e reader the problem is solved: there is only one side to it and you can enlarge the font.

Will I still buy books? You bet! But I'm glad I finally succumbed to technology.

KEPT BY D. J. TAYLOR - A VICTORIAN MYSTERY

2011-04-17T16:22:00.001+12:00

'Kept' is definitely the most intriguing book I've ever read. Written in authentic Victorian vernacular, and teeming with life, Kept takes you from egg collecting in the Scottish Highlands, the aristocracy and slums of Victorian London, and a brief interlude into the wilds of North America.

Peopled by a huge cast of finely wrought characters, the story moves in a convoluted way through the years 1863 to 1866. There are letters, journal entries, excerpts from magazines and a glossary to help with some of the more obscure Victorianisms.

Written predominantly by a narrator, there is always a distance to the characters, but the story doesn't suffer from this distance. In fact it adds to the mystery. The narrator choses to impart quite intimate details, yet will pull back at moments, leaving you wondering just what is in that letter, or what did that person say.

At first the widely strewn characters seem to have little in common. There is poor Mrs Ireland (brought to us in 1st person POV) who has gone mad at the loss of her baby and husband. Dewar and Dunbar, who open the novel with an egg snatching foray into Scotland. Rev Josiah Crawley (the journal writer), who befriends Mr Dixey (an egg collector) and Mr Pardew, who is almost faceless, yet is central to the story.

It took me a while to read this. Each section was superbly written and intense, for want of a better word. It left me wanting to pause and roll the words around in my mind before I continued and yet, there was a strong compulsion to keep reading. Where does that character fit in to the overall story arc, how will they execute that train robbery, will the lost lady be found, and ...

If you like mysteries, or if you like things Victorian, then I urge you to get your hands on a copy of Kept and lose yourself for a week or two.

This is an entry for the 2011 Historical Fiction Reading Challenge.

HOLIDAYS ARE ALMOST HERE

2011-04-13T15:12:00.000+12:00

The school term finishes on Friday and we get two lovely weeks of holidays. Because of New Zealand hosting the Rugby World Cup the whole school year has been tampered with, and the first three terms are longer. So our house is a tired house! With hubby being a teacher and me home schooling, we all are involved in school.

I'm looking forward to sleeping in, going for walks and drives, and watching movies. And in the second week, with my youngest away at camp, I'm hoping to get lots of writing done. I have an idea for a short story for our national Katherine Mansfield competition run by the BNZ. Then the next Dunedin Writer's Workshop competition, due in June, is for Crime or Mystery stories. I have a few ideas with an historical twist.

Then of course there is my novel. I'm toying with a title at the moment. How about, 'A Convenient Arrangement'? Sometimes I like it, and sometimes I don't. Any opinions would be greatly appreciated.

Soon I'm going to be tackling the characters of five young folk - siblings - who form the background to the main story and also I need to write out the back story in great depth. You see there is a mystery and I want to slowly divulge it, but of course I need to know it inside out and upside down first.

The same thing happened when I was immersed in the beginning stages of 'Blackbird'. Once I'd got the first few chapters down and had a basic idea of who and what the story was about, I spent hours writing character studies, plot points, back story, etc. until the place and the people became bricks and mortar and flesh and blood.

And when that happens with my new novel, the writing will flow, motivation will be at an all time high, and in a couple of months or so I should have the first draft - complete!

A Dunedin beach. I hope I get to see lots of views like this over the holidays.

THIRD DEGREE BY TANIA ROXBOROGH

2011-04-11T16:49:00.000+12:00

Although I am still reading KEPT, I picked this up the other day and found I couldn't put it down. Immediately I identified with the main character, who, after suffering burns from an accident ends up in hospital.

Ruth is eleven and the year is 1973. Back then New Zealand hospitals were regimented institutions where the Doctors and Matron were one step away from God and visitors, including parents, were allowed in for one strict hour, twice a day.

The story moves between Ruth as a nineteen year old, and her experiences in hospital. Long hidden emotions emerge, bringing with them unanswered questions: Why didn't her mother visit her? Why was Dad mad? And why did everyone get sick?

I had a long stay in hospital myself when I was eleven, and Tania's writing took me right back to the wards. As Ruth fell in love, faced her past and learnt to live with her scars, I was pulled along with her, feeling her pain, her joy and frustration. It's a story that will stay with me for a long time.

A NEW CAR

2011-04-08T15:51:00.000+12:00

This last week we've had a taste of winter. Rain, rain and more rain and a bitter wind, which sent me digging out winter woollies and remembering I need to get my coat to the dry cleaners. The leaves on our silver birch trees have turned gold and my flower garden has turned up its toes. It has been great weather however for reading, watching movies and writing. I've also found a replacement car: later today I will be the proud owner of a dark green Rav4!

I've been chipping away at another chapter of my Catlin's novel and discovered Amelia is really quite fiery and speaks her mind when necessary. As for Theodore, both Amelia and myself are having a love/hate relationship with him. What sort of person is he really? Handsome - yes, polite - sometimes, genuine - hmmm, not sure!

The next chapters will see her settling into her new home. But is everything as it would seem, or are there dark secrets prowling in the undergrowth of the Catlin's forest?

BITS AND BOBS

2011-04-01T16:06:00.000+13:00

I've had one of those weeks where everything is happening yet little is achieved. It's been over a week since I blogged and I haven't written one word of my novel or started on a short story as I had meant to. So, what has been happening?

Last weekend my car died. Although expected, I had hoped it would last a little longer. But when both oil and water start squirting out of the engine, it's a very bad sign! So hubby and I have been touring the car sales yards, squizzing the classifieds in the paper and stalking our national internet trader - Trade Me. So far we have come up with nothing - which has left me just a little house bound.

Of course we never get plagued with just one thing to deal with - do we? My daughter came down with a nasty tummy bug and hubby pulled the ligaments in his shoulder at our sons hockey practice. I wonder what will be next?

On a lighter note, our eldest had a school trip to Mt Cook where he visited a glacier, a sanctuary for Black Stilts and the Benmore power station. He came home last night, exhausted but happy.

And a mild achievement for me: having spent the last 2 - 3 months growing Basil plants from seed, I harvested them yesterday and made one precious jar of Basil Pesto - yum! And with the unseasonably warm weather we have been having, I'm hoping to harvest another batch in a month. Fingers crossed.

On a literary note, I am reading Kept, by D. J. Taylor - there's a picture of it on the left. It is described as a Victorian mystery and is proving to be an absorbing read. I am enjoying the many threads that are slowly entwining into one intriguing story. I'm looking forward to reviewing it.

Next post I hope to share news of my new car and copious amounts of writing.

Not quite what I'm looking for ... but ain't she grand?

THE MAD SCRIBBLERS' TEA PARTY!

2011-03-24T14:34:00.000+13:00

I think I may have mentioned I belong to a critique group, but I think this is the first time I have mentioned its name: The Mad Scribblers' Tea Party - Mad Scribblers for short. We formed a little over two years ago and recently we grew from four to five members.

Last Tuesday evening we had our monthly meeting. We spent the evening nibbling away at our shared supper and reading out extracts of our work. As always we discussed our work, then took copies home to scrawl all over in red pen.

It is an immensely helpful group that is enabling us to become better writers. I can't imagine my writing life without their support. Between the five of us there is always someone to point out when the plot doesn't quite make sense, a new favourite word has been adopted or the MC's eyes keep changing colour. This week they helped me to realise that my MC had changed her mind too quickly. Last month it was my hours of research sounding like a travelogue. Ouch!

An eclectic group, we are a mixture of ages and genders who write across a broad spectrum of genres. There is T who is writing a middle grade story of goblins and fairies with a unique and fresh take. C writes predominantly Sci Fi with an imagination that knows no boundaries. R writes YA or Adult fantasy, or Victorian historicals with elegant prose and K is working on an intriguing paranormal with local content. Then of course there is myself, who is firmly entrenched in the historical.

So if you are a writer and you don't belong to a small critique group, then I highly recommend you form one. I wouldn't be without mine.

GABRIEL'S GULLY - WHERE THE GOLD RUSH STARTED

2011-03-21T16:54:00.001+13:00

"Gold shining like the stars of Orion on a dark, frosty night." Those were the words of Gabriel Read as he struck gold on the 20th May 1861, close to the banks of the Tuapeka River, near the small township of Lawrence.

In a continuance of the events I described in my last post Dunedin - A City Built On Gold, I travelled, yesterday, to Lawrence. Hubby and the two youngest joined me for the day and what a treat it turned out to be.

First stop was Hart's Black Horse Brewery at Wetherstons - just a couple of kilometres out of Lawrence. Once the 'Fun Capital of the Gold Fields' it now lies in ruins, although moves are afoot to turn it into a tourist site.

The area is well known for its wonderful show of daffodils in spring and many people make a special drive to Wetherstons to view them. I was intrigued to learn how the brewery helped to plant 10 to 15 acres of daffodil bulbs in 1895. They were imported from the Netherlands at great cost: some bulbs costing as much as 100 pounds. A staggering sum when you consider the average weekly wage at that time was a mere 5 pound.

After a cup of billy tea and freshly made girdle scones we took a wander up the main street of Lawrence. There were stalls of handmade crafts, historical displays and a festive atmosphere. For a small town there are many eateries, some with wonderful names: The Lemon Tree Cafe, The Wild Walnut Cafe, and others. I found myself wanting to spend a week and sample them all.

