The teaching job has been demanding and I’ve barely touched my writing (save for one blissful morning when I finished a new short story- the kids were at my parents!). I find it difficult to write when my sentences are punctuated with ‘MUM!’ and my heart positively races when I hear them coming like a little herd of rhinos, horns primed to tear me away from an elusive idea. I tap away furiously, nodding and smiling at them, but they’re not stupid; they up the ante and I’m forced to let it go, hope that the idea returns to me (they never do!).

The children are asleep so here I am…

I have a plan, and I DO love a plan.

1. Polish my new short story and enter the ELIZABETH JOLLEY COMPETITION (due May 31^st)

2. Redraft ‘The Quickening’ again and submit to the WRITING WA AWARDS/MENTORSHIP COMPETITION (due May 31^st)

3. Begin to write notes for the next novel. I have a character, Libby, waiting in the wings, suggesting that I move my butt and get on with her story. She’s pretty assertive….

So, now I know who to invite (along with Stephen Fry and Alain De Botton) to my imaginary ideal dinner party: China Mieville and Margaret Atwood.  I’ve developed a a bit of a crush on both of them. Today I witnessed that beautiful marriage of towering intellect and humility (not to mention wonderful, down to earth humour). There were none of the affectations you might expect from such lauded writers. I genuinely had goosebumps THREE times (and a number of belly laughs!) Gush, gush, gush!!!

This is a picture of Margaret Atwood photographing China Mieville’s tattoos.

I wasn’t shortlisted and I didn’t win the TAG Hungerford Award. Yes, it stung a little at first, but the disappointment pretty quickly gave way to optimism. As is my mantra: onwards and upwards; school work to finish, short stories to write, little (and big!) boys to cuddle. Let’s face it, I wouldn’t be a REAL writer if I didn’t experience the painful pangs of rejection. I’ve never had my heart broken by a man (lucky me you say?!), so this kind of thing is probably the closest I’ll get to understanding that kind of angst.

The angst couldn’t possibly prevail though; not when I have the love and support of so many friends and family members. I didn’t cry when I didn’t win, but I did tear up a little when a friend texted: ‘You have made your friends and family proud.’ I damn outright cried when my 6 year old son, Thom, ran into my room the morning after the award ceremony and told me: ‘Great try Mum!’  He had made me a ‘Good Try’ necklace too. Thom had already claimed $10 from the $12 000 prize and I thought his six year old self might be more preoccupied with the fiscal loss than my feelings. His developing empathy is more wonderful than any career high could ever be.

Justin was a great support. I may have squeezed his hand harder than I did during labour!

How could one NOT be happy when their beloved provides a bouquet like this?!

I can’t speak for other writers, so I won’t try, but I’ve discovered something recently: my themes are my preoccupations; the ones of which I cannot let go. Seems simple right? You’re wondering how on earth this is an epiphany? You see, I used to read texts and wonder how their authors could so expertly weave the same old ideas through their work time and time again. I thought them masters; pure genius even.

As I set out to write another story, I’ve noticed a pattern in my own work: I seem to return to the nature of time, the bearing of the past upon the present, parenthood, and the waxing and waning love of long term relationships. I wish that I could say that I do it consciously; then I could take more personal responsibility for any depth or resonance in the work, but, in truth, it seems to just happen.

I have been re-reading Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder. It’s one of those books that I return to; one that usually hovers somewhere in my room or on my bedside table.  Along with English and Fine Arts, I took Philosophy and History in my first year of uni. I seriously considered continuing with Philosophy but I thought it impractical. How that makes me laugh now. An Arts degree impractical? Really Kristen? For someone who prided herself on personal insight, I had a lot to learn. Fortunately, as it turns out, my degree was not a waste of time. It may not have provided an income or security, but it has coloured my take on the world; it (sometimes!) helps me to make sense of things.

Francis Bacon once said, ‘A little philosophy inclineth man’s mind to atheism. But depth in philosophy bringeth men’s minds about to religion’.

Be warned: I am about to draw a long bow with this analogy…but here goes…

Whilst I consider myself agnostic, and I’m not going to launch into the ins and outs of religion, I think of this quote as something of an analogy for the way in which I view my own journey as an Arts graduate/ artist. I began with blind faith; I imagined that my tertiary education would afford me an exciting career, fulfilment and riches (well, maybe not riches, but at the very least, sustenance!). I ignored the naysayers who asked  ‘…and what, pray, will you do when you finish uni Kristen?’  Of course, when I finished the degree and still had no answers to that question, I lost the faith and wondered why I hadn’t become a dentist or mechanic. Of course, I did the practical thing and chose the ONE year post grad option; teaching.

