I’ve just been given some tickets to a literary dinner with Penny Vincenzi which I’m looking forward to very much and will share with you next month.

A few things I’ve found recently that may be of interest to you as well.

Quote of the Month

Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. – Gene Fowler

Tips of the Month

12 Secrets To Being A Super-Prolific Short-Story Writer

http://io9.com/5457388/12-secrets-to-being-a-super+prolific-short+story-writer

Want to get literary agents excited about your book? Publish an excerpt first. This article will tell you how: bit.ly/gj1Tmk

Don’t believe the hype. There are debut authors getting published in every genre. Why persistence pays: bit.ly/tjWqNj

Challenge of the Month

http://www.australianwomenwriters.com/p/australian-women-writers-book-challenge_25.html

Finally as we approach a new year, a letter written in 1933 by renowned author F. Scott Fitzgerald to his 11-year-old daughter, Scottie, reminds us of a  list of things to worry about, not worry about, and simply think about.

http://www.listsofnote.com/2012/01/things-to-worry-about.html

Enjoy the January meeting and Angelika’s stories of her travels. Please feel free as always to contact me with information to share, thoughts, suggestions, ideas and feedback. I’m still in Victoria due to my own ongoing family drama so will look forward to seeing you all at the February meeting.

Cheers

Julie

We children were snuggled up safe in our beds,
While dreams of pavlova danced ‘in our heads;
Mum in her nightie, and Dad in his shorts,
Had just settled down to watch TV sports.

When outside the house a mad ruckus arose;
Loud creaking and banging shattered our doze.
We ran to the screen door, peeked cautiously out,
Snuck onto the deck, then let out a shout.

Guess what had woken us up from our snooze, 
-  a rusty old Ute pulled by eight mighty ‘roos.
The cheerful man driving was giggling with glee,
And we both knew at once who this plump bloke must be.

Now, I’m telling the truth it’s all dinki-di,
Those eight kangaroos fairly soared through the sky.
Santa leaned out  to pull at the reins,
And encourage the ‘roos, by calling their names.

‘Now, Kylie! Now, Kirsty! Now, Shazza and Shane!
On Kipper! On, Skipper! On, Bazza and Wayne!
Park on that water tank. Grab a quick drink,
I’ll scoot down the gum tree. Be back in a wink!’

So up to the tank the eight roos flew,
With the Ute full of toys, and Santa Claus too.
He slid down the gum tree and jumped to the ground,
Then in through the window he leapt with a bound.

With bright sunburned cheeks and a milky white beard.
A jolly old joker was how he appeared.
He wore red stubby shorts and thongs on his feet,
And a hat of deep crimson as shade from the heat.

His eyes – bright as opals – Oh! How they twinkled!
And, like a goanna, his skin was quite wrinkled!
His shirt was stretched over a round bulging belly
Which shook when he moved, like a plate full of jelly.

A fat stack of prezzies he flung from his back,
He looked like a swaggie unfastening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but bent down on one knee,
To position our goodies under the  tree.

Surfboard and footy shapes for us two.
And for Dad, tongs to use on the new barbeque.
A mysterious package he left for our Mum,
Then he turned and he winked and held up his thumb;

He strolled on the deck and  his ‘roos came on cue;
He flung his sack in the ute and prepared to shoot through.
He bellowed out loud as they swooped past the gates-
 
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL

and don’t forget to check out the Christmas EBook of member’s stories on our home page http://www.goldcoastwriters.org

LAST DAYS FOR SUBMISSIONS

December 2011 Competition ends on the 31st December 2011 23:59 BST

Would you please make this known to members of your writing circle?

UNPUBLISHED FICTION AUTHORS PRINT READY COMPETITION

This competition starts December 2011.

The closing date for this competition is the 31st December 2011 23:59 BST.

DECEMBER 2011 – YOUNG ADULT & TEEN FICTION

This is a genuine, no fee competition that stretches over 12 months.
Each month a different genre; each month a winner. Winners are offered a
contract, paid royalties, and receive full promotion and marketing strategies.
This is not a competition with prizes. There is no entry fee.
Only Print Ready novels of genuine merit will be chosen.
Your book could be a winner.
Full details of rules, genres and how to submit,
on our website, http://www.creativeprintpublishing.com/publishing/competitions.php

and two tall men stand by me, inked paper

in their hands.

No words; just pairs of eyes circling light

and time, flicking down to mine

in brown marbles of uncertainty.

Then the arm, the poem to my hand:

stillness in collision with tension.

Head down, I read brusque lines of bandaged flesh,

white cubicles, tiled corridors,

dressing gowns on chairs,

the bloody smell of hope and fear.

A medical student he explains.

Intensive word care, I say. May I take it,

reread and get back? I fold it to my bag.

