In Katherine Mansfield territory

One of the reasons I came to Menton was because this was where Katherine Mansfield, the New Zealand writer, lived and wrote for some years. On the street map Avenue de Katherine Mansfield looks big and important, but when I trekked up there, it was not so. The avenue was a small hilly street that quickly turned into what was more like a driveway, and then actually became someone's driveway! But I did find the house where she lived, and this is the memorial. Two plaques, one which is about her birth and death dates and a quote from a letter to Middleton Murray.

The other plaque lists the books she wrote while living there. Of course, I wanted more. But this is all there is. And in the neighbouring street, Rue Webb-Ellis, there is no statue of Webb-Ellis that I could find, just a train station. Webb-Ellis, by the way, is credited with "inventing" the game of rugby union (go All Blacks!). Despite these two minimal tributes, which were the initial inspiration for coming here, I love Menton and can recommend it to anyone at all for a visit.

On the one hand, this is an awful photo - out of focus and hard to discern. On the other, I love it. On the way home from dinner last night, on impulse we decided to follow some stairs up from our street and see where they led. It turned into a fascinating journey through a labyrinth of steps, archways, twists and turns, unexpected doorways and more steps, and finally the church at the top. In the dark, despite some lighting along the way, I felt that sense of life in much earlier times, when narrow pathways and tall houses with barred windows were the essence of the village. Mysterious, evocative and entrancing.

Writing at the Coast

With a view like this from the window as I type, there really is no excuse for not feeling inspired, is there? Except there is so much to see and do and wonder over... and eat, of course. I am in Menton, right near the Italian border, and the weather is lovely. We are in an apartment high above the bay, but in the old quarter, so that to get to where we are staying, we climb up through a dark, narrow passageway of many steps, then a little way up our winding street, then through an iron gate and up four flights of stone steps that have felt probably millions of feet over the centuries.

So I am inspired, and have written more in my journal, and a new poem, and today I went to Nice and saw some Roman ruins that gave me more ideas. It's all about feeding the creativity, in many different ways, right down to the elderly men playing boules in the park who tried to persuade me to throw a few boules with them (I said no, thinking they probably couldn't move fast enough to get out of the way of my missiles!).

This is someone else's inspiration - an installation, for want of a better word, outside the Monte Carlo casino in Monaco. It's a huge shiny mirror (convex? or concave?) that shows both the fountain below it as well as the entrance to the casino. In front of the casino, where I managed to lose E10 on the poker machines, just so I could say I'd been there, you might be able to see a lot of tourists, but also a Bentley and an Aston Martin and a Lamborghini. None of which belonged to me.

Naturally, wherever I go I will find a pirate if there is one to be found. This handsome buccaneer stands outside the Pirate Lolly Shop in Menton, and very kindly allowed me to have my photo taken next to him without demanding any gold. Mind you, as he is a statue, he would've had a hard time getting his hand up to grab my money anyway.

The Pope takes over Paris

We had Friday planned as the day to visit Notre Dame and the Crypt beneath, except the Pope arrived and was holding services at ND, so it was closed. All day and half the night. And the streets were filled with gendarmes standing on corners, blowing whistles in the middle of intersections, and roaring up and down the streets in small cavalcades of cars and vans with sirens going full volume. Luckily, Sainte Chappelle was not closed (possibly because it is inside the Conciergerie) and we were able to get in. It was the one place I really wanted to see, because I had heard so much about the beautiful stained glass windows.

The photo above - in fact, all of my photos - fail to do it justice. The whole chapel is stained glass, three walls of it plus a huge round window above the entrance door. Each window is a slightly different design shape, and each one tells a different part of the story. There are no pews inside, just chairs around the perimeter for you to sit and stare, mouth open.

I have managed to visit quite a few bookshops in Paris, and this is the most famous - Shakespeare and Company was operating before WWII and the original shop, so the story goes, was closed down by a German commander when the owner refused to sell him a book. This shop is opposite Notre Dame, near St Michel metro, and has a library of old books upstairs which is just for sitting and reading, not for sale.

I also visited Abbey's Bookshop (the smallest in the world?), and several other larger shops. And found The Red Wheelbarrow bookshop as well. It seems like the smaller the shop premises, the more books they cram in, so there are towering piles everywhere that threaten to topple over as you pass. In one shop, a woman did in fact knock over a huge pile, then apologised profusely, but the assistant just said, "Oh don't worry, I do that myself at least twice a day." I guess if you work there you would either have to have a very good memory of where books are, or be excellent at finding things!

