Loving the day job

Is it just me or has time flipped into warp speed? The days zip by so fast that sometimes I'm left dizzy. Has it really been two months since my last blog post? Wow. Time to rectify the situation.

Photo courtesy of Claire Saxby

The last two months have been busy with the release of A SWIM IN THE SEA, which has had some gorgeous reviews and has turned up in some unexpected places and on some unexpected lists. But, in truth, what has been keeping me particularly busy is the DAY JOB.

Which is not all bad. Because I am one of those lucky people who actually loves her job. Working in publishing for the past ten years has been a wonderful journey for me – a profession I never even thought of until I was actually doing it. (Weird, I know.)

But I love it. And feel very privileged to not only have a second career (I was a primary school teacher for twenty-five years) but to be in a job where I get to work with a fabulous team of creatives – editors, designers, authors, illustrators – to make gorgeous BOOKS for children and young adults. How can you not love that?

Some things I love about my job making books:

1. Being a phantom – lurking in the background quietly guiding and encouraging my authors to create the very best story they possibly can.
2. Being a puzzler – pondering on where each piece of the story puzzle should go, which pieces need to go altogether, and which pieces need to be added to create the best result –  the complete and perfect story. 
3. Finding solutions and coming up with ideas – something that is so much fun when you work in a supportive and creative team! Many heads working to the same end results in many great ideas being hatched.
4. Typography and book design – thanks to all the designers I have had the privilege to work with, I have such a wonderful new respect and love for beautiful typography and clever design.
5. Holding a finished book and knowing every step of its journey. That is a very satisfying feeling. Only topped by witnessing the joy on the authors' and illustrators' faces when they get to hold their "babies" for the first time.

How luck am I?

Time to beach party

Well, the sun is shining, the weather is warming and the gorgeous blue sea is twinkling at me. And it is almost exactly the same sort of day when about ten years ago I was filled with a scrumptious child-like excitement as I headed down the cliff track to the beach to have my first swim for the season.

But as my bare feet hit the still coolish sand, a refrain started to play in my head:

I'm going for a swim in the sea, the sea, the big blue sea. 

The refrain persisted as I garnered up my courage, closed my eyes and plunged into the still coolish water.

I'm going for a swim in the sea, the sea, the big blue sea. 

It continued as I floated in the current (briefly - the water was actually rather freezing!).

I'm going for a swim in the sea, the sea, the big blue sea.

By the time I had plodded back up the track, showered and made some lunch, the refrain had become a poem - a poem that over the next few years would nudge up against a couple of other ideas and eventually morph into a story -  A SWIM IN THE SEA.

And this week, with the red and yellow flags standing sentinel on the beach, marking the beginning of the summer swimming season,  A SWIM IN THE SEA is now officially a book, illustrated by Meredith Thomas and published by Walker Books.

So I think it is time to PARTY! You can read about the launch here.

Beach party launch of A Swim in the Sea at Austinmer Public School.

And, as you can see, I am once again filled with a scrumptious child-like excitement as A SWIM IN THE SEA hits the shelves in bookshops around the country. Yip-ee!

Start something, stick with it, finish it … or start something new

Last Saturday I spoke on a YA panel with Lisa Forrest and Rebecca James at the Southern Highlands Writers’ Festival. It was a fun, relaxed session and I enjoyed the company of Lisa and Rebecca immensely. 

During the session Lisa gave an aspiring young writer some sage advice about writing. It went something like this: Read lots. Write lots. Start something. Stick with it. Finish it. Nothing startling, but well stated in a way that was easy to remember. And it provided a timely reminder for me.

So after my stern talking to self on Sunday, I started the week with a new resolve. I was going to get back to my YA WIP; I was going to stick with it and finish it. No matter how long it took.

I started out by reading through what I had written thus far (about 3000 words), poring over the pages and pages of character notes and ideas, trying to get back into the heads of Shay and Riley. There was some surprisingly good stuff here, much of which I had forgotten about. But I knew I had a lot more “thinking” to do, and that I needed to go slowly, think deeply about my characters and take the time to get to know them properly. It was going to be a long process. But I was excited. That was Monday.

On Tuesday I woke thinking about a junior fiction idea I had years ago. A comic adventure idea that was very character driven and filled with much silliness. Ideas were zipping around my head, and I had to get out my notebook to take them down before I forgot them. And before I knew it I was scribbling scenes and working out plot ideas.

So after only one day into my resolve, I have started something new. But I am positively buzzing, the voices of my characters chattering away endlessly in my subconscious. Is this just classic avoidance behaviour? Am I just putting off delving back into my YA because I know that it is going to be hard? Who knows? But right now I am going to combine two of my favourite sayings and go with the flow and do what makes my heart sing.

Start something. Stick with it. Finish it. Great advice – if only I would follow it. 

A stern talking to self

Okay – enough is enough, Susan. No more excuses.

Portraits of Celina has been out for three months. It has been read, reviewed and reprinted. You have received wonderful notes and emails and FB messages, and you have done what you can to promote it: school visits, library visits, festivals, panel sessions, conferences, interviews and articles. You have blogged and facebooked and tweeted.

There will be more opportunities – and they will be wonderful and appreciated – but it is time to let go. To stop being that helicopter parent hovering over and worrying about your latest little book baby and how it is doing in the big bad world. Slash the apron strings, Susan. Let Bayley and Celina tell their stories to whoever wishes to listen to them. They are no longer your characters. They belong to your readers, and you must move on. You have a new novel to write and it is not going to write itself. It requires time, effort – and in the (paraphrased) words of Ernest Hemingway “you need to sit at your typewriter and bleed”.