I study Paddy’s gift.

His lines ramble and scratch like rows

of thorny bush, stop, square to the sky

then wander in circles of forest pathways.

They carry stars beneath the wings of birds.

Paddy, a child of clouds in wedges of wind.

Nature well communicated I say. May I take it,

get back to you?

I fold it to my bag.

I look at the apple-smooth skins, one dark, one fair,

the devotion, the commitment, thrilling silent

behind the flesh.  

What can I, an older woman, sheathed, tied,

knotted with experiences of love and loss,

give them?

If I could, I would burn the moment

for their success.

Great, read plenty I say, and smile goodbyes.

I will study the poems tonight, at home,

and in argument with me, the classics and modernism,

email praise and small suggestions.

I leave to tread once more, the grey footpath

of commerce.

Step on step, I wonder if Varun and Paddy,

year competing with year, will moisten, ripen, 

more poems;

roll them with, and around, the stubborn spit of river stones

that sit hard-lipped, muddy-bottomed with problems

of recognition……….

and dislodge them.

Caroline Glen © 3/12/11

For those interested in learning more about the publication of ebooks, this might be a useful set of questions for you to consider bit.ly/sI5vGF (*1) Griffith University is currently offering the Josephine Ulrick Prizes http://tinyurl.com/3lov4fk (*2) (thanks Joan Songaila).

As Christmas rushes towards us with all the associated festive joy and stress, December provides an opportunity to reflect and plan, both personally and at an organisational level, to celebrate successes, and consider opportunities, and to remember to enter and vote in the Christmas competition! It can be a time to think about our families, friends and acquaintances, and those who find the Christmas season a particularly lonely time. We may also ponder the concepts of giving and receiving, what really matters in our lives, and how all of these elements impact our writing. Language has great power, and as writers our words are gifts both to ourselves and our readers.

For me personally, the fragility of life was reinforced by a very difficult entry to the world of my new (now healthy) grandbaby. At the same time I was able to experience the great joy of watching her big sister discover the wonder of words in books written in both Japanese and English, her two home languages, and to see her continue loving her books to death. Introducing babies to reading is one of the most pleasant responsibilities we have as adults.

To you all I hope the holiday season brings an opportunity for you to relax, to absorb a favourite book, to take time with those you most care about, to secretly do something kind for a stranger, and, of course, to enjoy the Christmas party.

Cheers,

Julie

The beauty of your birth

When God performed a miracle

And gave you to this earth

He gave you life and form

And personality

And breathed success into the plans

That only He could see.

You were not made to fit those plans

The plans were made for you

And He was there to guide your steps

As only He could do

No matter what, the straying steps

Ambitions to fulfil

People to please and places to go

Those plans remain until…….

 The sun grows dark as sackcloth

And the moon becomes like blood

When time no longer tarries

But ends…..just like a flood

Of memories and passions

And ambitions unfulfilled

When perfect plans are laid aside

And God begins to say…….

What did you do with all those plans

I clearly sent your way?

I gave you gifts aplenty

Return, I wanted none

Except your heart be given

To my One Begotten Son

For He held all the answers

The One to help you see

The plans I had to fit the man

That only you could be.

 You see, you are so special

So perfect in My sight

My gift to you, this birthday son

Is power to see the light

To guide you in the pathways

To fulfil those perfect plans

That we might be together

You, forever in My hands.

 So let’s celebrate together

The beauty of your birth

When I performed the miracle

That gave you to this earth

So filled with love and joy and peace

That you might overflow

And fill the hearts of dying men

That they My Son might know

I am your loving Father

 You are my special son

So ask of me what e’er you will

And I will see it done!

As this is my first newsletter post I’d like to begin by thanking Jeannie and the team from last year for all of their work. You will still see Jeannie taking a prominent role, particularly over the next couple of months as I attend to my new grandbaby down south. I am looking forward very much to working with the new committee and investigating some exciting new initiatives.

Thanks also to Diana Hockley for a very entertaining description, at our last meeting, of her book ‘The Celibate Mouse’ and how her next novel, After Ariel, is in the process of procrastination. We always look forward to celebrating the achievements of all of our members so please remember to share them with us.

You might recall that I conducted a small, informal survey at the last meeting where I asked members three questions. The responses were very interesting, and I’d like to share them with you.

