The Sophomore Novel Blues: A Guest Post by Shirley Marr

Thursday, April 26, 2012


Hi everyone! Welcome to Steph Bowe's wonderful blog. As Preloved is my second novel and Steph is currently writing her second novel, what better thing for me to guest post about than well, second novels?

Second Novel Syndrome is a real affliction. I know because I Googled it and the Internet told me it’s real. Apparently it’s a type of performance anxiety that specifically happens to first-time authors trying to write their second book. And apparently it strikes down the majority of all authors. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I certainly got it. In fact I got it so bad that it lasted approximately a year and my Publisher who was hoping for a 2011 book after my 2010 debut didn’t even get a draft until after the deadline for publication ticked past! Shirley’s never been one to shy away from telling the truth or revealing the unglamorous side so I'm just gonna be frank.

It makes sense that it should be hard. It’s just like the second attempt at anything really. Album. Movie sequel. The relationship that comes after that first one true love where that asshat you’ll never-ever-ever speak to again tore out your bleeding heart and stomped all over it. The media always speaks about the "difficult sophomore album" to the point that the term has become accepted vernacular. The expectations can be enormous.

The fact that there are actually expectations is itself mind-blowing.

After all, there was most likely zero expectations for the first novel. Being the first would imply that it was probably a hobby, a dream, something that you wrote it as if you were all alone in your bedroom singing into your hairbrush (like me) and publication seemed a vague, mystic and distant possibility (me also).

It might have been an easy write or it might have been difficult, requiring many years and re-writes, but the most important thing is that the manuscript belonged to you. And you didn't belong to anyone, so it's no wonder that this is a time where something brilliant and unexpected might come together from nothing. I personally believe that everyone has one great story in them (even if it is the story of their life - it could be one awesome life) so the reason to write is simple, the actions involved tacit.
When I came to write my second novel, I told myself I was just going to do exactly what I did for the first novel. Just write. Sounds easy enough right? As much as I would like to insist I was still the same person and I was never going to change, things had changed and whether I liked it or not, it was having an effect on me.

Firstly and foremost, I now had a publisher. I don't think most people realise this, but as opposed to churning out everything I now write because I'm an author  - they are under no obligation to sign me for another book. They have to actually like my manuscript. But what have I got to lose right? Actually... I had a lot to lose! I was now doing what I had been dreaming of since I was a kid. I had a real book at real bookstores. Secondly, other authors were freaking me out by saying stuff like "Do you know 80% of authors never write a second book? Do you want to just be a statistic?" And thirdly, it is a bit freaky when my publisher wants to talk to me about the marketing plan for... Book 3 and I hadn't even got a Book 2.

Going through that all-consuming desire to become a published author when I wasn't one was hard. Knowing that I finally got what I wanted and it could be taken away from me was a new type of hardness!

It didn't help that I didn't know what to write next. I mean, I had been writing variations of Fury on and off for the past 10 years until it finally came right, I had no Plan B.

StupidIy, I went onto Google (true story) to find a solution. Somehow I ended up on a music website which told me that the second album (and applicable to novels) was “an opportunity to transcend the original fan base and capture the rest of the market”. So I had to please the people who liked my book (who seemed to like my laissez faire writing style) and also the people who didn't like my book (who seemed to dislike my laissez faire writing style)? I'd probably end up writing a book that's going to be shelved as "Biggest Disappointment 2012" on both camps!

Eventually, I did the only thing I could. Which was probably the sensible thing. I sat down and I wrote something that mattered to me. I started arranging and compiling the ghost stories and tales of superstitions my mum used to tell me when I was little, into a narrative. And I started filling it up with all the things that I personal loved and which were symbolic of what made me happy. Regardless of what I should do and what the readers wanted and what was popular and what market I could capture. I can only write for myself and by finding something that made me carry on regardless of whether it was publishable or not, put a new fire in me. I was able to love the writing process again.

I dared asked myself the question I knew the answer to when I first started writing 10 years ago:  if I was told that my writing would never be published, would I still write? The answer was still yes!
It was still playing on my mind that I had to lift my game - both in terms of writing ability and commercialbility; that this book had to be better in all aspects than the first – but this goal was challenging in a healthy way and I started to relish it.

Having said that, after I finished, I cried. I cried like a poor little puppy separated from it’s mammy for the first time. But it felt good.

As I write this, I am still unsure about the general reception of my book. And strangely enough, even if it is bad or good, I will still feel proud of myself. It feels I have come a long way and that I went through something necessary.

So my evaluation of Second Novel Syndrome? I wouldn’t change my experience of it. All I can say it is a rite of passage that has taught me how to handle these newfound pressures and what I need to do as a writer. Sometimes I think you have to learn things the hard way. And the fact that many other people go through the same thing gives me a beautiful, bitter-sweet feeling. It makes me feel very human.


