Trafford Centre and Frodsham

Okay, so after our airport breakfast, we got on the free bus that drives you across the terminals to the car rental village. Even just stepping out of the airport doors into that crisp, English air was exhilarating, because to me (and perhaps this is just because I'm a tourist), everything seems so quintessentially British, and brings me right back to some of my best travel memories. We also passed bunny rabbits eating airport grass while we were on the bus, so that helped.

We picked up the car and drove to the beautiful Trafford Centre, which is pretty much like a really classy and pretty version of Chadstone. There's lots of high-end, boutique retail, and I felt particularly yuck as I slobbed through in my clothes that I had been in since Melbourne, but I managed to sort out my SIM card, get some lunch, get some groceries and essentials, and have a good stickybeak around some of the more beautiful parts of the Centre. Mum showed us the food court which is modelled on New Orleans, with all the beautiful frescoes and facades serving as shop fronts. There is lovely mosaic and different types of design and architecture throughout the building - it really was something different.

Afterwards we drove to Frodsham, our home for the next three nights. Frodsham is a village close to Chester, and we're staying at Yarrangall B&B, which is about 3 miles outside the village on a farm. It is GORGEOUS. Even driving through Frodsham had the three of us sighing and exclaiming over the most mundane things which became utterly enchanting when viewed through the lens of a charming English village. The B&B is surrounded by tiny country lanes and paddocks full of horses. There is a huge duck pond with a resident flock of geese, and the owners of the B&B run the small farm themselves and make jams and chutneys and sauces to sell. We have our own little studio flat, two rooms with three beds, a bathroom and tea and coffee making facilities. I am already thinking about coming back here later on in my travels.

It is 8.15pm and Marnie and Mum are already asleep. I am pretty knackered myself, so I'll wrap up this blog entry for now, but I hope to post many pics of Yarrangall and Frodsham tomorrow, now that I've unearthed my camera from my luggage. Until then xxx

Here at last!

In Dubai Airport, typing this in Word because the wifi is being slow. Feeling as though I have been gently steamrollered and hung out to dry, but the worst leg is behind. Crossing so many time zones is doing my head in. We left Melbourne at 4.15pm, arrived 13 hours later in Dubai at 11.15pm, and now we leave Dubai at 3am to arrive 8 hours later in Manchester at 7am. I managed to sleep about 90 minutes on the first leg, which is 90 minutes more than I was expecting to sleep, so that’s a nice start, especially as my cold has not helped matters. Mum and Marnie are being wonderful as always, and the entertainment unit is really good, stacks of variety. Have watched a bunch of comedies, trying to snatch dozes where possible. Dubai Airport is massive and very fancy, but don’t feel quite able to appreciate it on account of being somewhat zombie-like at the moment. Just had a cup of tea and some fruit salad, now minding the bags while Mum and Marnie are stretching their legs. I’ll probably post this once we’ve reached the UK unless the wifi improves, so if you’re reading this, yay, I’ve survived the second leg!

Okay, I ended up not posting this separately after all! Just to let ya’ll know we are in Manchester Airport now, eating breakfast and killing time until 9am when we can collect our rental car (we landed at 6.30am). The second leg was more bearable, being shorter and being on an Emirates plane rather than a Qantas plane meant we had even more variety of stuff to watch. Managed to snatch another hour or so of sleep but feel pretty average at the moment. If I have the energy tonight, I’ll write another blog!

On a precipice

Okay, so my last entry involved me crowing preemptively about how I'd managed to blog at least once a month for all of 2013. I then promptly forgot to blog in December. My bad. Oh well, it's the last day of January, so maybe 2014 will be my year!

It's been a long couple of months. Christmas feels like a century ago, though it was a pleasant, peaceful time that I felt blessed to experience. I had no work for about a month, so I had to spread out my money and try not to burn through my savings. I am pretty proud of myself for my efforts (it involved lots of tv watching, lots of walking and meticulous budgeting). I also have pretty much completed another subject of my Masters over the Christmas break. I hand in my last assignment tomorrow. So that was a nice distraction from the lure of spending money, but also quite draining.