While we were there I spotted a truly awesome sight. A stage coach pulled by five beautiful Morgan horses. The part of me that loves history, both Central Otago's and the Wild West of America, was sent into raptures.

After eating our packed lunches we visited the site of a Chinese settlement, established in 1867 because of intolerance that banned them from living and doing business in Lawrence.

The Chinese gold miners arrived in 1866 and formed part of the second wave of miners. They found enough gold to live on and to send money back home. In 1869 1200 Chinese were living in Otago - only two of them were women!

The settlement had stores, a hotel - still standing - boarding houses, physicians, a butchery, gambling facilities and opium dens. The last resident of the camp died in 1945.

Apart from the hotel and stables, the camp is a field of grass. Archeologists have been working for several years and have found the remains of many buildings. Until they decide what is to be done with the site it has been covered with polyurethane and turf to keep it safe. For the special weekend they uncovered two sites. It was exciting to see a real archeological dig.

This is the site of a cabin. The lady is sitting on what was the veranda and the road crosses in front where the big rock sits.

Before we left the Chinese Camp there was an ear-splitting display of fire crackers, then a traditional Dragon Dance. Unfortunately I have no photo to share of this, but it was colourful and very enjoyable.

Heading back into Lawrence we discovered where the stagecoach was leaving from. And the absolute highlight of my day (and my year!) was taking a ride. As we bounced and jostled along the road I was back in time, wearing a long gown, and stuffed into a corset. It was so easy to imagine what a dirt road and greater speed would do for the ride: the smallest bump would be magnified and I'd be rattled to an inch of my life. The coaches are much narrower than you think and it felt quite cramped with four passengers, yet I know that six was the more common amount. The windows were paneless, but there were canvas blinds rolled up ready for use. So a wet or windy day would see you cut off from all views. The noise of the brake was much louder than I expected. A graunching, grating sound that at first had me wondering if the wheels were about to fall off. Now I am itching to write a scene where the heroine makes a journey on a stagecoach.

Couldn't resist another photo!

Still smiling from the ride of a life time, we headed for Gabriel's Gully itself. There was a huge tent with many historic displays. There were book sales of historic books, which I had to be dragged from and genealogical displays for the different families in the area.

From Oamaru were a contingent of penny farthing riders all decked out in Victorian apparel. My parting photo is of one of their displays. A circular tent decked out in true Victorian style. A chamber pot discreetly (not) sat by the entrance and inside were two cots. Not in the photo is a little table by the centre pole, covered in white lace and holding camping essentials such as white gloves. The epitome of Victoriana!

Note the white cloth under the candlesticks and shaving gear.

We finished the day by eating a huge ice cream from the Lawrence corner dairy, while watching the final outing of the stagecoach. A truly awesome day.

DUNEDIN - A CITY BUILT ON GOLD

2011-03-19T16:54:00.000+13:00

This week is Otago Anniversary Weekend. Otago being the name of the Province I live in. This year we are celebrating 150 years since Gabriel Read, newly arrived from the Australian goldfields, discovered gold at what is now named Gabriel's Gully, on 20th May 1861.

At that time Dunedin was a small, predominantly Scottish settlement. The gold rush that resulted from Gabriel's discovery turned Dunedin into a thriving, prosperous city. Miners flocked to Otago from all parts of the world and Dunedin was their first port of call.

Along with the miners came merchants, publicans, bankers, police and servants. And Dunedin became the wealthiest city in New Zealand.

Today I visited a re-enactment of a sailing ship arriving at Otago Harbour, bringing a shipload of people dressed in 1860s attire. When they dismbarked they were welcomed by the Town Crier and a lone Piper.

Then they made there way by foot or wagon to the city centre - the Octagon

.

The hub of the city, the Octagon, was closed to traffic and a shanty town had been erected. There were miners, merchants selling their wares out of tents, ladies enjoying cups of teas, a salvationist minster preaching fire and brimstone, a drunken heckler, Chinese immigrants playing mah-jong, musicians, and ladies of the night.

History came alive and for me it was like all my birthdays had come at once! Here's some more photos, I hope you enjoy them.

AUTUMN HAS ARRIVED

2011-03-15T16:23:00.000+13:00

We have three wonderful silver birches on our fence line and today as I hopped in the car I noticed the leaves had started to turn. In a week or so I expect the whole valley to be painted red, gold and bronze. I love the change of seasons, and my favourite is always the one we're just moving into!

The decent from autumn to winter is an awesome time. The days get shorter, the air is damp and filled with the aroma of mulching leaves and wood smoke. I get to wear my merino socks and gloves and drown myself in my woollen coat. The soup pot can come out of hiding and I can cross the 'watering plants' chore off my list.

And the best place to do all the reading a writer must do? In front of the fire of course.

One of our cats has started storing up food for winter. Yesterday whilst sitting in the kitchen, with the door wide open, Captain delivered a very live mouse at my feet. And yes I leapt onto a chair! The little rodent scuttled behind a dresser and hasn't been seen since. I only hope he has made it outside again.

I, CORIANDER BY SALLY GARDNER

2011-03-12T21:11:00.000+13:00

I've had this book on my shelf for several years and finally gave it a whirl. It's an engrossing children's story where the magical world of fairytales meets history.

London 1649: King Charles has been beheaded and Oliver Cromwell and his Roundheads are in charge. Puritanism is the national religion and life is a sombre affair with no celebrations or frivolity. But then Coriander discovers a world of fairies and magic with a special pair of silver shoes.

Amid mysterious disappearances, evil ravens, a handsome prince and wicked step-mothers, Coriander must find her mother's shadow and defeat the wicked Queen. Finally, as England embraces a new King, Coriander's journey comes to a spell binding conclusion.

With its lyrical prose and cleverly executed suspense, this story had me entranced from the first page to the last word.

2011-03-10T15:32:00.001+13:00

I thought it was about time I gave you an update on my Catlin's novel, just in case you thought I'd given up or left the country.

A scene from chapter two:
Cargill monument in Custom House Sq. Dunedin

To be honest it is going slow: chapter three almost finished. Quite a bit of research has been going on too. As I get further in to the story my MC, Amelia, is becoming more life-like. Yesterday she stood up for herself and showed her iron will. I was suitably impressed! Theodore, however, is still a bit of an enigma. Glimpses of him emerge and then he hides again, which makes him a mysterious sort of man. It suits him well.

One minor character who has leapt off the page is in fact a real historic character. I don't know much about her, just that she and her husband ran the Crown Hotel in the 1880s in Dunedin and that she was a wonderful cook and a well liked hostess. I've never written a 'real' character before and I'm thoroughly enjoying embellishing what I know and making her a fully rounded person. She has been just what Amelia needed to get her through the first 'crisis' of the story.

On the home front, life just seems to get busier. Teenagers are such social folk and my life tends to revolve around taxi duty, cooking and washing. They are a really helpful bunch and attend to their chores regularly, but I still wish I could divide myself in 2, 3, or maybe 4!! JT could sit at her desk all day and all the other Sue clones could deal to the mundane. Oh well, dreams are free.

TIME AND CHANCE BY SHARON PENMAN

2011-03-04T16:07:00.000+13:00

This is the second book in Sharon Penman's trilogy about Henry II of England and his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine.

Holding together a vastly spread kingdom, Henry raises his Chancellor and trusted friend to Archbishop of Canterbury. Thomas Beckett puts on the cloak of the most powerful religious leader in England and turns his back on Henry. Despite knowing Beckett's infamous departure from this life, the tension builds as the disagreements between these two powerful men unfold.

What I particularly enjoyed in this and her previous book 'When Christ and His Servants Slept', is the addition of a fictional character - Ranulf. Torn between his loyalty to the English Crown and his Welsh family his plight highlights the political climate of the era.

Sharon Penman adds flesh and blood to these shady historical figures and the Middle Ages emerge in full three dimensional colour. Her historical content is faultless and is paired with superb writing craft. Every word counts and she can convey so much in so few words. And best of all her characters leap off the page, full of life and breath and complex personalities.

This is an entry for the 2011 Historical Fiction Reading Challenge

THE MAID SERVANTS SCANDAL

2011-03-01T15:23:00.000+13:00

Dunedin Wharf from Bell Hill 1862

I haven't written too much of my Catlins novel yet, but I have done a ton of research. In the process I have learnt some interesting things about my home town. One book in particular has opened my eyes to events that were completely unknown to me.

When searching the shelves at the Dunedin Public Library I came across a booklet: "The Maid Servants Scandal," by Olive Trotter. I thought: history and scandal, I need that! Once back home I skimmed the first page intending to give it my full attention later that week, but it grabbed me for the next hour.

Here's the first two paragraphs:

"Ill-fed, ill-housed, ill-cared for, one was starved to death; others were driven to desperate courses ... Who can fail to realize the misery of these poor girls, thrust into a filthy crowded building, then subjected to slow starvation? Who can wonder that they welcome any alternative that removes them from the wretched den?"

These dramatic words appeared in the Otago Daily times of 23 March 1863. They referred to the hundreds of girls who were given temporary lodging in the Dunedin Female Immigration Barracks, until they found positions as domestic servants.

After the gold rushes of the 1860s Dunedin merchants built impressive mansions with their newly acquired wealth. And mansions need domestic servants. From late 1862 ship loads of single girls arrived from Britain. 1,220 girls arrived in the first ten months.

Until such time as they were employed they needed to be housed. The Female immigration Barracks were located on what is now Police Street. The unglazed building was cold, lacked cooking, laundry and bathroom facilities and the bunks had no mattresses or blankets. There was a public pump twenty yards away on the main street and the toilet was on a steep slippery clay bank at the harbour's edge.

