Are you a perfectionist? Do you ruminate over every sentence, every paragraph? Are you all blocked up?

I used to be one of these people. It’s kind of like being constipated with words. I couldn’t go on until I had written and rewritten a paragraph at least five times and then, when I returned to my novel the next day, I would go over what I’d written the day before. The progress was slow and painstaking. I wrote six novels using this method because I couldn’t do it any other way. Being a perfectionist is a fine attribute to have when going through subsequent drafts. But definitely not at first draft stage.

It took me an urgent deadline to learn this. I’m a slow learner, you see. I know there are many ways to write and you have to find what works for you, but I enjoyed this new-found process so much I will never go back to my old constipated ways.

In Bird By Bird, Anne Lamott calls it ‘the shitty first draft’. So what is a shitty first draft?

It is writing with the internal editor switched off. It is writing without reading your sentence through before you go onto the next. It is writing without correcting spelling and grammar. It is giving yourself permission to be bad.

If you’d asked me last year if I could write four junior novels in two and a half months, I would have said, yeah sure, and whales will rule the world. But it’s amazing what you can achieve with a deadline breathing down your neck.

I wrote 1000 words a day, with one day off for Christmas. I was surprised at how easy this was. I got into a rhythm. Using the ’shitty first draft’ method I could write 1000 words in a few hours. And another thing was new to me too. In the past I had always written organically, feeling my way through the story. With these four novels, I had an outline to follow. I found the best way to stop me rereading what I had written and thereby go back to my bad old ways, was to write the first paragraph of the next chapter. This was enough to get me back into the story and off I would go again.

Normally I would have been far too embarrassed to show anyone this ’shitty first draft’ but I decided that before beginning second draft, I needed to get feedback from Penguin. So now I have their fantastic notes in hand and tomorrow I am off to Lorne to do a rewrite.

As with all studies where there are deeper levels, only when the mind is open and receptive can one take the next step forward.

Our street is lined with beautiful 80 year old oaks whose arms reach proudly skywards.

But of late, their leaves have drooped, their dark grey limbs appear wrinkled, brittle and dry. The drought Melbourne has been experiencing over the last few years has had its effect on all the beautiful big trees in this city. Melbourne is called the city of parks and gardens, but we are losing many of the our finest and oldest. The problem is not really the weather – Australia has always been a land of drought and our native trees do fine, but when the Europeans came, they planted exotic European trees – oaks, elms, liquid ambers, plane trees to remind themselves of home.

A major branch broke off one of the oaks on the opposite side of the street the other day. It fell right across the road luckily only slightly damaging my neighbour’s car.

She heard it from inside her house and said it sounded like a giant cement mixer. I was totally oblivious to all the comings and goings on that morning because I was locked inside the musical world of Bach with my ear phones stuffed in my ears. I was writing you see. I didn’t hear the chain saws as they cut the huge branch up into smaller pieces or the shredder as it gobbled up the wood.

It wasn’t until I went outside to take Saff for a walk that I saw what had happened.

My neighbour spoke to the aborist from the council. He said all these trees were suffering badly and that they might all have to come out sooner or later. I shuddered at the thought. The local councils seem to do things that make no sense and I wouldn’t put it past them to chop these trees down just for something to do. A few streets away there is a beautiful little park that runs from one street through to the next. Recently they fenced it in at an exorbitant cost to us rate payers. What for?

The aborist is assessing the oak with the broken limb. Hopefully the gash will heal and she will recover. We can’t afford to lose our trees. One is home to a wild beehive.

Another provides a nesting hole for a pair of lorikeets who have just had babies. This is a shot of the lorikeet’s tail poking out of their hole with the partner sitting nearby. They were making lovely muttering sounds as I walked underneath them.

Another is a sleeping place for a tawny frogmouth but I can’t find her today.

And all of them are good for Saffy, who loves to go for walks beneath them, crunch on their acorns, and run through piles of golden leaves.

THE READING STACK

A GHOST IN MY SUITCASE Winner of the 2009 Aurealis Award Best Children’s Novel

Puffin Books (a subsidiary of Penguin). Australian, Junior, Young Adult. Paperback rrp $16.95

Guest Reviewer – Jo Burnell

When twelve-year-old Celeste travels to China to visit her grandmother, she carries her mother’s ashes. A feeling of expectation hovers. Is the ghost in the title of this story Celeste’s mother? Each turn of the page gives new information, but leaves me wanting to find out more. Nothing is as it seems, not even the fish in the pond.

Por Por, Celeste’s grandmother, seems like any other nice old lady. Ting Ting, a girl about Celeste’s age lives with Por Por, but their relationship is unusual. Ting Ting wanders the busy streets of Shanghai alone and travels long distances without support.

Ting Ting and Por Por’s lives are entwined with Celeste’s in ways none of them fully understand. Por Por’s past holds tragic secrets that have more to do with ghosts than anyone expects. Can terrible wrongs be made right? Ting Ting seems determined to make Celeste feel unwelcome, but that will have to change. Ting Ting and Celeste must work together if the three are to survive. There is no other way.