Remember Shay? And Riley? Remember that image you have of them: torn, crying, bereft, but loving each other to bits? Remember Shay touching Riley’s face and telling him she will fix it, fix him? That she would never leave his side no matter what he’s done? Remember your blog post about Dad and those tangly webs? Remember that?

You have another story to tell. And I think it could be a good one, one worth telling. And, yes, it is going to be hard. Really hard. It is going to take a long time. You are going to doubt yourself and at times you will feel as if you are writing nothing but rubbish – and maybe it will be, just that, rubbish, but maybe it won’t. But, Susan, you have to give it your best shot. Come on, put a lid on those doubts, silence those excuses and, please, please, just get on with it. 

Like now.

Bookish adventures

Hello.

I have had a HUGE June with many bookish adventures.
From Reading Matters conference in Melbourne to
Voices on the Coast in the Sunshine Coast to
SCBWI WA events In Perth and "retreat" on Rottnest Island to
three days and nine schools' tour with Westbooks!

Wow! It was hectic. It was fun. It was inspiring. And although I am slightly exhausted, I am also pretty satisfied that I got through it all without too many dramas.

Here are some happy snaps from the WA leg of the trip.

Illustrators showing off! Clever bunnies.

Quokkas!

Some of the gang on Rottnest

The two Sues - with Sue from Westbooks

The Greatest Liar exhibition at the Lit Centre Fremantle - with Frane Lessac

Brian Falkner - writer in residence at the Lit Centre

That's what I call an auditorium! Loved talking about Celina to keen readers.

A note from Celina O’Malley

That morning, my last morning, April 7, 1975, dawned brilliant: warm and golden, the sun slanting through the trees. It matched my mood perfectly. It was to be the first day of the rest of our lives, for Robbie and me.

I walked down my driveway, brimming with excitement, closed the front gate behind me to keep the goats in, just as I did every morning, and headed along the dirt track to the bus stop.

I never made it. I was just sixteen years old.

I have to tell you that I felt ripped off, dying that young, when I had everything to look forward to – my whole life ahead of me. And it was going to be such a good life. I had passion: so much I wanted to do, to achieve. It was incredibly unfair.

But dying wasn’t the worst part, let me tell you. It was just the beginning.

Imagine what it was like having to watch everyone suffer so horribly after I was gone. The waiting, wondering, worrying – the not knowing what had happened to me. It was torture, for them, and for me. It’s what drove Robbie away and sent Mum and Dad mad with sorrow.

And all the while HE lived on. Walked among them. Laughed. Joked. Prospered. Lived. Did unspeakable things.

But now MY time has come. My patience has paid off. It may have taken nearly forty years, but now my sweet little cousin has come at last to help me. And although she doesn’t know it yet, she is going to exact my revenge. To make HIM pay. It’s all up to her now.

Make him pay, Bayley. Make him pay.

I won’t rest until it’s done.

Peace sister.

Celina O’Malley

Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth and Me, memories from childhood, and a salute to a great writer

A few years ago, I was preparing for a Perth Writers’ Festival panel session about favourite books from childhood. (Here is a link to an article on the session.) I recall I was remembering fondly my obsession with Enid Blyton and her Famous Five series, when I was hit by an unexpected flashback.

I suddenly saw a much younger me, perhaps ten or eleven, plucking a purple hardback from the shelves of my local library. The book was Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth and Me by E.L. Konigsburg (published in the states and elsewhere as Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and me, Elizabeth).

I had totally forgotten about this book, but as soon as I had this recollection, I remembered the experience of reading it all so vividly. I recalled how much I loved this particular story, how it spoke to me at the time, how I longed for a friend to pretend to be a witch with, to make potions with and to chant around a magic circle.

Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth and Me was unlike any other book I had read, and I have no idea why I picked it up. Maybe the pretty purple colour of the cover attracted me, maybe the names intrigued – I suspect I would have had no idea who Hecate and Macbeth were. I certainly didn’t know that it was an award-winner: a Newbery Honour Book and ALA Notable Book, that it was the first book written by Konigsburg, who would go on to become one of the most celebrated and loved contemporary American writers for children and young adults. And I wouldn’t have thought that forty years later, on hearing of the passing of this wonderful writer, on April 20 (aged 83) the much older Sue would immediately order a copy of this book and read it once again in salute to this great writer.

And my rereading didn’t disappoint or tarnish my recollection. Instead, it enhanced it. It brought a warm smile to my lips as I recalled the things that charmed me as a child, and the adult me was intrigued at how I would have identified with the character of Elizabeth – there were many similarities: smallest in class, new girl at school, no siblings at home – and I am sure I would have found Elizabeth’s Saturday meetings with Jennifer tantalisingly daring.

First published in 1967, the book certainly showed its age with references to being excited at pretending to smoke menthol cigarettes, being smacked and the like, but I could forgive those. And the writer in me was able to admire the way Konigsburg wrote deeply from within her child character’s point of view and how cleverly she had cast the adult world to the periphery of the story. The story is quite slim, but masterfully layered; the relationship between Elizabeth and the domineering Jennifer is a complex one, and it was terrific to witness the growth in Elizabeth over the course of the story. 

There were certainly many lessons for me in revisiting this book.

I plan to dig out and read or reread more of Konigsburg’s work over the coming months – and I’m hoping that some of her storytelling gift, her wisdom, wit and insight will rub off along the way.

Vale E.L. Konigsburg.