Ten years later and I’m starting to wonder if that exciting career is not possible after all. I’m beginning to feel the faith again. You, see, I’ve had some news: the short story that I entered in the Margaret River Short Story competition has been shortlisted. It will be published in May, along with 22 other stories (from over 250 submitted). The winner has not yet been announced. There are no words to express my delight.

I’ve also received an invitation to the award ceremony for the TAG Hungerford Award (I submitted my novel manuscript last year). Of course, I hope that I’ve been shortlisted (or I’ve won!), but it will be a great honour to simply be there, in that room, with other people who have taken the great leap of faith that is writing a novel.

I’ve read Sophie’s World quite a few times, but the last time I read it was as an adjunct to the final season of LOST (my all-time favourite tv show). I seem to return to the Gaarder’s book at pivotal moments in my life. I’m not being facetious when I say that the last season of LOST changed my life (in the sense that I no longer had a great program to look forward to!). It feels like my fortunes are changing so I guess you could say that I’m on a precipice again, poised and ready to jump. And maybe that’s why I’m reading Sophie’s World again; it grounds me, helps me to reflect in a productive, positive way when my mind is swimming with possibilities.

Well, haven’t things changed since my first post? I’ve been offered a part time teaching position and I’d be silly not to take it, but I’m a little conflicted; writing has been waylaid and thus, I’m wistful for my ‘happy place’. I’m about to undertake some goal setting for 2013 and I fear that the gist of things will be: DO NOT become a highly strung maniac intent on being the ‘perfect’ teacher.  See, there’s that catastrophic thinking again. The negative thinking is a deeply ingrained part of me and, as I’ve said before, it’s useful in my writing, so I have to make it work for me. One of my goals will be to turn that kind of thinking on its head; to simply change ‘I CAN’T ‘ to ‘I CAN!’.  Sounding too Anthony Robbins for you yet? Well, it’s obviously just cognitive behavioural modification and I need to work on it every day! I imagine most writers/artists do; we’re a self-doubting bunch!

A friend of mine has just started a new venture: http://www.goalsettinggirl.com . She provides templates for mapping out one’s goals in the core areas of life and all profits head directly to Opportunity International.   I want the novel to remain high on my agenda this year, and obviously, my family and friends too. My personal relationships are number one.  I’ve neglected both of my blogs over the festive period but it’s important that I keep them up: the more I write, the better I feel! So, I’ll be popping the blogs in the proforma too! Stay tuned!

I’ve read a lot of analogies about ideas and where they come from. My ideas tend to come from catastrophic thinking. It goes a bit like this: I hope that pelican doesn’t try to make off with my toddler. Do pelicans attack toddlers? What if they did? Would that fisherman down there on the embankment hurtle down, fishing knife in hand, and save my baby? What if?  It isn’t an altogether healthy part of the vocation, and I often wonder if all writers fall prey to catastrophic thinking. When I was younger, these intrusive thoughts frightened me and made my heart race. Now, I’m more accustomed to living inside this head and I try to think of my runaway imagination as a story machine.

A turn of phrase will just come to me. They fall upon me, as if from above. They are inspiration, they don’t feel wholly mine; they feel gifted.  I am usually presented with a lovely string of words while I’m vacuuming or washing the dishes and it’s my task to find my iPhone or a pen to note down the elusive phrase. I wonder if other writers worry that their expression is derivative. When you have read as widely as I have, you tend to worry that the words are not gifted but stolen! Imagine if that beautiful line you wrote yesterday was actually midway down the fiftieth page of a twenty year old Kundera book. Imagine. See…there goes that story machine again! But seriously, don’t you just hope and pray that you’re the only one who has ever looked at ghost gums and thought them milky? You hope that your unique perspective can make poetry; that your language is not just an amalgamation of all you have read before.

When people ask me what I do, I’m slightly confounded; I have a little think before I decide how best to answer. Sometimes I say I’m a ‘stay at home mum’. Sometimes I say I’m a teacher. I used to assign myself to the Those Who Can’t DO, Teach Club but then I realised that I never even gave myself a chance to DO what I love. I have the utmost respect for educators; teaching is a truly noble calling. I don’t truly believe in the Those Who Can’t DO, Teach Club because good teachers need to be able to DO just about everything. But the truth is, I love to write. I enjoy my day job well enough: I’m fulfilled by the sense of altruism and the relationships forged, but writing is my calling; a less noble pursuit but worthwhile nonetheless. So I am joining a new club and following in the footsteps of a long line of women writers who worked as governesses to pay the bills!