In the first months they were without chaperone and left to forage for food themselves - an almost impossible task for women on their own in that time. Later, a matron was employed to care for them and they were provided with bread, butter and tea twice a day.

I was fascinated and a little shocked by what I had unearthed, but I have to say a little germ of an idea has sprung to life in a dark corner of my muse. A Scottish girl sets sail for Dunedin, an orphan perhaps. She arrives to atrocious conditions ... and what if ... ?

DO THE WRITE THING

2011-02-26T11:50:00.000+13:00

Margot Kinberg of CONFESSIONS OF A MYSTERY NOVELIST is putting together a raffle of signed books, from various authors, to raise funds for the Christchurch earthquake relief.

Visit her blog here for more details on how to make donations.

Thank you Margot and thank you to all who are able to contribute.

CHRISTCHURCH EARTHQUAKE

2011-02-23T15:13:00.000+13:00

Four hours drive north of my home, a city has been brought to its knees. At present 75 are confirmed dead and 300 are missing. Infrastructure is shattered, buildings flattened and the spire has fallen from the city's famous cathedral.

This morning as I hugged my family before they went off to school and work, my heart hurt for the countless people in Christchurch who are waiting for loved ones to come home.

Please keep the people of Christchurch in your thoughts and prayers.

BOOK LOVER'S WEEKEND

2011-02-21T17:21:00.000+13:00

This weekend the Dunedin Public Library had their Barking Mad sale. This is where they sell off stock at ridiculously low prices. With books ranging from 50 cents to $4, how could a book lover resist?

Dunedin crime writer Vanda Symon didn't. You can read about her finds here. I managed two trips. The first on Friday evening had me bringing home 14 novels. My daughter picked up 7 posters, numerous pony magazines and the DVD of the Maddigan's Quest TV series - originally a book by New Zealand author Margaret Mahy. Not surprisingly she was thrilled.

I just couldn't resist another trip on Sunday afternoon. There wasn't too much left, but I found another 4 novels, and my daughter grabbed another pile of magazines, a couple of pony books, and a book about Twelfth Night. She just adores Shakespeare - has done since she was 9. Once she discovered talking books of the plays she was hooked, but I digress.

So, my laden book shelves are now groaning. Recently I've had to turn the books on their sides and fill the shelves with horizontal stacks of books. It doesn't look as pretty, but it works. The problem being, even if I went out and brought more shelves I'd have nowhere to put them! Now maybe when the kids leave home ...

Amongst my new treasures are:
An Elizabeth Chadwick novel - I've been wanting to read her for awhile.
Isolde by Rosalind Miles - the first in a trilogy which looks fascinating.
The Crusader by Michael Alexander Eisner - I read this several years ago and had been wanting to re-read it.
P.S. I Love You by Cecelia Ahern - I love the book and the movie. So romantic!
Holy Days and Classical Music by New Zealander, Joy Cowley - my kids learnt to read with her Greedy Cat books, but I've never read one of her novels for grown - ups.

Now to find an unoccupied desert island so I can read to my heart's content!

If you squint you can see me!

BOUND BY VANDA SYMON

2011-02-16T15:33:00.000+13:00

Having managed to pry this lose from my son's hands I proceeded to devour it at an alarming rate - despite many intrusions of a domestic ilk.

From her very first novel I have been a fan. There is something delicious about reading a book set in your own part of the woods. For those of you living in cities like London or New York, you may have become blase to this phenomenon, but to a Dunedinite it is a rare and special treat. Vanda describes Dunedin superbly: from dollar stores to state houses, green belt to Taieri Mouth, and near perfect descriptions of Seacliff.

Female detective Sam Shephard is up to her old tricks. Not willing to rest on the obvious evidence she digs deeper, no matter the consequences. This book shows a maturing of the pint sized detective: not quite so flappable and a tendency to back up - just a little!

I'm looking forward to Vanda's next book - a departure from Sam, but not from crime. However, I hope we see more of Sam in the future.

THE SCHOOL YEAR HAS BEGUN

2011-02-13T21:00:00.000+13:00

Most people talk about the new year in January. Very sensible idea! But with three school aged children and a hubby who teaches, January is holiday time. The first week of February is when it all starts.

We've just had our first full week and I feel like the year has got underway. My 18 year old son has begun his last year at school. He trotted off with his new pocket watch and feeling deprived that we still haven't found him a waistcoat. In the best steam punk tradition, he wants to be the epitome of the well dressed Victorian gent - with the addition of black jeans and high cut sneakers, of course.

Fourteen year old son has returned for his second year at high school and in the course of the the first week has decided to take up futsal and can't quite get his head around the fact that having guitar, bass guitar, drums and piano lessons are a little out of our budget! However, he will be continuing with guitar.

Twelve year old daughter is home schooled, and this is her last year. Next year she's off to high school. We've had a good week. We've started a new curriculum with a theme on the Middle Ages and she's going to the local intermediate once a week for technology - this term she's doing metal work.

Hubby started off the term with a terrible bout of flu and two days in bed, but is fit as a fiddle now. He teaches at a special needs school and although it's full on, he really loves the work.

And me? I'm thriving on the return to routine. It always helps me to achieve more. This year I plan to finish the first draft of my new novel - a New Zealand historical - and get through a big chunk of my TBR pile.

INSPIRED BY JAMES FENIMORE COOPER

2011-02-10T17:46:00.001+13:00

Last year I read all six of Sara Donati's Wilderness series books. The first was 'Into The Wilderness'. You'll find my review of it here. This, and the books that followed it are my all time favourites. So, having fished around on various blogs and seeing what Google would spit out at me, I thought I knew all there was to know about them.

Until last week.

I came across a review that mentioned Sara Donati had taken some characters from 'The Last of the Mohicans' and written a sequel. Dumbfounded, I trotted off to the library and asked one of the friendly staff to fossic in the bowels of the building for a copy of James Fenimore Cooper's novel.

Inside the rather dusty and tattered pages I found theses characters: Cora, Nathaniel (aka Hawkeye) and Chingachgook.

Now in 'Into the Wilderness' Hawkeye and Cora's son is one of the main characters - Nathaniel Bonner. Cora has passed away and Chingachgook meets his demise early on in the book.

Fascinated by this discovery, I found a copy of the movie - The Last of the Mohicans. I remember watching it when it came out almost 20 years ago. Daniel Day Lewis made his name and I was shocked at the blood shed. This time around I was stunned by the beautiful forests. And the more I watched the more intoxicated I became at the scenery, the depiction of the town of Albany, and the scene where they hid behind a waterfall.

Although I noted that it was shot in North Carolina, not up state New York, Sara Donati's books came alive. And it got me wondering if it was Cooper's book that had inspired her or the wonderful cinematography of the movie. Either way, she wrote awesome books.

If you haven't read her books, I urge you to try them. Maybe you might like to revisit an old movie too.
And James Fenimore Cooper? Well, I had to return the book before I'd finished it. Written in 1826 it was hard going, but one day I aim to give it justice.

James Fenimore Cooper - the man who started it all.

PROPHECY: CLASH OF KINGS BY M. K. HUME

2011-02-06T14:37:00.000+13:00

I got this book hot off the press as I reviewed it for a local newspaper.

It has been a long time since I have read about Merlin. In my twenties I devoured anything I could find that was remotely Arthurian. I even listened to Rick Wakeman's The Myths and Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, until I wore it out! So this book was a walk down memory lane, and what a walk!

M. K. Hume writes beautifully, descriptively, and hauntingly. The characters leap off the page, their facial features, hair and clothing etched as carefully as their traits. No character is entirely evil or good, but rounded out in shades of grey.

Along with an epic story the book comes with maps, family trees, battle diagrams, a glossary and list of characters. Part one of a planned trilogy, it follows M. K. Hume's trilogy on Arthur.

A product of a brutal rape, Myrddion (Merlin) leads a lonely existence. Set apart by his strange dark colouring and spurned as a Demon Seed he finds solace with the village healer, Annwynn. Recognising his healing skills and gift of prophecy, Annwynn takes him on as an apprentice and hones his many talents.

Meanwhile, The High King of the Celts - Vortigern - lusts for the blood of a Demon Seed to spill over the foundations of his new tower at Dinas Emrys. Myrddion is kidnapped and delivered to his king with only his prophetic gift and finely honed intelligence to save himself.

Filled with a cast of historical figures including Vortigern's Saxon wife Rowena and her kin Hengist and Horsa, M. K. Hume weaves fact and legend to create her own spell binding tale.

This is an entry for the 2011 Historical Fiction Reading Challenge

MY FIRST TIME IN PRINT

2011-02-02T21:26:00.000+13:00

Today is a special day.

For the very first time my words have appeared on the printed page. Last Thursday evening I got a call asking if I would like to write a book review for one of Dunedin's local community papers - D Scene. So I trotted off on Friday morning to pick up a 574 page book - Belle by Lesley Pearse. I had to read the book and have the review written by Monday morning.

I'm happy to say I achieved the task.

Now I'm in the middle of reading a wonderful book by M. K. Hume about Merlin. (There it is over on the left of my blog.) The review for that will be in next weeks D Scene.

INTRODUCING MISS AMELIA HUGHES

2011-01-27T16:33:00.000+13:00

In the year 1888, in Victorian England, being twenty-nine and single label you a spinster. The opportunities in life are limited to being a governess or a ladies companion. But Amelia has a dream: she wants to become a qualified teacher and work in a school.

