Poets Cottage

After the Edit

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Relief, relief, relief . I just emailed the edit of Poets Cottage back to my publishers.
 No time to relax in Little Brick, however, as I now have to wrench myself away from 1930s/present day Tasmania to  hurl myself back into 1940s/present day Blue Mountains. A Tardis has nothing on me. Which of course is one of the joys of writing – the time travel.
Life has been hectic. Loads of doctor’s appointments for my daughter and her special (as in ‘not too many six-year-olds have them so she must be special’) gallstone. David has begun a new book which sounds wonderful and so we are both working together.
He is away on a work trip to Western Australia.
Our laptop crashed last week just as I had nearly finished the edit. I’m now boasting of several more grey hairs from all these harrowing hours as the old laptop went to laptop hospital.
I lost all my emails and my address book but did manage to salvage Poets Cottage and photos.
And so if I haven’t replied to your email or you haven’t heard from me for awhile, please get in touch as I’ve lost my emails.
So pleased the edit is over for now, but so wrenching to bid my characters adieu for awhile.
The skies are grey over Sydney and drizzly rain which is of course perfect.
This photo above is of the edit as I worked on it when we stayed at the Captain’s Cottage in Stanley.
I always feel empty after an edit and slightly dislocated. I need to exercise more and read Winnie the Pooh and Mary Poppins again
 
images via weheartit

Harvest Moon over Dickson Street

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Hurrying to my spiritual women’s group meeting, carrying deer antlers. The rain-soaked, almost deserted city streets. Shop windows dummies in vintage clothes observing me with detached boredom.

The blues are playing in the corner pub but I’m blown with the Autumn leaves along the soggy streets.

I love the cooler seasons.

The edit is nearly at an end which also brings me immense relief and pleasure. A few more loose ends to tie together in a bow before sending to the publishers.

Life seemed full of magic and possibilities last night. 

I half-expected a golden deer with vivid blue eyes to come strolling towards me as I scurried along to my meeting.

And the super-moon so large, it kept me awake until 3am, pulsating with the tides and beating dreams away.

This morning, my daughter wakes me vomiting and is kept home from school – sick again. The hours I had looked forward to for editing are bid adieu.

Outside in the garden, the tracks of a deer lead away from my writing shed. 

  

 

The Nigella Effect

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Yesterday I took an impulsive break from my edit and attended the very packed Nigella Lawson book signing at David Jones.


When I say ‘impulsive’ I mean very last-minute decision to go. I literally shut the laptop and ran for the train wearing my comfortable writing clothes (read ‘scruffy’). I arrived at David Jones just as the signing was starting and thought I had found the end of the queue until the frazzled-looking security guard kindly showed me the end of the queue was way, way, way, way, way back snaking around the shopfloor.

Ever the optimist, I jumped right on the end and began making new friends as we waited patiently in line for the domestic goddess herself.

It was a lot of fun to observe normally too-cool-for-school Sydneysiders going slightly crazy over Nigella. She is obviously well-loved in Sydney.

In our house alone, David loves her, as does my Daisy and I have all her cookbooks. Well, I have now that I bought Express yesterday. My middle-sister who has been going blind for years is also potty over Nigella and has been following her movements from her country house in Tasmania since she arrived.  I think she admires her for her tenacity in tough times as well as her domestic artistry when it comes to the kitchen.

Amongst the madness and fun, the ever-game and smiling piano player played on in David Jones You can see a better post HERE where more shots were taken including of the smiley piano man .

A sales consultant had fainted. Whether from the excitement of Nigella or from the crowd, I’m not sure.

All good things come to those who wait. It was my turn to meet Nigella when the woman in charge realised I didn’t have my book purchased for her to sign. Total chaos! I quickly had to buy one from a valiant sales consultant.

And in the above image you see Nigella smiling at a scruffy looking writer as I threw myself at her like an excited puppy-dog. Note that big smile even though she has been smiling and signing for close to an hour by this stage.  

And for those who are curious of what she was really like, I can divulge she has beautiful, pale skin, intelligent, kind eyes, and a very down-to-earth and warm persona. I was thrilled. Too often, I’ve met famous people who disappoint in real life but Nigella is the genuine article. She may adopt a character for the screen but her charm was sparkling through as she interacted with the people who had queued patiently to have their moment with her. 

As I left the store, I was intrigued to see the staff member still lying on the floor nearly an hour later obviously waiting for the ambulance. Hopefully that woman is okay.

I remember when I saw Jerry Hall in the street once. I do love the very Sassy Jerry Hall and I was so impressed by her strut and the way she worked the gawking crowd. There were a bunch of workmen to who she waved and they began singing out to her. She was incredible. Being a person who tends to prefer to observe others, I’m often impressed by those who court fame. That Jerry Hall moment worked its way into my book when my bohemian writer, Pearl in the 1930s thread, struts her way down the main street of my Tasmanian sea-fishing village. Pearl may be clothed in the fashion of the 1930s but I was also seeing Jerry Hall as I wrote, long blonde hair swaying, high heels clicking as she sashayed through a modern-day Sydney street.

