Exploring Ko-Fi

I've just seen a fellow artist's shop on Ko-Fi, and it looks like a good platform. So I'm off to explore it and see if it will fit my needs.

I'm not much good at updating my website. The basic layout needs to change too. I need something simpler to update, to link to sales, to work with.

I'm such a hopeless person when it comes to sales and marketing. I need it to be the simplest thing ever!

Let's see how I go. I'll update you if I ever get it working :)

Parallels between CFS and a Pandemic

Who would have thought that there were parallels between getting Ross River Fever and then Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and the COVID-19 Pandemic? I didn't...but I'm seeing so many things I've experienced before.

When I had Ross River, I had to give up work, socialising, going out, drinking alcohol... it felt like life. I was confined to a bed or couch for months. Having a shower claimed almost all of my energy for the day. Going to the loo was such an effort that I'd wait until I had to go...but need to give myself enough time to take the slow, exhausting steps to get there. Sometimes I'd have to sleep for a few hours after a bathroom visit - and I got no choice about that, my body would just konk out.

So life became whatever I could manage to do inside the confines of my home. And I grieved the loss of everything I had and was. But giving words to that loss was impossible. How do you explain that?

Fifteen years later, enter COVID-19 and lockdown. I've lost a little bit of freedom but overall my life is unchanged. My lockdown happened years ago with a different virus.

For those of you struggling this year, I understand your loss of life. I understand your grief at having the things you love taken away from you. I understand how your freedom has been curtailed. I know how much your heart aches at the loss of life as you knew it.

Viruses are sneaky little bastards. They sneak in unseen, and cause absolute mayhem and chaos. You don't get to see them - just the havoc they cause.

If you're struggling with the impacts of Covid, can I suggest you check out some of the wisdom offered by anyone suffering a chronic illness? They've negotiated these kind of restrictions and have found ways to live when living is changed.

Here are some sites that have helped me:

http://www.cfsselfhelp.org/library

https://www.psychologytoday.com/au/experts/toni-bernhard-jd

Loss of life and the things you have always done is a real loss. It causes grief. It hurts your heart and your mind. The uncertainty around when it may end, or if it will ever end, does dreadful things to your psyche. Depression, anguish, grief, sadness, overwhelm, anger...these emotions and more are all completely valid.

I wish I could give you an easy answer for carrying on. I can't. It's been a struggle to reinvent myself over the last 15 years, and I'm still working on that.

I've decided that life is about living in the best way I can, taking into account whatever has been thrown in my path. So, I'm on an ever evolving quest to bring joy to my life, fill myself with purpose each day...even if that's just taking a photo daily!

I hope you can find some joy and peace in this crazy crazy time.

Cath xo

Creative Writing Energy

I've taken a slight detour and co-written a non-fiction book with fellow author, Kim Petersen.

You may recognise her name because earlier this year we worked together on the Untamed Destinies anthology, along with Beth Prentice.

It's been like a whirlwind. I met Kim not that long ago, and yet, here we are with almost 2 books out together. We've got plans aplenty, some wild imaginings, and loads of interesting ideas.

We don't seem to stop. It's like there's a pressing need to achieve. I've never felt anything like this before.

Creative Writing Energy: Tools to Access Your Higher-Creative Mind is a book for writers, primarily, but hopefully other creatives may find it interesting too.

The blurb for our book is here. I guess you could term it 'spiritual' or 'new age' or 'alternate' or some of those type of words. I seem to call it 'woo-woo' and although I do it half-jokingly, there's a seriousness to it too. I don;t like any of the other terms because they seem rather confining, and this book doesn't really have barriers.

We've taken some of the lessons we've learned, and some of the things we do, and tried to explain how we use/relate those in the context of our writing, so we could share it with people.

We've covered topics like Imagination, Nourishing Body and Mind, Meditation, Mindfulness, Dreamtime, Pendulum, Oracle Cards, Crystals and Gemstones, Tarot, Runes, Connecting with Higher Self, Soul Purpose, Creation and Creativity.

