Taxidermy and Fairy Tales
‘Fed to Red Birds,’ my debut novel, is finally out in the world!
It was published on March 8 by Simon & Schuster…and what a wild and wonderful ride it’s been. I’ve been taking notes for this blog but the whirlwind of the launch, promotion and festivals has taken over. And I’m not complaining, at all.
‘A striking novel about a bewitched young mind’ – Good Reading magazine
‘Fed to Red Birds’ was launched on International Women’s Day. I’d spent the prior evening at a Bikini Kill gig, one of my favourite feminist punk bands of my youth, which seemed the perfect way to welcome my book into the world. I woke to a stunning bouquet of flowers from my fabulous team at Simon and Schuster, and a few days later hosted a sold-out launch at Littlefoot, a lovely local bar here in Footscray, Melbourne.
I wore a black velvet dress and a necklace of seven gold snakes, drank dirty martinis and revelled in the support and love of my friends and family. I’ve visited bookstores all over Melbourne to sign copies and a few days ago headed to Sydney to do the same.
‘[L]ost in this book, I have only put it down for long enough to write this column, and am already missing Iceland and Elva terribly … I feel I am typing this with frost-bitten fingers while being watched by trolls.’- The Canberra Times
True to form, I’ve already outed myself at festivals as a weirdo with a house full of snake skins and bat bones. At Sorrento Writers Festival, host Irma Gold was asking about writing routines and described Agatha Christie eating apples in the bath while inspecting crime scene photos. I said ‘Oh, my writing routine is much more boring.’ Then I proceeded to describe how I worked on ‘Fed to Red Birds’ with bare feet, legs crossed, and my baby snake in my bra, soothed by my heartbeat. It was only when audience members flinched that I realised, ah, perhaps not mundane after all. Good to know.
‘Intensely evocative…beautiful descriptions of Iceland, the country, and the also the quirks and curiosities of cultural life in Reykjavik – Hannah Kent, author of Burial Rights
Words used so far to describe my book: macabre, spellbinding, moody, magical, beguiling, creepy, enchanting and, a favourite, ‘a little bit dark, and a big bit beautiful.’
In June, I’ll be on several panels at the wonderful Williamstown Literary Festival here in Melbourne: ‘Taxidermy and Fairy Tales’ and ‘Witchcraft in the 21st Century.’ Lastly is a performance with Stereo Stories, about an Icelandic goth band, Kaelan Mikla, who were the soundtrack to writing ‘Fed to Red Birds’, so much that I thanked them in the acknowledgements.
‘Collins is a writer of great humility and intelligence. FTRB reads like a story she has been longing to tell, the culmination of long-lasting, deep-rooted interests. But it is the ease of her storytelling that is truly marvellous – fiercely honed by years as a practitioner of short stories.’ – Kill Your Darlings literary journal
I plan to update this blog more often with festival appearances, reviews and news, now that publication day has finally passed. In the meantime, ‘Fed to Red Birds’ is available at major bookstores across Australia, and/or can be ordered in through your local library.
Treat her kindly…she’s just a baby, after all.
The Book Flood
It’s New Year’s Eve, and something weird is happening.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch in a long violet dress, sipping soju. My hair is still damp from my solo swim earlier. Three young goth girls are singing to me in Icelandic from my Spotify playlist. The sun is setting, flooding our seventh-floor apartment with light, and my three-legged rescue cat is giving me languorous slow blinks.
And in his corner chair, specs on, head down, my husband is reading my debut novel for the first time.
In 2014 I spent a month in far-northern Iceland on a writing residency. If you’ve followed my blog before, you’ll know that I’m a winter wench at heart: thigh-high snow, the northern lights over my rooftop, breath clouding in front of my face. From that and other visits to Iceland, my book formed.
In 2019 I signed a publication contract with Simon and Schuster. I’m skipping the redrafting, the pitching and praying, the oceans of uncertainty. You don’t need to read that. I signed a contract, one of the most joyous events of my life, and within weeks, Covid hit.
Think I’ll just skip over that too, if you don’t mind.
So here we are in December 2022, and my husband is holding in his hands the ARC of my debut novel, the advance reader copy. Things have suddenly kicked into Very High Gear. This version has been sent to reviewers, bloggers and booksellers, and I’m trying to find space in my head and heart for the knowledge it’s out in the world.
And it’s in my husband’s hands. Deep breath, stop watching his face for each muscle movement, don’t ask at each chuckle ‘What part are you up to?’ A novelist himself, I want so much for him to nod, and say, ‘Good work, baby.’
Here is what I do know. My book, ‘Fed to Red Birds,’ will be officially published on March 8 (International Women’s Day, a coincidence I’m over the moon about) and the cover will be revealed in the next two weeks. Simon and Schuster have been utterly amazing, from my editors and publicists to audio publishers and Icelandic specialists. They’ve sent out exquisite ARC packages with little wooden ornaments and a postcard with a QR code that leads straight to our ‘Fed to Red Birds’ playlist of Icelandic artists. These were sent in time for the Icelandic tradition of the Christmas Book Flood, celebrating books and reading. I’m excited and delighted and so very grateful that after the distress and delay that was Covid, my book is finally coming.
But for now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take my soju and sit out on the balcony. I’m going to wait for fireworks and pretend not to watch my husband’s every facial movement.
Wish me luck.
Oh, and happy New Year’s Eve. I wish you nothing but blessings for the coming cycle.
Romeo Lane and Juliet Terrace
She was known as Madame Brussels. Of course I loved the name; my favourite city. In my hometown on the other side of the world, I stood on the corner of Lonsdale Street in central Melbourne and looked for the laneway named after her.