After convincing her father to allow her to attend a women's teacher training college, her life makes a sudden dramatic turn. The plight of seven motherless children and her desire to experience a foreign land, convince her to sail to New Zealand. Once there she will marry a widower: Mr Theodore Brennan, of Tautuku Bay in the Catlins.

But when she steps onto the wharf at Port Chalmers, she finds more than she bargained for ...

And so my new novel begins.

Tautuku Bay.

THE DECIDED WRITER!

2011-01-25T14:45:00.000+13:00

Last time I posted I was the Procrastinating Writer. Since then I've been the Dithering Writer and now I'm happy to report I am the Decided Writer.

So, what does that mean?

It means that I have broken my No Diversion rule. Three years ago a germ of a story popped into my head and started me on this great adventure of writing. I've cut my teeth on that story, poured my heart and soul into it and watched it grow from a tiny idea to a three book series - rather big books at that too! And the really best part is that my writing has improved and I've learnt so much about the craft of writing.

However, three years sometimes feels like thirty and I've got stuck in a rut. The passion has faded (just a little) and the thought of rewriting a good portion of book one fails to thrill me in any shape or form. So, the new story, the one I'd put away when I wrote my last post, has been resurrected and Blackbird is taking a well earned nap. But don't worry, I certainly will not forget about it. As perhaps only a writer will understand, I love those characters. They are almost a part of me and I want their story to be told.

As I throw myself into this new project I am feeling invigorated and excited about writing again and I know I've made the right decision.

I'll tell you about the new novel in my next post, but here is a little peek that could have been lifted from Chapter Two!

The SS Ionic, Port Chalmers, 1880s.

THE PROCRASTINATING WRITER!

2011-01-22T17:43:00.000+13:00

As I write this, hubby is outside feeding a whole tree's worth of branches through a mulcher. Very noisy. I could blame that on my failure to do any writing, but that wouldn't exactly be the truth. I have been lagging ever since I finished NaNo (way back in November) but these last few weeks have been totally barren in the writing department.

The red-winged blackbird of my novel's title.

I think the problem is that I know I have to virtually rewrite the first half of Blackbird - my WIP, and I still have the finishing chapters to knock into shape. Then there is the matter of this new story that raised it's head whilst on holiday. I wrote the prologue and first chapter yesterday and today I guiltily got back to Blackbird.

I'm being very strict on myself. You see I'm the sort of person who starts projects and before I finish, start something new. For example, there is a small pile of unfinished quilts and wall hangings in my sewing room. But when I started writing, I promised myself that I wouldn't do that. And three years later, I've kept to it. Except for yesterday's momentary lapse.

So, new story is saved and temporarily forgotten and Blackbird is being pulled out, shaken and attacked with renewed vigour. I'll keep you updated with my progress.

One of my characters is a Shoshone Indian named Standing Eagle. I thought this was a magnificent specimen.

BACK FROM HOLIDAY

2011-01-17T17:18:00.000+13:00

Last week hubby and I holidayed in the Catlins. Located on the south east coast of the South Island it is a wilderness of long golden beaches, sheer granite cliffs and great expanses of native rainforest. I loved walking through the forest where the top canopy of podocarp trees filtered the sun and everything dripped with water. It was peaceful - the only company being Fantails flitting between the trees and Bellbirds and Tui calling overhead.

Jacks Blowhole

We filled in the days with walks to all the points of interest. We visited several magnificent waterfalls, beaches, the remains of a 170 million year old petrified forest and an intriguing blowhole. Two hundred metres from the coast, Jack's Blowhole is 55 metres deep. I could have watched the ocean thundering in for hours.

On return, I caught up with the news that New Zealand's first 'pavlova western'- Good For Nothing, is having its premiere at the Santa Barbara International Film Festival at the end of this month. You can find out about them on their Facebook Page here. I posted about the movie a few months back here. I wish Mike Wallis and all at Mi Films the best of luck and great success with their venture.

Here's the trailer for the movie. It's going to be a good one! And all New Zealand made!

A NEW YEAR BEGINS

2011-01-06T22:00:00.000+13:00

It's been awhile since I've posted. I've been in total holiday mode: late nights watching movies; long lie-ins and plenty of reading. A very luxurious twist to this decadence is my eldest son's New Year Resolution. He gets up before everyone else and makes his Mum and Dad breakfast-in-bed! Now that is something I can really cope with.

I'm not into making resolutions myself. I know I'd be doomed to failure. However, I do like to think ahead and make some plans. I've let my writing holiday stretch out much longer than I intended, but my Muse has been haunting me and over the last few days and I've laid out some achievements to aim for.

Having now completed the first drafts of all three books in the trilogy, my aim this year is to get the first book ready so I can find an agent/publisher. That was my aim for last year, but in hindsight I was being a bit ambitious. Now it feels achievable.

In a few days I'm off for a week's holiday in the Catlins with hubby and when I get back I'll be diving back into Blackbird and getting it into the best shape I can.

I've also added another reading challenge for the year. This one is for Historical Fiction and I plan to read 20 books. It's being organised by Historical Tapestry. I'll keep you updated as I complete both my reading challenges.

RAMBLINGS ON WRITING

2010-12-27T16:56:00.001+13:00

One of the first pieces of advice I got when I started to write was: 'write what you know'. So when I started to write a novel set in Wyoming - a place I'd never been - I thought I was in trouble. But my story is set in the 1880s and I'm never going to see Wyoming in that era anyway. It would be like expecting Tolkien to have visited Middle Earth before he wrote the books. (And before the advent of Peter Jackson!)

For a while it worried me that all my characters ride horses. I haven't ridden a horse since I was a kid. But then I realised that most of the things that happen in my story are foreign to me. For example: being shot in the leg; milking a cow; riding a train over the Sierra Nevada's; smoking a cigarette; hunting game with a Henry rifle; gutting and skinning a rabbit; experiencing a blizzard. Now I am sure there are simply thousands of books where the author hasn't experienced half of what they write. And when I think of all those crime books out there, I think we should be glad crime writers don't get first hand experience!

I've read almost every book the library has on the West and guns, horses and outlaws. I've read dozens of novels set in a similar era and then of course there's the movies. And where would any writer be without the internet? There is nothing you can't read up on or watch. You-tube is helpful too. Recently I've watched a broom being made with a 19th Century broom machine, watched a Colt revolver being cleaned then loaded and witnessed elk and wolves in their natural habitats.

I've come to the conclusion that 'writing what you know' is not so much about place and setting, but about people: what makes them tick; what motivates them; how they react to each other; the full range of emotions. Can you write a romance if you've never been in love? Can you write a thriller if you've never been scared? Could I write the story of Maddie if I hadn't had to strive for acceptance and a place in life, myself? No.

So, with confidence, I can say that I am 'writing what I know'.

CHRISTMAS NOSTALGIA AND A TURKEY NAMED AUGUSTUS!

2010-12-24T18:45:00.000+13:00

For me, Christmas is a time of reminiscing of Christmas's Past. The history of our lives is steeped in our traditions and as I move through these days of preparation I am haunted by nostalgia at every turning point.

Getting down the crystal bowls for the salads and ambrosia this morning I remembered the way they sparkled on our Christmas table when I was a child. As I ran my finger over the cut patterns I recalled the story my Mum told me of how this particular bowl was her 21st gift from my Grandfather.

The tattered front cover of our carol music album is decorated with choir girls in 1940's perms and bright red lipstick. They remind me I always thought angels wore lipstick!

Tonight we will go to Midnight Mass, and I know the heady scent of incense will take me back to the Christmases when my children were younger and their warm heavy heads lay asleep on my shoulders and my back creaked as I stopped them from falling off the pew. I know that when Mass is almost over and the Priest puts the statue of baby Jesus in the waiting manger, that I'll shed a tear or two of thankfulness for His great gift to us.

Another memory was refreshed today as I made stuffing for the turkey. The last time I had turkey at Christmas was when I was four or five. My family were holidaying in a little place called Sutton, which is in an isolated part of Central Otago. We stayed in a little wooden house, with no electricity or plumbing. My mind boggles as I remember how Mum packed up everything we needed in the car. Plates, crockery, cooking utensils, linen, special Christmas food and presents as well. All for a family of five. Mum, you were a legend!

But the Christmas I remember the most in Sutton, was the one where Dad decided we would buy our own turkey - alive! I wrote a story about it a couple of years ago and thought I would share it with you. I hope you enjoy it.

AUGUSTUS

Excitement bubbles around me. My head is full of visions: a red clothed Santa flying through the sky, a big pillow case of

pressies in the morning, and a scrumptious feast all day.

But this Christmas is extra special. Aunty May has come on holiday with us. Dear Aunty May with her long brown plait that winds and winds around her head, like a swiss milkmaid. Her pretty dresses and her fusty smell. And even more exciting than Aunty May, today we are going on a drive to Mrs. Abernethey’s farm.

“Mrs. Abernethey has one of ‘those’ in her kitchen,” my brother tells me with awe in his voice.

“One of what?” I ask in hushed wonder.

“ A freezer,” he replies, the smuggest of looks on his face.

I think of our fridge at home in Dunedin. White with black edges and shiny metal trims, and a badge on the front with fancy red writing. You pull on the big metal handle, right down and very hard. Inside it’s cold and damp. There’s meat wrapped in brown paper, and milk bottles, sitting like soldiers on the bottom shelf. On the top shelf is an ice box, just big enough for a tray of cubes. The fridge is as tall as me and I’m little for a four year old.

