Browsing Tag

Kate Mildenhall

Festivaling

4 October 2023

My last post started with ‘I bloody love festivals’, and this one could start the same way. I really do. And I was recently at the wonderful Write Around the Murray, which I had long heard such good things about from author friends. They were absolutely right, it’s a cracker. The venues are gorgeous, the audiences were warm, the author line-up was fab, and everything was run so seamlessly by Director Ann-maree Ellis and her incredible team (particular shout out to Chris and photographer Pete, who is responsible for most of the photos here). To top it all off the weather was utter perfection and I could not have had a better time.

 

Opening night kicked off with yarnbombing from local Wiradjuri educator Ruth Davys, and a panel that I moderated with Paul Dalgarno, Gina Perry and Rijn Collins (who I also spoke with at Sorrento Writers Festival earlier this year). Our topic was ‘Mum’s the Word’. Interestingly, all three of the books have mothers who are absent in some way. All three also have brilliant plot twists which make it bloody hard – I so wanted to ask them questions that I couldn’t! Hard recommend on all three books as book club reads where all the spoilers can be discussed – A Country of Eternal Light (Dalgarno), My Father the Whale (Perry) and Fed to Red Birds (Collins).

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Saturday morning saw me up bright and early for an event for families at Lavington Library (where they have the loveliest staff who will make you tea and endlessly talk books with you), with my picture books Seree’s Story and Where the Heart Is. Next came Stereo Stories which was hands down the most fun I’ve ever had on stage. It’s such a cool format that Vin and his band have put together where authors read a memoir piece inspired by a song. The band weaves the song around the author’s words. As Chris Hammer once told me, ‘It’s like having your own backing band.’ And bloody hell, it was fun. Other performers included Debra Dank, Paul Dalgarno and Rijn Collins, who has performed at the most Stereo Stories of any writer.

It made me reflect, though, on how years ago, even the very thought of being on stage in this way would have left me with a feeling of utter dread. Several of my brothers were natural performers (I have five!), and for a time were actors or street performers. They loved an audience. I, on the other hand, avoided one. Public speaking was not something I ever voluntarily did. But then I started to get published, and I realised I was going to have to get comfortable with it. So, I pushed myself to do all the things. Eventually, I looked comfortable on stage. Looked being the operative word. But the more I did it, the more I enjoyed it. And now, I love it. Stereo Stories was a moment in time that made me realise how far I’ve come. To be on stage, making people laugh, and enjoying every second, is a world apart from how I once was.

Kate Mildenhall, Kathryn Heyman, me, TR (Tim) Napper

 

But I digress. Sunday’s final event for me was a panel moderated by Kate Mildenhall with Kathryn Heyman and Tim Napper. We talked about all things writing and publishing, and I’m sure we could have talked for the rest of the day, if not for a packed program! It was recorded for The First Time podcast, so look out for that one.

Kathryn and I discovered some weird synergies. When I was deciding on a title for The Breaking I googled it to see if anything came up. Nothing did. But a few months after The Breaking came out, another book appeared with that title. It was Kathyrn Heyman’s debut novel of 26 years earlier, previously published only in the UK, and now released all this time later in Australia. The weird bit, though, is that at the festival we discovered that both books started as a series of short stories, and we both had a friend who said to us, ‘I think you might be writing a novel.’ So two debuts with the same title, started in the same way. It seems Kathryn Heyman is my book twin!

As usual, one of the best bits of the festival was writerly hangs with brilliant people. Massive congrats to Anne-maree and her team on a stellar festival. Can’t wait until the next one!

TR Napper, Kate Mildenhall, Paul Dalgarno, Andrea Rowe, Margaret Hickey, and me

Literary adventures

21 June 2018

This month I thought I’d bring you a newsy post about my latest literary adventures. First up, I had the absolute pleasure of chatting with two brilliant writers, Kate Mildenhall and Katherine Collette, for their new podcast, The First Time, which is launching in August. Katherine has recently signed her novel, The Helpline, and the podcast is part reality show, following Katherine’s journey through the publication process, and part masterclass as the pair interview writers about their experiences of publishing a book for the first time. It’s such a brilliant idea and I had way too much fun recording the podcast. The first ep comes out in August but in the meantime you can follow the podcast on Twitter and Insta.