Despite my thrifty summer, I have still managed to see several movies - The Hobbit (which I'm seeing again tonight at the Moonlight Cinema and I am seriously excited for it), Frozen (with Mum, New Year's Day morning, which made for a lovely start to the year), Austenland (an absolutely massive disappointment, despite it's comic moments), The Book Thief  (again, a little disappointed, but ultimately thrilled with casting and script. I went to a Q&A screening with Geoffrey Rush and it made it a little more special) and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (put me on a plane to Iceland. Now.)

That being said, awards season means there's about a hundred movies I want to see and haven't got around to yet, including Philomena, Saving Mr Banks, August Osage County and The Railway Man. Maybe I'll have a DVD binge later in the year.

Seanus was away for a month, roadtripping around the US. This helped with my hermit-like need to stay in and conserve money, but it was so cool to hear about his adventures and it's made me really excited for my 2014 travel, whatever it turns out to be.

I feel like I'm standing on a bit of a precipice at the moment. After I hand in my assignment tomorrow, I have a month's break and then begin what will probably be my last year of study for the near future. I want to complete my Masters, but I want to exit early with the Grad. Dip at the end of this year and then just have a bit of a breather before I go back for the final subjects in a few years. That means I need an industry job as soon as possible, and I've begun my applications in earnest. I also need to fit in placement this year, which will hopefully not hinder my job prospects.

I still haven't heard back from the literary agency that requested my full manuscript back in October 2012. I'm tired of waiting, and I feel like I haven't looked at the book in so long that I could do another re-edit. So that is my plan for February while I have my between-semester break and I'm already feeling nervous about it. Which is stupid, because I'm not accountable to anyone at the moment, and I should not let myself lose the joy of writing in the face of what might happen. I want to try and get another piece of short fiction published this year in another journal (preferably a paying one, but at this stage of my fledgling career I can't afford to be too choosy).

I'm also knee-deep in research and a first draft of a new manuscript, something which I have high hopes for. It's very different to my contemporary upper YA that I have just written about - my new project is more literary, more adult and set during the English Reformation. The sheer volume of research required is nearly overwhelming, but I am loving my free days spent in the State Library of Victoria, poring over books and luxuriating in words.

So even though we're nearly 1/12th through 2014, I feel like my year is beginning now (with China). I am intimidated and exhilarated at the thought of the year's potential. And maybe amongst all my writing, researching, studying, applying for jobs and traveling, I'll find time to blog still.

Until then.

Tying back to 'January business'

I would just like to say CONGRATULATIONS TO ME for posting at least once a month on this blog, this year, sometimes more than twice a month. I win the internet. But I was rereading this from earlier in the year and was struck by all that has happened since, even though it feels as though it's been quite a quiet few months. Also, I need to write something before Sunday, because then it's December and I will have missed a month on the blog, to nicely circle back to the start of my paragraph.

Firstly, same-sex marriage! What a crazy year. After a terrible end to Julia Gillard's groundbreaking turn as PM (I know I'm not the only one who cried during her leaving speech. Say what you want about her politics, she's a class act), I was willing to give the Ruddster another go, once he'd pulled on his big boy pants and decided to behave himself. Also, he was offering a conscience vote on the whole gay marriage issue which was nice. Anyway, in a fit of alarming stupidity, Australia managed to elect Gollum- I mean Tony Abbott and his 1950's views of...well, everything. This included his frequent and clumsy dodging around the issue of same-sex marriage, saying it wouldn't be a 'high priority' for his government. Right then, as you do, at least he told us up front (WHY was he elected, again?). But as soon as the ACT Legislative Assembly passed their gorgeous Marriage Equality Act, Tony's hightailing it to the High Court to challenge it. Bit of a high priority now, hey Tone? (There's a lot of 'high's in those last couple of sentences. Deal with it.) So, after lamenting back at the start of the year how disappointed I was that Australia hadn't taken that crucial step into the 21st century, I find myself still angry, but at a very specific group of people, and also inspired by the ACT. Don't give in.

It is impossible to list all the books I've read since I wrote that first blog because I'd be typing for a week, but I've now joined up with the Jane Austen Society of Melbourne (pretty sure I'm the youngest member by a decade at least, and the meetings are lovely and always interesting) and have been making my way through an ever-growing list of all different types of books that have piqued my curiosity. This includes most of Sonya Hartnett's work which has been like the best kind of literary treat. And yep, I've kept up with New Girl, which is still lovely, and yep, I've watched all of McLeod's Daughters which was mostly terrible (apologies to fans of the show, but I remembered it being so much better).