Right now, I look forward to what I will term the Redemptive Third Novel. I know that I am not a One Novel Wonder. My publisher knows I am not a One Novel Wonder. I can do it. I feel good. What it is to be and what the experience will actually be like is still unknown, but I have a feeling it will be wonderful. And who knows, maybe I will be back on Steph's blog next year to talk about it.

Third book, here I come.

...

Thank you once again Miss Steph for having me. Please make sure you have a look around her blog as she writes these effortlessly cool and very funny introspective pieces (I love the 10 Things that baffle me about YA paranormal romance books). 
Please join me tomorrow at The Nocturnal Library where it is my very last day and we do best and worst lists of the 80s! Plus there’s a bonus goodbye present to giveaway. Seeya on the flip side!

What I read in April, part one: 172 Hours on the Moon, Stolen Away and Night School

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

172 Hours on the Moon by Johan Harstad
Three teenagers are going on the trip of a lifetime. Only one is coming back.

It’s been more than forty years since NASA sent the first men to the moon, and to grab some much-needed funding and attention, they decide to launch an historic international lottery in which three lucky teenagers can win a week-long trip to moon base DARLAH 2—a place that no one but top government officials even knew existed until now. The three winners, Antoine, Midori, and Mia, come from all over the world.

But just before the scheduled launch, the teenagers each experience strange, inexplicable events. Little do they know that there was a reason NASA never sent anyone back there until now—a sinister reason. But the countdown has already begun. . .

I think this novel is really great if you imagine it as a movie. You know when you're watching a creepy sci-fi film (at home, alone, late in the evening), and the entire time you're yelling at the TV, saying 'that's impossible! As if that could happen in the real world!' (I'm not going to bother listing the numerous impossibilities.) But at the same time you're terrified? What this book lacks in believability and character development, it makes up for with creepiness. (It also has the sort of ending I love, but based on other reviews I've read, apparently other people don't feel the same.) I loved the concept, too.

In terms of the prose, I always worry that books lose something when they're translated from another language into English (which I imagine would be an incredibly difficult job. I would love to be able to read the translations of my novel and see how it changes). I found this to be written very simply, very straight-forward, and I wonder whether it would have had more nuance and depth in the original Norwegian.

It seems to be much more a sci-fi thriller that's also for young adult readers than a novel for young adult readers that's also a sci-fi thriller. The development of the characters is very much secondary to the scariness. Worth picking up if you are looking for something incredibly creepy to read, and much more plot than character-driven.

Stolen Away by Alyxandra Harvey
For seventeen years, Eloise Hart had no idea the world of Faery even existed. Now she has been abducted and trapped in the Rath of Lord Strahan, King of Faery. Strahan was only meant to rule for seven years, as Faery tradition dictates, and then give up his crown to another. But he won't comply, and now chaos threatens both worlds.

The only one who can break his stranglehold on the Faery court is his wife. . . Eloise's aunt Antonia. Using Eloise to lure Antonia, Strahan captures his wife, desperate to end the only threat to his reign. Now Eloise must become the rescuer. Together with her best friends Jo and Devin, she must forge alliances with other Fae, including a gorgeous protector named Lucas, and Strahan's mysterious son, Eldric-who may or may not betray them.

Don't you hate it when your family keep the fact that you're a faerie princess a secret from you your entire life, and then some bloke shows up with magical powers and has to protect you from some other guys? And then they, like, fall hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you despite the fact that you don't really think you're all that? Even though it's fairly standard paranormal romance, it's fun and fast-paced and the ending is conclusive! How I love a standalone novel! It's very heavy on the romance (Lucas was all right, but Eldric was creepy - please, please can people stop writing YA novels where the love interest is an absolute tool?), but has plenty of action scenes and adventure and fun little twists. The main characters are supposed to be seventeen, but I think a lot of their behaviour and narration suggested younger, and I think it's perhaps suitable for the younger end of the YA spectrum. (As an aside, I love that the faery people can magically teleport between the different realities. Teleportation is the best.)

Night School by C.J. Daugherty

Sometimes school is murder.

Allie Sheridan's world is falling apart. She hates her school. Her brother has run away from home. And she's just been arrested.

Again.

This time her parents have finally had enough. They cut her off from her friends and send her away to a boarding school for problem teenagers.

But Cimmeria Academy is no ordinary school. Its rules are strangely archaic. It allows no computers or phones. Its students are an odd mixture of the gifted, the tough and the privileged. And then there's the secretive Night School, whose activities other students are forbidden even to watch.

When Allie is attacked one night the incident sets off a chain of events leading to the violent death of a girl at the summer ball. As the school begins to seem like a very dangerous place, Allie must learn who she can trust. And what's really going on at Cimmeria Academy.

This is actually not a paranormal novel. I was incredibly surprised. There were words about a 'brooding loner' in the blurb; a pale, serious-looking girl on the cover; and the title! Night School? How could it not be about vampires? Yeah, it's not. I spent the entire book waiting for vampires and none turned up. I wasn't disappointed - I'm not generally big on paranormal - but I wonder if this has been done consciously to boost sales? I imagine YA paranormal romance generally sells better than YA suspense, though a big portion of the novel concerned romance and a love triangle, and I think this book is targeting the paranormal romance reading audience, because it has a lot of very similar themes.