Later that night we met up again for an event hosted by the ACT Writers Centre in the Canberra Contemporary Art Space (CCAS). It was rainy and stupidly cold (please hurry up, spring) but CCAS was deliciously warm and there was a lovely audience waiting for us. With Jack Heath and Karen Viggers, we chatted about writing and publishing. Jack revealed that with his first advance (as a teenager!) he bought a pair of outrageous boots that he wore to school visits. Sadly, my first advance was swallowed by dull things, like bills. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re all grown up and sensible, but I’ve resolved to buy something indulgently wonderful with my next advance.

Following us were Rosanna Stevens who read a brilliant new essay that had us laughing and wincing, and Jacqueline de-Rose Ahern who spoke about the overwhelming experience of having her first picture book published. There was also a panel of visual artists talking about their processes which I found fascinating. I particularly loved Jodie Cunningham’s ‘Talking to the Tax Man About Poetry’ series which converts eight artists’ lives from stats into sculptures, examining the balance of time for creating art versus doing work that pays the bills. I’m sure all the writers in the room could relate to the struggle to reconcile the two.

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Our panel continued chatting afterwards over dinner, and can I just say how much I appreciate having such intelligent, thoughtful and just generally lovely writers around me? Well there, I have.

Kate Mildenhall, Jack Heath, Karen Viggers, me, Katherine Collette

The following day I threw a bag into my little car, fuelled up on coffee, and headed down the Monaro to Merimbula to present a workshop on writing picture books for the Writers of the Far South Coast.

The drive there is stunning — yellow baked plains, violet hills, huge blue skies. I listened to podcasts and snacked on chocolate and generally enjoyed not having to entertain three children. I arrived a little early so I ate lunch on the beach, digging bare feet into sand. The one thing that I miss about living in Canberra is the beach, and on this day the ocean was dead flat, completely at peace.

There was an enthusiastic crowd at the workshop and I had a great time chatting all things picture books. I wish I’d taken a piccie of the lovely writers who came  but we were so busy that I completely forgot. Instead here’s me in a quiet moment before everyone arrived, looking longingly out towards the ocean. I mean, if Canberra had a beach it’d be perfect.

After two days of writerly goodness I was smashed, so that evening I crashed in my cute little Airbnb place and ate a takeaway pad thai and drank prosecco and watched bad TV and caught up on emails. Ah, the glamorous life of a writer! In the morning I spent one blissful hour walking an empty beach before heading back home.

I want to now step back in time, by a few weeks, to  mention a particularly special launch of the Sorry Day picture book by Coral Vass and Dub Leffler. It’s always a lovely moment when a book that you’ve edited is released, but the Sorry Day launch was a particularly moving experience. Anita Heiss did the official duties and there were several speeches that left me feeling quite teary. This is such an important book and it was a privilege to be involved as editor. Sorry Day allows us to open up conversations with our young people about a terrible part of our history in an age-appropriate way. I hope it makes its way into every school and home around this country.

Well that’s it for now, but there are more literary adventures ahead. Onward!

The one writing ritual you can’t give up

13 February 2018

Most authors have writing rituals, ranging from the pragmatic to the bizarre. Hemingway famously wrote standing up, and Edith Wharton lying in bed. John Cheever wrote in his underwear but Victor Hugo went one step further and wrote nude. Truman Capote avoided Fridays, never beginning or ending a piece of writing on that day. Poet Frederick Schiller couldn’t write without the smell of rotten apples emanating from his desk drawer.

My own writing ritual has been simple: one cup of coffee and I’m away. I’m not alone in this. Apparently Honoré de Balzac would drink up to fifty coffees a day, making my own one or two cups seem positively puritan. He would write day and night, and when the coffee stopped taking effect he would chew on coffee beans.

Unfortunately I don’t have de Balzac’s constitution and my doctor has forced me to abandon caffeine. I must confess, it’s been tough. A coffee always immediately clicked me into gear. It was a signal to myself: time to work. And the caffeine buzz gave me that ability to embrace the empty page with enthusiam, even on days when I felt terribly tired. So I miss it. Desperately.

As I mourn caffeine and attempt to make do with roasted dandelion ‘coffee’ (it’s as bad as it sounds), I thought I’d ask some of my fellow writers about the one writing ritual they couldn’t give up. Here goes…

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Kate Mildenhall is a writer and teacher. Her stunning debut novel, Skylarking was longlisted for Debut Fiction in the Indie Book Awards 2017 and the 2017 Voss Literary Award.
In the aftermath of my first novel being published, I found myself perplexed at what I couldn’t remember about the process and sequence of writing it. When did I decide to cut that character? What was I reading when I wrote that scene? Where did I put the link to that article about whale oil? On this, my second time around, I’ve kept a journal of the process. It’s a word doc that I keep open all the time, and I write in it nearly every day I’m working on the manuscript. It’s a catch-all for what I’m reading, to do lists, word counts, questions to myself, random ideas, links to relevant articles, research notes (some written in my cabin on a yacht in the middle of the Banda Sea!) and long rants filled with self-doubt and fear. It’s been incredibly useful to refer back to when I’ve felt lost or unsure, and I’m also looking forward to being able to use it when I’m talking about the book and my process. At some point in the last month the word count on the journal document surpassed the actual manuscript — testament to how addicted I’ve become to this little ritual.