Kim and I are quite different. We come at these things from quite different places, write in different styles, use different techniques, and yet, I think it might work. I think we're a bit yin-yang / left-brain-right-brain. I hope that one of us might resonate with some, and the other with others.

We're really going out on a limb with this - not just talking about this 'weird' stuff, but we're doing videos and popping them on YouTube. Neither of us are really into video-ing, so it's a bit of a steep learning curve. And we laugh so much, mess it up often, but hey, we're trying and having a bit of fun, and surely that's what life's about. Right?

To go with this book, we're going to email out weekly Creative Writing Energy Prompts and Affirmations to anyone who joins up in our writing community. So please follow this link if you'd like more information, and to sign up (there's a button when you get there, you won't automatically be signed up by clicking here).

If you're interested in the YouTube videos, the links are there too. You can watch the first one here (if I work this out!).

Our book is releasing in early August. I hope you might have a read and enjoy it.

Visiting Friends

I've been visiting the blogs of some friends lately. If you're interested in popping in and reading my thoughts, please do.

Kim Petersen

Kim is a local author who I've been doing some work with. It's nice to have a 'running mate' to do author talks and workshops with, and to chat and brainstorm over a cuppa.

In one of our chats, Kim invited me to write something for her blog. Her blog posts are all brutally honest and I was a bit hesitant about what I could/should write. In the end I went with something that's been bugging me and I wanted to be clear about.

This is my post on Becoming Whole.

https://whisperinginkpress.com/2019/05/16/becoming-whole/

The Jar Writers Collective

Another invitation came from a writing friend, Jodi Cleghorn. She has a group of writers who are looking at creativity in creative and abstract ways. She invited me to write for the theme "Words As..."

As soon as I read that, "Healing" popped into my head. And then the doubts took over. But I'm working on the doubts, so I took a few deep breaths and thanked the doubts for visiting.

The next day, lying on the lawn in the sunshine, I stopped reading as words poured out onto a page. Words that talked about healing. Spoke of my life with books and words. Talked about stories.

Here is Words As Healing:

http://thejarwriterscollective.com/2019/05/24/words-as-healing/



 

A week of women

It's seems the last month or so, women and women's issues have been all over the news. We've had:

• high profile celebrities speaking about their abuse at the hands of men in power
• a social media campaign where women are speaking out, together.
• the Matilda's (Australia's women's soccer/football team) have sell out crowds to their games in Sydney and Newcastle
• The Aussie women's cricket season starting, which decent pay deals for multi-year contracts happening!!
• The AFLW adding new teams to their competition
• The Rugby League World Cup starting soon with some focus on women's teams and comp - keep it up NRL
• Lisa Wilkinson (Aussie TV host) making a stand for equal pay for equal jobs (or at least that's what the reason for her move might be)
• a greater focus on domestic violence in the media
• some positive media discussion about 'victim blame'.

Are we seeing changes to the patriarchy?

Ever since I was a child, I've never understood the inequality between men and women. It was the bane of my life as a child who wanted to play sports I wasn't allowed to, do work I wasn't allowed to, take on roles I wasn't allowed to.

Mum took great pains to show me how far women had come in terms of equality but I hated that women had to fight for each step. It seemed insane.

Mum had to leave work when she married and became pregnant. In the late 1960s!! Her options when leaving school were to become a public servant, nurse or teacher, until she married. That was the path she took. And she was happy with her path.

Something happened to me though. I hated the paths women had. I hated the fact she had so few choices. I remember at my university graduation that Mum worked out I was the exact age on that day, as she was on the day I was born. I think she wanted to show me how far women had come in a generation, but it made me sad.

I took a job in agriculture for no other reason than they offered me one. I spent months applying for jobs but the environmental science industry didn't really exist on any large scale yet. In agriculture, I was lucky enough to work (mostly) with men who were happy to teach me. They saw me as a useless city girl - with most of the emphasis on city, then useless, then girl.

