musings

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Writers on Rafts — help for flooded Queensland

writers on rafts by QWC

The Writers on Rafts site is now live. You can buy a ticket for books, services from writers such as story assessments, and other stuff, such as having a character named after you in a book. It’s a raffle, not an auction. The initiative is being run by the Queensland Writers Centre, who still have not been able to return to their offices since floods devastated South East Queensland earlier this month. The floods meant that, in the past month, three quarters of the state has been declared a disaster area — Queensland is more than twice the size of Texas or France.

Other initiatives by writers to help flood victims are running, too. Check them out!

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Writers, and readers, to help Queensland flood victims

Please check out these sites set up by writers to raise money for charities assisting Queensland flood victims:

Ocean Hearted: poetry book, proceeds to charity

100 Stories for Queensland: send in your stories, buy the book

After the Rain: Fablecroft had already got this anthology on the drawing board, and has turned around a quick e-version for charity purposes.

An auction site, offering signed books, manuscript assessments and plenty of other stuff, is now running at Authors for Queensland.

And don’t forget, cash donations can be sent to numerous charities online. This is the State Government’s website.

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Spare a thought for devastated Queensland

Queensland is my home state. It’s the second largest in Australia. You can fit France three times over into Queensland and still have room, almost, for the United Kingdom. As I write, 75 per cent of Queensland is a disaster zone.

Floods have ravaged the state for more than a week, and now have reached a frightening, calamitous new stage. Nine people are dead, more than 50 missing. Entire townships have been wiped out. Roads are cut. Industry is at a standstill. The state capital of Brisbane is in various stages of evacuation.

Two add insult to injury, many of the affected areas were hit by devastating flooding only two years ago. And it’s still raining. The worst is yet to come.

I’m living in Melbourne now, texting my friends, checking Facebook and email, watching the nightmare unfold on the TV and the news websites, watching the red dots of flood spots spread like acne across a map of Brisbane as they follow the river towards the sea.

It’s a dichotomy of nature that not long ago, Brisbane’s water situation was dire, much of the state was gripped in drought. In Western Australia, suspected arson-lit bushfires have claimed four. This is Australia, it seems: fire and flood and drought and very few easy breaks.

The comments sections of the newspaper websites are home to venal, despicable inanities, the kind of sneering and posturing that makes you want to poke the writer in the eye.

Fortunately, the majority of the country is showing its kinder colours. Charity coffers are being well supported, all tiers of government are doing what they can. There are choppers in the air and the prime minister is on the ground, sharing the hurt and helping to shoulder the burden of not just survival, but recovery.

There are several aid providers taking online donations: this is one of them — www.qld.gov.au/floods

It’s not over yet. The body count will rise, the number of houses inundated will rise, the misery and disruption will rise. The damage will take years to repair, the economy … well, the impact of all those flooded and unworkable mines is already being felt on the global market. And along with all that, hopefully the compassion will also rise. That the towns and the state will recover, I have no doubt; it’s just a question of how long. This is, after all, Australia.

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Sunday the 13th

It’s a hard thing, this internet thing. Part publicity, part friends and professional network, part (public) diary: sometimes the privacy line is hard to judge. For instance, my fiancee and I made no announcements online about our engagement, feeling it wasn’t the kind of thing to be broadbanded about. Especially before our families knew (we got engaged overseas, and wanted to tell immediate family face-to-face where we could).

But some things are too big to keep to yourself.

So, here’s my news, or at least an overview: a week ago, Kirstyn and I got married. And it was a great day. A marvellous day. The staff at Bar Soma, a Brisbane nightclub I’d had occasion to frequent during my time in the city, were superb, and the club gave us just the atmosphere we were looking for. Celtic band Sunas played The Cure’s Love Song, instrumental and with vocals, in their own so-special way during the ceremony, and played two sets of very fine tunes, before handing over to Tycho Brahe to up the beats per minute with two amazing sets, including a splendid arrangement of Love Song and a cover of Atmosphere that I suspect had more depth to it than first appeared (will have to ask Ken about that!).

The wedding was most definitely *us* — there were spiderwebs of icing on the cupcakes/cake and a raven on the wishing well and a gargoyle overlooking the guest book — and we had a grand time. We did our best to chat with everyone, but as is always the way, it seems, a few slipped through the cracks. And we felt keenly the absence of loved ones and dear friends, taken too soon, and lamented that we hadn’t been able to invite all we might have liked, and that some some we had weren’t able to join us. (If ever there was a curse, it must be the wedding guest list – at least there wasn’t a seating plan to worry about!)