I still have not heard back from the agency that has my manuscript. It's been well over a year, so that feels not right. I should probably take it back, but I'm so busy with uni and other writing stuff that I don't have the time to go over it now. So I've decided to leave it with them until I do, and if they get back to me in the meantime, all the better. But, I had my first piece of fiction published this year and was PAID for it, so snaps for me! Read more here. Hopefully I can get something else published next year as well...(I never did go back to that angry draft I wrote about Manohar Lal Sharma. Other, better writers have said what I wanted to say with more art. And it's made me feel sad even thinking about it as I type this.)

Also, the Book Thief film :) Yay. We've had trailers and stills and all manner of juicy blog tidbits from Markus Zusak, so I can safely say I'm even more excited about the film now than I was back when I wrote that entry. Out in January - only weeks away!

Men of Letters

I've been thinking a lot recently about privacy and the fine lines that criss-cross over the whole idea. Recapping Women of Letters events has become somewhat of a habit, and there was totally that one time that Marieke Hardy read my recap and thanked me for it which made my life. But I read this article this morning and have had second thoughts. What goes down at these events is public in the sense that several hundred people attend and listen to the letters. But it is also intrinsically private. Some letters tell stories of unimaginable grief, some of childhood secrets, some detail personal relationships. All of them are touching and many of them are funny, even amongst sadness. But it's made me think twice about some of the detail I put into my recaps. Although the letters are often reproduced in anthologies or online, it is always with the writer's permission. Their stories are not mine to retell, however summarised they might be. So I'll keep going to these events, and I'll keep laughing and crying and appreciating, but I don't think I'll keep recapping.

I will say this: yesterday I went to my first ever Men of Letters event, and it was fabulous. 11 men - Casey Bennetto, Glenn Robbins, Gideon Haigh, Peter Russell-Clarke, Tony Wheeler, Richard Flanagan, Brian Mannix, Sam Cooney, Frankie J Holden, Bert Labonte and Derryn Hinch - were writing to 'The Woman Who Changed My Life'. Some wrote to wives, daughters, mothers, friends, some to women who were no longer with us, some who were sitting in the Regal Ballroom listening. One letter was written to the ocean, one to Marieke Hardy herself, and one to Brittanica - definitely three of the most enthralling letters I have ever heard.

I've already bought my ticket to next month's event, and I'm so excited to hear that this show is going even more global than before (Britain and Ireland yeow!). Also, the third anthology is being launched next month! Hopefully, there'll be plenty more to come.

Women of Letters recap

The sun was absolutely blazing when we walked down High St Northcote, and we had to wait for our eyes to adjust when we entered the cool, dim Regal Ballroom. This afternoon both Michaela McGuire and Marieke Hardy were present, along with a line-up of wonderful women who were writing to the theme 'a letter to the thing I lost'.

First up was singer-songwriter Rebecca Barnard, who wrote to her car, lost deep in the labyrinthine bowels of the Crown Casino carpark. She described perfectly the creeping, irrational anxiety we have all felt when losing our bearings in a sea of parking spaces, complete with thinking up various rapist deterrents, which in Rebecca's case included shooting them in the face with breast milk. She told us of her utter and desperate relief upon finding the parking attendant, and apologising to him for 'having no spatial awareness because I'm so hormonal at the moment'. A side-splitting letter to start off a potentially devastating topic.

Next up was the simply glorious slam poet Maxine Beneba Clarke. She performed her letter in a glorious mix of spoken word and song, and wrote to her fears, specifically to her fears for her children. Her voice sent shivers through me, and the ballroom was completely speechless as we listened. She spoke of the most terrible things she could imagine happening to them, and when juxtaposed with lines like 'the truth is we walked death row before we learned to crawl' and 'these fears will drift like powdered charcoal on the wind', it made for an almost surreal experience. The applause was long and loud.

Culinary queen Stephanie Alexander was next. She wrote to a beloved letter from her 'guru', the food writer Elizabeth David, who she tragically never met properly in the flesh. Stephanie is a Francophile who was heavily influenced by Elizabeth David's writings, but it was Stephanie's prose that had the audience completely and utterly drawn in. Her letter was articulate, masterful and clear, and there was an audible groan when she revealed at the end that she had lost the treasured letter from her hero!

