Charlie's entourage

It's been an interesting week to be in Canberra with the toppling of our first woman Prime Minister for a white middle-class male with a reputation for being a bit of a bully boy. Unfortunately, the opposition is no better. Why is it that we teach our children patience, honesty and fairness but do not seek or celebrate these traits in our national leaders?

Anyway, that's my rant. I'm in Canberra - this place gets to you.

Onto the most important event of the week - meeting Charlie.

I must say, when I first heard I was going to be a grandmother I wasn't sure. I mean, doesn't that mean I am officially old? Fortunately, the South Welsh word for grandmother - mam-gu - means fond or dear mother. Lovely, don't you think? Nothing grand or old or decrepit in that.

Charlie has heard his first spoken Welsh this week (albeit with an Aussie accent). It has tested my vocabulary to come up with previously unused words like hiccups - yr igion - or burp. I still haven't worked out burp. Anyone know? At the moment we are codi gwynt which crudely translated means raising wind. Fortunately, no one here can detect my mistakes. It is amazing what such freedom does to your linguistic confidence. :-)

Anyway, Charlie is gorgeous. Did I mention that yet? It's been great fun being part of his entourage for a week (that's Canberra speak). Jack and Ness are doing so well. I can't ever remember being that together when my babies were little (not sure that I am now. But that's another story). You forget how much time tiny babies take. Every burp is an event. Every sneeze, every hiccup, every tiny panting breath. I know it's a cliche but it was lovely to hold Charlie, rock him, change him and bathe him. It was also nice to be able to walk out at the end of the day.

So, apart from burps and feed times, what have we been up to?

- We have been for walks with the new red pram. The trees are leafless and skeletal in Canberra at this time of year. I've enjoyed the feel of them crunching underfoot.

- We sat in on Charlie's first church service (hard to focus on with a baby in his carry case at your feet).

- We've been out for dinner twice. It's amazing what can be achieved with one baby and an entourage of willing helpers.

- We went to Grandma's Little Bakery for lunch. We were the only ones there without grey hair (actually, I cheated we'll keep that to ourselves, okay).

- Today Ness and I went armchair shopping.

- Tonight we're having gourmet chicken burgers and watching a DVD

Altogether it's been a very enjoyable week.

But I'm looking forward to being back in Coburg walking my dog and riding my bike through the red-cheeked-eyes-watering winter wind.

Killing me Softly

Today I launched launched Leisl Leighton's romance novel Killing me Softly

Here is the launch speech:

Friends, this is a day that has been coming for a long time.

And as many of you have known Leisl longer than me, I expect you could well and truly out remember me in just how long this journey has actually been - through schooling and drama, through a degree in English literature and then on to writing scripts for her own theatre restaurant, Leisl has always been a novelist waiting in the wings.

But as you have not been asked to make this speech and I have, I will start today's memories in 2008. And as Leisl is the first member of our writing group to have a full length manuscript published, I hope you will excuse me for indulging in a little nostalgia along the route.

I first met Leisl in 2008. She turned up at Balwyn writers clutching her notebook to her chest and, from the outset, she knew what she wanted to achieve. She'd been writing romanic suspense and fantasy for some time, she explained, and had received a number of encouraging rejection letters. She wanted to be part of a writing group to improve her craft and hoped to make a living as a romance writer.

Now, Balwyn writers was a bit of an odd writing group. It was run by me who knew very little about writing and attended by a motley assortment of characters who knew even less. We met once a month for the sheer thrill of reading our work aloud and receiving feedback. I don't remember who was there that first night. Were you there Laura? I do remember that we didn't even let Leisl read her work because she didn't have the requisite number of printed copies. I often wonder why she came back at all? At the time, she was writing the early drafts of a romantic suspense novel called Sounding the Heart.

Over the months she became a regular attendee at Balwyn writers. Always with comments to make. Always with work to share. And although she was writing romance and I wasn't and although she wrote prolifically and I plodded along at the pace of a turtle, I soon worked out hers were the comments worth listening to. I think she decided the same about me. It wasn't long before we were reading, writing and exchanging work between meetings.

Looking back, it was a bit like the blind leading the blind. But we worked that out too. Somewhere around 2010 we broke away from Balwyn Writers and formed our own small writing group, with Laura, Denis and Chris.

We have been working together ever since.

And, Leisl, on behalf of the others, I think I can say that we have appreciated your support in the times of rejection and your generosity in times of success. We have also enjoyed watching you take these momentous steps along the path to publication with Destiny eRomance.

Leisl joined Romance Writers Australia in the same year she joined Balwyn Writers and began attending their conferences. She picked up critique partners in New Zealand the USA and in other parts of Australia. She started judging and organising RWA competitions and writing articles for HeartsTalk magazine. Joined another more romance focussed writing group, some of whose members are here today. She also started entering competitions. I'm not going to list your successes here, Leisl. There are too many. But in summary You've had five outright wins, made ten placings and been in the final round of about eleven Romance Writers competitions.

