I no longer eat my stories

September 29, 2018 at 11:09 pm (Uncategorized) (, , )

In September I had the lovely luxury of taking time off my day job to focus on my career: putting stories on paper. Woven through both jobs is my deep reverence for words and their wonder, and I still can’t believe I get paid to splash around in ink. My academic background is linguistics, leading me to now teach in a language college in Melbourne’s CBD where I can speak of gerunds and infinitives, pronouns and prepositions until the sky turns dark and I almost skip down Bourke Street afterwards. Have to love a job where you can ask students to analyse both Chaucer and Nick Cave.

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Rehearsing for my Nick Cave song with Stereo Stories

Recently I caught sight of myself in the train window, glasses on, hair in a messy bun, bag full of books, looking for all the world like an actual grown up who Works With Words.

Still, it’s been joyous to take a step back this month to focus on the novel. With publisher and agent interest lighting a fire under me, I’m taking every opportunity to curl up in my studio, surrounded by snake skins, vintage heels and feminist punk on the turntable, and pour out the words.

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My writing studio

I also finished the incomparable Hard Copy manuscript development program through the ACT Writers Centre, streamed live from the National Library in Canberra. Three exhausting and euphoric days of ‘Introduction to Industry’ lectures on contracts and copyright, signing with agents and negotiating publicity tours, and everything in between. When I heard the chairman describe us as ‘the next wave of exciting new Australian novelists’, I turned my Bikini Kill record up loud and sang along.

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Taking a break from my Hard Copy notes

I also took the time to update my website with new publication and podcast links, an updated profile page, and a general spring clean. Go take a peek if you haven’t before.

There was also a trip to wonderful Albury for the Write Around the Murray literary festival, where I performed at a sold out Stereo Stories show after speaking on a panel about alternative forms of storytelling. A fast paced, utterly magical weekend of word work. When I checked into the hotel they’d booked for me and found a goody bag with my name on it, it was another gold moment in a month full of them.

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A tulle petticoat, a hotel bed, and a festival bag of goodies

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The Form Guide panel on ‘alternative forms of storytelling.’

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Rehearsal space for our Stereo Stories show

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Beautiful Albury, New South Wales

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A very happy writer, after coming off stage at our sold out show

There was no day more golden than last Saturday, when my Wolf and I took a walk at the water’s edge. All of Melbourne was spread out in front of us across the bay. The first spring blossoms were bursting out of our frozen landscape, and everyone we saw on the boardwalk was smiling at the approaching sunshine, right down to frolicking dogs. It was a moment of great pleasure and promise, and when he asked me to marry him, my yes was immediate.

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My turquoise ring; vintage and odd, just like me

So that’s my monthly round up: more ink spilling, more punk music and road trips, far too many pairs of red shoes and red pen strokes on my manuscript, and a new life unfurling in front of me and my man.

See you in October.

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Tales from the Bowery

August 31, 2018 at 3:10 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , , )

‘His favourite sound was the click clack of typewriters […] He knew exactly how much words cost and what consequences they can have: how they can start but also stop the opened organ of the heart.’

‘The Lonely City’ by Olivia Laing

The above book has kept me spellbound this month. An elegant, erudite look at intimacy (or lack thereof) through the prism of artists in New York City, Laing’s reverences for the words she selects is exquisite. This is such a moving, beautiful book to read.

The first time I saw the skyline of New York was through the window of a Greyhound bus, fat full moon hanging low over the skyscrapers. All the breath was sucked out of me. I had flown from Australia to meet a pen pal I’d been writing to from an online feminist punk collective, Erica, and we explored the area I knew would forever more be my NY stomping ground, the Lower East Side.

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The Bowery, New York City, 2006

Four years later I returned, again with Erica, and smitten by the Bowery, I booked us into a hostel opposite CBGB’s that was so foul I’ve just spent a very entertaining fifteen minutes reading online reviews of its horrors. From the drunk men passed out on the floor of the lobby that we literally had to step over, to the blood stains on the sheets and walls that only reached head height, it remains the worst place I’ve ever stayed at. Even the reception cat had a broken leg and coughed up a furball of warning at my feet when I checked in. I do have a dollop of fondness for it, however, as it became the topic of my first magazine publication, a clipping I still have in a drawer somewhere.

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New York City, 2009

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New York City, 2012

That trip I had a backpack stuffed with diaries, linguistic textbooks and my university degree. I was moving to Brussels, having left my boyfriend, my 18-year-old cat and my whole life behind in Melbourne. It was in Brussels, living in a medieval house in the Street of the Candlesticks with blood red floorboards and my makeshift altar in the corner, that I had my first taste of the loneliness that Olivia Laing writes so hauntingly about.

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In Rue des Chandeliers, Brussels, 2006 – click here for story

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In Rue des Chandeliers, Brussels – click here for ABC audio story

I’d lived in Brussels as a teenage exchange student for a year, and fallen in love with both the city itself, and the glorious bliss of solitude and independence. When I moved there again at 33, it was to put down roots and carve out a life of Flemish freedom. Or so I thought. The news that the man I left behind had moved on with a new partner, three months after I left, broke me apart. I drank whiskey for breakfast, I lost weight; I stopped speaking. I had no-one to speak to anyway, to be honest. I practised my broken French and Flemish on the alley cats. But the words did come out of my fingers too, and I wrote my way above ground again.

‘Art was a place where one could move freely between integration and disintegration, doing the work of mending, the work of grief, preparing oneself for the dangerous, lovely business of intimacy.’

‘The Lonely City’ by Olivia Laing

Being alone in a new city has immense challenges, but for me, the rewards are undeniably rich. Many of my travels have been solo adventures, loner that I am, including uprooting my life and moving overseas twice. I love to dine alone, with a book and a wine and a full heart. Some of my happiest memories have been me, in a new city – Helsinki, Albuquerque, Hong Kong, Reykjavik – walking the streets with the knowledge that no-one in the world knew where I was at the point in time. But I know the flipside also, and finding it within the cover of Laing’s book reminds me in beautiful, painful ways.

The protagonist in my novel knows this also. Iceland is a precarious place to find your feet, and she falls between the cracks in the language, the culture and society. But lord, how I love finding the words to describe it.

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Ólafsfjörður, northern Iceland – click here for ABC audio story

My love of my hometown, Melbourne, has also been on display this month. I was delighted to be one of the writers selected for the Melbourne Writers Festival this year, with my story for the Reading Victoria project being recorded and played on an audio loop in the Star Observation Wheel. I took my Wolf on the wheel, and the joy of hearing my own voice tell of my love for my city, while we soared above it, was one I won’t forget. Being part of the celebration of Melbourne’s 10th anniversary of our UNESCO City of Literature designation is also a joy.

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On the Melbourne Star Observation Wheel with the Wolf 

I keep thinking of New York. My last trip, in 2016, was for the ridiculously exciting reason that one of my audio stories, ‘Almost Flamboyant’, had been selected as a finalist in the inaugural Sarah Awards for International Audio Fiction. I was so stunned when we won that I pinched my producer, hard, and then gave a bemused speech where I named all my taxidermy. Waking up to our photo in the New York Times the next morning is a jewel I keep taking out and polishing, and admiring the light that shines from it. New York sure looked good that trip.

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Picture from the New York Times

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Celebratory dirty martinis, New York City

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To hear our winning story of a taxidermy flamingo possessed by the spirit of Tom Waits, click here 

So that’s August for you! Next month I’m heading interstate to perform at the Write Around the Murray literary festival in Albury, New South Wales…more travel, more words, and always, always, more stories to report.

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