• Workshop,  Writing

    Progress report: ‘Write Your Novel’ program

    Last year I wrote a post about a new online program I was about to start with the Australian Writers’ Centre, called ‘Write Your Novel.’ I’m now almost half way through this six month course and I’m pleased to report that it is proving to be a worthwhile venture.

    When I began the program I had a first draft manuscript of over 119,000 words. Yes, I know, far too many words. I knew I needed to redraft, edit, cut and whittle away a whole lot of those words…words that I’d sweated over and celebrated as the word count mounted. Odd, now that I’m celebrating as the word tally goes down

    Anyway, as this was my first novel, I was a bit lost as to how to set about this (mammoth) task. How to critically examine my story’s plot, structure, characters, dialogue, description. How to make sure all the parts work together to make a satisfying whole. What are the themes of my story and how to ensure they shine through? And of course, how to tighten the language.

    This is where the ‘Write Your Novel’ program has been invaluable. I’m in an online classroom with eight other aspiring authors. We have an online tutor, Cathie Tasker, an editor with many years of experience in publishing. Cathie gives each of us feedback as we take turns to submit segments of our manuscripts. And, we all workshop each others’ work and provide feedback on what works well and what needs more work. Already I have learnt so much – from giving feedback and receiving it, and reading the comments given by my classmates on others’ work as well.

    I’m happy that I’ve already trimmed over 14,000 words, mainly through tightening language, deleting those pesky repetitious or unnecessary words and checking my overuse of adverbs! And  I’ve been able to write more convincing characters by getting closer to their point of view.

    Lots more work to do, of course. But I’ve been pleased at the things I’ve learnt so far and confident that I can keep applying this to my writing, even after the program finishes.

    To find out more about the ‘Write Your Novel’ program or other classroom and online courses at Australian Writers’ Centre, go to their website: https://www.writerscentre.com.au/

    (I promise I am receiving no payment of any kind for this mention! I spent ages online trawling through writing courses and was happy to discover the AWC, so I’m sharing the love. 🙂 )

    I’ll be back in another few months to update my progress.

  • Life: bits and pieces,  Writing

    Short Story: ‘When Greg Stopped Believing in Santa’

    Here’s my little entry into the December ‘Furious Fiction’ at the Australian Writer’s Centre. 500 words, the story had to be set on Christmas Eve, either 40 years ago or 40 years in the future.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    When Greg Stopped Believing in Santa                                               By Denise Newton

     

    I looked out at the red and green tinsel around my neighbour’s front window and the Merry Christmas written in white window spray in the centre of the pane.

    “Merry Christmas,” I said, to myself—not aloud. Greg always said it’s safer to keep some things to yourself, in case people get the wrong idea about you. Greg was so wise for his age. Missing him was a sharp hurt, a pain deep in my chest. He was so far away this Christmas. All the way across the Nullabor. Past the Great Australian Bight. I’d never been but he described how it looked from the plane window when he and Sally flew there to start their new life in Perth. He’d said perhaps, I could go and visit them one day, stay for a couple of weeks.

    Greg had gone away the year after he stopped believing in Santa. Well, okay—maybe a few years after…perhaps twenty years…but I found it hard to believe it was that long.

    One Christmas Eve, he was staring, rapt, out our back door at the garden, the grass made dewy by the cool of the night.

    “Look, Mum!” he breathed. “Santa’s sled tracks on the grass.” He pointed to a spot in the middle of the lawn, little finger trembling with joy. I couldn’t see anything but I smiled and ruffled his hair, loving his willingness to believe.

    “Best be off to bed, then, love. Santa doesn’t stop at homes where the children are still awake.”

    And he raced to leap into bed where he lay, eyes pressed closed in case Santa peeked through the window.

    The next Christmas he was silent and embarrassed if Santa was mentioned. I knew he no longer believed but didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Sweet boy.