I found the love triangle really quite worrying - both of the male love interests are creepy and awful and treat Allie terribly, and then really nicely, as if that makes up for it. But it's very similar to a lot of paranormal romances, except these characters aren't also vampires or werewolves. Allie's character shifts dramatically about two chapters in - the bad girl she's purported to be in the blurb quickly changes into someone who is generally well-behaved. It's an intriguing start to a series, but very little was resolved at the end of the book - various creepy elements and mystery worked well, and it was scary and sinister in parts (and the involvement of Allie's brother, Christopher, was interesting), but I found that to be secondary to the romance elements. Worth reading if you're generally a fan of YA paranormal romance - it's basically that, minus the paranormal, with a bit of mystery thrown in. I'm interested to read the sequel(s), if only to see how the various unanswered questions are resolved.

Public speaking & how to be better at it

Sunday, April 22, 2012

I am really exceptionally shy. As I get older, I get a lot better at pretending I'm not. By the time I'm thirty I plan to have everyone totally fooled into thinking I am an extrovert. There's still a long way to go. I really want to start a foundation for the support of introverts.

Relatedly, a couple of years ago* I started speaking in schools (Booked Out speakers agency are the greatest people ever) and at writers festivals (mostly organised by my publisher). At first the idea of speaking to a class of fourteen-year-olds for an hour mostly about myself made me implode with nerves, but then I actually did it, and discovered that there were no ill effects apart from the nerves making me speak at lightning speed and in monotone.

Over time, I've managed to get (I hope) a little better. Entirely through practice. So here's my advice, for anyone who is terrified of speaking in front of large groups of people (you're not alone! people are scary!):
  1. The more nervous you are, the slower you should speak. Time moves in a very strange manner when you have a microphone and a roomful of sullen teenagers staring at you. You think that you are speaking at a normal pace, but then you finish your hour-long speech in fifteen minutes. Speak slowly. Also, remember that even if you've given the same speech a dozen times and are incredibly bored of it, it's new and fresh for the audience. Be excited about what you have to say!
  2. Imagine yourself as an audience member. I don't tend to talk a lot about myself or my book specifically, mainly because I am young and haven't done many interesting things yet, but also because seeing a speaker that is totally self-involved is usually pretty boring if what you're really interested in is what that speaker can teach you. So I imagine that I'm a fifteen-year-old kid at a school writer's festival, a reader, and think, what would I want to hear about? (Obviously this is not much of a stretch for me.) When I was fifteen, I was interested in how the publishing industry worked, and how people go from being kids with no idea what they're doing to people with careers, and I was really interested in how real live authors wrote their books. So those are the sorts of things I talk about.
  3. Do not react to people making weird faces at you. Sometimes people look bored when they are actually very interested in what you have to say. Sometimes they are just bored. When you are looking out at the audience (which you should be doing most of the time), look to the people who look interested or cheerful or who laugh when you want them to laugh and think positive thoughts about how great your speech is, because look, this person is interested! Don't start rushing through a speech because everyone appears to be giving you death stares, because maybe they're just tired.
  4. Talk about things that you are passionate about. If you think what you have to say is interesting and important and exciting, then you'll give the sort of speech that'll make the audience think what you're saying is interesting and important and exciting, too. Well, hopefully. I love talking about writing, and the publishing industry, and all the awesome bookish people I have met and the bookish things I do. And I hope the fact that I'm excited to talk about that gets other people excited to read and to write as well.
  5. Take notes, not entire scripts. I used to write very detailed speeches, every single word. Which is okay for a short speech, but not if you're presenting for an hour. I ended up reading everything out in fifteen minutes. Take notes and you can ramble and elaborate on things and also you don't appear to be a robot. (I have problems with not saying enough rather than saying too much. If you ramble in speeches, maybe you should write down every word and time yourself.)
  6. Use PowerPoint. So that everyone isn't staring at you the entire time, employ PowerPoint wherever possible. Include important points and a graph and maybe a mind map. If you ever lose track of what you're talking about, you can glance over at the PowerPoint and catch yourself up. I love PowerPoint. I especially love the two capitals in the one word. PowerPoint.
  7. Think about public speaking. Seriously think about it. You are a human, communicating to other humans. Why are you nervous? You've been doing this your entire life. Plus, you have notes. It could be way worse. You could be an alien species trying to communicate with humans and not know any of our languages! The best way, I find, to turn something I am terrified about into something I am definitely not terrified about is to think about it in such detail that it seems totally inane. When I get worked up about finishing my novel and having a career that involves writing novels to the point where I can't actually write, I think to myself, hey, it's just a bunch of words. Public speaking is the same. It's just a bunch of words you're saying to some people to inform them about some stuff. Nothing to be afraid of.
*Before November of 2009, I had only ever done public speaking at primary school. I have anecdote here! To give you an example of my crazy amount of success as a speaker, when I was in grade six I won the Table Topics award when my class did a Toastmasters course. I know you're jealous. Also technically Table Topics meant you had to come up with a speech on the spot, but the lady who led the course - affectionately referred to as 'the Dragon Lady', I don't know why - had me write the speech and it was all pre-arranged. Also there were only sixteen people in my class. Being twelve was good.