A freezer at home? Unheard of.

Big brother deals out more spectacular news. Not only does Mrs. Abernethey own a freezer. She has ice cream! Not at a shop. Not at the dairy. But in her home!

So, with mouths watering, Dad ushers us all into the big Morris Oxford. It’s rounded and blue and solid, with shiny metal bits around the edges.

Inside the air is hot and stuffy. Dad winds down the windows. The brown leather seat, scorches the back of my knees. I stand up inside looking down at my sandalled feet and the row of red, fluffy pom-poms stitched to the hem of my sleeveless top. My brothers push and pull at me. Dad growls and they sit down.

The wheels bite at the gravel, hissing and crunching. Dust clouds billow behind us. The car rattles as it dances and shudders over loose stones.

Large, dark framed glasses sit upon Dad’s huge hooked nose. A brown pipe hangs from his mouth, like it’s glued to his lips. A short sleeved shirt and striped shorts hang from his pale, hairy body. A wonderful tuft of greying hair sprouts from the base of his throat.

Mum sits quietly, her black curls shining above a smiling face. New glamourous glasses perch on her perfect nose. A tight fitting floral dress shows off her plump, brown arms.

I listen to them talk, my head turning back and forth as they chat. Mrs. Abernethey not only has ice cream and a freezer, she has turkeys! Lots of turkeys. And we are going to get one! The excitement is too much. A freezer. Real ice cream. Pet turkeys. And it’s Christmas!

At the end of the road we turn left; I recognise this as the way to Middlemarch. There is a shop in Middlemarch. A shop and the train station. Then we turn right. The hills are getting closer. They look ragged and crooked with rocks sticking out at odd angles. Up the hill we go, twisting and turning.

Finally we are there! Mrs. Abernethey’s house sits long and low at the end of the road. We stumble out onto her gravel drive, jostling one another as we rush to greet her. She is tall and thin and wears her grey hair folded in a neat French pleat. Wiping her lumpy hands on her pink pinny she smiles at us. We follow her, my brothers and me, through the door to see her freezer. It sits along the wall: white, long and mysterious.

The lid lifts with a ‘thuck’ sound and Mrs. Abernethey leans it back against the wall. Thick, white mist escapes, rolling up and up. I am too small to see inside.

With bare arms that wobble, Mrs. Abernethey reaches in and pulls out a great big box. Ice cream! She gives us a bowl of cold, cold ice cream. Snowy white lumps of sweet vanilla, slowly melt in green china bowls.

Mrs. Abernethey leaves us to eat our delicious treat. Her heavy booted feet take her away to where we can hear the gobbling of turkeys. Mum and Dad follow her. I think they are picking out my pet turkey.

“Time to go now,” Dad calls through the doorway, wiping his hands on the seat of his shorts.

Mum pinches a mouthful of my sloppy melted treat, then stacks our bowls on the bench. She smiles at me, then at Mrs. Abernethey, taking my hand as we leave. My teeth are numb, my tummy is chilly.

We’re back in the car again. Down the hill we go, strange thumps and bumps coming from the boot. I lean over the front seat and stare out the window, my head full of pet turkeys. What does the turkey look like? I think he is red. What will I call him? I’m sure he is mine.

The car rumbles down the hill and along the straight roads. Our little crib stands at the side of the road. With two windows and one door in front and a smelly long drop, off to the side. Aunty May waves from the end of the drive. I jump up and down inside the car, excited. My Christmas present is in the boot and I can’t wait to give him his name: Augustus!

Feathers make a terrible tickly mess. Aunty May and Mum have floral aprons over their dresses and sticky feathers up to their elbows. A big pale lump of puckered flesh lies at Mum’s feet in the grass. I watch curiously, keeping my distance as I play with my doll. I wander over to the fence. My brothers are playing cricket with Dad.

I think about Augustus. Do you put a turkey in wrapping paper? Will he fit in the pillowcase with all my other pressies?

Christmas Day is hot and sunny. My pillowcase is filled with good things: chocolates and toys, a wedding dress for my doll, and special books to read.

Augustus isn’t in my pillowcase. I look for him. He isn’t stuck under the tree. There isn’t a turkey under the bed. Perhaps he is hiding.

Fifteen of us squash around the table. We eat wonderfully delicious food. Roast meat with cranberry sauce; salads and vegetables; Pavlova; trifle; and steamed pud full of sixpences. There are funny hats and crackers and we finish with chocolate mints and fizz.

With a full tummy, sticky fingers and a bed covered with new toys, I yawn loudly. Curling up around my white satin bridal doll, I think about the whole glorious day. Aunts and uncles; cousins and Grandma; sweet lollies and salty chips; masses of brightly coloured paper; and prickly kisses from whiskery old aunts.

Sleepily, I think about my pet turkey and wonder: whatever happened to Augustus?

THREE DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS

2010-12-22T21:25:00.000+13:00

Amongst all the preparations for Christmas Day I've been visiting friends, tending the garden and in the evenings watching movies with Hubby. Writing and blogging have taken a back seat, for now.

I've thought about my characters and their stories, spent the odd moment wondering about this bit and that. I've revisited the Christmas or two that feature in my novel, checking I had all the right elements. But that's as far as I've got. Pre-Christmas organisation and just spending time with the family are filling up my days.

The sun is scorching outside - 31 degrees Celsius, which is quite hot for a Dunedin summer. For the last two days the winds have been gale force, hot and dry. My pansies have turned up their tales, and I've just come inside from picking off all the dead heads. Hopefully they'll bounce back.

I finished rereading Cross Stitch and thoroughly enjoyed it. Now I'm rereading Sharon Penman's, When Christ and His Saints Slept. I first read it fifteen years ago, but as I'm going to read its two sequels next year in my Off the Shelf Challenge, I wanted to refresh my memory. I'm only a little way into it, but I'm hooked. I'll tell you more when I'm finished.

From the wonderful Stats bar on blogger, I know I have many readers from the USA and other Northern Hemisphere countries: Russia and Canada, a few from Britain and Denmark and many other far flung places. Some of you will be caught up in the heavy snowstorms in Britain and Europe, and I hope you are warm and safe and the weather doesn't disrupt your holiday plans.

A big hello to my Kiwi readers too.

To everyone who visits my blog, I wish you a very Merry Christmas. I also invite you to leave a comment, even if it's just a simple 'hello'. It would be so nice to put some names and faces to the Stats.

Thank you for dropping by.

CHRISTMAS IS COMING

2010-12-13T16:27:00.001+13:00

Here in New Zealand, Christmas coincides with the summer holidays. So apart from all the Christmas rush of activities, we have end of year break ups and the beginning of a 6-7 week school holiday. Today is the first week of holidays for secondary students, so all my children are home. Yay! Poor hubby, who teaches primary school, doesn't finish until Friday!

I'm very aware I haven't written anything since I finished NaNoWriMo two weeks ago and I haven't blogged much either. I've been attending prize givings, watching end of year plays, Christmas shopping, and I've been creative in other ways. My daughter and I have been making cards and gifts and I've sewn a Christmas wall hanging resplendent with Mediaeval angels.

Later in the week we'll be decorating the house, putting up the Christmas Tree and baking special treats. A family trip to the movies to see the latest Harry Potter is on the agenda too. But today I'm taking a leisurely re-read of a well loved book - Cross Stitch by Diana Gabaldon. It's a scorcher of a day, but overcast, with thunder pending. My favourite kind of weather. In the next room my daughter and son are watching Barbie's Sawn Lake and Tchaikovsky's wonderful music is floating in. Of course it's for the sake of the music that my son is in there!

So I'm feeling mellow and laid back, and I'm thinking in Scottish brogue - thank you Diana Gabaldon. And drifting off on a tangent, I recall that Sara Donati's Wilderness Series was peppered with Scottish brogue too. I find it an interesting dialect to write and in my WIP I have one or two characters of Scottish persuasion. These Scots just pop up everywhere. There's just something about a red haired man speaking broad Scots, isn't there?

What I really need is to read a book with a character talking with an Irish accent. I can hear it, if I squeeze my eyes really tight. I can even hear the difference between a Belfast accent and one from Eire, but I wouldn't know where to begin in putting those inflections into writing. Anybody out there know a good book with an Irish accent or two? I'd love to hear from you.

The thunder has just made an appearance. It's rumbling up from the south. I'm going to go and hang out of the window now and watch the excitement. Oh I should mention, for the benefit of those in other countries, our storms are rather lame and we usually only have sheet lightning. So please don't think I'm being brave or adventurous, or even foolish!

THE LEGEND OF COLTON H. BRYANT BY ALEXANDRA FULLER

2010-12-07T12:50:00.001+13:00

I picked up this book a while ago from a sales table at a local bookshop. The cowboy on the front drew me in and when I read that it was set in Wyoming I nabbed it. It's the best couple of dollars I've spent in a long while.

It's a true story of a Wyoming boy who grows up loving horses, hunting, pick-up trucks and camping out. A boy who lives life fast and doesn't have a gear between fast and stop. Here's a quote from the second chapter:

Colton puts his hand up in class one day.
"Yes, Colton?" says his teacher. "You have a question?"
"No ma'am," says Colton."It's more of a suggestion."
"Yes?"
"Well, ma'am, I was just wondering if you could talk twice as fast and then we'll get 'er done twice as quick and then we can get out of here in half the time."