    And then, what seemed like the very next year, he was off to Perth, he and Sally together. I was glad for his new job, his new city, his new wife. Sally with her miniskirts and her glossy hair piled high in the beehive hairdo that was all the rage now. She loved Greg—that was what mattered. Still, I hurt inside, though I never said it aloud. I’d learnt that from Greg. He called every Christmas Eve and all the other special days and I loved hearing his voice, though it never made the hurt go away.

     

  • Books and reading,  Writing

    Australian Women Writers Challenge

    I discovered this initiative only this year, at a writing workshop I attended: thank you Julian Leatherdale (http://www.julianleatherdale.com/) for the information.

    The AWW aims to encourage, via Twitter and Facebook, email and websites, librarians, booksellers, publishers, book bloggers, English teachers and authors were invited to examine their reading habits, and commit to reading and reviewing more books by Australian women.
    Quoted from the AWW blog, which you can find at: http://australianwomenwriters.com/

    Readers can link their reviews via the AWW website, and sign up for regular emails in which AWW volunteers give ’round ups’ of the latest batch of reviews in particular genres.

    If you are a reader who’d like to discover more of the wonderful works created by women writing in Australia, this is a terrific way to keep informed and across the latest (and not so recent) from women authors.

  • Books and reading,  History,  Writing

    Book(s) Review: ‘The Monsarrat Series’ by Tom & Meg Keneally

    The ‘Monsarrat series’ comprises three books (at time of this post):
    The Soldier’s Curse, The Unmourned, The Power Game

    No surprise that I was drawn to this series  – they are, to date, three novels of historical fiction, set  in several different locations in convict era Australia. Another draw card was the fact that they were co-written. I’ve always been a little fascinated by how the co-authoring process works, and this is an intriguing father and daughter team: well loved Australian author Tom Keneally and his daughter Meg. If I had the chance, I’d love to sit down with the authors and find out more. Who writes which bits? Which of them comes up with the initial ideas? Do they meet physically to discuss, plan and plot their stories, or is it an online or Skype process?

    The stories centre around Hugh Monsarrat, who we first meet at Port Macquarie penal colony in NSW, while he is serving out his sentence for fraud, in the early part of nineteenth century NSW. Hugh is an educated man whose intelligence and aspirations outstripped his means, tempting him to pass himself off as a lawyer in England. His deception is discovered and  he is shipped off to NSW on a convict transport.

    The books take the form of classic “whodunnits”, as for one reason or another, Hugh is tasked with solving murders that occur where he happens to be: Port Macquarie in book one, the Parramatta Female Factory in book two, and Maria Island (off Tasmania’s coast) in book three. There are plenty of opportunities for guesswork by the reader, with red herrings  planted throughout, and various characters having their own reasons to commit a murder.

    A truly delightful character who appears in each book is Mrs Mulroony, a forthright Irish woman who has already served her sentence and becomes Hugh’s offsider. Mrs Mulroony is a woman of many talents, including skillful tea making and shortbread baking, to which she adds a fierce intelligence and the ability to accurately read people and situations – usually much more astutely than Hugh himself.

    The books have a droll humorous tone, with believable characters and intriguing story lines. What I also enjoyed is their examination of the social, economic and political forces at play in colonial times, and the way in which these impact on the various characters.

    If you are looking for well written historical fiction set in early Australia, peopled by characters you can fall in love with, you won’t be disappointed in these stories.I read that the books have been optioned for a TV series and very much hope that will eventuate.

  • Uncategorized,  Writing

    Short Story: ‘The Lost Hour’

    Here is another of the short stories I entered in the Australian Writers Centre ‘Furious Fiction’ short story competition. For this one, the guidelines were: 500 words or less, the topic was “The Lost Hour”, and the story had to include one sentence with three colours mentioned, plus the phrase “It is lighter.”