Montmartre and the Arc

The first thing you discover about Montmartre is that it's on a hill. Which means either lots of steps, straight up, or steep streets. We found a street that curved around the back, a lot easier slope, and also found some other interesting sights as well. There's no way you can avoid the artists on the the hill, and in the main square, they are all wanting to draw your portrait.

This young woman here (like quite a few others) was sitting patiently being recreated on paper, while her boyfriend/husband stood behind the artist, filming it all. Made me wonder how I would be, writing while someone looked over my shoulder or filmed me. Actually, it would look pretty boring on film. There were many different styles of art for sale but a lot of the paintings were Montmartre street scenes, which didn't interest me at all.

Sacre Coeur was beautiful inside and out - they don't allow any photos inside the church itself, no doubt because nobody ever took any notice of the NO Flashes signs. I resisted the urge to climb up 300 more steps to the top of the dome, and contented myself with photos of gargoyles.

Later in the afternoon, we walked along the Champs Elysee (my brother has now joined me), which was filled with people on the footpaths and cars in the street. Lots of cars. At the Arc de Triomphe, there were more cars. And no lanes. People drove around and stopped when they thought they needed to wait their turn, or so it seemed. Nobody hit anyone's car, and things kept moving, but driving around there would be a nightmare to me.

I haven't been in a bookshop for three whole days - am starting to feel withdrawal symptoms! At the moment, I'm reading An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England by Brock Clarke, and although I enjoyed the first 50 pages, it's starting to feel a bit wearing. I'm not a big fan of main characters who freely profess they are bumblers and then bumble their way through a whole novel. The urge to give this character a kick in his rear end makes me have to put the book down every so often. Must be all this walking I am doing...

Is This Art?

Today was Versailles day, and after accidentally getting on the wrong train (with a little quick backtracking) we arrived at the famous Chateau, stood in the queue for quite some time, and entered the building. We started with the Dauphin's quarters, which were quite plain and mostly held old paintings. Gradually the rooms became more and more ornate. The ceilings in particular are fantastic, with gilt carved architraves framing paintings that make your neck hurt to look up at them so far above you.

We'd kind of ignored a weird yellow thing in the front courtyard, but upstairs, there were more of them. Huge shiny objects that looked like helium balloons made out of aluminium, and plastic statues of things like Michael Jackson, and a bear with its arm around a policeman. I wouldn't have cared much, but they were in the king's and queen's rooms in the chateau, the ones we'd specifically come to see, and instead we had to crane around bits of bizarre plastic. Lucky us. We'd arrived on the first day of the Jeff Koons exhibition. Read all about it here.

In the article they talk about this: Last November Koons' "Hanging Heart" -- on show in Versailles -- became the most expensive work by a living artist when it was snapped up for 23.4 million dollars (15.1 million euros). Yep, saw that one too. Sorry, but it looked like it had escaped from the florists down the road on Valentine's Day. I am obviously a diehard Rodin fan, and Koons doesn't enthrall or excite me one tiny bit. The photo above is of his plastic red lobster, one of the less obstructive pieces (it was easier to dodge around).

The gardens are beautiful, and I really wished some of the fountains were working. This is Apollo, with horses, emerging out of the water. Imagine this at sunset with the water spouts going (this pool and the Grand Canal below it are aligned with the setting sun).

The Joys of Research

Now if you were writing a fantasy novel, how could you not be thrilled by room after room of arms and armour from 13th - 16th century? It's not my main genre (think pirates and muskets and pistols and swords), and this period is 700 or so years after the one I am researching while here, but it all feeds in somehow. And I kept thinking about my friend T, and taking photos so I could give them to her and say, "See? Look at all this iron and steel and stuff!" All of this, by the way, was in the Musee de L'Armee at the Hotel des Invalides (military museum going back to the 13th century). Some of my favourite things were the knight's armour with the little hooks and holders on the side (a bit like big cup hooks) that you rested your lance on, and the suits of armour made child-size. Got a kid who's a bit overly-energetic? Throw some armour on him and send him off to war!

I was also fascinated by the pistols and muskets from the 1600s. They did some serious experimenting with ratchets and wheels and hammers and levers, in order to create firearms that were more reliable and accurate. Of course, when you were relying on gunpowder and a spark, reliability was never guaranteed. I also found the crossbows to be incredibly lethal-looking - you'd have a hard time recovering from one of those arrows. OK, I will move on from my medieval weapons moment!

