First up was the announcement of the Nonfiction Award. An anthology about miscarriage seemed an unlikely winner, but win it did. The judges said: ‘The Sound of Silence was the stand-out winner on every level. This book proved to be compellingly readable, boasted good production design and evidenced careful, respectful editing. Although neither of the judges initially expected to be taken by this volume, both ultimately found it absorbing and uplifting. The writing was of the highest quality and deserves a readership well beyond its niche market. In short: An inspirational book and a clear winner.’
Their assessment recognises so many aspects of the book. For me, editing The Sound of Silence was a privilege. Many of the 22 writers had not previously been published, but they worked with me through the lengthy editing process with such grace and enthusiasm. This award acknowledges their strength and courage in telling stories that will help others affected by miscarriage.
Having collected my award (including a Paperchain Bookstore voucher that has already disappeared), it was straight onto the announcement of the fiction category. This time Two Steps Forward didn’t win, but the judges’ comments were generous nevertheless. They said: ‘A strong point of this anthology is the characters, who were beautifully drawn in a lyrical and evocative style. It would be interesting to see how this writer would develop characters over a longer work. The pace is well maintained, with each story engaging, fresh and avoiding sameness in plot, although the overall sadness is a hallmark. Each story is a complete experience on its own, and this writer has a distinctive, lyrical style that is a standout.’
Nigel Featherstone took out the award for his novella Fall on Me, and I couldn’t have ‘lost’ to a more lovely and deserving person. Inverted commas are necessary because nothing felt like losing that night; it was wins all round.
What with these awards, Two Steps Forward being shortlisted for SPUNC’s inaugural Most Underrated Book Award, and publication of The Invisible Thread, 2012 has been a good year. I think a celebratory glass of champagne is in order.
The winning and shortlisted authors (L-R): Fiona Hamer, Nigel Featherstone, Irma Gold, Tracey Hawkins, Hazel Hall, Ann Villiers. Photo courtesy of the ACT Writers Centre.
It’s taken me a while to write about The Invisible Thread launch (others have already beaten me to it here and here). Why, you might ask? Well, launches are funny things. You build towards them — in this case for three years — with great anticipation. The event itself zips by, a blur of faces and book signings and congratulations. Usually you eat and drink nothing. You don’t spend more than five minutes with any one person and yet you don’t manage to talk to everyone. And then — suddenly — it’s all over. The End. Of course it’s just the beginning for the book, but the launch is like a line in the sand. It’s the end of a long and involved creative process, of bringing The Invisible Thread into being.
At the launch, artist Victoria Lees gave me a pep talk. ‘Now, you’re going to feel depressed,’ she said. ‘You’ve been working so hard. Just expect it, go with it.’ At least I think that’s what she said. In retrospect those two hours have taken on a dream-like quality. She was right, of course. I’d been madly planning and organising the launch while also doing publicity for the book and finalising the ACT Writers Showcase website. I’d been running on adrenalin for weeks; a crash was inevitable.
But let’s take a few steps back, to when the adrenaline was still kicking.
On the morning of the launch I drove out through Queanbeyan, past fields of yellow flowers, the spike of the Telstra Tower in the distance. I collected the cake, a replica of the book, and placed it carefully in the boot of my car. It was already 30-something degrees and I worried about it melting before I reached home. Yet I drove slowly, also worried that a sudden slam of the brakes would splatter it everywhere. I made it back without incident. My nine-year-old thought it was the most amazing thing she’d ever laid eyes on and took a gazillion photos of it. (Later, at the launch, one person thought it was a cloth version of the book and actually tried to open it, a testament to its authenticity.)
After I’d dropped the older kids at school, Advisory Committee member Clare McHugh phoned and asked if I had heard that electrical storms were predicted for the afternoon. I hadn’t; cue mild panic. The stats revealed a 40 per cent chance that it would rain. That meant a 60 per cent chance that it wouldn’t. I had to bank on the 60. We had a wet weather contingency plan but it wouldn’t have been nearly so atmospheric as the courtyard with its grand 100-year-old oak tree, stripy deck chairs, orange umbrellas, wood panelled stage, and the thread artwork we commissioned Victoria Lees to create.