    As always with this competition, it was great practice for thinking imaginatively about a prompt and writing to some guidelines – and good fun. Here is my story:

    The Lost Hour             by Denise Newton

    Splinters of light stab at my eyes. I try to open them. The right eye opens.  Can’t see much, but it must be nearly morning. Darkness lifting: it is lighter. My left eye stays closed. I try again, concentrating. Jesus, it’s stuck. What the freaking hell? My mouth is stuck – I can’t open it, either. My tongue feels huge, like a thick furry lizard inside my mouth. I try to lift my head. Someone groans nearby. So close to me. Who is that? I try to lift my head again. Shit, it hurts. I hurt. That dude groans some more. Carefully, I roll my head to the right and open that eye a crack. I can’t see properly. Pieces of something green and shiny scattered about. Glass? Roll my head back to the left. Another moan. There’s no one there. Is it me making those noises? What the hell?

    OK, try to sit up, Luke. Slowly, slowly, like an old man, I roll to one side and push myself up to sit, hunched over like a turtle. My left eye is screaming now, throbbing. God, my head. There’s a piece of broken green glass embedded in my left palm. Blood oozes around the sides of the wound. Looks deep – but what do I know? I can hardly see properly. I try to focus my one good eye on the wound, staring hard. It’s all blurry: a pink, green and red palm. I can feel it now. Maybe because I’m looking at it. Stinging, where the blood is leaking. I turn my hand over. The knuckles look grazed and swollen. Like something hard has hit them. Or… like they’ve hit something hard.

    Jesus. I’m scared now. What happened here? I search my mushy brain, trying to remember. Flashes of the night before: Jason’s big party, his buck’s night at The Royal. All the guys there, I remember that. A big night. Huge. Then nothing. Jump to now. Sitting here with a triangle of green glass in my palm, a swollen eye and knuckles that have seen some action. The rest of the night lost to me.

    I try to stand up. Sit down again, in a hurry as the concrete under my feet rises, threatens to slam into me.  My head drops between my knees. I’m trying to think the nausea down; I want to look up but the bile rises. So I lean one ear on my knee and send my gaze out.  To my right, on the other side of the broken glass, something lies crumpled on the pavement. Oh. Jesus. A body, lying there, very still.  Concentrating, commanding my right eye to focus, I make out a pale green t shirt and jeans, a bearded face turned to me, eyes closed. The top of the shirt is splotched with stains. A dark red trail of liquid oozes from the ear above.In the distance I hear a siren.

     

     

  • History,  Writing

    Facebook: an excellent resource for writers

    I’ve been joining Facebook groups over the past few months. Not social ones – though I have several of those in my profile as well. No, these are groups that help me with getting into information, photos, old maps, and other images relevant to my genre and areas of writing interest. I’ve been amazed at the plethora of interest groups and the energy of their members to learn, discover, and share. There are some treasures to be found in the posts.

    So I thought I’d share some that I’m finding especially useful. You can search for the group title in Facebook, and some require you to request to join the group, which is easy and painless.

    These are ones relevant to my area of Australian colonial and convict history:

    Pioneer, Convicts Families Research Group

    Third Fleet 1791 Researchers

    Second Fleet 1790 Researchers

    (I’m sure there is a First Fleet Researchers group as well, though this is not relevant to my research right now)

    Vintage Sydney (Australia) Heritage History & Memories

    Australian Family History – Online Records and Resources

    The Convict Stockade

    Parramatta Female Factory Friends

    Historical Novel Society (Australasia)

    Hawkesbury Pioneer Families

    Richmond History Group NSW

     

    If these represent areas of interest or research to you, check them out. Let me know what you find in the comments below.

  • Writing

    Short Story: ‘Zahra’

    ZAHRA                                                                                             by Denise Newton

    “Ma’am, would you please step to one side?” The official was polite but firm. There was no option: Zahra obeyed his directive. She adjusted her headscarf with her free hand. It trembled a little. She tried to hide the hand under a fold in her long jacket. Everything about her – her clothes and her spirit -had become a little creased on the flight from Kabul. She was very tired.