I got my truck's license, and these guys were so proud of me. I drove tractors, motorbikes, headers, anything they needed me to drive. I worked with them, alongside them, sometimes I came up with something clever that solved a problem. I was so very lucky to work with the best of men.

Other women weren't so lucky.

The world is changing for women. The changes are slow - in my mind - but when I try to have some perspective, they maybe aren't so slow.

Sports I could never play as a child are now becoming, not only open to female players, but they're available for professional sportswomen. That's huge.

Abusive, disdainful, horrible men are being called out for their behaviour.

Women are beginning to creep up the social and business ladders where they can take leading roles and be seen as smart, powerful and influential.

These are great, positive, changes.

The patriarchy is going to fight back when change looms too large for them, and I think we're seeing signs of this in political circles especially. But I hope that there are enough men who see people as people, who see women as their equal and partner, who can look beyond the sexual, and allow women to stand alongside them.

It hurts when there's so much horribleness in the world. The great female sporting achievements are balancing out the horror for me. And if Mum was here, she's tell me that you have to fight for things that are worthwhile...and women are certainly worthwhile.

We fight on. Each in our own way. But we fight together.

#MeToo

Achievements and CFS

A mixed thoughts post today about writing and health.

I've been battling health issues since last November. I have CFS, so my immune system struggles at the best of times, but I'm of the age where hormonal fluctuations (peri-menopause and menopause) are also occurring. I don't know that the two go together very well. I have had a constant stream of viral attacks since November (often affecting my sinuses - voice and ears especially).

My GP keeps smiling and telling me I have another virus - get plenty of fluids and rest. But when I became overly concerned, I did a round of specialists to rule out anything sinister. They were ruled out - thankfully.

Autoimmune issues are rife in my extended family with almost every autoimmune illness covered by at least one relation, if not more. This doesn't say a lot for my genes, does it!!

So, I'm battling through each day. Luckily, I can manage my day job because I work from home at the hours I can manage. I've been in the same day job since just after I contracted Ross River...because I needed a job where I could manage my health first. Income drops when I'm not well, as my hours drop. But I usually manage to keep my head above water by doing what I can - and ignoring the rest of the world.

Sorry to the rest of the world. But I'm especially sorry to family and friends who I cannot keep up with during these times. It breaks my heart to miss things that are important.

However, during all this health upheaval, I was asked if I was interested in working on a book as part of a 3-author linked series. Different to Dulili, with different authors and a different focus...but it was something I'd been thinking about. So without hesitation, I said, "YES!"

And you know that saying about, agreeing to do something, then working out how to do it later, well, that was me! I'd committed, hoping my health would improve, and, well, it wasn't. Not really. Not as I'd hoped.

I had 3 months to write 50K for this story. I didn't have time to panic. I didn't have time to mess it up. I had to pace myself, trust my process, and have faith.

So I set an end of June deadline for myself to have the first draft finished. I was a few days late, and my hero was 'wrong'. Trouble was, I didn't know what was wrong, just that he was wrong.

Cue two writing friends who got in and read quickly for me. Then I did a story breakdown, my process, and between the three of us, I discovered what was wrong.

It's now the 5th of July. I have to submit on the 31st July. I had twenty-something chapters, so I had to do a chapter a day, no matter how badly I was feeling, and on good days, more.

And I didn't manage a chapter every day. But I couldn't beat myself up because I didn't have time, or energy.

So head down, I got through it. (And luckily work was busy but not insane - that bit helps so much!).

I wrote a 50K story in a 3 month window when I wasn't well. I did what I thought was impossible.

It's submitted now...and hopefully it's okay...but if not, then I can rework it in edits (hopefully) and make it better.

And now I have more confidence to go and tackle my never-ending rewrites for my never-ending story. I can do this.

Even with CFS, viral overloads, hormones in crazy freefalls, I can write. I can achieve deadlines. I might need a week to recover afterwards, but it is possible.

And that is an amazing feeling.

How do you manage deadlines, or being out of your depth?