Robyn Cadwallader’s debut novel, The Anchoress, was an international bestseller, and her much-anticipated next novel, Book of Colours, is out in April.
My ritual doesn’t make a lot of sense, even to me. It’s a pen and notebook, but not for writing my work-in-progress; I do that on my computer. I’ve always loved the idea of writing my manuscript by hand, page upon page of words in ink. But I’ve discovered that on the computer I feel more freedom to change words, to play, invent, experiment. And yet, I also need the feel of pen on paper, my body engaged in a way it can’t be on the computer. In my notebook I write ideas, plans, questions, doodles. I talk to myself, chew over that crazy idea I had in the night. It’s especially crucial when I’m scared of writing — of the blank page or the stuck place in my story. When I’m too afraid to sit at the computer, I can grab my favourite pen, open my notebook and write to myself. Out it all comes: I have no ideas; I don’t know what I’m doing; I’m lost in my own narrative; I can’t work out the structure; I’m not sure what my character needs to do next. Anything, everything. It’s such a safe, cosy place; pen or pencil on paper feels so accepting. Eventually, an idea, or courage, or just a little bit of freedom, finds me, and I move on to the main work.

Perhaps it’s the difference between my private words on paper, just for me, and the words that I write on computer to go out into the world. I’m not sure, but this ritual works, so I’m keeping it!

 

 

Louise Allan’s debut novel, The Sisters’ Song*, was released last month and it’s been going gangbusters. She also has an excellent blog for writers and readers.
The one writing ritual I can’t give up is that I must check the news, my emails and my social media before I can set to work.

Pre-internet, first thing each morning I used to read the newspaper from beginning to end, commenting to my husband as I went. I liked starting the day informed about what had been happening in the world.

These days, it’s the internet I check. Every day, the ABC messages me the news headlines, then I check my emails, and finally my social media. I feel like the housekeeping is then done and I can commence my work day. It takes at least an hour, but my head feels clearer afterwards, and I’m able to concentrate on my work. If I set to work beforehand, I feel like it’s still hanging over me.

I once did a six-day writing course and one of the rules was that we had to rise from bed and immediately start writing, taking advantage of our half-awake mental states. It was so good for my writing and I swore I’d maintain it after the course had finished. But, alas, I immediately reverted to my old habits!

Peggy Frew is the author of two brilliant books, House of Sticks and Hope Farm, which was shortlisted for the 2016 Stella Prize.
I have a few writing rituals (and I am very sorry to say, Irma, that sitting down to work with a fresh cup of coffee is one of them) but the only really indispensible one is going offline. When it’s time to work I carry my laptop out into my backyard writing studio, and as soon as I open it I turn the wifi off and shut down my mail so I can’t see that little red circle with the number of unread emails in it. My phone I leave inside the house. Picking up my phone is something I do a lot when I’m having trouble settling in to work, and I’ve found that the only way to avoid it as a distraction is to simply not have it in the same room as me. This ritual — the change of location, the reopening of the laptop sans wifi and mail, and the leaving-behind of the phone — works as a kind of passageway. There is a sense of purpose, of clarity, of entering a different state. Whether or not any good writing happens is actually not relevant, because the ritual is not about good or bad writing, it’s about removing distractions and committing to complete focus on the work. In time (one hopes!) the good writing will come, but one thing is for sure: it won’t come if you don’t clear the decks and sit down to write in the first place.

So there you have it. The perfect writing recipe: coffee, notebook, journal, all the wifi, or no wifi. It just goes to show that every writer needs to discover what works for them and run with it.

* I have one signed copy of Louise Allan’s The Sisters’ Song to give away! Set in rural Tasmania from the 1920s to the 1990s, The Sisters’ Song traces the lives of two very different sisters. One for whom giving and loving are her most natural qualities and the other who cannot forgive and forget. If you’d like to get your hands on it, simply sign up to my newsletter before 7 pm Friday 23 Feb (link to the right). Open to Australian residents only. Winner will be randomly generated. Good luck!