Who would you wait in queue for to grab a moment with? When it comes to celebrities it’s obvious I’d wait days for Johnny Depp, Tim Burton and Helena Bonham Carter.

But I was very glad I got a chance to finally meet the sensational Nigella!

Returning back to my edit, I submerged myself back into the world of Pencubitt in the 1930s and was surprised to have a call from the school. Was my daughter sick? No, she was waiting with the Office Reception as I had totally forgotten to collect her.

 Such is the effect of the brush with fame for us mortals. I’ve never forgotten to collect my daughter and so that’s what I call the Nigella Effect.  

 

A Crack in the Blue Sky.

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We celebrated Daisy turning six on the weekend. It was all rather a blur of Princesses, Pirates, sword-fighting, Piñatas and lollies cascading through the air.

 I made the party bags and David created a Pin The Sword On The Pirate game, which went very well.

The little boys who came dressed as pirates and reminded me very much of Peter Pan’s Lost Boys.

David also dressed as a pirate for the day and I wore a tiara. Daisy had wanted me to wear a pink dress and pink high heels but I settled for yellow high heels.

 I was still creating my party bags at midday on the day of the party. Very stressed! Thankfully, Daisy’s Fairy God Mother turned up to assist in time.

All I can remember is Abba music, sunshine, the sky so blue it hurt your eyes and Daisy dancing against the blue in a pink Princess dress. Life with all its frustrations and sadness could still not be sweeter than watching her dance against the sky.

 The edit of Poets Cottage continues and I am frantically doing one last check knowing that once it goes back to the publishers I cannot change anything major. I am stitching the beak, the eyes, checking the stitching of my loved bird before I release her back to my editor for her to do another check if she is flight-worthy. Editing is exhausting for me. Writing is so much easier. The Autumn sunshine is so mellow. Such a beautiful time of year. But my thoughts and prayers are with Japan and her people very much this week.

 My daughter finds cracks in the pavement and tells me that an earthquake has happened in Sydney. She talks about the big wave in Japan but it’s impossible for her to comprehend. When David and I visited Pompeii several years ago I was struck by the poignant powerful sadness I felt when viewing the figures, preserved for all time, trying to escape the volcanic ash.

This week when I think of Japan I keep seeing those figures. It’s too hard to explain to a six-year-old why cracks appear in blue, perfect skies.

QUEEN OF PREENS AND AUTUMN FIRES

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How refreshing to know we have finally reached Autumn in Sydney. The humidity is still high but thankfully nowhere near the recent heat wave.

I’m also nearing the end of my edit for Poets Cottage, also an enormous relief. I’ve reached that stage where it’s becoming difficult to read the MS one more time.

 I’ve been busy planning my daughter’s sixth birthday party (Pirates & Princesses). This is taking enormous energy and is drama on a high scale. In fact I was so engrossed in my edit and life dramas that I missed a couple of very important medical appointments for Daisy.

Sometimes it’s hard to live in alternate worlds when you are working with fiction. And being a stay home mother has its own challenges of trying to juggle domestic artistry and a small child on top of writing. 

 And last night wasted a few hours of my life, which I’ll never get back, watching the Academy Awards.

I used to be a big fan of the Awards but there’s something repellent about the smugness and preening on the red carpet. For me the highlights of the night were:

Shaun Tan’s Award for best animated short film.

Penelope Cruz’s va va voom, sexy post-baby body and radiant smile. 

Helen Mirren who is always spectacular.

Florence Welch also spectacular with her dramatic hair, and pale skin in Valentino.

And Helena Bonham Carter who I adore and can do no wrong. I love the fact she wore a gown designed by Alice In Wonderland costume designer, Colleen Atwood, as a reminder of what the awards should be about.

Helena is a true original and dazzles – unlike all the over-plucked, waxed, bronzed, bleached and perfect tube women.

 I am being harsh here and last night David pointed out, as a couple of fashion commentators on FOXTEL heavily criticized some of the frocks and women, that this sort of attitude filters down to the school yards and results in bullying. Even though my retort was that the celebrities are over-paid squillions of dollars to deal with this sort of sniping, I concede that he is right. I should really have just turned the television off earlier.

Happy Autumn days if you are in the Southern Hemisphere. Hope this season is filled with abundance and fiery creative passion for you.

 

Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson

In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!

NO FANS – SORRY

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We survived the Sydney heat wave with record-breaking temperatures in the forties for endless days. During this uncomfortable time, we couldn’t eat or sleep. I never handle humidity.
To prove the Gods have a twisted sense of humour our much loved retro style fan died. And it proved impossible to get another as Sydney ran out of fans. People were frantically buying six at a time and shop assistants had signs around their necks saying NO FANS SORRY. We don’t have air con so that was a pretty interesting few days. Plus, my daughter became very ill with a urinary tract infection.
Throughout the high fever, heatwave and NO FAN, I still had to keep plodding along with my edit which is on deadline.
Some days I only had an hour to spend on it so that’s what I had to take.
Throughout the long, humid, steaming hell I thought many times of our recent holiday when I walked for hours on the Nut in Stanley feeling the cool, pure winds from Antarctica whip my lungs. And although I wanted to lounge around the house looking sultry in a sweat-stained slip like Elizabeth Taylor. I really just looked and felt like a dying little weed.   
 
