Last week I had the fabulous fortune of going to Melbourne and sharing high tea with a gaggle of fabulous women, booksellers in the independent book world. And to my complete surprise, a tier of reading copies of The Tea Chest greeted me upon arrival. I lost the power of speech for a good five minutes! Luckily, there was champagne and delectable goodies to revive me.
Reading copies are given out to booksellers and reviewers prior to the book being finalised and going on sale. So the cover is still not the final cover and the words do not include the final edits. But, gosh, how exciting it was.
I also had the pleasure of staying in the charming Windsor hotel, which was delightful.
Thank you to everyone who came to meet me, hear about my book and share tea. I always knew booksellers were special people but I like you all that much more again.
I was at GenreCon in Brisbane on the weekend, just for a day on account of my young child, and sadly missed out on the cocktails and karaoke, which were responsible for a number of red eyes on the Saturday. I was in a bit of a state myself, actually, having just lost my beloved Golden Retriever, Goldie, and I had several vague conversations with people, where words simply would not make their way from my brain to my mouth. Apologies if you were on the receiving end of one of these uncomfortable conversations.
Here are the highlights from that day, during the moments I was actually engaged with life.
Chuck Wendig was a special guest at a session on planning and prioritising writing around the complications of life and gave a hilarious account of what it’s like to have multiple book contracts and a toddler running around while trying to work, something I can empathise with wholeheartedly. Gracie Macgregor was also a guest there and equally funny in her accounts of writing and motherhood.
It is always delightful to chat to the lovely and funny, Anna Campbell, who managed to cheer me up for a few minutes. Thanks, Anna.
I caught up with a former work colleague, a fellow editor where I worked at John Wiley & Sons, Victoria Steele, and her friend, romance writer, Christina Brooke.
The food. Can I just say how amazing the food was at GenreCon? Seriously. Great job.
I sat in on a workshop with Damon Cavalchini on preparing for reading from my book, The Tea Chest (out in April 2014). I picked up some great tips, including thinking about what I would do if it suddenly began to rain on me in the middle of my reading (has anyone created an Iddy-Biddy-Book-Umbrella?), and also, the benefit of having my own source of light, such as a book light.
And it’s always a delight to hear Kimberley Freeman (Dr Kim Wilkins) speak on all topics related to writing.
Well done to Meg Vann and Peter M Ball for organising such a great event. I look forward to staying for the festivities next year too.
I’m a terrible poet. Absolute rubbish. But I love to listen to it. I can sit and listen to the spoken words of poetry for hours (though I haven’t been able to for years because I’ve been living in the bush… but all of that’s about to change as of next week!).
Rumi
While I love listening to poetry, I rarely ever read it, let alone buy it. But today, while working on my structural edit for my forthcoming novel, The Tea Chest, sitting in the lovely Rosetta Books at Maleny, a book off the shelf caught my eye. (I believe books often choose us, not the other way around, and this one certainly did.) It was Rumi, the book of love, a collection of writings and poetry from the 13th century Sufi poet, Jalaluddin Rumi. (I think he may have been ‘trendy’ for a while but I’m generally a few years behind trends. Don’t come to me if you’re looking for the latest cool thing.)
And what a charming little book it is.
Something I love so much about poetry is the way it frees the mind from structural concerns, bends our thoughts and clashes words together in a way that is so fresh and fascinating. I think it bypasses are critical minds and heads straight to the emotions.
I’ve been hopping my way through the book, opening pages randomly. Here are just a few gems that have made me laugh, long and melt.
In the spirit of Liane Moriarty‘s latest novel, The Husband’s Secret, I have decided to reveal a shameful secret. Actually, just to be self-indulgent, I will reveal two secrets.
First, Bold and the Beautiful is my guilty pleasure. I’m watching it right now! (I know, I know…)
But not only that, I have for the first time in my entire life done something awful. I skipped to the end of The Husband’s Secret to find out what the secret was. Yes, it’s true. Why? Because the tension in this book is utterly excruciating and I actually thought I might DIE if I didn’t relieve just a little of the pressure from this intense and masterful tale.
Around seven years ago, I was sitting with a group of fellow editors. We all worked in a publishing house in Brisbane and we were talking about books (of course) and do you know what? Half of the people in that circle confessed to regularly skipping to the end of the book to find out what happens to decide if it was worth reading. Half!!!! As an aspiring author, I was distraught! And these were editors, no less. They should know better!!!
But here I was, just a few days ago, lying in bed, well past bedtime, in writhing agony of the unknown and what did I do… exactly the same.
Shame, Josie, shame.
If you’re into compelling secrets, fantastic writing, clever dialogue, humour and very human tales, you won’t be disappointed in Liane Moriarty’s latest offering. Though I certainly do not recommend it for reading before bed. Not if you ever want to sleep before turning the final page.
This is my library research assistant, the adorable Bubbalicious.
It’s often said that writing is a child-friendly career. True. But I’m not sure children are a writer-friendly addition 🙂
This is an interesting year for me as I work to find a new way of writing. A new timetable. A new head space. A totally new process. Listening to my body in a whole new way.
It’s taken me a long time to accept that I might need some help. But my Hubbalicious has been consistently working towards finding ways to support my career (and meet my next book deadline) while we maintain our wish to be hands-on, full-time parents. One thing we’ve realised is that I do need sustained, uninterrupted writing time. And that might mean I have to leave the house for a weekend every couple of months to get that. As well, I need at least three or four hours straight in a day to really get into my work.