10 things I hate about writing novels

Thursday, April 19, 2012

  1. What ends up on the page is usually entirely different from what's in my head. In my head, the novel is perfect. It's beautiful and heart-rending and hilarious and award-winning and sells lots of copies and everybody adores me. And then I write it down and it's an absolute mess. The transition from idea to actual manuscript is a horribly awkward one.
  2. There is no one right way of doing things. So there are a million possibilities, and while sometimes this can be super wonderful, when I'm trying to figure out what makes the most sense for my characters, too many options is an awful thing, especially since there usually isn't one best option.
  3. I have to edit them. A lot. And it takes a long time. This one time, I was working on a revision of a book for five months. Oh no wait, that's happening right now.
  4. Everyone has a different opinion. One person will love it, and another will hate it, and a third will be entirely indifferent. And no one is right. And that's terrible. Because what am I supposed to do? Do I change it or do I not change it and does this character need to be cut and does this plotline work or doesn't it? Can everyone just agree for once, and tell me it's fantastic?
  5. It's very difficult to write logically and systematically. I am a person who likes organisation and simplification and lists and numbers (though I am not super fond of maths, I like to count things). And even if I write an outline and plan neat little two-thousand-word chapters, a first draft becomes a complicated and crazy thing. It's just a whole bunch of words, but it defies organisation.
  6. I am always thinking about it too much. Because a very significant portion of my life is spent writing or editing or talking about writing or blogging about writing or spending time with writer friends, I think about this novelling business quite a bit.And the more I think about writing, the more intimidating it becomes. After all, if I'm dedicating so much time to it, I have to be good at it, and what if I'm not good at it? Maybe I shouldn't write tonight and I should go and watch reality TV instead, and not think about my possible lack of skill. There is always a renovation or singing show on. They really should combine the two. Reno Popstar.
  7. People are always telling me writing novels doesn't count as a real-world job. Oh my gosh, folks, I've been living in a fake world all this time? This isn't even a problem I have with writing novels. This is a problem I have with people devaluing creative pursuits. Writing and painting and dancing and making music can all be jobs, guys! If you tell me writing isn't a real job, that makes me sad.
  8. I am always comparing what I am writing to novels I love. I cringe at everything I write. Hopefully one day I will outgrow this, but I think a lot of other writers do this, too. So I can't tell the difference between good stuff I write and bad stuff I write. And next to books I really, really love, everything I write seems terrible! Maybe I ought to just give it up! Generally I try not to think about my favourite authors and how great they are when I am writing, otherwise it is demoralising.
  9. It is a very isolating thing. There's a lot of sitting around, inside, on your own, isn't there? And even though I know other people find this writing thing challenging, I'm not there with them when they're slaving away on their novels. I just see the finished product, which always seems terribly effortless, and a lot of writers I know seem very sociable and easygoing at parties. And I think, I am the only person in the world who is a lonely weirdo writer! (Obviously this is not true. But sometimes it feels like it.)
  10. The characters always have such exciting lives. I'm jealous. Stuff is always happening for them! Of course I am the person making it happen and they are not real and the things that happen to them aren't real, but still, maybe I want to have an exciting life? Unfortunately this is the real world, and often there are long breaks between exciting things happening to me, during which I have to work and do mundane, real-person stuff.

What I read in March, part two: The Messenger Bird, I'll Tell You Mine and A New Kind of Dreaming

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

The Messenger Bird by Rosanne Hawke
Never before has Tamar felt so alone. Her older brother is dead, her mum's away and her dad's so wrapped up in restoring their ancient farmhouse he avoids talking about the things that really matter. 

Even friendly new neighbour Gavin can't get through to her, despite his eager attempts.

When Tamar discovers an old handwritten sheet of music and allows herself to play piano again, she meets gifted violinist Nathaniel who may just hold the key to her future. With no one else to turn to, Tamar is unwittingly drawn into a journey through time and music.

A haunting mystery from award-winning author Rosanne Hawke.

I love books involving time travel. I don't know if I've mentioned this before. What I loved about the time travel aspect of this book was how the characters dealt with it - not in a 'we need to figure this out and go back in time to kill Hitler!' way, but in a 'so this is happening, how interesting, what does this mean?'. Despite this novel being full of incredibly sad events and dark moments, it's really very sweet - Tamar is a beautiful character, and the entire book is very dream-like. Tamar is somewhat disconnected from reality after the loss of her brother, and her relationship with Nathaniel is lovely, despite him being in the wrong timeframe. It has all of the elements that could make it a generic sort of paranormal romance novel, but it's something else entirely. It has dual narrators, but I found a great deal of Gavin's point-of-view chapters unnecessary - he was well-written and very distinct from Tamar's POV, but hers was where the main plot of the story occurred. He did ground the story in our reality well, though. I read Soraya the Storyteller, by the same author, quite a few years ago for school, and remember it being wonderful. The Messenger Bird is really quite glorious.