An optimist with a forgiving nature, his mantra is: "Mind over matter. I don't mind, so it don't matter." And that sees him through his teens and into his twenties. By the time he is 25 he has a wife and two sons and is working long shifts at an oil rig in Upper Green River Valley. But tragedy is just around the corner.

In a story that evokes both laughter and tears, Alexandra Fuller's powerful prose delivers the heart and soul of Colton H Bryant. And as you turn the last page you know that he is indeed a legend.

NEW YEAR CHALLENGES

2010-12-05T17:47:00.002+13:00

It's almost a week since I finished NaNo and I have to confess that I haven't done a word of writing since. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I guess I just need a rest ofter the marathon event. If I haven't penned a few paragraphs - or more - by the end of this week, I might start to get worried!

At A Certain Book's latest blog I learnt that she has committed to a Reading Challenge for 2011. Good luck Joanne. I linked through from there to a whole list of challenges and have committed to doing the Off The Shelf challenge.

You can read about it here on the Bookish Ardour blog. There is a special button that I should have included in this post, but my computer illiterate brain can't fathom it. It might turn up soon, after help from my eldest. (And there it is on the left. Thank you Josiah.)

The challenge involves reading books from your TBR shelf. I've set myself the goal of TRYING: which is a minimum of fifteen books. So I've trawled through my shelves and found fifteen titles that I have been meaning to read and just never got around to.
Here's my list:

1 - The Pyjama Girls of Lambert Square Sara Donati
2 - A Profound Secret Josceline Dimbleby
3 - King Solomon's Mine H. Rider Haggard
4 - Little Women Louisa M. Alcott
5 - I, Coriander Sally Gardner
6 - Time and Chance Sharon Penman
7 - Devil's Brood Sharon Penman
8 - The Captive Queen Alison Weir
9 - Pillars of the Earth Ken Follett
10 - World Without End Ken Follett
11 - Inkheart Cornelia Funke
12 - Lord of the Rings:
The Fellowship of the Ring J.R.R.Tolkien
13 - The Neverending Story Michael Ende
14 - Huckleberry Finn Mark Twain
15 - Ivanhoe Sir Walter Scott

There you have it. A good mixture of historical, fantasy and classics. In between reading these I hope to cross off a good number of the titles in my TBR notebook. Most of which are recent releases. So my 2011 reading is sorted. I'll keep you posted with my progress.

I'M FINISHED!

2010-11-29T17:54:00.001+13:00

Earlier this afternoon I pushed my word count to 50,211 words. So with a days grace I have completed the NaNoWriMo challenge.

My desk were it all happened.

What a month it has been. There were days when I thought I'd never make it and days where I soared through it. But in the end I made it.

I still have about three chapters to write for the story to be complete. I'll finish that tomorrow. Then I'm really looking forward to reading it. I knew if I glanced at it earlier my internal editor would get all excited and they'd be no hope of finishing the words.

So, book three of my trilogy is almost done and awaiting editing, along with book two. Still a lot of hard work ahead of me, but I'm dying to get stuck in.

On the home front, my daughter returned from Auckland with a whole pile of fabric scraps from her dressmaking Grandma. I envisage a good deal of sewing in the next week or so. And of course Christmas is almost upon us. So there's gifts to make and buy, cards to write and a house to decorate - although it needs a good clean first!

And somewhere amongst all that, I have promised myself to have the first draft of my first book printed before Christmas. But right now I feel like I can achieve anything. After all I wrote 50000 words in a month!

DAY 24 OF NA NO WRI MO

2010-11-24T20:35:00.000+13:00

The 24th day of Na No and it's hot and sunny in Dunedin.

Today I decided to get all domestic and wash the cushion covers on my two settees. While they were blowing in the breeze I vacuumed down around the edges of the settees. I hoped for money or forgotten possessions, but all I unearthed were paper clips, hair ties, bandaids and a boat load of dust.

At least I didn't have to use these to wash with.

My daughter, who I home school, is spending a few days with her Grandma in Auckland, so I made the most of the freedom and spent the morning with a writing buddy. Then when I got home I attached myself to my seat and wrote 3000 words, which brings me back up to where I should be. I've had a hard few days, where the words just wouldn't come, but I'm back on track.

My story board that was covered with little yellow post-its is almost empty. I've covered two years and 21 post-its. There are nine left. The most exciting ones, containing the big climactic end.

In the last few days we've had: unusual weddings, strange goings on at the ranch, a meeting in a lawyers office and a quiet interlude between two lovers on the banks of Hell's Creek. The calm before the storm - maybe?

With only 9995 words to go before I hit the golden 50000, I'm feeling great.

DAY 20 NA NO WRI MO

2010-11-20T19:26:00.001+13:00

This morning I got up knowing that there was a whole day of various activities that the family were involved in. I also had yesterday's and today's words to write. (Yesterday being one of those days where nothing goes to plan.) So when I pulled back the curtains to a misty, rainy day, my heart soared.

All but one activity was cancelled due to the weather, so I spent most of it writing. I've almost caught up on my words with: surprise visits home at the ranch, a lover's spat, a marriage proposal and the beginning of a very important dialogue between two characters. Things are about to get very dramatic.

I have surprised myself at how much I can get written with NaNo, but the other surprise is that somehow I'm reading more too. As you will notice from the side bar I have just finished my sixth book for the month: THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES by Sue Monk Kidd, which was a very good read. I watched the movie a year ago and enjoyed it immensely, but the book is even better.

Set in the 1960's in South Carolina, against a back drop of Black Civil Rights, the book tells the story of Lily. Her mother was shot accidentally when she was four and her father is a cruel, unloving man. All she has of her mother is a picture of a black Mary. A series of events leads her to run away and she finds herself living in a flamingo pink house with black sisters May, June and August, and a statue of a black Mary.

What follows is a poignant story of love and forgiveness, sprinkled with humour. I've put the book back on my shelf knowing that I will return to it again and again.

NA NO WRI MO UPDATE

2010-11-17T16:38:00.004+13:00

In lots of places I had read that week two of NaNo was the hardest. Yep. I'd have to agree with that. Getting the minimum words out was like pulling the proverbial hen's teeth.

I went in to week three, a few hundred words behind and with bleak thoughts of tossing the whole thing in. Then came week three. I started with a whopping 3970 words on the first day and it's been plain sailing since.

I think the hardest thing is to put the internal editor away. I have to really push myself not to go back and fix that awkward sentence or check my notes for correct details etc. All that can wait until after I get these words down.There is a certain freedom in that kind of writing and when you get in the zone the words just pour out onto the page.

I'm enjoying meeting new characters and seeing the changes in old ones. Two characters are now married and happy, which made writing about them quite difficult, until I threw in a whole lot of conflict. (Rubs hands together in glee.)

Robert Leroy Parker aka Butch Cassidy

A new setting I'm using for this third book is the Wyoming State Penitentiary in Laramie. I've been doing some research on the prison and also found an excellent book that devotes a whole chapter to it. All helpful stuff. I've discovered that Butch Cassidy himself was a guest, not long after my character leaves.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, a baby is about to make an appearance and just who is that man riding on in?

Wyoming State Penitentiary in Laramie

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD BY HARPER LEE

2010-11-16T15:45:00.000+13:00

This is a book, where I knew the title and had a smattering of an idea of what it was about. I'd heard of the movie, but wasn't sure if I'd ever seen it. I just knew that it stared Gregory Peck wearing glasses. Oh, and it was a classic that my son had loathed reading for English.

So I wasn't really expecting much. In fact I thought it might get returned to the library before I'd waded through it. Well, for all of you who have never read it, go out and get yourself a copy.

This is a superbly written gem of a story, about a girl in Alabama in the 1930s. Her name is Jean Louise Finch - Scout for short.

The book begins when Scout is six and finishes when she's eight. Scout, her older brother Jem and their friend Dill get up to all the usual childhood high jinks.

Boo Radley lives down the road, but no one has ever seen him. Scout wants to - just once, and the three friends come up with lots of daring adventures to bring him out of his house.

Atticus Finch, Scout's father, is a lawyer and he's called upon to defend Tom Robinson - a black man. Atticus is a loving, wise and upright father and citizen, but he come's against the prejudice of the town when he stands up in court for Tom.

One could argue it's an age old story about prejudice, but there is a freshness to it, that held me spell bound. And Scout is a delightful character to read.

Two reviews on the back cover describe the story perfectly:

"A first novel of such rare excellence that it will no doubt make a great many readers slow down to relish more fully its simple distinction ... A novel of strong contemporary significance." Chicago Tribune.

"Novelist Lee's prose has an edge that cuts through cant, and teaches the reader an astonishing number of useful truths about little girls and about Southern life." Time.

THE PEACHGROWER'S ALMANAC by Elaine di Rollo

2010-11-13T15:42:00.000+13:00

I found this book quite but chance at the library. The title and cover intrigued me, so I gave it a go.

The two main character's are sister's, Alice and Lillian. The story opens with Lillian married to a missionary and sent off to India after a scandalous event. Alice remains at home with her father and numerous widow Aunts. To be honest I still haven't figured out how many there were.

The year is 1851 and in Victorian England, experiments, photography and the Empire are what concern most men, and Alice and Lillian's father is no different. He has amassed a huge collection of artifacts, both artistic and scientific from every nation and every era in history. There are twelve grandfather clocks at the bottom of the stairs and of course they chime in perfect unison. The conservatory is overgrown with every plant imaginable and it is quite normal to share a room with a nine foot stuffed grizzly, an electroplated statue of venus and a machine for peeling sixty apples simultaneously.