1. In response to the question of why people are members of the GCWA, we had comments such as

• to mix with others who share the same interests
• to glean stimulating ideas from speakers and other members
• to improve my writing skills
• to hear other’s experiences of life and writing
• to find people who will be honest with me about my writing
• to gain information about publishing, editing, agents etc
• to learn how to become published
• to feel supported in my writing
• to meet people who have both passion for, and knowledge about writing

2. The question of what else you would like to see improved, included suggestions such as

• More information about new technologies and how they are impacting publishing
• More interest by the monthly meeting in the support groups
• Maybe think about seating arrangements as meetings are sometimes very formal
• Have more members able to speak each month about what they are currently writing
• More workshops
• A mentor program
• More information for people who are just getting started
• Advice on contacting agents, local editors, publishers etc
• I liked having the opportunity to talk to the person next to me about the guest speaker
• Free publication set up by the GCWA

Perhaps we can all give some thought to these ideas and what might be possible for next year.

I’d also like to thank everyone who contributed to the success of the recent Festival for Independent Writers and Publishers. Just on $1000 worth of books were sold, with all money going to the authors. We’ve had some terrific feedback and tentative plans are already afoot for a larger event next year (last weekend in October) which it is hoped the GCWA will have some greater involvement in.

November is National Novel Writing Month. Sign up for NaNoWriMo at www.nanowrimo.org

Until next time keep writing. In the words of the inimitable Mark Twain, whose life is about to be immortalised in a movie, “Write without pay until somebody offers to pay.”

Cheers

Julie

Jonathan Sawyer

Thiel Partners accountant Jonathan Sawyer (pictured holding Darryl Greer’s thrilling masterpiece, The Election) was the happy winner of a GCWA Travel Bag of Books at the recent 2011 Supporting Our Sisters – S.O.S. Race Day Breast Cancer Fundraiser held at the Gold Coast Turf Club. 

This was the second time Gold Coast Writers’ Association member authors and friends had generously donated books for inclusion in a Travel Bag of Books for charity, the first occasion being the 2009 Bruce Lynton Charity Ball. 

Included in the latest Travel Bag of Books were works authored by (alphabetically): Darryl Greer, The Election; George Lewis, Birds of Currumbin Estuary; John Millett, Circles of Love; Jill Smith, Dual Visions; Southern Short Story Group, Love, Lies, Laughter; The Ten Penners, Fan-tas-tic-al Tales and Robert Young, Alec the Aeroplane, with a past GCWA guest speaker, Katherine Howell, kindly donating Violent Exposure. It should be noted that Jill Smith, and The Ten Penners, also donated second copies of their books for use as individual raffle prizes on the day. 

Sincere thanks to all who took part.

Well, that certainly set the old brain department heavily into thinking mode. ‘Part of the furniture, eh,’ I thought. ‘If so, what part of the furniture does she think I am?’  ‘Maybe I’m a shiny new computer work station. Maybe a utilitarian but useful set of shelves. How about the important table in the Board Room, or even the equally functional one in the canteen? I can’t quite imagine myself as a filing cabinet or even a humble white board, but perhaps that’s what she thinks of me. Insignificant but vaguely useful.’ 

Caressing my number two cappuccino, I returned to the lair of the blonde one. ‘Tell me, oh wise and gentle lady (I was mindful of the harassment regulations – I couldn’t call her an old biddy or worse), what particular piece of furniture did you have in your elegant head when you referred to me as one of the same? Am I a valuable Chippendale writing desk, a teak chest from exotic Asia, a stylish work station fashioned from the shiniest chrome and stainless steel, or do you think of me merely as a footstool, something that can be trodden on daily and ignominiously discarded when it becomes a bit tatty round the edges?’

The blonde one was quick off the mark with her response – perhaps she’d been thinking about it over the weekend. ‘You, my dear man, would be best embodied as a chest of drawers. I can picture you now. No longer fresh from the factory, a few nasty scars on your polish, a wonky leg, and one of your drawers obstinately sticky. I think it’s a male trait. Nothing works perfectly all the time. Yes I know you promised to have it fixed, but that was eighteen months ago. Have you had it seen to? No, don’t answer that, if it was working properly you’d be sliding it in and out all the time, just to show that you could. It’s a male thing.’

Well, she had me there. My ambitions of being regarded as exotic, valuable or stylish were rapidly quashed. ‘In the eyes of the world I am but a chest of drawers, and a scruffy malfunctioning one to boot,’ I thought morosely. Gone were the fantasies of chrome and stainless steel, the priceless antiquities and the lightly-oiled teak from far-off lands. I will have to face the cold hard facts. I am mass produced in some urban sweat shop, my joints are cheaply stapled, not dovetailed in a tradesman-like fashion, and my varnish is already peeling under the harsh Queensland sun. No wonder that the young and sexy duvet has never given me a second glance, even when all, and I sincerely mean all, of my drawers were smoothly functioning. I can never aspire to consorting with even the lowest coffee table in the executive dining room.

In my new job, I have been told that I am almost part of the furniture. And so I shall remain, unobtrusive, marginally useful at the moment, but prepared to be discarded at a moment’s notice when my metaphorical drawers have finally all jammed shut.