So today is a new day. After much resistance (maternal angst, guilt, working-mother anxiety), I have embraced the addition of my lovely friend, Katrina, who lives locally and who has known Little Man his whole life. (And is also the greatest aunty to our dogs and cats when we’re away.) Everyone in this family loves Katrina. And today she’ll be joining us three days a week, for four hours a day, at home to help look after our Little Man and allow me some space to work. And I’m okay with that. Finally.
Really. Right now, I’m in my office while the sound of Katrina’s voice and squeaking toys from the other end of the house lets me know my bubba man is okay. Not just okay; he’s having fun. And that’s okay because I just need to remind myself to breathe and know there’ll be more times a plenty when I get to have my little research assistant back again.
You know the drill: every day we’re told we should be exercising, eating five vegetables, meditating, taking vitamins, taking ‘time out’, ticking off our To Do list, strengthening social bonds, making time for our husbands, making time for our children (‘Don’t miss a single moment of these precious years!’), decluttering, detoxing, doing our pelvic floor exercises, investing sensibly, planning for holidays, working hard at our jobs, and getting at least eight hours of good quality sleep. Probably, most of us are lucky to achieve a couple of these things a day.
I used to be a meditator, back when I was single and childless and sharing a house with other people. I could lock myself away with a guided meditation CD, candles, incense and whole hours of time to devote to me. I enjoyed meditation, but I was also always a fan of moving meditation, those activities that can give you the same sense of peace, insights and altered time as more formal meditation. Riding my horse was always a huge moving meditation for me. Nothing like sitting on top of a half-tonne animal, clopping quietly down a street, listening to the birds and the rhythm of the squeak of a saddle in the sunshine to bring you firmly into the moment. Walking, yoga, gardening and swimming have also been sources of moving meditation.
And now, with an eight-month-old baby, renovating a house, writing a new book and all that jazz mothers do, I’ve become a fan of momentary meditation. Delightfully, I’ve realised more than ever that I can relish momentary meditation with a pot of tea.
Unlike throwing a teabag in a mug and covering with water, making a pot of tea takes just that tiny bit more time and thoughtfulness. You need a few extra bits, like a pot and a strainer. It takes a few moments more. You need to count out the scoops of tea for the pot (counting, also a form of mindfulness… or OCD depending on your personality). And then you need to pour it carefully into your (hopefully) lovely china cup.
It does take more time and a tiny bit more effort than the teabag option. But it’s a wonderful moment just to be present and breathe and relax. A teeny weeny meditation before returning to the chaos.
Rose oil meringue, rose water cream, crystalised rose petals, and non-alcoholic wine with rose water and fresh mint leaves.
Did you know that you can eat rose petals? I went a shamefully long time through life without knowing this or experimenting with the divine loveliness of this flower.
I studied aromatherapy some years ago, as part of a massage qualification. I had to complete a semester-long subject in aromatherapy. Like many people, I didn’t realise what aromatherapy was really all about. It’s name suggests it’s about smelling things. And that’s certainly a big part of it. But it should really be called something like ‘essential oil therapy’. It’s also sometimes now called ‘aromatic medicine’ or as part of ‘botanical medicine’ sitting alongside herbology and naturopathy.
So I walked into that first lecture thinking, gosh, what a waste of time! And I walked out a complete convert, and changed my qualification the very next day to specialise in this amazing healing science.
But I digress. Back to the roses.
Rose essential oil is a wonderous oil, exceptionally complex, with over three hundred chemical compounds, many of which are still unidentified. (Therefore, a synthetic version is not a complete version of rose oil.) It is fantastically healing for all sorts of emotional situations and physical ones too.
I’ve often used rose water (a byproduct of the distillation of rose petals) into cakes, icing and beverages. And this weekend just gone, I wanted to take that a step further and use the actual rose essential oil in baking, as well as rose water, and crystalise some rose petals too.
Although I’d made tea out of fresh rose petals from my garden (while I was writing The Tea Chest), until I made this rose meringue I’d never actually eaten rose petals. They are wonderful. The flavour is so much more intense than I imagined it would be because rose tea (from fresh petals) is actually very subtle. The full-bodied flowers are sensational! I highly recommend them.
(Note: You must not eat roses that have been sprayed with chemicals and that most likely rules out any you buy in the shop. Try farmers’ markets where you can get accurate information about the source of the roses, or do as I did and just take them from your garden!)
I’m going to France! Provence, to be specific. I’ll be going in the European summer, specifically so I can visit the flowering fields and distilleries of essential oils, all in the name of research for my next book. Squee! I’m pretty excited.
Lavender fields are one of my favourite places to hang out
I do have a long history of lying down in lavender fields. Here’s a pic my sister snapped in a Tasmanian lavender farm back in 2004, when I was thinner, younger, and apparently wearing some sort of red striped PJs!
Provence
My lovely dad is chaperoning me to Provence and we’re planning our itinerary now. If you have any suggestion for fields, farms, flowers and distilleries (or better fashion sense), I’d love to hear them.
I love being self-employed. My boss can be a really hard taskmaster. And we don’t always get on. But one thing I love about her is that she let’s me take my baby and dogs (and cats and horses and sometimes my husband) to work.