Childhood Memories Part 1

I've been reflecting on memories from childhood. I think this might take a few posts, so here's part 1.

Da cleaning blackfish, Woy Woy ~1983

My clearest childhood memories are of holidaying, and fishing, with my grandfather. And also our own holidays, each May, where Dad and I fished. Yet these aren't strong memories for my sister. I began to wonder why.

My grandparents used to rent a holiday cottage at Woy Woy, on NSW central coast, for 6 weeks in February-March each year. Relatives were allocated time slots for holidaying with them. We had a weekend slot. Nanna was one of 7 or 8 kids; and Da one of 5 or 6 (can't quite remember but it is written down!). Their brothers/sisters were invited (and with kids if they lived with them). Dad and his brother and sister had slots. A few very good friends also had invitations. I'm not sure that Nanna and Da spent any time alone on their holidays. It was always like this.

The holiday house I remember had a wharf out the front (it was probably a pre-requisite for their booking) and many hours were spent on that wharf fishing. When I reached the age of 13, I was allowed to go out in the boat black fishing (proper name of the fish is Luderick but I didn't know that for many years) with Da and Dad. That age could not come quickly enough even if Dad took us out fishing sometimes. Fishing with Dad was all well and good, but it wasn't black fishing with Da.

Da died when I was 23, so I only had 10 years of fishing with him. At most 2 days/year, so 20 days. I don't remember each trip in detail. I remember a few instances. It's more the whole feeling those days inspired that is my memory.

Those weekends were filled with fishing, and fishing-related activities. I can see myself siting next to Da on the divan on the corridor into the place. He has his legs wide apart, huge arthritic knees prominent, and he's bending over to the green weed that's on a hessian bag between his feet that are encased in his scuffed old slip ons. He's sorting the green weed into good stuff for bait, and bad stuff for burley. He's explaining to me what he's doing, or grouching at me for asking too many damn questions. My head is filled with that fresh, briny smell of the weed, and a scent that is my grandfather's.

Then we check the rods. Check the gear. I'm his shadow, peppering him with questions even as he growls at me. He gives me jobs to do, and I feel so important (and now I realise, he was probably giving me something to do so he had a break from me!). I built impressive sandcastles so he could mix in his 'bad' weed to make burley. They had to be just the right size, and then flattened on top. It took me years to master the art to his specifications and damn, did I feel proud when he praised my sandcastle. (Now I know you just mix sand with weed, there's no magic in the sandcastle specifications!). I'd then take his precious little trowel and fill a 'sugar bag' with the burley that he'd mixed through my sandcastle. I don't think he ever allowed me to mix it - or maybe when I was an adult once! I had to get ever skerrick of weed - heaven help me if I left any behind.

He growled. He grouched. He yelled. He argued. I was always striving to do what he needed. I was always pretty sure of his love - even if he was incredibly grouchy, and sometimes scary!

I remember when quite young, getting up early and sliding into bed with Nanna and Da. My sisters and I loved that intimacy (is that the right word?) It was when Nanna protected us from Da's teeth that sat in a glass beside his bed and could jump out and bite us at any moment! Little did we know that Nanna's teeth were also in a glass nearby but hidden, and she didn't drop them off her gums and clack them in her mouth like Da did, terrifying us!

We always ate fish when we arrived. Fresh fish that Da had caught. A special fish for my sister who didn't like black fish and only ate bream. Nanna kept her fillet aside. It wasn't until I was well into my teens that I asked how Da always caught a bream for my sister when he only ever fished for black fish - I was sworn to secrecy!

Those weekends were filled with love and contentment. They nurtured me. I knew they were special. I treasured them. Yet, they occurred 23 times, at most. That's only 46 days. Many of those I'd not remember. I'm almost 50 years old now, and those memories are so very clear, yet those weekends haven't happened in 26 years. It seems crazy to have such strong memories about something that occurred so long ago and happened so infrequently.

