Now I feel like real author again! I've been invited to participate in the Somerset Celebration of Literature Festival in March next year. It's one the leading festivals for Children's writing held at Somerset College on the Gold Coast. I was invited there 10 years ago when Beauty of Truth first came out as a 'young author'. Being under 35 was apparently the criteria for being counted as "young". The young authors panel consisted of me, Markus Zusak and Matthew Reilly. It was slightly awkward becase the panel was chaired by the literary editor of the Brisbane Courier Mail. They had just run a review of Beauty of Truth which to this day remains the most horrible personally abusive book review I've ever read. The reviewer clearly hated me not just the book. She had interviewed on the phone and been very nice, even wished me all the best with the book and then unleashed the vitriol. It was astounding. The editor was lovely. She wasn't able to apologise for the review, but she did say that perhaps she had chosen the wrong person to write it.
10 years later and I'm the only member of that panel not to be an international publishing sensation. Was it something I said? Markus Zusak will also be at Somerset again next year but as the guest of honour at the big dinner!
Perhaps second time round might prove luckier for me.
Literary Festivals, whether you're an international sensation or not, are be great - you get to talk about yourself and be paid to do it. Bonus!
Thursday 12 November 2009
Wednesday 4 November 2009
You can run but you can't hide
Catching up with the past
Despite the lack of blog entries, I'm not dead, simply mired in the past trying to get some material out on the next adult book based on aspects of my own childhood. I have to say it's not easy- sifting through your memories for literary relevant events. It's not that there aren't enough, but there are too many. It reminds me of my Uncle Edward who declared with confidence that America was all desert. He took a bus ride across the country and all he saw was desert. He could have easily taken another bus and seen forests, wheat fields, cities and pastures. In writing about your own life you are taking people on a specific bus tour. You can't include your whole life, you have to be selective and give people the desert or the forest tour. Unfortunately that bus tour will then define your life for some people. They'll say "your life was very..." because that's all they've seen but they only see a fraction.
And the past catching up with me
As if that wasn't past focussed enough I got an email from the boy at my school whose name I borrowed for the hero in The Trouble with Sauce, Jonty Townsend. I've had no contact with him since school but someone from my school who keeps tabs on what I do dobbed me in. Fortunately he seems quite amused and has been bragging about it to his sons. I've now got to send a copy of it to him. All I need now is an email from Mr Croxall, the draconian teacher in the book and from my primary school.
Can anyone get away with anything any more?
Despite the lack of blog entries, I'm not dead, simply mired in the past trying to get some material out on the next adult book based on aspects of my own childhood. I have to say it's not easy- sifting through your memories for literary relevant events. It's not that there aren't enough, but there are too many. It reminds me of my Uncle Edward who declared with confidence that America was all desert. He took a bus ride across the country and all he saw was desert. He could have easily taken another bus and seen forests, wheat fields, cities and pastures. In writing about your own life you are taking people on a specific bus tour. You can't include your whole life, you have to be selective and give people the desert or the forest tour. Unfortunately that bus tour will then define your life for some people. They'll say "your life was very..." because that's all they've seen but they only see a fraction.
And the past catching up with me
As if that wasn't past focussed enough I got an email from the boy at my school whose name I borrowed for the hero in The Trouble with Sauce, Jonty Townsend. I've had no contact with him since school but someone from my school who keeps tabs on what I do dobbed me in. Fortunately he seems quite amused and has been bragging about it to his sons. I've now got to send a copy of it to him. All I need now is an email from Mr Croxall, the draconian teacher in the book and from my primary school.
Can anyone get away with anything any more?
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