Gabrielle Wang lets me taste Por Por’s delicate homemade dishes, and feel the mist on a poorly lit Shanghai street. I hear the thumps and bangs of unseen foes, and delight at open umbrellas in the old bus when it rains. Gently flowing, easy-to-read prose sets me floating down the river in a water taxi, yet the pulse beats faster as dangers are revealed.

My questions are answered, but I’m not sure I want to read on. I can’t hide behind Por Por when things get complicated. What will happen if Por Por’s powers aren’t enough? Can Celeste save the day with her newly found gifts? You’ll have to read this treasure yourself if you want to find out.

Last night in Brisbane, the winners of the Aurealis Awards for 2009 were announced at a special awards ceremony in the Judith Wright Centre. My book, A Ghost in My Suitcase was awarded Best Children’s Novel.
Unfortunately I couldn’t attend but I followed the announcement of each winner on Twitter, which was almost as exciting as being there. When my name popped up on my computer screen, I had to do a double take. I couldn’t believe it. You see, I never thought I’d win, given the high quality of the competition in my category: Jen Storer, Kate Constable and Deborah Abela.
But then I screamed with joy. I’m not a screamer by personality. I don’t scream when I see a mouse or snake or spider, or when someone jumps at me in the dark. I’m more likely to strangle a person who does that. I am usually a very calm person. But when it comes to publishing coups, I can’t control myself and the primal urge to scream breaks forth as it did in the house last night.

Congratulations to all the other winners who are listed here.

AUREALIS AWARD 2009 WINNERS

best science fiction novel
Andrew McGahan, Wonders of a Godless World, Allen & Unwin

best science fiction short story
Peter M. Ball, ‘Clockwork, Patchwork and Ravens’, Apex Magazine May 2009

best fantasy novel
Trudi Canavan, Magician’s Apprentice, Orbit

best fantasy short story- Joint winners
Christopher Green, ‘Father’s Kill’, Beneath Ceaseless Skies #24
Ian McHugh, ‘Once a Month, On a Sunday’, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine #40, Andromeda Spaceways Publishing Co-operative Ltd

best horror novel
Honey Brown, Red Queen, Penguin Australia

best horror short story – Joint winners
Paul Haines, ‘Wives’, X6, Coeur de Lion Publishing
Paul Haines, ‘Slice of Life – A Spot of Liver’, Slice of Life, The Mayne Press

best anthology
Jonathan Strahan (editor), Eclipse 3, Night Shade Books

best collection
Greg Egan, Oceanic, Gollancz

best illustated book/graphic novel
Nathan Jurevicius, Scarygirl, Allen & Unwin

best young adult novel
Scott Westerfeld, Leviathan Trilogy: Book One, Penguin

best young adult short story
Cat Sparks, ‘Seventeen’, Masques, CSFG

best children’s (8-12 years) novel
Gabrielle Wang, A Ghost in My Suitcase, Puffin Books

best children’s (8-12 years)
short fiction/illustrated work/picture book
Pamela Freeman (author), Kim Gamble (illustrator), Victor’s Challenge, Walker Books Australia

Sometimes you come to a place in your writing and there seems to be no obvious direction to take. The story has been rolling along but suddenly you come to a roadblock. That’s when you let your main character take over. He or she will tell you where they want to go. They have an innate sense of the story, after all it is theirs.

Recently I used this method with my current WIP. I knew the cemetery scene was a significant one but didn’t know why. I decided to go to the St Kilda Cemetery not far from my house. It was built in 1853 and is one of the oldest in Victoria, so it was perfect for my historical novel. My plan was to sit quietly, imagining the scene out of my book, imagining that I was the character, then letting her tell me what was going to happen next.

But it didn’t turn out at all as I planned. When I went through the gates I noticed a tall thin man in tee shirt and baseball cap standing in the rotunda in front of me. The cemetery was deserted so I kept an eye on him as I walked down the first narrow path. I didn’t want to get too deep into the maze of pathways so I kept close to the main entrance.

When I stopped to read some words on a headstone I noticed that the tall thin man had left the rotunda and was walking down the path behind me. We were separated by two rows of graves so I felt quite safe. But when he came to the end of his path he seemed to be hovering there, waiting for me. If I had kept on going I would have run right in to him.

I made my way back to the gates to see what he would do next and pretended to read the map. Sure enough here he was coming back my way.

My research had been ruined by a stalker. The only thing I could do was leave.

I was annoyed as I drove away. I still hadn’t solved my problem. I was still stuck.

But then I had a sudden realisation.The stalker was my scene. I thought that the inspiration would come from my imagination but instead it came from real life. I had been looking at the experience in the wrong way!

I stopped at a park and sat in the shade of an old eucalypt and wrote the whole scene up.

So thanks creepy thin stalker guy with the baseball cap, you made my day.

This is chocolate torte is quick and simple.

INGREDIENTS

125 gms unsalted butter

125 gms drinking chocolate  3/4 cup

125 gms almond meal or hazelnut meal

125 gms castor sugar  1/2 cup

3 free range eggs

METHOD

Beat all ingredients together until smooth

Bake for 40 to  50 mins at 180 degrees C.

Sprinkle with icing sugar and serve with vanilla icecream or freshly whipped cream.