As I said, this is day that has been coming for a very long time.

But although, we, your writing buddies all knew you were going to make it, and, although you've had publishers expressing interest in your work, it all kind of happened by accident in the end, didn't it?

You'd submitted a paranormal urban fantasy to Destiny, Penguin's new ebook imprint, and though they they liked your work, they weren't willing to commit to that particular novel. Almost as an after thought they asked, 'do you have anything else to show us?'

'Oh, well, I used to write romantic suspense,' you admitted.

'Really? They asked. 'We're looking for romantic suspense. Can you send us something?'

That's when you pulled Sounding the Heart out of the drawer.

It had been placed in the Emerald Awards a few years back and won the Central Florida Romance writers touch of magic competition but never been picked up by a publisher until now, in 2013. For of course, Destiny loved Sounding the Heart.

We celebrate its release as Killing me Softly this afternoon.

But it hadn't just been sitting in the drawer, had it Leisl? I doubt it needed too much dusting off at all? As I read the pre-release copy of Killing me Softly earlier this week, I realised how much work she'd done.

She'd started with a different scene, that's the first thing I noticed. And it works really well by the way. She'd also sharpened your dialogue and given it a tangible sense of place. I'm breaking the writers golden rule here by not being specific about those changes because I don't want to give too much away. But the setting is vivid and evocative. This gets a huge tick with me. As a reader and writer of historical fiction, I like to feel where a book is set. The novel's action scenes are compelling. It's romance scenes include all the hallmarks of her genre - but that is a given. Leisl never seems to have any trouble with plot or description. Her muse seems to follow the lead of strong images. You write towards an overarching sense of plot and story - all essential elements of suspense and epic fantasy writing.

But the change that stood out to me most in Killing me Softly, is how well you'd nailed the character motivations.

Ah...those old goals, motivations and conflicts. Or as Michael Hague put it the tug of war between a character's essence and identity. Hard to do in any novel. But particularly hard in a romance novel when, let's face, we all know the score. A couple are going to meet, have a mutual attraction, and then all sorts of obstacles are going to get in their way, but at the end of the novel, we know the main character is going to get laid.

The challenge for the romance writer, is to do this in a new and interesting way so that the same story, the same old primally important story of love and belonging seems fresh and new. So that the obstacles don't feel like something made up by the writer but seem to somehow originate in the heart of the character.

You have achieved that in Killing me Softly. Your main character Alexia is a perfect mix of fear and fragility.

And having seen this novel in its inception and having walked part of that blind leading the blind journey with, Leisl, and having watched her enter competition after competition, seen her pick herself up and dust herself off after disappointments, watched her apply herself, and then re-apply herself, I know that this has been a day hard won.

It is also a day that she truly deserve.

We meet today to celebrate Leisl's hard work and commitment, to toast to her success in Killing me Softly, and to invoke the continued leading of her muse in the coming years. For this is not the end of the journey, is it Leisl? Only the beginning of what you hope will be a long and fruitful writing career.

So, you've heard the speech. Now it's time to buy the book. Just follow the link below.

Killing me Softly

I am Taliesin

Just in case you ever doubted the beauty of the Welsh language.

Follow the link below:

I am Taliesin

Dyma y cerdd yn Saesneg - here is the poem in English:

I Am Taliesin

I am Taliesin. I sing perfect metre,
Which will last to the end of the world.

My patron is Elphin...

I know why there is an echo in a hollow;
Why silver gleams; why breath is black; why liver is bloody;
Why a cow has horns; why a woman is affectionate;
Why milk is white; why holly is green;
Why a kid is bearded; why the cow-parsnip is hollow;
Why brine is salt; why ale is bitter;
Why the linnet is green and berries red;
Why a cuckoo complains; why it sings;
I know where the cuckoos of summer are in winter.
I know what beasts there are at the bottom of the sea;
How many spears in battle; how many drops in a shower;
Why a river drowned Pharaoh's people;
Why fishes have scales,
Why a white swan has black feet...

I have been a blue salmon,
I have been a dog, a stag, a roebuck on the mountain,
A stock, a spade, an axe in the hand,
A stallion, a bull, a buck,
A grain which grew on a hill,
I was reaped and placed in an oven,
I fell to the ground when I was being roasted
And a hen swallowed me.
For nine nights was I in her crop.
I have been dead, I have been alive,
I am Taliesin.

Ysbwriel

Helo! Dw i ddim yn ysgrifennu fy mlog i yn aml yn ddiweddar - Hello! I haven't written my blog much lately. Mae'r achosi? - the cause? Wel, dw i wedi bod yn trio canolbwntio ar fy nofel i - well, I have been trying to focus on my novel. 