Madame Brussels looms large in the history of Melbourne. She owned and ran some of the most expensive brothels in the city in the 19th century. There were dance halls, pubs, opium dens and many ‘houses of ill-repute’ crammed into the notorious Little Lon area, and their history still pokes through, if you know where to look.
I was on the hunt for Romeo Lane and Juliet Terrace, with Bilking Square in the middle. The red light district of Victorian era Melbourne, if you can’t tell by the names.
In this city we’ve been in the longest, strictest lockdown in Covid history: 265 days of hardcore restrictions. No shops or bars open, no movement more than 5km from home, a 9pm curfew. It’s been…challenging. There are only so many Kali chants, bass guitar lessons and black and white movies a woman can take before she decides to use her daily exercise hour to explore the back streets of her own city.
Though in all honesty, I could take a few more Tennessee Williams film adaptations.
Here’s the thing though: I couldn’t find Romeo Lane, Juliet Terrace or Bilking Square. I walked, I frowned, I retraced my steps. My search took me past two of my favourite bookstores, Paperback Bookshop and Hill of Content, but they were (of course) shut in lockdown, and I was on a mission.
I found where I thought Bilking Square should be. It looked familiar. When I realised why, I leaned against a red brick wall to take it all in. I was outside the very restaurant in which I’d met my publisher at Scribner last year to celebrate signing a contract for my debut novel. I’d worn red lipstick, a cinched waist 50s dress with full skirt, and black ballet flats. I think I was aiming for Ava Gardner, but landed more on the side of Lucille Ball, with inappropriate jokes about the plague and polyamory. When the waiter leaned in to place a linen napkin on my lap, I flinched. I ate tagliatelle with smoked fennel seeds and almost choked on them when my publisher said my book has ‘just the right amount of blood in the water.’ I proposed a champagne toast to the memory of my beautiful aunt Grace, whom the book will be dedicated to when published. She felt right there at the table with me.
Lord, what a day that was.
Turns out it used to be Romeo Lane, but had been renamed Crossley Street 150 years ago in an effort to cleanse the streets of their sordid Little Lon reputation. It didn’t matter though; I went home smiling.
Turns out my stories are written on Melbourne’s streets, too, if I remember to look.
Maelstrom
Her name meant ‘nocturnal journey.’ I chose her for that reason from the clinic’s website. For my first appointment, I was concerned about running late so pulled on the first thing my fingers found. I got to the front gate. A tight and lime green ‘Getting Lucky in Kentucky’ t-shirt might not be the best first impression. I changed it. These things count, you know.
‘Those places are full of secret codes of behaviour, believe me. They won’t tell you what they are, but they’ll sure as hell notice when you break them.’
She had pale, fine hair and smiled often. I sat cross-legged on her couch and didn’t smile at all. My hand rested on my breastbone as though trying to push down the pressure that had been building in my ribcage.
In our third session, she leaned forward.
‘Did you know – ‘ I leaned forward too – ‘that uncertainty doesn’t seem to sit well with you?’
I did know. I sighed as I walked out of there. Who did it sit well with? I didn’t make another appointment.
A month later, Covid hit.
If there were ever a year to explore uncertainty, it’s 2020.
Like most of us, I’ve been limping towards December 31st. It’s been so grim for so long, and I am bone fucking tired. It was a year that started well, too, with publication contracts for both myself and my husband for our debut novels. But then 2020 tilted, everything skewed, and the unexpected came shooting straight at us.
I’m deeply grateful to have my health, my home and my husband. At this age, I’m surprised when I can still surprise myself, but I learned some things in 2020, and I’m grateful for them too. This little technophobe had a crash course in zoom and transferred 100% of her teaching online, to the amazement of everyone. I had it written into my wedding vows that I would not ask for husband for tech help, and lord, did I break that this year (thanks, baby). A global pandemic is a brutal background for the first year of marriage, but we turned to each other instead of against, and are closer than ever.
In a year that seemed never-ending, the importance of the Solstices and Equinoxes in marking time, and therefore opportunities for regeneration and renewal, were inestimable. My altar is the first place I go every morning, and the last at night. Through Nina Hagen I also found Kirtan, traditional Hindu devotional songs, which I’ve been singing all through lockdown (sorry, baby).
A huge hit of unexpected joy came in the form of another publication contract, though I’m not giving details until it’s all settled and signed. A teaser is that it allows me to write about my favourite place in the world, Brussels, as well as the setting of my novel, Iceland,, and my love of languages that has led me through a degree in Linguistics and fourteen years of language teaching. So excited to get to work!
One deeply painful lesson was that when my beloved Marley took unexpectedly sick and died in my hands five weeks ago, my own heart was able to still keep beating, though it broke into so many pieces. A life lived without a creature is not a life for me. Today we welcomed a three-legged rescue cat called Martha into our family, and her purring behind me right now is pure joy, though we all need time to adjust.
Lastly, trapped in Melbourne’s industrial west for eight months of lockdown, among petrochemical vats and noxious factories, I learned that I crave the forest. Green, green, so much hunger for green. I’ve been a city girl my whole life, but that may just be coming to a close. If 2020 has taught me anything, it’s that the unexpected is not necessarily the enemy.
And I’ve read. Damn, have I read. Thanks to everyone whose books, stories, articles and recommendations have been shared and supported by the astounding literary community, and so made their way into my life. If you have any recommendations (including your own books) please let me know.
Here’s to 2021….time to close our eyes, and leap.
inkymouth 