Our honeymoon was in Cairns and it was just the right mix of getting out and lazing about, with superb food within walking distance of the hotel. We drove to some sights, snorkelled on others, and for the most part simply coasted.

The words ‘wife’ and ‘husband’ are still a novelty, and I hope that doesn’t wear off too quickly. I’m glad we’ve embraced them in an official capacity. They have, quite literally, got a ring to them that carries a great deal of weight — a ritual importance, if you will.

We got home yesterday to find the real world waiting: emails and bills and the usual stuff (including two babies, two birthdays and a new home for a friend), and a very nice review of Kirstyn’s Madigan Mine that isn’t online but I’m sure she’ll share if she gets clearance to, and a job vacancy that I really must throw my hat into the ring for. But I like to think the ring on my finger will keep Sunday’s magic alive; it’s been blessed with the love of family and friends and is a sign of my link to a singularly remarkable woman.

Onwards, then. Together.

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On seasons

autumn leaves

The trees put up a good fight, basking as long as they could, but finally, winter has pried their leaves from their branches.

Likewise, I’ve been doing some shedding of my own. It’s not so much a winter of discontent as a spring clean come early. Winter is a good time for taking stock, working out the way ahead, the path travelled. The memorabilia has been reduced to a few tubs, the books and CDs pared back. If only regrets were so easily discarded, and joys enshrined.

Autumn has always been my favourite season, and now that I’m down in the south, I’ve been able to truly appreciate it: a low sun, the dropping temperature, and of course the glorious colours of the turning leaves.

As I said, the leaves aren’t the only things that are changing down here — even though it’s winter, there’s that touch of spring, an air of renewal. As Bowie might say, Ch-ch-ch-changes … there’s no future without a past, but the past isn’t something to be dwelled on. Learnt from, certainly, but let’s try to dodge it’s little Gothic claws and enjoy the sunshine ahead.

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Changing notes

iPod speakers

I admit it — I’ve been dragging the technology chain. While many in my community are discussing which ebook reader to acquire (and oh, the temptation there!), I’ve only just entered the mp3 age. My first acquisition: an iPod Classic, black, 160Gb. That should hold the silence at bay! (But let us not forget, sometimes, silence is indeed golden.)

Why now? It was time, I figured. Time to stop carting CDs around the country, or relying on the paltry 100-song capacity of my voice recorder for emergency relief on aircraft. Time to overcome the jamming, jumping, slowly fritzing stacker in the boot of the car, and the bland if not annoying, repetitive, often facile radio. Time for something that offers the right music for the right moment, at the touch of a button.

But what to put on it? Everything! But no, let’s prioritise. Favourites, clearly; and now, alphabetically: Android Lust, yes; Bryan Adams, maybe not. Choices, choices… My, how our tastes have changed, and how, yet, we can’t quite let go of the old stuff, the formative stuff, the aural milestones on the musical journey to now.

It comes with a moment of mourning for artwork: from LP gatefolds to CDs and now to postage-stamp sized jpegs. Still pretty as the flick across the iPod screen, but not so much art as guidepost, now. The fanboy in me wants a cover to be signed; it wants liner notes. I know it’s all about the tunes, not the packaging, and my ear can’t really pick up the quality loss from file compression (though they say this AAC stuff is almost as good…), but still: can you sign my iPod mister?

And then there’s the accessories. A protective sleeve for the so-slim iPod, speakers for overnight on the road (aren’t these cute? small, light, bass boost, iPod recharging while you play: tick, tick, tick and tick).

You’d think this is the kind of stuff shop assistants would try to sell you when you were buying the original unit, but no: much more important to chat to your mate on the phone, reluctantly cradling him away on one shoulder for the time it takes to ring up the transaction, let alone show the customer some options. I don’t much need the value-adding at food counters, but when you’re buying tech, yeah, a little bit of effort would go a long way to helping the customer complete the set. But the dude saved me money because I found the gear I needed elsewhere and cheaper, so hey, cheers for that.

So now it’s back to the A-Z, that cycle of choose-burn-add-eject-artwork-choose, with one avaricious eye on the ebook readers: Kobo, BeBook, dare I say iPad…?

Benatar? Hell yes; but which? Or all? Choices, choices…

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Vale Lisa Lamb

Lisa Lamb by Mark Greenmantle

Lisa, photographed by Mark Greenmantle at our book launch in 2007.

I just got back from a trip to Phillip Island and was all fired up to share the penguin fun, when I got an email telling me that our gorgeous Lisa Lamb has died. So the penguins can wait.