Both amusing and horrifying, the story moves between Victorian hypocrisy in England and the exotic yet brutal life in India. From the artificial limb that fires a pistol, to the flying machine catapulted from a huge rubber band, and from the Society for the Propagation of Useful and Interesting Knowledge to the vegetable growing Maharajah of Bhandarapur, this story pulls you along at a dizzying pace until the final climactic end.

SUCCESS WITH A COMPETITION

2010-11-11T14:26:00.001+13:00

About a month ago I blogged about the writing of a short story for a competition with the Dunedin Writer's Workshop. You can read about it here.

Last night at our final meeting for the year I was awarded Second Place. Yay!

Chris regained the trophy for First Place. (I'd been keeping it warm for him for the past year.) And Pen from over at The Dragon's Pen gained Third Place.

Here's my story:

SOME BODY

Cold water dragged at my legs and pulled me down into the depths of the raging river. I grasped the bank. Mud and pebbles slipped through my fingers. Water swallowed me and tore me away from the edge. I kicked with my legs and surged up through the surface and gasped for air.

The current grabbed me and flung me deeper. I thrashed out, desperate for air. The river held me in its icy grip. It took me deeper and smashed my legs against the rocky bed. Bubbles of air burst from between my lips. Terror ripped through me.

A breath of water burnt my throat. I jerked towards the surface ...

“Darling, please don’t go.” Jenny caught her lip between her teeth and a drop of moisture slipped from under her lashes.

I took her chin in my fingers. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’ll be back tomorrow with all our problems solved. I promise.” I kissed the tears from her cheek, knowing that when I returned I would taste her tears of thankfulness.

“Please.” She wrenched herself from my grasp and turned to our dresser. The top drawer screeched as she tugged it open and plucked out a velvet bag. “Take this.” The bag fitted into the palm of my hand. “And this.” She yanked at the gold band on her finger.

Her slender fingers wrapped around mine, her precious possessions enclosed in my fist. I would never sell her wedding ring, nor her mother’s jewellery.

“It’ll give us enough to get by.” Her fingers trembled over mine.

I’d had enough of arguing. I was the one who had gotten us into this mess. I would be the one to save us.

I slipped her ring into the velvet bag and drew it closed, then tucked it into my waistcoat pocket. Tomorrow I would return them to her. “Its time I left.” I scooped her up into my arms, her slender bones fitting snugly against mine. I closed my eyes and pictured her on that very first day, so many miles and so many days from here.

I left her at the door to our little shack and scrambled down hill, weaving between the outcrops of schist. My breath turned to mist as I approached the churning Molyneux river and I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. Soon the sun would warm the land but for now it was held in the grip of a frost.

From the river’s edge, I looked back at Jenny. She forced a bright smile, but I could see the white handkerchief in her fist. I let out a deep sigh and wished there was a better way.

“I love you, darling,” she called as she stretched her arm above her head and the scrap of white cloth fluttered a farewell.

The track turned away from the river and wound its way through abandoned claims. It dropped down into a shallow gully, littered with piles of dirt and rotten sluices, before it meandered up the side of a steep hill.

I reached the summit and the sprawling tent town came into view. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the three stone buildings, while black smoke belched from smouldering camp fires. There were at least ten tents missing since my last visit and I wondered how long it would take for the town to disappear.

A gecko slithered over my boot and I watched it dart into the tussock. I lifted my cap and dragged a hand through my hair. There was a job to do. With my cap back on my head, I set off down the hill.

Outside Jonty’s store sat several miners, puffing on pipes or self made cigarettes. The clink of a whiskey bottle drew my eye to the man sitting on the end of the long bench.

“Mac.” I stood beside him, staring out over the rutted street. “Joe about?”

He made a great show of clearing his throat, spat a wad of phlegm onto the mud at his feet then tapped his bottle against the knife strapped to his thigh. “Maybe.”

I fingered the coin in my pocket, I had better uses for it. It saw the light of day for a moment then disappeared into Mac’s shapeless coat.

“Ruby’ll tell ya.” He pointed with his chin to a row of tents.

The mud was thick and well trodden about her tent. The hand painted sign nailed to her tent post swayed in the breeze. I stood for a moment at the entrance. It had been a long time since I’d frequented a dwelling of this nature.

There were no sounds from inside and no place to knock. “Ruby?” I called while I worried the cap in my hands.

There was a groan and a shuffle and the flap was thrown back, exposing Ruby to day light. Striped stockings poked out below pantaloons that had once been white. A red corset kept the rest of her in check.

“What’d’ya want?” she scratched at her matted hair.

I cleared my throat. “Mac said you knew where to find Joe.”

“Joe!” She ducked back inside the tent. “Somebody to see ya.”

A loud groan and some colourful cursing came from deep inside the dwelling. Ruby shrieked then issued a long cackle. Joe’s head appeared, the canvas gripped tightly under his chin. He squinted at me with bleary eyes.

My gut clenched at the sight of him and my fingers sought the shape of the knife hidden under my shirt.

“In the hotel. I’ll be there in a minute.” He disappeared behind the canvas and I let out a breath.

The bar consisted of planks of wood perched on top of barrels. There was no piano, no pictures and very few chairs. There was however an abundance of beer and whisky. I bought a beer which left a solitary penny to my name. Tomorrow, I’d be flush enough to drink whisky.

I sat opposite the bar with my back to the wall. Even at this early hour there were six or seven men cradling bottles or glasses. The brown bottle felt warm and smooth. I crinkled the label under my thumb as I ran the plan through my head. It had to work. It was my last hope.

Next to my ribs I could feel the velvet pouch. Their sale wouldn’t bring as much as my plan. Any relief they bought, would be fleeting. I swallowed a gulp of beer. It hit my belly and rolled and I allowed myself to ask, what if?

Jenny was waiting at home for a miracle. Last night’s memories came to me, bitter sweet. Stirring up desire, yet hammering home the need for action.

The door swung open and Joe stepped in. His eyes scanned the room before he sidled over to my table.

He leaned towards me as he sat on the only available chair. “You in then?”

Close up he smelt as ugly as he looked. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the scar that ran along his jaw. Here was a rogue of the highest order. I thought of Jenny and a jolt shook me. What was I doing in this man’s company?

“I said, are you in?” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

With my hand curled around my knife I nodded. Joe grunted then lumbered over to the bar. Hunched over the bar, he downed his first glass. He spoke a few words with the barman then ambled back to our table, a bottle and glass in his fist.

He poured a drink, then searched the room before he spoke. “The money’s arriving in Dunstan, around four this afternoon. We’ll take them up by the saddle just north of here. Know the place?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed.

The whisky disappeared in two long gulps. He gasped, satisfied. “Be at Tom’s place by three.” He hauled his coat around his sparse body, ran his eyes over me and left.

I studied the door long after he had pushed through it. One job, that’s all. One job that would give us a stake to start over. Put food in our bellies, clothes on our backs and a fare to get us away from this God forsaken place.

The promise of gold had been real. There for the picking, they’d said. And it had been for many, for those who were here in the beginning. My claim had produced no more than a few ounces of dust. Enough to live on, for a time. Now with winter approaching and a baby on the way, we needed out.

The dregs of the beer slid down my throat. The clock on the wall showed a quarter to twelve. I left my empty bottle on the table and wandered outside.

A wagon rumbled past, filled with household belongings. Three children straggled behind it. On the buckboard sat their parents. I watched as they drove away, and I knew I was not alone in my failure.

The store beckoned and I debated spending my last penny on a rock cake. My stomach growled as I pulled open the door. Mr Jonty nodded a greeting before laying a bolt of fabric on the counter.

I looked about for a familiar face, but the store was almost empty. I walked passed the post office counter and studied the scraps of paper pinned to the notice board. Some were tattered and yellowed around the edges, some were so fresh I could almost smell the ink.

I browsed through notices for missing stock and people, then scanned over the items for sale. There was mining gear, a butter churn, a Shacklock stove and a wagon. And in the centre, an advertisement for workers.

“We’re heading up there tomorrow,” came a voice from behind me. I turned to find my old mate James. “There’s room in the wagon for you and Jenny.”

I stared at him unbelieving, then read the notice again. A large station up in the Maniototo had been spilt up and sold. There was plenty of work for shepherds and general hands and positions for married men as well.

“You keen?” James stood patiently as my mind ran in circles.

I felt my mouth spread in a grin. “Too right I am.”

“Come on, then.” He led the way to the door. “Let’s settle it with a drink. My shout.” He clapped me on the back. I swallowed my pride as I followed him back to the bar. I’d shout for him with my first pay packet.

I found myself at the same table where I’d schemed with Joe. A shiver ran down my spine, followed by a surge of relief. I patted the velvet pouch tucked close to my chest. Jenny would keep her jewels. She would keep an honest husband too.

“How’s Jenny?” James dropped into the seat opposite and pushed up his sleeves and I recalled how serious he was about drink. I wrapped my fingers around a beer bottle and leaned back in the chair. Life felt good at that moment, blessedly good.

The sun was sliding behind the horizon as James and I parted outside the hotel. My eyes strayed to Ruby’s tent. Joe and his friends would be rich by now, or they could be on their way to gaol. I shuddered at the thought.

I turned my back on the dwindling town and slapped on my cap. I whistled as I walked along the muddy track. I had a belly full of beer and prospects of a job. I quickened my pace, eager to deliver the good news to Jenny.