Yet,  they were times when I could be myself. I could be outdoors, mix with the men, learn practical things that seemed important to survival, dress how I was most comfortable. I had space, freedom, and time to sit and think, or talk and question. They were days I cherish.

What are your strongest childhood memories?

Fear and The World

I feel a little like my grandfather as I write this, but since he was pretty cool, I'm going to go ahead.

My nephew was worried about the world. He's 9 years old and let's face it, the world isn't peaceful and calm at the moment. Every news item is full of terrorism, political unrest, public dissatisfaction. There's not a lot of good news, or so it seems. Sensationalism sells. And bad things make sensations. When it came out in a couple of newspapers, the radio, and a TV news program, bad news was manageable. Now, we're saturated in it 24 hours a day. We have to switch off, literally, to regain some sense of equilibrium, or I do!

All this unrest reminds me of my youth (this is the grandfathery bit). In the 1980s major unrest was occurring in the Middle East with much interest in the West. In 1981, Ronald Reagan came to power as the US President. An actor, with limited political experience, seemingly not a lot of intelligence, and an ego that quite made up for anything lacking. He was outspoken and keen to show America's might and power.

I was in high school, heavily interested in politics and world affairs. It was a terrifying and unsettling time.

I was also in a church youth group and around 1985, about when the US were taking a hard stance and talking about bombing Libya, I had to give a talk about the world. Our youth group was quite structured (part of a bigger movement) and so I had guidelines to work through when writing the talk. It was to be presented at our live-in weekend and was about 30-45 mins long, designed to initiate discussion and meditation.

I read the guidelines and knew I could not do this talk. No way on earth could I present the talk they wanted. The talk needed to be hopeful, positive, optimistic. It had to show how wonderful humanity was. Nothing in the world gave me any hope for humanity - it was all war and annihilation.

Each speaker was assigned an adult mentor to assist with their talk. Mine was the priest. This wasn't going to go well. The priest was an intelligent, articulate theologian, but he was down to earth. He swore, drank, and called a spade a bloody spade. But he was still a priest who believed in hope, goodness, love and happy endings. I wasn't looking forward to this discussion. There was no way I could do this talk, and I had no hope of him understanding.

It's so long ago I forget the details but I've never forgotten the feelings or the overall lessons.

He took my concerns seriously. A man quick to laugh, quick to thunder,, and quick to give an opinion, was silent, thoughtful and serious. A man I admired for his intelligence listened to me and encouraged me to share my views on the world, politics and the future.

An environmentalist. A female who wanted to do what men did when women were unable to. I'd rarely been afforded this respect.

I recall that we discussed. If he brought something up that I didn't know, he'd give me a book to read or I'd research it before next time. Sometimes he gave me a brief overview.

It was tough discussing the world with a man almost 50 years older than I, who I'd only ever listened to with awe. But he gave me time and space. He taught me as he listened. He encouraged me to share my thoughts and fears, without censure.

We discussed world events in a historical context I had never thought of before. Vastly different to a history lesson at school, he made me think about society in the time of WWI, WWII, and the Boer War. He made me look at the technology available at that time, and compare that to present day. Not only the military technology but social too. We talked about politics in different countries. Societal structures in different countries, and in different times.

We talked and talked. Discussed. Debated. Nothing heated. It was calm, intellectual, respectful. I was never made to feel inferior or wrong or unknowing.

After a few weeks of these discussions, he asked me about my talk. I'd forgotten about it because I was never going to be able to do it. I dragged out the guidelines.

I could do it.

I hadn't changed all my opinions, but I had a broader context when looking at the questions. I didn't have to look at the present events with unknown endings, I could look at historical events with known outcomes.

Wars have occurred since time began. In the creation story in The Bible, two people existed and even they disagreed! When they had two kids, they fought. There was a human nature component to fighting, disagreeing, warring.

Thirty years later, as I despair about the world again (and my nephew worries about life), I'm reminded of this priest. His faith in the resilience of humans. Of the many many wars that dot the pages of history. The many deaths that have rarely resolved issues. Yet the world has continued.