Lisa was a pal from Brisbane, a comedian and a reporter and a writer and a performer and an event manager and, most importantly, a mum. But it was her performance that led me to know her, a vivacious, vibrant personality who was grabbing the world with both hands, wowing the adoring boys of France with her burlesque, lighting up rooms with her presence, cracking laughs over massive steaks a person of her petite size had no right to be able to tuck away.

We’re told it was a cardiac arrest that put her into a vegetative state that has been enduring for months, and one can only imagine the heartache that must’ve brought her family, to have this huge personality contained in such a way. It feels like the death of Superman, honestly.

In life, Lisa blazed, and in her passing, she throws a long shadow.

Vale, Woolly, and godspeed.

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An e-book precis at the New Yorker

This article at The New Yorker online deals with the Kindle, the iPad and Google Books, as well as looking at the economic impact of the rise of e-books — yes, yet another one. There is much to appreciate, and muse about, in this piece. And while it can be dangerous to muse in public, here’s my two bob’s worth:

  • I found, for instance, that a single company has 90,000 author-clients — self-publishing — a little scary, because there was no mention of them having an editor (and there wouldn’t be in this article, but still, it makes me wonder). One presumes market forces will sort the chaff, eh? (Please, people, just because you can, doesn’t mean you should — get an editor!)
  • There’s mention of the different viewpoints of established publishers, discovering and nurturing new and not necessarily instant hit writers, while Apple and Amazon might be more interested in the maths. I’m wondering how much that’s actually still true, especially in a GFC-shadowed climate. I should think if anyone’s doing the nurturing these days, it’s the agents. Not much mention of agents in this article, by the way, but then the focus is on product delivery, not sourcing. Agents must surely be a tad nervous about delivery companies such as Amazon dealing direct with the author? Question: who organises the dramatic rights? And what does this mean for territorial rights? Things, they are a changing, but I still think having someone there to check the fine print is a damn fine idea.
  • I’m also a little nervous about the value-adding offered by the e-environment, because I thought I was writing stories, not computer games or other multi-media platforms, which surely are a different kind of story all in their own right. Maybe I can do both. Do I have a say over what apps are ‘enhancing’ my story? Can I pick the soundtrack? Can I still curl up on the couch in the quiet and not be cajoled into clicking the hyperlinks for explanatory notes, film clips and similar products that I might enjoy — at least until after I’ve finished this one? You know, actually use my imagination and be immersed in the story I’m reading. I wonder if books will be like DVDs — should I wait for the two-disc enhanced version? Will this be the new paperback/hardback divide? Yeah, I know, I gotta learn to embrace the new tech. But geeze, man, I’m still trying to get my head around story arc!
  • Spooky: 40 per cent of Americans read one book or less last year. Is that an illiteracy problem or just an ignorance problem? Or is it a sign that books just don’t rate as a consumer item in the land of instant gratification? Someone tell me Australia is ahead on this game. Or are we all at the footy?
  • Something for writers: the author is the brand. Good luck getting branded amongst the 90,000 self-publishers and their ilk all hitting the upload button…
  • The capacity of digital to deliver back-catalogue titles has got to be a boon, hasn’t it? Stories that just don’t go out of print any more.

  • And my appreciation of Google has gone up a notch thanks to their view that there is still a role to be played by bricks-and-mortar bookstores. Because I think the article is right about readers still wanting their online access and bookstore, too. Maybe that’s a generational thing. Wouldn’t it be great if e-books can help lift that hideous statistic about the 40 per cent who don’t read? And wouldn’t it be even better if that one book they did read wasn’t Twilight/Da Vinci Code/, or at least, used that as a springboard to, you know, read a second book?

    • The one thing I have taken from the article is that, while the delivery method is bound to change, at least there will still be a demand for one, which means the wordsmiths and the hacks — and yes, the really oughtn’ts — will have new avenues to reach, and engage with, their readers, at several levels. What do we do in the time of flux? Write on, my friend, and get to the end!

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    in, out and gargoyles

    gargoyles moves into mount waverley

    It’s been a quiet around the blog’s coffee pot lately due to the pot having been moved about 8km, and then being abandoned while we enjoyed a road trip to Newcastle – up by the Hume, back by the Princes. But we have internet, new bookshelves, a garage the car can get into and, of course, the coffee pot plugged in. Hurray! Very happy to report everything fits and the gargoyles are feeling right at home, though the cats are still enjoying – or not – the new experiences of the bigger, brighter accommodations (below: Smudge, finding a cupboard to explore!). So far, the Mount Waverley eateries have proven to be brilliant, so that’s a good sign! We just have the book shelves to populate and a few bits and bobs to tidy up before life returns to normal – whatever that means. Watch this space 🙂

    cat explores cupboard