Twilight deepened and midges swarmed to my skin. The silent river heaved beside me, a mass of whirlpools and undercurrents. Light spilled from our shack’s window on the hill above me. My beautiful girl, Jenny, was waiting.

Water gurgled at the river’s edge and I stooped to cup some into my hand. I rinsed the taste of beer from my mouth then leaned forward for more. The earth beneath my feet crumbled. I tipped forward and plunged into the river.

… The black river held me. I thrust up, desperate for air. My legs and arms were weighed down with clothing. I wrenched the jacket over my shoulders. The river tore it from my hands. I kicked furiously and broke through the surface. Cold air rushed over my face and I gulped at it. “Jenny!” I shrieked, but her name was lost in a mouthful of water.

Something caught my ankle and tugged. Water rushed over my head. My lungs burned. Rocks smashed into my elbow and bruised my ribs. I groaned with pain and water filled my lungs. I kicked the river bottom and I surged up, then the current rolled me back. The second breath of water came easy. My eyes opened to the black river, holding me, cradling me. The battle for air was over.

My body rolled along the bottom of the river as I skimmed its surface. All through the night I followed it. We left the brown tussock of Dunstan and came to a place where the banks were lined with willows.

Clothing was ripped from my corpse. A sleeve, a ragged trouser leg, the waistcoat with Jenny’s precious jewels. Tears poured from my eyes, but when I wiped them, invisible hands touched an invisible face.

Time passed. I tried to get to Jenny, but I was bound to the body at the bottom of the river. I watched as eels and fish sniffed and nibbled my bloated flesh. On the third day my corpse was washed up onto a bank, where we lay in the sun, lost and alone.

A man found my discarded flesh and dragged it to safer ground. I watched as he dug through the stony soil while I wished I could fly home to Jenny. I needed to tell her I didn’t go with Joe.

I sat on the mound as my body rotted below me. Hours ran into days and then the man came back with a plank of wood. He pushed it into the earth at the head of my grave then stood back and admired it. His hat came off as he cleared his throat and I knew he was praying for me and mine.

The invisible threads that bound me, fell away. I was free. But before I fled, I stood at the foot of my grave and read the inscription …

Somebody’s Darling

Lies Buried Here.

1865

Some of you will be unaware that this grave is in fact real. It is located close to Miller's Flat in Central Otago, New Zealand. The river Molyneaux mentioned in the story is now called the Clutha.

Another headstone stand's beside Somebody's Darling. The inscription on it reads:

Here leith the body of William Rigney,

The man who buried Somebody's Darling.

the original wooden headboard inset into the marble

The wooden headboard for Somebody's Darling was replaced with a marble headstone some thirty years after he was buried. William Rigney was buried beside him in 1912.

DAY EIGHT

2010-11-08T17:58:00.000+13:00

Day eight of NaNo and my word count is 15,315.

I got to my desk later than I intended today. My daughter had a physio appointment this morning. That's three of us in regular attendance now. One shoulder, one achilles and now one ankle!

Then there was the supermarket and homeschooling. Also I needed to hose the new strawberry plants, the sweet peas that are still hiding somewhere under the soil, and my annuals.

Then, when I finally got to my computer, my mind went blank. I had to translate my notes of: Clara arrives, Maddie and Clara clash, and Maddie and Clara make tentative truce, into several scenes covering a week or two.

Somehow I got there and even managed to exceed my word count for the day.

Two young woman, one wearing cowboy boots the other in a pair of elegant ankle boots, traipse over an icy path cut through three foot of snow. Their goal: to collect eggs from the hen house.

Somewhere between discovering that hens can be victims of coyotes or raccoons and that fresh eggs are often covered in 'unmentionable' dirt, the young women realise that they may just have something in common after all.

DAY SIX OF NA NO WRI MO

2010-11-06T12:47:00.000+13:00

Almost the first week has passed and I'm pleasantly surprised at how well it has gone. I haven't done my writing yet today, but last night I finished at 9,203 words. So I'm about 850 words ahead of myself.

I've found the process of writing in chronological order quite good. There have been the odd moments when I wanted to skip ahead, but I persevered. I've found that at least once a day I've paused from writing to check my progress, only to groan at the sheer impossibleness of reaching my goal. Then I would get back into the story and before I knew it, I'd exceeded the word count.

So far, so good.

I'm about to write some really exciting scenes, which should keep me motivated for the next few days.
A very pregnant and incredibly dainty, city lady is going to arrive at the ranch. A blizzard is brewing and nobody is particularly pleased to see her. In fact her presence makes Maddie downright proddy!

I can't wait to get back to it. I just need to make lunch, finish the washing, mark some homeshool work and .....

Here's a picture of a couple of men who could have walked straight off the ranch and a picture of two ladies in the latest city fashions.

THE ENDLESS FOREST by Sara Donati

2010-11-02T16:14:00.000+13:00

Having reached the NaNo word count for today, I sat on our swing seat under a giant macracarpa tree and devoured the rest of this book. The sixth in the series, it is also the last and I have to confess to shedding a tear or two as I read the final pages. Not only was it farewell to a gripping, heart warming series, it was a farewell to some of the best characters I've ever read.

The opening prologue caught my heart strings. Curiosity, freed slave and great friend of the family central to the story, calls the reader to sit with her awhile on her porch. She fills in a few events from the last 10 years, then gently prods us to read on and find out more. This was beautifully written and very moving.

At first I struggled a little with all the 'little people' who had sprung up, but before long I'd fallen for them, slotted them into the correct families and the story took off. Daniel Bonner, son of Elizabeth and Nathaniel, still struggles with a shoulder injury from the 1812 war. Then Martha, Nathaniel's ward and daughter to Jemima, returns to Paradise and puts a smile back on his face.

Jemima, bane to everyone for years, creates mayhem at every turn. She returns one last time, determined to create more havoc, but this is the last book and finally she gets her just reward.

Sara Donati wrapped the series up very cleverly with extracts from the village newspaper, highlighting both the tragic and exciting events of the Bonner family from 1828 to 1844. The final exert being the announcement of Elizabeth's death. For me it posed as many questions as it answered. Yet that is the nature of a family saga. The main characters have children, then grand-children and on it goes. Each generation have their own stories.

With a sense of loss, I return this book to nestle alongside its companion volumes. I wonder how long it will be before I pick up the first volume and begin the journey again.

THE FIRST DAY OF NA NO: WRITING 'LOGAN'S LEGACY'

2010-11-01T19:54:00.000+13:00

When I sat at my desk at 1pm, I was excited and a little nervous. What if I couldn't get started? What if my mind went blank? I had visions of not being able to get to the recommended word count.

I stuck the bright yellow post-it, with the outline of the first chapter, in front of me and began to type. The first paragraphs were slow. I'm never good at beginnings. Whether it's books, chapters or scenes, I struggle with those opening words. Often when I get going I need to go back and remove those first sentences. But with Na No there's no going back.

Twenty minutes in and despite the noise of the road being dug up outside, despite the bright sun beckoning, I was away flying. By 3.30pm I had a total of 2,478 words. More than the 1,667 I needed.

And the story itself? It took less than the first chapter for Logan to decide that this was his story and thank you very much, but he was going to do things his way. Ya gotta love the boy!

I'm looking forward to what tomorrow will bring.

The wide open spaces of Wyoming.

NA NO WRI MO

2010-10-29T15:38:00.002+13:00

I avoided it for weeks, thought of a million reasons why it wasn't for me, then BAM! I was caught. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) for those who have somehow avoided knowledge of this event, starts on Monday November 1st.

Pen, over at The Dragon's Pen, is also joining the challenge with a cool steam punk YA novel. And fellow Mad Scribbler (that's our critique group) Chris is taking part as well.

So what is it I'm writing and where am I with Blackbird?

If you've been regularly reading this blog then you will know that for the past months I have been scratching together the final chapters of my first novel. And to be honest I feel like I have been going around in circles. I have made lots of progress, but the end has always been just out of grasp. To remedy this dilly dallying I decided to put the book aside until the end of November.

Isn't it amazing what a bit of space can do? Not two days after making this decision, a huge hurdle dissolved in front of me. I realised several chapters at the end of Blackbird had to go. They were first written when Blackbird and the next book were being written as one, but they don't fit what is now the end of the book. Removing them makes the ending much stronger. Huge sighs of relief!!! The mountain of work before me has shrunk to a mole hill.

Now to NaNoWriMo. I'm going to write the third book in my trilogy - Logan's Legacy. The year is 1892, seven months after the close of book two (still untitled) and about 3 years after the close of Blackbird. It continues the saga of Logan, Maddie and Ethan and is set against a backdrop of horse ranching in the Wyoming mountains, outlawing in Montana and the city life of San Francisco. Each of them struggle with loss and betrayal in their own way, but when love and forgiveness are finally in their grasp, the terrifying acts of two men threaten to tear their world apart.

This week I have been working on the structure and layout. The characters and setting are of course well known to me. What I am looking forward to is writing it chronologically. Blackbird was written in no order at all and I had no firm idea of the plot. I just had these people and this place I had to write about. Now, with three years experience under my belt, I have story arcs, a storyboard covered in little yellow post-its, and a very definite idea of where it's going and where it will end.

Quite by chance there are 29 post-its, each with an event, which means I can attack one for each day in November and have one whole day up my sleeve. That's the plan anyway. Although it's a sequel, I'm looking forward to the freshness of a new story and a new way of approaching it. I'll keep you updated with my progress.