Won’t teach any more if I can help it; don’t like it; and if I can get writing enough can do much better… –Louisa May Alcott 1859

And 28 years later…

People usually ask, ‘How much have you made?’ I am contented with a hundred thousand and find my best success in the comfort my family enjoy; also a naughty satisfaction in proving that it was better not to ‘stick to teaching’ as advised, but to write. – Louisa May Alcott 1887

I hope that in 28 years time I’ll be able to say something similar! So, this is a blog to document my journey from emerging writer to published author; I’m only just beginning, but I know where I’m headed.

When I left high school in 1999, I did what any wannabe writer would do: I began an Arts degree, majoring in English and Fine Arts. I chose the most prestigious and aesthetically pleasing university in the state, a campus most befitting the narrative I’d already imposed on my life. I imagined animated discussions amongst the plane trees and intense new friendships with my own kind. Basically, I was planning a type of three year long literary salon; a nineteenth century one with the requisite debauchery and romantic liaisons.But I was shy and fairly neurotic so the great plan was a fiction in the beginning and most definitely unrealised by the end of my years in those lofty halls. Midway through, I gave myself a sabbatical of sorts; disillusioned by my university experience, I did the writerly thing: I planned my own bildungsroman. I up and left Perth and headed for Melbourne on a solo adventure. I lived in a backpackers’ hostel for a time; I experimented; I met the father of my two children. I could say that my plan was realised this time, but it wouldn’t be true: I didn’t grow up; I was more lost than ever. So when I returned, I picked up where I had left off and completed my degree half-heartedly. I graduated and spent a year feeling jaded and miserable, unable to find gainful employment. I tried to access the then cliquey Perth arts scene by volunteering at festivals, but I was terrified by the big personalities and lacking the experience and confidence to make any ground. I finally succumbed to the Arts graduate stereotype- I was unemployed and about to start a Graduate Diploma of Education.

Midway through my graduate degree, aged 24 years, my partner and I discovered I was pregnant. My previous life plans hadn’t entirely worked out, so I decided to undertake the biggest of unplanned endeavours: motherhood. Oh that I could bottle the learning and acquisition of self-knowledge from those early years with my firstborn!

A number of discrete events coalesced to become the impetus for my renewed desire to write. I watched a friend endure difficult times and depression until she made a decision: she would work hard to establish the business she had been dreaming about and she WOULD do it- no question about it. Sheer hard work, determination and self-belief transformed her life. I was led by her example when I found myself in a difficult space; after month upon month of trying to conceive a much desired second child, I gave up and decided that I would channel those energies into a novel. I’d always known what my first novel would be about- it feels like that first kernel has been with me my whole lifetime- so it was not hard to get started. Then, of course, I fell pregnant! I shelved the novel and didn’t return to it until my second child was one year old! I began writing a ‘Mummy Blog’ at around the time that I conceived so that I could flex my prose muscle more often. That blog has become a photo journal of sorts; a record of my life with my two sons; a celebration of their growth and development. This new blog is a leap of faith; I need to believe that my novels will be published; that I will require a proper, professional writer’s blog.

So, back to the inspiration…The momentum grew when I attended a morning tea with author, Kate Morton, and I left feeling alternately encouraged and devastated. Here she was, a woman living the life I had imagined for myself; a woman who read Enid Blyton as a girl, a true bibiophile; a woman who was just an ordinary Arts graduate before she wrote a book. During the morning tea, she shared an epiphany that she’d had before she wrote her first novel: authors are just ordinary people who happen to write (and who are published of course!). She also mentioned that she writes about the things she loves; mysteries, the bearing of the past upon the present, fairytales… I’m pretty sure that we share a similar sensibility…she also has two sons…like me… but, you know…I don’t want to sound all single white female! Kate was gracious and friendly when I told her that I was writing my first novel. I walked away in quite a state; I was determined that I would finish the manuscript.

In December 2010 I began writing my first novel, The Quickening, and I completed a chapter every month for a year. I completed the first draft in December 2011 and it took six months to redraft. I have since submitted the manuscript to five Australian agents. I’ve received four rejection emails. Ouch. It really hurts as much as I thought it would.

Onwards and upwards of course! I’ve entered the 2012 TAG Hungerford Award and the 2012 Unpublished Manuscript Award. I will begin submitting directly to publishers in February if I have no luck in the aforementioned competitions.

I needed a little bit of time out from the novel so I wrote a short story and entered the Margaret River Short Story Competition 2013. I’m starting to take notes for my second novel and maybe, once I’ve finished a draft, I’ll be able to summon the courage to tell people that I AM A WRITER!