I'll Tell You Mine by Pip Harry
Kate Elliot isn't trying to fit in.
 

Everything about her – especially her goth make-up and clothes – screams different and the girls at her school keep their distance.  Besides, how can Kate be herself, really herself, when she's hiding her big secret?  The one that landed her in boarding school in the first place.  She's buried it down deep but it always seems to surface.
 

But then sometimes new friends, and even love, can find you when you least expect it.

So how do you take that first step and reveal yourself when you're not sure that people want to see the real you?


When I started reading I'll Tell You Mine, I was under the impression it was for a younger YA audience, and I am not exactly sure why - I think it may have been the vagueness of the blurb, and the fact that the protagonist is 15. It turns out I was wrong. I think this is more of a 14+ YA (though really, nothing so bad a mature but younger reader couldn't pick it up). It's nowhere near as generic as the blurb may suggest - there was a realness to the book, and to Kate, that made the traditional-YA-plotline (rebellious girl goes to boarding school, finds self, friends, love) into a brilliant novel. The rebelliousness of Kate seemed so genuine, I felt that it could have been written by someone going through teenagerdom right now (this is a compliment! I think teenagers can write well about being teenagers! As can adults who think the teenage experience is a legitimately challenging thing, and can relate to it, still). The mystery of the 'big secret' wasn't what kept me reading - it was the wonderful but unpretentious writing, and how easy the protagonist was to relate to (speaking as the least rebellious person in the history of the universe). Kate's relationship with her parents was perfectly done, as were her various romantic pursuits - no false perfection here. The Melbourne setting - and her trip to the country - were familiar and well-captured. There was an honesty and rawness to the novel which I loved. I can think of so many teenage girls I know who would enjoy this.

A New Kind Of Dreaming by Anthony Eaton
When the court sent Jamie Riley to Port Barren, he hadn't expected much – thought he'd just serve his time and get out.  He hadn't counted on being drawn into the town's murky past, into a web of secrets, lies and murder which might well cost him much more than just his freedom.

This is the story of a boy's journey to reveal a buried secret, and of a town too scared of its past to face its future.

It's a story for anyone who dreams . . .


A New Kind of Dreaming was originally published in 2001, and recently re-released. Sometimes I find with YA novels that are ten or twenty years old, they can be appreciated for the time they were published, but they don't really measure up to modern expectations. This definitely wasn't the case with A New Kind of Dreaming - it was terrifying and original. Only one thing really dates the novel - the absence of mobile phones, which could really help out the protagonist at various points in the novel (about 90% of problems in novels can be solved with a phone call or a text, I've noticed. It makes writing books these days difficult, but real life a lot easier). The plotline involving asylum seekers especially was heartbreaking. Jamie's consistent poor decision-making was incredibly frustrating (why are you not going to the police, gosh! I frequently wondered. To be fair, one particular police officer was kind of untrustworthy.) - even though it's consistent with his characterisation. All of the characters were wonderfully drawn, the setting was desolate and creepy and all kinds of great. If you're looking for a read that's scary and suspenseful and very, very real, this is it.

This is your permission to fail

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Sometimes people email me, or comment somewhere on this blog, and they are asking for advice. Usually they are young folks who are inclined towards writing but they are worried that they are not particularly good at it. I would love to be an old wise person who knows everything, but most of the time with writing I feel like I am about as good at it as I am at assembling Ikea furniture. Without instructions. In the dark. Underwater.

See what I mean? I'm not even good at metaphors. (And I consider writing to be one of the things I'm better at in life. You should see me try and operate a washing machine. I have a long and storied history of mixing darks and colours, and ruining all the clothes.) So I do not feel I am in a position to be doling out advice. (I give advice anyway. My main tips for life are: 1. be respectful towards everybody, 2. avoid scumbags, 3. have fun.)

And here is the real and awful truth about writing (and probably about other things, too, but I've been alive for all of five minutes and I've been focusing on this, mainly. Maybe next year I'll take up dance): beyond the basics, advice is not going to take you very far.

The state of fear and unknowing about your own skills is likely something that will only lessen slightly with age and practice (unless you are arrogant, in which case I wish I were you!). But that is what makes it magical when everything goes right, and you recognise something that you have written as great, or someone else does. Someone who perhaps has the power to share it with other people.

Every now and then someone comments on this post, from two years ago. Recently, I got a comment, asking Should I work so hard just to possibly fail? You know, the sort of doubts that are always creeping in when you are writing. (I imagine all writers are like this.)

I ramble a bit, but this is what this post is really about: Failure. And failure as a writer.