Dw i ddim yn gwybod os bydd y nofel erioed yn cael ei chyhoeddi - I don't know whether the novel will ever be published. Ond mae rhaid i fi ei orffen hi - but, I have to finish it. Mae rhaid i fi ddweud wrth y stori - I have to tell the story. A dw i'n moyn fy nofel i i bod y nofel wella iddi hi'n gallu bod - and I want my novel to be the best novel it can be. 

Felly, dw i'n gweithio yn galed - therefore, I am working hard. Gwna i llawer o newidiau - I am making many changes. Weithiau, ffindiais i fy mod i'n gorfod i dorri darnau o'r nofel - sometimes, I find that I am forced to cut parts of the novel.  Darnau mawr - big parts. Darnau llawn of ysgrifennu eitha neis - bits full of quite nice writing (wel, dw i'n meddwl - well, I think so). 

Felly, meddwlais i, efallai, bydda i'n newid y blog 'ma tu fewn bin sbwriel - therefore, I thought, perhaps, I will change this blog into a rubbish bin. Felly, nid rhywbeth bydd yn gwastraffu - therefore nothing will be wasted. :-) 

Syniad da? Good idea? Dw i'n gobeithio - I hope so.

Mwynheuwch! Enjoy!

***

Bridie sat waiting for Rhys. She had something to ask him. Something important. She’d been trying to catch him all week. Finding him alone wasn’t a problem. He often spent time by himself. But whenever Bridie had been almost ready to approach, Alf had made one of his clumsy attempts at friendship, or Ma had set another foolish task, and the moment passed. 

But no one was going to stop her this afternoon. 

Doctor Roberts had called a cleaners meeting and Ma rested. Rhys sat alone. Bridie had a queer skittering feeling in her tummy, half excitement, half nerves. She was determined not to lose her resolve.

Rhys sat behind the horse-box. Bridie had seen him squeeze in between the two small boats. She would like to have joined him, but it wasn’t a place for two. It didn’t matter. She had plenty of time. Alf would be hours. 

Laying her dad’s notebook on the deck, Bridie leaned against the horsebox. The sun felt warm on her bonnet. Its heat prickled the skin of her neck. Sweat teased and tickled beneath her bodice too. But there was nothing she could do about that. 

She wriggled her toes in their encasing of stout black leather. Ma insisted she wear her boots between decks and, generally, Bridie didn’t mind. The floor of steerage was damp, almost composting. It would have felt slimy beneath her feet. But here on the main deck, it was different. The timber was airy, sun-soaked and clean. It would be nice to take her boots off, to feel the breeze on her sweltering feet.  

Bridie tugged at the laces of her boots. Glancing about to make sure no one was looking, she slipped her hands up to the garters above her knees. Two quick movements, and her feet were free. Rolling stockings into a ball, she shoved them into her empty boots, allowing her toes to bend and flex in the sun. 

They had been at sea for almost a month. Alf was knotting each day into a length of string. The first two weeks they zigzagged back and forth between England and France. Last week they had passed the Bay of Biscay. Now they were somewhere, way off the coast of Morocco, where the skies were blue, bluer than blue, the clouds a whisper on the breath of God. Strange birds wheeled in the skies overhead. Sleek grey dolphins swam beside their ship, arching and dipping, in the white froth at their prow. It was a holiday, a summer picnic, cucumber and cress. It was raspberries, sweet blackberries and plums.

Tilting her head back, Bridie squinted up at the man in the crow’s-nest. He was looking for Corvo, the northern most island of the Azores. Alf said they would pass it any day now, so long as the winds remained favourable. 

Bridie couldn’t fault the wind at the moment. The ship fairly danced along its yards of canvas bowing and bucking like shirts on washing day. After Corvo, they would pass a host of other little Portuguese islands, followed by the Canary Isles, which were Spanish. It seemed to Bridie the sea was filled with small scattered islands, like a giant’s hopscotch, all belonging to different players. It would have been interesting, if only Alf were not so intent on turning it into a geography lesson. 

From the Canary Isles, the captain hoped to pick up the northeast trade winds that would carry them down to the Equator at which point Neptune might pay them a visit. Bridie hoped he would. 

A scuffling on the other side of the horsebox caught her attention. 

Maybe Rhys was finished already! 

Further scuffles and a whine, told her it wasn’t Rhys, while a cold wet nose confirmed it was a puppy, a black puppy, with a patch of white around one eye and splashes of brown across its tub-of-lard body. Its mother, on the other side of the horsebox whined and scolded, alarmed by her offspring’s daring. 

