Chrissy Do-done

We've just set foot in the door after a lovely Chrissy do for the Otago Southland branch of the New Zealand Society Authors. The venue for our seasonal gathering was the Weavers Retreat in Mosgiel, where we were set up in their glass atrium , and we Dunedinites had to contend with something we were entirely unprepared for - feeling hot, sunny and hot.

Around thirty writers and "writer's widows" (ie long-suffering spouces and partners) enjoyed good food and wine and great company. As well as enjoying the delights of the menu, we also had opportunity to share around the tables who people were, what they were working on and how their year was going. It was great to her from writers who had books published and had a great year, those who had exciting projects for next year, from those who were just quietly working away, those who had personal circumstance which had dictated a difficult year, and from those who support the pen-pushers (or keyboard tappers as most of us are.) It showed what a wonderfully diverse lot we are, and how important it is to mix and socialise and chat.

Writing is a solitary business. We were talking about work Chrissy do's and I said to someone I should have a little work Chrissy Do by myself, with Molly the iMac, a glass of bubbles, a Christmas mince pie and I could even buy myself a $5.00 gift! Actually, I've decided this is quite a fun sounding idea, and might actually do it! I could take a piccy with Molly's inbuilt camera and post it on the blog - The office Chrissy Do - no chance of embarrasing yourself in front of the boss, photocopying things that should stay private or unintentionally going home with Derek from accounting...

Cons, crooks and bit players

The editing process is rather interesting. Reading through the entire manuscript in a couple of sittings has been an enlightening exercise. It's also brought a few surprises - a number of 'that's actually really funny' moments, a few 'gosh I'm clever,' moments, and a lot of 'sh*t, I forgot about that' and 'I'm not so clever after all' moments.

All in all though, I'm really pleased with the manuscript and am no longer freaking out about my deadline. (A few wines probably helped there too)

It has made rather apparent though, the fact one of the bit players who was to be casually discarded at the end of the book is not going to cooperate. He's clearly telling me, oh no you don't, lady, I fully intend to be in the next one too. Sam has grown rather fond of him, and no, it's not in a romantic way. He started out as an interesting but shady bit player and developed into something more, so I'm thinking he may just have to stick around.

Isn't it funny how we become so attached to our characters we can't quite let go. I was talking with another writer friend the other day who is working on her second novel. It is completely different to her first novel, and is set some 30 years later, and in no way supposed to be related, but she finds characters from the first book making an appearance, older and wiser.

I am at a huge advantage in writing a crime series in that I get to keep writing about Sam Shephard, a character I love, and love doing awful things to (writers are like that). But who would have thought when I started out on this lark that I'd become so attached to the supporting cast and odd walk on role? Just as well we have an endless capacity for love.

Clothes or books? Clothes or books?

And you can guess what won!

The kiddies' school show (which was fabulous, by the way) called for some wardrobe acquisitions. Getting the "Cromwell Chafer Beetle" organised was no problem, but "Dr Orbell" required a lab coat. Dutiful mummy that I am I wandered around trying to find something that would look like a lab coat on a six-year old. I failed dismally on that front and Mr Six-Year-Old ended up on stage in Dad's white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked intollerably cute and was a star, as was the Chafer Beetle.

There is a point to all this, other than gushing about my clever children. My lab coat search involved the odd second hand clothing store, and I discovered that these institutions also have books. Oh dear, how sad, I hear you cry.

So, ahem, I came away sans lab coat but plus:

Guerilla Season by Paul Thomas - Some New Zealand crime fiction circa 1996

Bain and Beyond by Joe Karam - Where he looks at other cases in the New Zealand justice system, not just the David Bain case for which he is known.

Crucifix Lane by Kate Mosse - I loved Labyrinth and Sephulcre is in my reading pile, so here's an earlier work to add to it.

The Seventies - A Hutchinson pocket book of everything you wanted to know about the decade. Who knows when you'll need a blast from the past - all in the name of research.

The Complete Idiots Guide to Chemistry by Ian Guch - For my inner nerd.


So there you go, yet another book trap for the unwary.

100 years young

Today we got to sing happy birthday to the Dunedin Public Library which first opened its doors on the 2nd of December 1908.

The boys and I trotted off to a lovely little do where the Mayor, Peter Chin, and Merle van de Klundert, the Chair of the Friends of the Library made speeches and cut a cake, and the sounds of champagne corks popping echoed around the fourth floor. There were sammies and savouries and lots of chocolates. The library choir sang a hilarious song recounting the history of the esteemed institution. The Mayor lead us all in singing Happy Birthday and three cheers. The only downside was the parking ticket on my windscreen when we got back to the car - The DCC giveth and the DCC taketh away.

The library has had a very full centenary programme which included Library Alive Day on Sunday. We came along and Mr Six-year-old had his face painted, Mr Nine-year-old got to play air hockey, there was a bouncy castle, characters from Narnia, a treasure hunt, live music playing on every floor and I was thinking, wouldn't it be great if libraries were this much fun every day!

Mary Ronnie has written Freedom to Read: A Centennial History of Dunedin Public Library. I was delighted to be given a copy as a thank you for giving an author talk at the library as part of their centenary programme. I haven't had an in depth read yet, but from the flicking through I've done it looks fascinating.

I've had a love affair with libraries since childhood, my first book addictions started in the Greerton Public Library in Tauranga - Richard Scary's The Bears Almanac was the worlds best book ever when I was a five-year old. I still visit the library most weeks, and it has been great fun being a part of the centenary celebrations.

Bring on the next 100 years.

Deck the halls

The Symon household has been Christmased. We are treed, we are ornamented, tinselled and garlanded. We are nativitied and angeled and strung with lights. The Christmas cookie cutters have been dug out and have already been put to use as stensils for making felt Christmas decorations with the kiddies. Mr Six-year-old is already planning the truffles he's going to make as a gift for his teacher.

I unashamedly confess to never having lost the magic of Christmas, to enjoying it just as much as the kids, and now I have the added delight of enjoying the excitement on their faces as we decorate the house, write Christmas Cards, talk about hopes for exciting things under the tree and share the story of the birth of Christ.

There's no sign of bah-humbug in this household - it is a bah-humbug free zone!

Let the silly season begin...

Daft draft poem

Knocked off the draft.

It begged to die,

bludgeoned with a blunt instrument

at the hands of a serial offender

looking for ways

to dismember its body,

decompose,

pick over its bones.




(This is why I write novels, not poetry)

The aha moment cometh...

...and it arrived over a large flat white and a rhubarb friand this morning at one of my favourite Dunedin cafes, the aptly named Rhubarb.

I've been getting rather anxious, waiting for the aha's arrival. I've been hammering away at Containment for quite some time now, but something was lacking. My deadline was getting scarily close and I have to admit to a mild to moderate amount of panic happening. But I wasn't completely freaked out because when I was writing Overkill, the aha moment didn't come until the 6th draft. Yes folks, one of the acts of faith of a writer, I kept on working even though it didn't all quite tie in, then heaved a sigh of relief when I discovered the tiny shred of information that made it all slot into place and everything make perfect sense.

So my freakoutometer has slidden below critical, and I feel I have the connections that will make it all gel together. Writing is often about dogged determintaion, and Containment has been an example of that. There have been times when I'd wanted to toss the whole bloddy thing away and start again, but then I thought, no, the bits of the skeleton I had were good, but I guess it was like one of those archaeological digs where you're not quite sure what you've got till all the bones turn up.

The bones turned up with a Rhubarb Friand and a damn fine coffee.