Sometimes I see advice from writers saying: don't write a novel! You'll fail and get all disenchanted and never write again! Instead write short stories!

The problem with this is two-fold:
1. It reflects the writer's personal experience, as all advice does. Everybody is different, everybody writes differently. (You have to be very selective when you are reading advice. I think mostly people just write advice to their younger selves, even if they don't know it.)
2. You can't ever really, truly fail when you're writing. You can write things that will never be published. You can write things that are just plain bad. You can invest hundreds or thousands of hours in a novel that never gets anywhere. But that's hundreds or thousands of hours you've spent getting better at writing. Hopefully some of that you enjoyed. Hopefully there are things you will bring to the next novel you write.*

So here's this: Go ahead. Write a novel. Wouldn't you much rather start writing today than not, and wonder in one or five or ten years what might have become of that novel? If your novel is terrible, you don't really lose anything - you've spent time developing your ideas, or expressing yourself, or whatever else. Maybe you've enjoyed parts, and shared them with your friends. Everyone looks back on their teenage poetry and cringes but for a lot of people, I think it was really important to them at the time.

Be willing to fail. You don't really gain very much in life by holding back because you're afraid you'll fail. You don't give yourself opportunities to succeed. And writing is the sort of thing you learn by actually doing it - all of the advice on grammar and adverbs in the world will not make you brilliant. If you decide to write for the rest of your life, or try and make a career of it, you'll always be uncertain, and self-doubting, but hopefully the consistency with which you produce good work improves. People never really start out brilliant. It takes time.

But you have to start, really, and keep going. Write about whatever you want, and be willing to fail. Really, it's a very safe world to muck up in, the one on the page. (If you were considering taking up tightrope-walking or shark-baiting or something, I would not be encouraging failure.)

*And hell, I'm bad at writing short stories. I ramble. It's bad. Also all of the endings are, 'it was all a dream!' I try to do that with full-length novels, too.

Magical portals, giant otters, tortured young artists & other things I think about at 3a.m.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

When I am up at three in the morning, I have a lot of thoughts that seem very profound and meaningful. I am sure a lot of people have these sorts of thoughts. I wonder what they did with them before the invention of this magical thing called the internet? Think of all the wise words (and by wise I mean incoherent) lost forever! Thankfully, we are living in 2012, and even though I don't document very much of my actual life on Facebook (I find those 'so-and-so is at this place, come get me stalkers!' things to be incredibly creepy), I do share a lot of weird things I think about.

If I ever get amnesia, and forget entirely who I am, I hope that my various web ramblings will help Amnesiac Steph to conclude that she is awesome.

This is 2009 Steph Bowe:
She is so cool she wears sunglasses inside, possibly at night, and a tiara with foam letters that announce her profession. Also, I think I may have originally posted this on Myspace (I must've: visible arm self-portaiture belongs nowhere else). Imagine her reading these statuses to you.

In reverse chronological order, some highlights (usually dreams and thoughts that seemed very meaningful at the time) from the last three years:

Every time I hear a strange noise in the house, I look around for something I could use as a weapon. Then I imagine the headlines. "Tortured young artist bludgeons burglar with $4 keyboard from Woolies." Need to find a better weapon.

--

I have many elaborate plans for when I am eighty. I have been respectful and made good decisions and worked hard so far, and plan to continue this way for most of my life, but when I am elderly I am going to become really obnoxious to make up for never being a foolish youth. I am going to get horrible tattoos, and start fights, and leave the water running while I brush my teeth, and possibly become a fascist dictator. It's going to be great. Only sixty one years and ten months to go.

--

Had someone consulted me before I started existing I would've asked to be a giant otter or a panda or possibly a very big dinosaur. But no one asked and I'm a human, and human existence is terribly lame compared to giant otter/panda/dinosaur existence. I would've been the greatest giant otter. So much unfulfilled potential.

--

I need a clone to answer email, and a clone to do schoolwork, and a clone to do speaking gigs, and a clone to write books, and a clone to edit books, and a clone to read books and tell me about them, and a clone to clean, and a clone to make me a cup of tea. And I will sleep, and occasionally watch videos of kitties being cute on YouTube. Of course the clones will all eventually turn against me and become Evil Stephs and take over the world, but during the brief period that they behave themselves, it'll be fairly glorious. For me at least. And it's okay, the Evil Stephs will be benevolent rulers. Or they might not be. You just can't tell with evil clones.

--

Life's too short to complain about Facebook. Life's too short for Facebook entirely. Life's too short for anything but affirming how short life is. (Oh god, I've spent thirty seconds updating this unnecessarily. Half a minute closer to death. I'm going to carpe diem the hell out of tomorrow. CARPE DIEM.)

--

On this day in 2010, my status was "When I'm meant to be doing other, important stuff, I get on Facebook and look at everybody's photos and imagine what it's like to be them. Because I find there's a massive disconnect between the way people see me and the way I feel about myself, and I wonder if that's true of other people." Oh Steph Bowe, you never change.