    The official led her behind the bustling immigration area to an interview room. It was quiet inside. Zahra saw four chairs and a desk. There was a large round clock above the desk. The other walls were all white: blank white walls. Another official, dressed in the same uniform as the first, sat on one of the chairs. She indicated that Zahra should sit on the chair facing her. Zahra did so, slipping her hands – both of them shaking now – inside her sleeves. She would not show these people her fear.

    The second official had Zahra’s passport. She leafed through the pages, glancing up once or twice. After several long moments she said, “What is the purpose of your visit to Australia?”
    Zahra replied, carefully as she’d rehearsed “To visit my son.  He is very sick.”
    “And where does he live?”
    “He lives in an apartment in Bankstown.”
    “How long do you plan to stay?”
    “Just one month.” Zahra’s mouth was dry. It was hard to pronounce the English words properly. She must say everything properly. For Hanif’s sake. For her son.

    “Is your son an Australian citizen?” It was the man this time. He’d come to sit near Zahra. He was too close to her.  His knee was touching her thigh. She tried to move back a little in her chair. She wanted to spring to her feet, to run outside and away from these people in the uniforms. But that would mean she would not see Hanif. She had to see Hanif. So she breathed out slowly and answered the man: “No, he is not citizen. He has temporary visa.”

    “How can we be sure that you will return to Afghanistan at the end of the month? That you won’t try to stay here?” The man was frowning at her now. He frightened her. Did he mean to be frightening? Zahra didn’t know.
    “I leave in one month. I see my son, then I leave. I want to nurse my son. He may die…he is sick. Very sick.”

    “I’m sorry, Mrs.Asadi.” The woman stood up .”We cannot verify your visa documentation. We cannot allow you to enter Australia until this is done. You will need to stay in a detention centre until we have checked your credentials.”

    The man took her arm to lead her from the room. Zahra turned her head to look at his face, searching for some understanding or compassion. The man had stopped frowning. His face was blank: it was empty.

  • Life: bits and pieces,  Writing

    The fear of ‘Putting it out there’


    As I work on re-drafting and editing my first draft, I am more conscious of the fear evoked by the thought of eventually putting my work out into the world. I know it’s common to writers, artists and others who work in creative pursuits. I suppose because when we write, compose music, or paint, we put a fair chunk of ourselves into whatever we are creating. It’s natural to be tentative about inviting a response from others.

    In response to that fear, I’m working on making my story the best it can be. And when I’m satisfied I’ve taken it as far as I can on my own,that’s when I’ll invite others to read my work and give me feedback and suggestions. Yikes!

    In the meantime, I can take baby steps in other ways. Submitting short stories to competitions, for example. Reading little pieces at a writer’s group meeting. Posting blogs. It’s all part of the process of putting my writing (and therefore myself) out  there. Small steps. One at a time, each  building on the ones before.

  • Writing

    What I’m starting today: Six month ‘Write Your Novel’ program with Australian Writer’s Centre

    I’m so excited about the magic date of 29th October .. it’s when the online version of the ‘Write Your Novel’ program with the Australian Writers Centre begins. I’ve signed up and I can’t wait to start!

    My motivation is that I have a first draft of a first novel that needs work…and since completing that first draft, I’ve been feeling a little at sea with how to approach what needs doing. This program, suitable for those with a chunk of a first draft or a completed one, will be invaluable for me. To go step by step through a manuscript, working out structural issues, plot development, pacing, character and dialogue; with help from an experienced editor tutor and a group of classmates all doing the same thing – wow.

    Here’s the link to the Australian Writers Centre website about the course if it is something that might interest you:

    https://www.writerscentre.com.au/courses/write-novel-program/

  • Uncategorized,  Writing

    Draft completed!

    This is the printout of my first draft…it’s probably 10,000 words too long and needs a great deal of tender nurturing and care (also known as word whittling, re-writing, re-drafting) to become a second draft, then a third…and so on. Still it is comforting and reassuring to see the pages in front of me. Proof that I didn’t just imagine all those words!