One beautiful magical moment in the madness of the heatwave. A title for the book following Poets Cottage ‘came’ to me. The working title is Currawong House but the title that came to me was stronger. It slid into my heat-fatigued brain as I sat at the computer one day fantasising over Country Homes in England.
The edit for Poets Cottage has reached a new stage. I’ve realised how strengthened the book and characters have become.It’s the difference between a loved picture book and a 3D pop out version. The edit has bought more of the book to life and tightened it in ways I couldn’t have predicted.
 
And a couple of family pics outside the Captain’s Cottage. We looked relaxed and happy because we were.
 
 
 
 
 
And speaking of fans and cool, I picked up Vanity Fair which has Johnny Depp interviewed by Patti Smith. Yes, I know it’s a couple of months old but in Australia I have to wait for the ship copies as the plane magazines are so expensive. Another wonderful Depp interview with lots of insights into this complex, talented and very likeable actor.
We finally bought a fan, a tiny, white little girl who alas, lacks the power of our old Mad Men fan. Probably, the last little fan left in Sydney. But she is most loved and welcome and is fanning me now as I write.

Home

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Returning from Tasmania is always difficult. It feels to me like entering back to grey-and-white Kansas in Sydney from the sparkling Tasmanian Oz. But return we must for the big smoke is where David works. And yet, the Tasmanian soil seemed alive to me when I tread on it. The sea, the sky, the air sang and sparkled. Everything feels crisp, new and more beautifully shaded in Tasmania.

I spent an hour a day walking the magical Nut in Stanley. Here my only company at times were hundreds of pademelons, blue wrens. rabbits and air blowing from Antarctica, said to be the purest in the world. As I walked, the panoramic views stretched for miles of sea and sky. The landscape looks at times like the moors in Haworth and the coastline is very Cornwall in places. It’s an incredibly gothic, spectacular place and both David and myself are more than a little Nut-obsessed.

I was very proud that five-year-old Daisy climbed it one day and didn’t use the chair-lift. It was on the Nut, I received another idea for a book and a title. Stanley is a most inspiring place for me!

 And so I have come full circle. Poets Cottage began in 2007 with my last holiday in Stanley. Now I am editing it and it will be a published book.

 I spent some of the week in the Captain’s Cottage editing and it was a humbling experience to share the edit with that delightful cottage in the most enchanting of fishing villages.

I was also most fortunate to personally meet and thank several locals who inspired the book and provided material that I could use. Warmest congratulations to Marguerite Eldridge of Stanley for her Australia Day award honours in the creative arts. Marguerite and her partner Lin were very instrumental in Poets Cottage, providing the title, and also inspiring the character of Birdie Pinkerton. Marguerite’s books about life in Stanley were also of great help in my research. It is wonderful to see this talented and gracious lady be recognised for her creativity at this stage of her life. I’m very grateful I got to personally thank her and she didn’t object to my daughter taking over her house and biscuit barrel!

We visited close family and it was joyful to see Daisy play with her cousins and relatives and delight in the magic of houses with large backyards, trampolines and sandpits. Always hard to leave but this trip even more so. And every day I see myself back on the Nut feeling that icy wind rush through me and the earth singing as I walk on her. There’s no place like home.

Tourists and Ghosts

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I’m going away for a couple of weeks on a research trip for my writing. Think wild seas, cottage-gardens and overgrown cemeteries. I’m looking forward to escaping from the humidity in Sydney. I’ve been slowly working away at my edit for Poets Cottage. Slowly because my daughter is home on holidays and so finding the time to write is almost impossible.
 
David took Daisy to see Tangled this week and I saw Johnny Depp in The Tourist. This movie has a plot almost as plausible as an episode of Midsomer Murders but the imagery is spectacular. Retro, blue and moody. Venice is always magic. Johnny Depp spoke in a recent interview about walking the Venetian streets at night and the ghosts coming alive for him.
 
Venice is a city filled with tourists, dreams and ghosts. I treasure the memories of the holiday David and I had there. A city with no cars breathes a silence heavy with poetry and memory; it haunts you forevermore. I can still hear her waters and remember the colours of the grand buildings lining the canal. When you wish to walk with ghosts, Venice is the city for your journey.

Exciting Spaces

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This week in the steamy heat I went to meet my editor at my agent’s house. It was very exciting to hear the edit is nearly completed and to be discussing such things as covers. It makes me realise that there really is going to be a book with a beautiful cover. 

And speaking of books with beautiful covers,I am mad about the new Frankie book SPACES.

So much loveliness it makes my heart ache. It’s filled with inspiring, creative people and their lovely spaces. People like Allison from Lark, Emily Chalmers from CARAVAN and Tif from Dottie Angel. All the pretty, whimsical, retro-twisty you would expect from FRANKIE. 

It is now time for Mangos, chilled grapes, sun-hats. The streets are already so hot you melt a little when you walk.

I am hidden away in my cool, brick terrace researching Australian artists in the 1940s.

The characters are forming so quickly. I now have their breath on my face. Breathing, breathing, impatiently waiting for me to start.   xx