--

Dreamt last night I could travel into the future through a magical cardboard box. I appeared in someone's apartment, but she was very good about it and let me stay. The future was very much like the present, except television was worse and everyone was very thin. I regretted I had only travelled ten years into the future instead of twenty, because everyone looked pretty much the same.

--

I would very much like to hibernate through the entirety of winter. Life would be so much easier if I were a bear. I wouldn't have to worry about heating then. Or schoolwork. And I feel humans would be very impressed if I were a bear that wrote books. And if they didn't like me I would eat them.

--

So apparently people who have Ned Kelly tattoos are 7.7 times more likely to be murdered than people who don't. Do you think this would apply to tattoos inspired by violent fictional characters, too? I mean, if I get 'Pity' and 'Fool' tattooed on my knuckles, will this affect the likelihood of me being a bad-ass?

--

I dreamt the other night that I travelled to the future through a magical water portal. I was swimming, and a crappy 80s synth band played by the pool, and then I was in a motel room in the future. My parents who were not my parents had died in a bizarre industrial garbage disposal accident orchestrated by evil baddies. Some very suspicious government people needed my genes for the survival of the human race, and they wanted me to do something horrible but I'm not sure what it was. I agreed, because I wanted them to send me back to the past, because the future was that awful. Pretty weird.

--

I've discovered one of my old notebooks. Interesting question written inside: 'When animals are cryogenically frozen and then brought back to life, where does their soul go in between? Does the same soul inhabit the body when the animal is reanimated?'

--

Does anyone else worry they'll get a papercut on their tongue while they're licking envelopes?

--

So, Snuggies versus Doona suits? Which is better? (Not because I'm going to buy one, I just want to know your thoughts.) I'm thinking doona suits are more practical, but Snuggies can double as Halloween costumes if you want to be a funky grim reaper or something. Or if you're in a cult. It's menacing AND cosy.

--

I dreamt last night that I was in a botanical gardens/outdoor shopping centre type place, and my family were getting dental work done, and there was a sort of masquerade ball going on which I wasn't allowed into. So I was out on the lawn with all these characters from Harry Potter having magical duels. And then I went for a stroll with a guy called Thom Yorke (but it wasn't Thom Yorke of Radiohead), and he had an umbrella, despite it being night-time and not raining. We had an enlightening conversation about Julian Assange and realities not measuring up to expectations. He looked like somebody I knew, but I think it was somebody dream-me knew rather than real-me, so it must be somebody who isn't real.

--

I like to put iTunes on shuffle and flashback to all my awful musical tastes back when I was twelve. Like the first CD I bought with my own money being the Justin Timberlake one with Sexyback on it (it was THE song of 2006, okay?). And singing that Panic at the Disco song very loudly at discos. And obsessively listening to that Teddy Geiger song. And being morally opposed to My Humps and everybody else loving it. And of course flashing back to my awful musical tastes makes me flash back to my awful dress sense - always wearing fluoro board shorts under my school dress and my horrific fringe and wearing my Paris Hilton sunglasses constantly for the entirety of (I think) term two.

--

I think if I wasn't me, I'd have a strange and impossible crush on me purely for my adorable weirdness. But I'd never ask myself out. It'd be an admire-from-afar-and-never-let-anyone-know-you're-crushing sort of crush. Which is clearly the worst kind of crush.

--

Every time I go for a walk and smile at everybody and say hello, no one ever replies or even looks at me. I have come to the conclusion that I have either a) died, totally unbeknowst to me, and am now a spirit sticking around because of unfinished business and with access to Facebook or b) do not exist and am just a figment of your imagination with access to Facebook.

--

I like to go through people's Facebook photos and wonder what their lives are like. I get this funny sort of nostalgia about the memories they have there, which is weird because they aren't my memories. But it makes me feel happy and sad at the same time. Thank God I'm a writer and have being an artist as an excuse. Otherwise I'd just be creepy.

--

And these are not exactly profound thoughts, but I like them (there are actually some good things about oversharing on the internet, like being able to remember little things like these):

Just got an email from my Grade Six teacher, who read my book and loved it. Legit, you guys, Mr Wilson thought my book was excellent.

--

The ladies at the post office all oohed and ahhed over my book and it's sparkly cover. Just fyi, the ladies at the post office think I'm cool.

--

I'm so hardcore I have a hot chocolate withdrawal headache.