I can't remember when I became a Rodin "fan". Fan seems a paltry word. It was either late in high school or early in my years as a trainee librarian, let loose amongst a library full of books. Both The Thinker (above) and The Kiss (of course, I was a teenager) expressed everything to me, through bronze and marble. Today I visited the Musee Rodin, and could hardly believe I was seeing the original sculptures, as well as their early studies. It's a very strange feeling, to have almost idolised a collection of works of art for such a long time, and then finally get to see them for real. The passion and eloquence in his sculptures, and their effect on me, has not at all been diminished by seeing them today. And in this age of cynicism and "what's next" tourism, that is a wonderful thing.

The Wandering Writer

I spent the first few days in Paris, rushing around, trying to fit in as much as I could. It was great, and I saw many things that I know will feed into my writing, and my stories. But it has gradually been filtering into my mind how much that rushing had become a habit in my "normal" life. Work consumed many of my hours, and sucked out a fair amount of creative energy too, and I'd got into the habit of rushing through life, trying to get all my work done in order to find time and space for writing. And then feeling pressured to make every writing minute count. Two hours to write? Better make sure I get at least 1000 words out of it.

So if you're wondering why there is a picture of a church up above, that's part of the slowing down. I was wandering on Saturday afternoon, knowing I had to collect my bags and find my next abode (an apartment this week) and not willing to cram in another museum. Instead, I walked around Les Halles and found this church. Well, "found" is probably the wrong word. It's a pretty big church!! St Eustache. You could be forgiven for thinking it was Notre Dame. Inside, the arched ceilings are several hundred feet above, and the organ at the other end is immense.

No wonder those who worshipped in cathedrals or churches like this maintained their awe. How could you not? The building itself is a wonder. And the sense of peace and quiet had me sitting and being quiet too for quite some time. That's a good thing for a writer.
One of the things I have discovered I really like about Paris is the squares and gardens. I can be walking anywhere, and turn a corner to find a garden like this, open to anyone to come in and sit for a while. Maybe it's because I've spent too long with gum trees and drought-tolerant gardens (which equates to very few flowers and pretty boring plants, let's face it). But every time I have found one of these spaces, I've had to stop and sit awhile.

In A Writer's Paris by Eric Maisel, he talks about writing in Paris, about finding places to sit and contemplate and write. I had such an amazing hot chocolate this morning that I just had to write about it! But it's not so much the experiences that are inspiring my writing. It is simply the time and the headspace. I have almost stopped myself clock-watching (not yet but I'm trying), but I am definitely becoming far more aware of how much I needed to slow down mentally, and just be in my own space at last.

Blogging from Paris

I was asked today, "Why do you want to go there?" Meaning Paris. As opposed to London, maybe, or Hawaii. I guess it goes back to high school. I learned French for four years (and am trying to put it into practice here) and always wanted to visit. I had a teacher in my fourth year who did lots of French things with us - we had a Bastille Day dinner, for instance. Then, when I was travelling in my early 20s, I ended up whizzing through France in a day. I could've been anywhere! (And it put me off travelling with other people for many, many years.)
So maybe France has always been "the thing I have to do".

Anyway, I'm here now, and am still having to tell myself every day, "I am in Paris, I am in Paris". Because I can't quite believe it. All the same, I have come home at the end of every day with very sore feet, and am usually asleep by 9pm. Restoring energy for the next day. Of course, one of the things on my Visit List was the Catacombs (hence the photo above of skulls and bones). What I didn't realise was that they are also part of the vast underground quarries from the 1800s, and you have to walk many hundreds of metres underground, through narrow tunnels with low roofs, to get to the actual Catacombs. Not an experience for the claustrophobic.

Suffice to say, when I emerged above ground again, I was two Metro stations away from where I started! I've also been to the Picasso museum (somehow ended up going around it backwards - chronologically that is - which gave me a whole new perspective on how his styles and subjects developed). The Museum of the Middle Ages was fantastic, and gave me lots of material for my new book, as well as ideas and images.

Today was Louvre Day. I started at the bottom end of the Tuileries garden and called in to the L'Orangerie, mainly because there were Monets there. Little did I know that there was actually an amazing exhibition of eight huge panels, in two oval rooms. The largest painting was around 20 metres long, the smallest about 8. The rest of the paintings on the floor below were a mix of Cezanne, Gaugin, Renoir and a few others. An excellent collection.