Alex Sloan
Francesca Rendle-Short
Irma Gold
Blanche d’Alpuget
By afternoon rain still hadn’t struck and, as anticipated, the NewActon Courtyard proved to be the perfect place for our celebration. Around 150 people packed the space, creating a real buzz, as the Wicked Strings ensemble set the mood. Alex Sloan was a warm and gracious MC, and as guest speaker Underbelly writer Felicity Packard made personal and profound connections with the anthology. Four of the Thread writers read their work: Blanche d’Alpuget, who flew in for just a few hours to be there; Meredith McKinney, Judith Wright’s daughter; Advisory Committee member and poet Adrian Caesar; and Francesca Rendle-Short who flew in from Melbourne. I got to stand up and thank everyone who helped make the book and its associated projects a reality. It was a big moment for me. As I explained, it’s been a privilege to work with so many dedicated and talented individuals. I also launched the ACT Writers Showcase, a comprehensive website of ACT authors and the first site of its kind in Australia. Conceived by the Advisory Committee, I’ve been developing it with Greg Gould of Blemish Books. It’s been a massive undertaking and I’m so thrilled that we’ve been able to create such a terrific resource.
Chair of the Advisory Committee, Anne-Maree Britton, presented me with flowers — a lovely and unexpected surprise (this was not in the launch rundown that I had so meticulously planned!). Alex Sloan wrapped up and suggested everyone buy the book as Christmas presents (now there’s a brilliant idea), and Wicked Strings played again while everyone ate, drank and were merry. Victoria’s Invisible Thread artwork captivated, and the Thread cake was demolished. It was all pretty damn wonderful. As one guest proclaimed, it was ‘the best atmosphere at a literary event ever’.
That night I came home, kicked off my heels, ate left over Thread cake (the tastiest book I’ve ever eaten), drank a cup of tea and thought, ‘Oh.’ The flat feeling took hold. The remedy, I told myself, was to spend the next few days reading books and drinking tea, strictly no work.
Of course this didn’t happen, but as I worked a stream of complimentary emails about the launch and the book began arriving. Words like ‘spectacular’, ‘inspiring’ and ‘very special’ helped a little in shifting the post-launch blues.
There’s still work to be done. Lots of it. But I’ve promised myself a break over Christmas. A real one, without email and Facebook and Twitter. I’m telling myself I can do it.
One of the wonderful things about editing The Invisible Thread was discovering writers that I had previously wanted to read but had somehow never got around to. Like historian Peter Stanley. Indeed, reading for this anthology made plain what an incredible bunch of historians Canberra has nurtured. Bill Gammage, Charles Bean, Ken Inglis, Manning Clark, Hank Nelson, Keith Hancock, Humphrey McQueen, Tom Griffiths and, of course, Peter Stanley. They are some of Australia’s best historians, and The Invisible Thread has gems of writing from them all, including an extract from Peter Stanley’s Quinn’s Post.
Quinn’s was the size of a school playground but it was the key to the Gallipoli campaign and hundreds of men died there. When Peter first visited Quinn’s it had a profound effect on him — he describes it as a ‘road to Damascus moment’ — and he immediately decided to abandon the book he was planning to write in favour of a book on Quinn’s. In this interview he told me that the process of writing Quinn’s Post was unlike any other book: ‘This was an extraordinarily easy process…This was a book that seemed to fly.’ He wrote Quinn’s Post very quickly, ‘in a trance’, and I read it in a similar way. I would have read it in one sitting if the necessities of life had not intruded, but the benefit of being forced to stop was that in the spaces between reading — while preparing dinner or doing the washing up — I found myself reflecting on the events and stories Peter reveals.
Quinn’s was unlike anywhere else in Gallipoli because the trenches were just 10 yards apart. The Australians and Turks could hear each other talking, laughing, living. Ironic gifts of bully beef were thrown across no-man’s-land and into the enemy’s trenches. Peter tells these stories to deconstruct the mythology surrounding the Anzac story, to take us inside the reality of war. His book is fascinating stuff and I found talking to him equally fascinating (the Kiwis will love him for what he says). Don’t miss his musings on what he’d say to ‘Charlie’ (Charles Bean) if he could take him to dinner.