Bridie picked up the pup. He was warm and soft with folds of ready-to-grow skin. Smiling, she held him close, enjoying the tickle of his downy new-puppy fur against her cheek. ‘Go back to your ma, little one. Can’t you hear her call?’

If the puppy did, he wasn’t listening. He opened a miniature snout, full of pinpricking teeth, and gnawed her hand.

‘Ouch,’ Bridie adjusted her grip, holding him at arms length. The puppy gave a small annoyed yap and squirmed in her hands. ‘You’re a tinker,’ she said. ‘But if you don’t go back there will be trouble. Trust me, I know.’

She put the puppy down and clicked her fingers, pointing towards the horsebox. The puppy wasn’t interested. He plonked his bottom on the boards and raised his tiny, teddy bear’s nose, sniffing. 

The yelping and scrabbling on the other side of the timber panels intensified.

‘Naughty pup, listen to your ma, she’s worried about you.’

The puppy wasn’t going anywhere. Bridie pushed him along the smooth wooden surface towards the sound of his mother’s distress. He turned, cuffing playfully at her arm. It was sweet, his paws being so chubby and uncoordinated. She could have played with him for hours but his mother barked, thumping heavily against her pen. She would have to take him back. 

Scooping the wriggling pup into her arms, Bridie crawled towards to end of the horsebox, rounded the corner, and came face to face with Rhys.

‘Bridie!’

‘Yes.’

Lluniau o'r priodas Seth a Monique - that's right wedding snaps!

Dw i wedi bod yn araf gyda y dasg hon - I have been slow with this task. 

Ond roedd esgus da gyda fi - but I had a good excuse.  Dyn ni newydd derbyn y lluniau o'r ffotograffydd - we have only just received the photos from the photographer. 

Dyma rhai ohonyn nhw - here are some of them!

A few weddings snaps

Seth and Monique: gan ddymuno i chi:

Cartref yn llawn heulwen
Calonnau yn llawn llawennydd
Cariad sy'n dyfnhau
Bob diwrnod o'r flwyddyn.

That is:

We wish you a home full of sunshine,
Hearts full of cheer,
A love that grows deeper
Each day of the year.

Not the Corbett Family Christmas Letter

If I were to write a Christmas letter this year, I wouldn't know where to begin. This is not an acceptable admission for a writer. You are supposed to start where you start and, once you have finished the whole piece, work out where it was supposed to begin, then write it all over again. But, it's the week before Christmas and I'm in Adelaide with Mum. After which, I fly to New South Wales to spend Christmas with Jack and Ness. There's no time for creativity. Or to grapple with a piece of writing. I asked Biskit whether he'd consider putting pen to paper again.

‘No, Liz. I'm putting my paws down this year. Why don't you ask Thelma and Louise to do it?'

'Thelma and Lousie!' My mouth fell open. 'But they're fish, Biskit.' Our new fish, in fact. They live in the pond at the back of our house. I wondered whether Biskit might be a tiny bit jealous.

'Don't you like Thelma and Louise?'

'Can they curl up on your lap? Biskit asked with a twitch of his ears. 'Go for walks? Guard the house? No Liz, I'm not jealous. I'm tired. It's been a big year.'

Biskit had a point. He wasn't the sharpest pup in the litter (despite his journalistic aspirations). Nowadays, he spends his time chasing doggy dreams. But he knows how to look after himself. I thought, perhaps, I could take a lesson from him.

'Send an email,' he said, snuffling up to me. 'Go one. No one needs an epistle. Why not attach that nice photo Andy took of the kids? Tell them Phoebe has enjoyed her first year as a social worker and Monique her first year as physiotherapist. Seth started a Master of Public Policy, proposed to Monique, and started planning for their Australia Day wedding. Priya entered the workforce and Jack has finished his Phd.

'What about the baby? We mustn't forget the baby.'

'Of course not. Tell them that as well as working full time and running early morning boot-camps, Ness is expecting. You and Andrew are going to be grandparents. You have recently sold the family home and moved into a quaint, down-sized, empty nest close to the city. You've also hosted, Sylvia and Pierre Francois, Phoebe's family from Switzerland.

'What about my Welsh? I was on TV. Surely that's significant?'

'No. Keep it simple.' Biskit shook his furry head. 'It's on your blog, if people are interested.'

'Alright, I said, flipping my iPad cover open. 'How does this sound?'

'Dear Friends, as we journey towards Christmas we find ourselves thinking of peace and goodwill, family and friends, and the birth of that one special baby long ago. We trust this email finds you well and that, as you gather to celebrate, you will have time to reflect on the Christmas message as well as your simple every day blessings. We'd like wish you all the best for the year to come.'

Perfect,' he said. 'You could get a job with Hallmark.'

'Hallmark! Really? Is it that bad.'

'It's pretty bad. But you haven't time for anything else. Just attach the photo and press send.'