In all the 'bad' news, I can see good too. Look at how many 'male' things women are allowed to do. How many more people care about the environment. How many more environmental jobs exist, and tourism booms off the environment.

I'm reminded of discussions with my grandfather. Reminded of ageing and cycles of life.

I'm trying to remind myself that the world didn't end before I made it to adulthood. I'm hoping it won't end now.

I'm wishing this priest was alive so I could have long discussions that never spoke the word 'reassurance' but reassured me anyway. I wish I had the
words he gave me to reassure my nephew.

ARRC17

Last Chance Country authors' raffle prize and winner

The Australian Romance Readers Association held a convention in Melbourne recently and I went along. Jennie and Lisa had been to the 2015 one and had had a fabulous time and insisted that I join them at this one. I'm a bit weird in that I like my own company, so I'm perfectly happy at home doing my thing, but I can socialise when I need to and when I do, I'm a joiner. I don't see the point of going to/doing something if you aren't going to put in your all.

The joiner thing clashes with CFS, so after many years of failing spectacularly, I'm beginning to learn where my "all in" limits are. I can help out, talk, do things...but then I need to hide, relax, be alone. And I can't do days of one and then expect to pick up with days of the other - I need to balance that by hours, not days. And I think I did a not too bad job at this balancing act!

Thursday and Monday were travel days. I was a passenger in a car with a 9 hour drive, but it was pleasant company and lots of chatting and hassle-free, so that was a good option.

On Friday I'd planned a day of writing but ended up helping out and this was fantastic because I met people, chatted and laughed, while we worked not too hard. I ended up helping out on the Rego Desk, so I met more people as they checked in. (This forced meeting while doing other things is great for introverts!)

I spent Friday evening having a wander around Exhibition Gardens and the gorgeous building and then got room service. A perfect offset to the busy day.

I was right for Saturday then when I listened to Courtney Milan's keynote speech (she was way younger than her prolific writing made me expect!), then watched the documentary Love Between the Covers. Quiet, peaceful events to stimulate my brain. The afternoon was opposite.

Me at the Book Signing

At lunchtime I participated in a Narratives Project, where I read some of my story, The Healing Season, to be recorded and used for radio purposes if picked up. It was supposed to be 5 minutes but it turned out to be longer. It was a very interesting experience and I was glad that in the past I'd (a) learned to read for church, (b) learned public speaking, (c) read to my nieces, nephews, and various other kids, and (d) done it on the spur of the moment so I had no time to panic!!

Our table for the Awards Dinner

Later in the afternoon I spoke on a panel and then participated in a book signing event, followed by a group photo and then the Awards Dinner. This all happened consecutively and I had no time to think between moving from one thing to the next. I fell into bed exhausted.

Speed dating room

Sunday morning, before the keynote speech from Kylie Scott, I chatted with an author I'd been too nervous to approach. Why? I wish to heck I understood myself. I considered her too good for me to approach, and yet she was gorgeous, fun, and exceptionally easy to talk to. Sometimes I could kick myself for being an idiot!

All I had to do on the Sunday was speed dating, and it was much more fun than I'd expected and by now most of the people coming to chat were friends, and not strangers. I then spent the next few sessions sitting in the audience soaking up the energy of the place, before listening to Kristen Callihan's keynote and then the closing of the convention.

What did I learn?

• If I balance active time with quiet time, I don't wear myself out
• That everyone is human, no matter how high I pop them on a pedestal
• That dreams can come true - you just have to keep working at them
• That the energy from a group of people with a common interest can be addictive
• That readers are accepting, regardless of what I write
• It doesn't matter if I don't fit into a specific niche or group; I can fit into the wider group and mingle
• Even if you think you're an idiot, just do stuff because it can turn out awesome 
• You can be a hermit; but sometimes you need an extraverted recharge
• Readers appreciate authors



Me at speed dating

• Acceptance can soothe your soul

CFS - The Festival of December

December was always my favourite month. It's summer, my birthday and Christmas. The start of holidays. The end of the year. The end of school/activities. It was the biggest month in my year.