Randa Abdel-Fattah, author and academic, wrote one of the most intense letters I have heard. She wrote to her composure, and put us in vivid context - travelling with her elderly father and her young daughter, trying to get through the checkpoints to the Palestinian West Bank to see her father's birthplace and her grandfather's grave. As Randa marvelled at the patience of the Palestinians she shared the bus with, knowing it was a normal, everyday experience that they had to deal with, she was infuriated by the treatment dealt to them. 'Those who are denied their human rights do not have the luxury of despair'. Thankfully, Randa and her father managed to obtain a 7-day pass, which was better than nothing. You could have heard a pin drop in the ballroom as she read.

Finally, Gorgi Coghlan brought the entire place to tears with her letter to the deceased child of a close friend. The bereavement was fresh, but Gorgi wrote with warmth and heart in the face of what was obviously the rawest of experiences. She acknowledged that while there was nothing good that could ever possibly come from such a tragedy, such things can help us remember to find the good in our own lives we're lucky enough to still have. Keeping a clean house pales in comparison with keeping a happy family. Stories and laughter and songs are more important than timetables and groceries. And on that note, the reading was finished, and we had a break to buy more drinks, write our own letters, and listen to a very entertaining Q & A!

I think my favourite thing about Women of Letters is that it exposes you to a range of people and experiences you would not otherwise have come across, all linked by a common thread. It really drives home the similarities we share, whatever someone's circumstances, and the understanding that transcends differences and binds us together.

Bronte

This blog is a little rushed, but I wanted to write something about my experience. It's been such an interesting ride, and a few piddly words on my piddly blog can't really convey that, but I'll try and sum it up quickly.

A couple of months ago I submitted a story to Voiceworks magazine, a superb li'l publication run by the good folks of Express Media (mainly staffed by people under 25). I've been reading Voiceworks for years, and I think I even submitted something a couple of years back, but I realised recently that I only had a couple more chances to get something in because I'll be 25 in June, and the magazine is published quarterly. So I wrote this piece, a dark little story about a girl called Bronte and her life, and Voiceworks got back to me and told me it had been shortlisted for publication!

Being edited professionally and collaboratively for the first time was a wonderful experience. It made me think so much harder about my story and the minutiae of character's and their decisions, as well as the structure and language. AND Voiceworks pay their contributors, which for young, unpublished authors is pretty special. I went to the launch on Saturday, met lovely people, drank some wine and picked up a fresh copy of the magazine which can be purchased easily for $10.

On Monday night I read at Debut Mondays, a monthly event run by The Wheeler Centre that involves readings by 4 'new' authors. Included in the line-up with me was Kirsten Krauth, Fiona McFarlane and Adam Browne, all of whom are published novelists and share illustrious careers including publication in The New Yorker (McFarlane), editing the NSW Writers' Centre magazine (Krauth), and winning the Aurealis Prize for best Australian short story (Browne). I have had a few reviews and features published online (unpaid) and 'Bronte' is my first piece of published fiction. To say I was intimidated is somewhat of an understatement.

Debut Mondays is held at The Moat, the cafe beneath The Wheeler Centre. I was so nervous I couldn't actually finish my hot chocolate (sheesh) before I went to meet Donica, the program coordinator. I was up last on the list of speakers, so my heart had plenty of time for a vigorous workout. Listening to the authors read their work was bliss. I have read The Night Guest and just_a_girl already, but hearing them read aloud by the writers themselves is always much, much better. And I have not yet had time to read Pyrotechnicon, but after hearing Adam Browne read an excerpt, I cannot WAIT. It was finally my turn, and with my heartbeat roaring in my ears, I introduced myself and started reading. Brilliantly, there was a bright light and a big microphone right in front of me which made it difficult to see the audience, and easy to forget them. I actually felt myself getting calmer as I read.

I got some really lovely compliments afterwards and stalked the other authors until they took pity on me and signed my copies of their novels. They were all so nice to talk to and I think I managed to come across fairly coherently - go me. I can't recommend these Debut Monday events enough. All my near and dear ones who came to support me said they enjoyed themselves, and it was a great opportunity to meet other literary-minded people.AND Debut Mondays pay their contributors also. I am so incredibly lucky and thankful for this opportunity. And now I need to sit down and write more, stat.