10 Things that baffle me about YA paranormal romance books

Sunday, April 8, 2012

  1. Why is the male love interest always hundreds of years old but looks seventeen? I think that's wrong. I think it would be less wrong if the love interest was seventeen but looked one hundred. No one will ever write a book like that.
  2. Why is the love of supernatural creatures always so profound? Can supernatural creatures ever just casually hook up with folks? I mean, I get that it's a romance book, but it doesn't always have to be true love forever and ever, does it? Maybe it does, I don't know.
  3. This is in wider YA romance as well: why do all of the male love interests have eyelashes like a girl's? This comes up in every vague romance book I read. Is this a sign of ultimate hotness? 'Eyelashes like a girl's' is not a good descriptor, because I am sure there are females who have short eyelashes. Sure of it.
  4. Why does everyone always have such special eyes? They're always impossibly blue or green or purple or silver or I don't know, something impossible. No one ever just has normal brown eyes that stay the same irrespective of their mood/whether they are hungry for human flesh.
  5. Why is there always a protagonist who is all 'oh my gosh I'm so skinny and unattractive!' when, you know, the character is supposed to live in the modern Western world, where skinny is a body type that the media is pretty consistently urging young women towards? It's odd.
  6. Why is there always a busty best friend? Busty is not a personality trait.
  7. Why is it okay for the supernatural creatures to be incredibly creepy and stalkery and possessive and physically attack the protagonist? And then it's romantic? I think I'm overitalicising here. I used to overuse semi-colons, and then it was em-dashes, and now it's italicisation. But this is a serious issue. 
  8. Why is the female protagonist always Caucasian? All of the book covers have these pale, pensive-looking, dark-haired girls on them. Are these books solely being written by Caucasian people? Do all book cover designers think that supernatural creatures have a special love for pasty brunettes? Do these covers equal good sales or do all YA paranormal romance writers imagine their characters look like Kristen Stewart? How uninventive, guys.
  9. How do the families of these characters manage to keep their angel/faery/werewolf ancestry secret from the protagonist until they're sixteen/undergo their transformation/get kidnapped? I would so know if my mother was secretly descended from a supernatural beastie that I was going to turn into at the age of seventeen. They have ancestry.com now. They could easily find these things out.
  10. Why are the various groups of supernatural creatures always at war with each other or off trying to find their true loves? Why don't they all team up, stop seducing underage humans, and take over planet earth from these fools? Because that's what I'd do.

On the axing of the Queensland Premier's Literary Awards & the questionable values of the Queensland Premier

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Four months ago, I moved to the state of Queensland. Two months ago, I turned eighteen. Three weeks ago (early, because I was to be away on holidays on polling day), I voted for the first time, in a state election. The Liberal National Party were voted in with a massive majority, with Campbell Newman as their great leader (he reminds me, so much, of Tony Abbott, who I am not fond of).

Ten days later, despite promising in the election campaign to preserve arts and culture, the Newman government made the decision to cancel the Queensland Premiers Literary Awards. Just get rid of them entirely. Without consulting anyone. In the name of controlling government spending and returning the budget to surplus.

Now, I care about the economy. I care about the great folk of Queensland, and the families, and the seniors, and the tradies, and the children, and the battlers, and the miners, and all of the other people that Campbell promised he would look after. (He was going to look after everybody, except the singles and the lefties I think.) I think a crazy amount of taxpayer money is wasted. But I'm not resentful about paying taxes - I live in a wonderful country! I want to make it better! I am all idealism and rainbows!

But really? The state government will save $240,000. This is an absolutely inconsequential amount of money in terms of the state's debt (I've linked below to articles with more exact figures). What the LNP have proven is that they don't actually value the arts. This doesn't disappoint me as a writer - I don't think about winning awards at all, there are plenty of other things I can get disappointed about, clearly - as much as it disappoints me as a reader and as someone who enjoys being part of a rich artistic community and as a resident of Queensland.

This is what I'd like: to live in a state I'm proud of. Maybe it's too much to ask that Queensland not totally screw up its environment (coal seam gas and mining and all that business). There's too much money and too many jobs tied up in that for me to even dream of a more environmentally conscious Queensland government. But it doesn't require a lot of money or effort on the part of Queensland to encourage us out of being a cultural backwater. And guess what? There are jobs in fields of writing and editing and publishing too! There are economic benefits to our existence! Maybe not as much economic benefit as an A-league soccer team or a mine can provide, but stories are such an integral part of the human existence. Stories define who we are in a way that elite sports cannot. To have so little regard for Queensland as a creative state as to scrap the state awards to save small change - it's incredibly disappointing.

The thing that really, really worries me, though, is what if most Queenslanders are with Campbell on this? I mean, people voted for this man, so obviously their values really don't line up with mine. I've met a lot of Queenslanders. And I am terribly afraid that the people who value arts and culture and stories and ideas and writers are perhaps the minority. I'm concerned that most of the Queenslanders I know view the loss of these awards in a very simplistic manner: of only being of benefit to the writers that win them, rather than to Queensland culture on the whole. The idea of living somewhere that creative fields are so lowly regarded - it's depressing. What next? Censorship? Book burnings?

Of course, it's politics. We live in a capitalist society. Arts and culture and stories will always lose out to cash money, especially when a conservative government is in power. I think maybe I should just get a slab of four-x and a job in the mines and be done with it.

There's a petition you can sign, if you like. Further reading, because other people have put it better than I have: excellent pieces by James Roy, Nick Earls,on The Australian, Meanjin and by Stuart Glover. That is a tiny selection. You should read a lot more and then write a letter to Campbell.
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