When I began working in agriculture, it became even bigger because it was now harvest as well. This was hot, hard work but so rewarding because we were gathering what we'd sown, reaping the results of the whole year's work. I'd come home itchy and filthy, totally exhausted but elated too. And no matter how hard the day was, I still managed my sports and Guides and partying.

December was always fun. I felt like I was on a high for the whole month. Everything was wrapping up. Goodwill seemed to be exchanged by all. There was much thanks for all that had happened all year. 

When I got Ross River Fever it affected me in so many different ways, but one of the biggest impacts has been on my Festival of December. For some reason I'm often sick in December, or just getting better, so there are no longer the parties, the social activities, the fun. I also can't tolerate alcohol, so that's a big issue in December because most parties revolve around alcohol and explaining why you're drinking water gets old. 

This year, I've been sick throughout November and December with a virus that's left me without a voice. So there's been no birthday fun, no visiting family for Christmas, no parties, no activities. And man, that's been depressing. My Festival of December has become the Fizzle of December and that's horrid. I've been out once, to Jimmy Barnes, and that was awesome. I caught up with a work colleague one afternoon. I had a Bowen therapy. I've been to the Post Office, the newsagents and the butchers, the doctors and the chemist. And that's the sum total of my December activities. I've been to the beach twice but haven't swum. It's been a rotten few months.

I'm not sure that I'll ever have the Festival of December that I used to enjoy, but I'd love to have a December when I wasn't battling to be well. That's my plan for 2017 - trying to have a better health year and remaining healthy through those 'relapse' months at the end of the year. Let's see how I go.

And today, I seem to have some voice - FINALLY! It's not 100% (and neither am I) but hopefully a corner has been turned and I might pick up for the rest of the year. Fingers crossed! 

Happy 2017!!!

In The Quiet

Have you ever read a book that grabs hold of you and touches something deep inside? In The Quiet by Eliza Henry Jones has done that for me this week.

It reminds me a little of The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, another book that grabbed me by the throat. Both have a dead person looking back on their loved ones after death, but In The Quiet has an adult, Cate, a wife and mother, as the narrator.

Cate's belonged to a small-farm family in a rural Victorian town. She bred horses; her husband, Bass, dreams of breeding cattle.

They have three children - twin boys who are 16, Rafferty and Cameron, and a daughter 14, Jessa.

It's poignant, reflective, quiet, rural, beautiful, and heart-breaking. There are so many gorgeous sentences. So many beautifully depicted scenes. So much love for family, friends, country life, horses, chooks, dogs, cattle.

It's made up of little moments, vignettes, that Cate, sees or remembers. I read some reviews where readers found that disjointed and hated it, but for me, it was the beauty of the book. The snippets of life that make a whole. Good bits. Bad bits. Happy bits. Sad bits. My memories never come back whole, they come in snippets and snapshots - and that why I found this so beautiful.

Grief is a theme I keep coming back to - trying to make sense of it, to understand those deep swirling emotions. This book has touched me deeply. I can't really leave the house today for my hugely swollen eyes - and yet for much of the book I didn't cry. For much of the book I smiled and nodded. I hugged a pillow. I stopped reading to remember something myself.

It's a beautiful story. A gorgeous book.

It's one I'd love to have written.

2016 RWA Conference Report

Stamford Grand

I'm just home from the 2016 RWA Conference held in the gorgeous Stamford Grand in Glenelg, South Australia.

Glenelg Jetty at Sunset

I attended an agricultural conference in the exact location in 2002, and I loved it then. I think I love it more now. There are many more shops (eateries, coffee shops, plus general shops) within short walking distance. The beach and park are still beautiful. The Stamford Grand is still spectacularly elegant. I'm so very glad I went again - and my memories weren't let down one bit :)

I've attended the RWA conferences from 2009 - 2014, and each time I've overdosed. For an introvert who works at home, with CFS, being at a conference with 300+ is not the greatest place to be :)

I've always done conferences wrongly, and in 2014 I came home so sick, I swore I'd never go again. But it's isolating when you don't attend because there is no other way to get industry news. Publishers say things at conference that you don't hear otherwise. Early this year, I found myself incredibly frustrated about the things I didn't know. So I went this time, determined to do it differently and remain well.