If this arrived on your doorstep would you feel terrified? Because I did. Terrified and excited all at once. Why? Because I knew what was inside that little parcel sitting innocuously on my doorstep. Advance copies of The Invisible Thread.
Inside I place the parcel carefully on the dining room table. I pick up the scissors, and cut.
The first emotion I feel when I open it is a little bit relieved. The cover looks just as I imagined it would from the proofs, better even. The texture of Judy Horacek’s illustration invites touch. And I do, holding it in my hands like some foolish, lovesick teen.
Then I feel a little bit proud. Of all the unseen work that has gone into this book. The days, nights, weekends I’ve invested in it, sometimes even working in my sleep. And all the others (so many of them) who’ve worked in different ways to transform this book from a bold idea into a tangible object with that delicious new book smell.
And right now I’m trying not to feel a little bit trepidatious. Because copies will soon be boxed up and delivered to bookstores around the country, sent out for review. Come 22 October this anthology will be public property. In the meantime I’m trying to enjoy this private moment. To simply feel grateful that I’ve been part of such an incredible project.
Crowd-funding is the new big thing, and it’s raising big bucks. Not surprisingly, the notoriously under-resourced arts sector has been quick to recognise the opportunities it offers to access a new kind of funding. Pozible, Australia’s largest crowd-funding platform, has only been going since 2010 but it has already supported over 1300 projects and raised over $2.5 million dollars in funding.
So how does it work? Individuals or organisations post a project on their website, set a target and a deadline, and then hit social media calling for donations. Here’s the catch. If the target isn’t reached by the campaign’s end none of the donations are processed and the organisation doesn’t receive a cent. So setting realistic goals is important.
The Queensland Literary Awards is one example of a successful Pozible campaign. When Premier Campbell Newman cut the Queensland Premier’s Literary Awards in order to save the comparatively small sum of $240,000, the literary community was stunned. In response, a passionate group of writers launched a Pozible campaign to enable the awards to continue, albeit with reduced prize money. The public have enthusiastically supported their campaign and with just days left to go they have already exceeded their $20,000 target by over $8000.
Further afield, one campaign that is looking less likely of meeting its goal is St. Mark’s Bookstore in New York City. They are aiming to raise $23,000 via crowd-funding site Lucky Ant. It’s tough times for bookshops and in order to survive St. Mark’s needs funds to relocate their store and develop a more sophisticated online presence. As I write this they have only a week to go and are still short by $8000. St. Mark’s is an iconic bookstore and we need to prevent these havens of bookish goodness from disappearing, so fingers crossed there’s a late rush and they meet their goal.
Meanwhile I’m concentrating on our own Pozible campaign to raise funds for The Invisible Thread, an anthology of 100 years of writing by authors who have a connection with Canberra, edited by yours truly. The book has already received support from the ACT Government, Centenary of Canberra and National Year of Reading, among others, but we are still short of funds to cover printing costs and pay authors for appearances at our scheduled events. We’re hoping that we follow in the Queensland Literary Awards’ successful footsteps. At just $5000 we think we’ve set a realistic goal. We have already raised over $3000, and with 31 days to go we’re quietly hopeful. The great thing about Pozible is that it’s not all one-way. There are rewards on offer for those who donate, including advance copies of The Invisible Thread and VIP invitations to Woven Words, a forthcoming event of words and music with readings from our authors and music from the Canberra Symphony Orchestra.
So head on over to Pozible and check out all the wonderful projects that you can help make a reality. There are feature films and exhibitions and debut EPs to support. Oh, and a little book called The Invisible Thread. Supporting that one would make a certain person very happy indeed.
Last Thursday the annual ACT Writing and Publishing Awards were held in the Mercure Hotel and I had two books shortlisted in two categories. The Sound of Silence for Nonfiction and Two Steps Forward for Fiction. Pretty nice, huh?