Heart sculpture on the foreshore

Instead of jamming everything I could into a few days, I was extremely selective about what I did. I stayed off-site so that meant I had to go outside and walk in the fresh air. This worked, because my brain wasn't hurting from overload, my eyes and ears weren't throbbing from being over-stimulated by colours, people, sounds. And I wasn't always tempted to be there, doing something, seeing someone, talking.

I focussed on what I needed to do - I met with my collaborators (Jennie and Lisa) and publishers (Harlequin Mira and Escape). I spent time with people I 'work' with, look up to, or find inspiring. I didn't see everyone I wanted to. I didn't attend every session I wanted to. I didn't even attend the Sunday of the conference, and I skipped the late night parties (oh, how I missed them!). I skipped late night chats (missed those too).

Love this view

I think I may be onto something. Although, I've had some mega sleeps since coming home, and I have the twinges of a cold, I don't feel as zonked or washed out, or shattered as usual - that's a huge win!

I'm hoping I may have got it right this time. And I'm trying to think that getting to some is better than missing it all!!

Here are some photos of the fun.

Lisa, Jennie and I - taking terrible photos :)

Goodies in the Conference Bag

Lisa, Me and Jennie - celebrating with another bad photo

Last Chance Country in the Harlequin display

Me enjoying the Harlequin Author Party (Lilia Kanna took this for me)

The Healing Season & Agronomists

In The Healing Season, Alicia the main female character, is an agronomist in the Dulili Ag Store. I wanted her to be working in agriculture but running a farm was a little unlikely because she was young. I could have had her managing a property after her parents' death, but I used that in another story, so shied away from it. I decided that she worked in the business of agriculture instead, as an Agronomist.

I haven't been an Agronomist, except for a short fill-in stint I did, but I've worked with them and have friends who are Agronomists. I knew the job, I knew what they did, and so I used it to create Alicia.

I didn't think of the impact that has on people reading the story.

I caught up with a friend who had read the book. She's an Agronomist and she was so thrilled that Alicia was one too. She told me parts of the story (like when Alicia is surveying the paddocks mentally doing a nutrition assessment of the pastures/crops) where she became excited because Alicia thought like she did.

The story took an extra dimension because it related to her on such a personal level. It reaffirmed her job/life/thoughts.

I hadn't considered that before. Or not as a writer. As a reader, I have had that thought but maybe I haven't verbalised it or thought it through.

It was amazing to be shown how powerful a seemingly innocuous choice can be to a reader.

I know there aren't going to be scores of people in the rural careers I choose for my characters, and some may find the choices odd, but if I can validate one person's career choice by including their job in a work of fiction, then I think that is wonderful.

I want to write to bring an awareness and understanding of agriculture to readers. I was a city girl who loved the country, and went to work in agriculture. I grew to love agriculture even with a very green background...and a huge array of stupidity and mistakes! I love being able to share that love.

So, to all the agronomists out there helping with the science of farming - my thanks!

Thursday Thoughts - THANK YOU!

THANK YOU!

It seems so inadequate. I should have words at my fingertips to explain any situation - but I don't.

What words can I say to let you know how much I appreciate your support - every single one of you. People I know, have known, and those I don't know yet or may never meet.

Each person who bought a book (electronic or print). Shared my happiness. Read a word, or the whole thing. Wrote a review. Told me how they enjoyed it. Shared something on social media. Smiled at my silliness.

Every time you thought of me and helped me achieve and celebrate my dreams.

I don't know how to say how special that's been. Humbling and exciting all at once. Thrilling and terrifying.

It's been the most amazing rollercoaster - thank you for joining in and giving me the ride of my life!