Then the Louvre. It took me half an hour to finally orient myself so I could work out where the things were that I wanted to see. This photo above is the Mona Lisa. Yes, that's her in the background somewhere. I thought it was more fascinating to watch the crowd pushing to get close and take "their own photo", even if it was with a mobile phone. The mythology around this painting is fascinating, and Dan Brown had added to it a thousand-fold. It's a painting. One among many, many paintings, just in the Louvre, let alone the rest of the world.

The Louvre itself was almost more interesting to me than the artworks. Many of the rooms have been restored to their original decor (or whatever you want to call it), which was stunning in many cases. I couldn't help thinking about today's architecture - the corners, clean lines, spare design, the total minimalism we think is style. And comparing it to, for example, Napoleon's quarters, where every surface is covered in paintings, gilt, carving, fabric wallpaper, more paintings, more gilt and ornamentation. And then there are the chandeliers!! I am writing in my journal, writing poems, soaking it all in - adding to what I feel has been a rather depleted imagination recently. We'll see what comes out at the other end.

Writing and Travelling

At my house right now, there are three To-Do lists in operation. That's because I'm about to fly off overseas for nearly four weeks, and the preparation is a nightmare (but only, I might add, because I am obsessive and have organised the whole trip myself, instead of leaving it in the hands of a travel agent - such are the self-induced nightmares of the person who wants to do their own thing). So today I have been cancelling newspapers (husband says he won't bother reading them), paying bills (husband won't notice they are overdue) and buying extra cat food (husband may send cats out to earn their own living, like the chooks).

But I know that once I actually climb onto the aeroplane, after having several hissy fits over things I think I have forgotten to organise, I will relax and all will be in the past. There is something about being out of tangible reach (urgent emails don't really count) that suddenly releases you from the real world. Once you have left, the most urgent thing is what movie to watch, or what book to read. Such a life of luxury, where the luxury is free time!

But I am travelling as a writer - not a travel writer, researching hotels and restaurants and finding bargains for others. I am a writer on the journey of discovery, of finding new places and seeing with new eyes, and writing about what stirs me, what makes me feel different. Some months ago, I read Eric Maisel's A Writer's Paris, and it was wonderful. Today I picked it up, flicked through some pages and thought, No, I can't bear to read one more thing about Paris. Now I want to be there for myself.

I have plans for very definite things I want to write, and also specific places and times I want to research for a book I am working on. But mostly I want to soak up the experience of a different world, and reflect it through both words and photographs. A book may come out of it, or two. But it is the immersion and dreaming that counts in a writer's life - the time when the urge to write takes over from everything else - deadlines, expectations, publishability. It's about flights of language and imagery, capturing the elusive, and carrying pen and notebook everywhere so as not to let that moment of fire escape without it first singeing the page.
Stay tuned. Who knows what will appear here in the coming weeks!

Comedy and Crime

The only session I attended at the Writers' Festival this year (apart from schools sessions with children's and YA writers) was listed as a spotlight on Mark Billingham. I've enjoyed his crime novels, featuring Tom Thorne as the main character, although I was a bit disappointed in the latest, In the Dark. It's a stand-alone, and uses several viewpoint characters. About halfway through, it starts to zero in on two main characters, but for a while it seemed a bit aimless and all over the place. Still, I imagine any series character needs a rest now and then.

The session actually turned out to be on comedy and crime (was this the MC's idea, perhaps?) and also featured Michael Robotham, and Billingham's UK editor who looked a bit nonplussed at being on the stage. Billingham has been a standup comedian for a few years, and was obviously used to performing. Part of his talk consisted of reading out emails he has received from various odd people over the years (odd being an understatement), and was very funny. However, MR didn't let the topic faze him at all, and proceeded to tell stories about his days as a journalist.

Both of them did a great job of talking about comedy vs crime, horror vs humour, and why a funny line in the midst of tragedy works so well. And there was nothing academic about it at all. It was an entertaining hour of storytelling. There certainly is a knack to pleasing the crowd, I think - mostly they are readers, and if they've read your books, they're not going to be interested in a re-hash of the plots, or a publicity plug (which I have seen many writers do over the years, to audience disappointment). If you have given many such talks, like Emily Rodda has, it must be hard to find new topics. You end up hoping the audience is new and won't have heard your anecdotes before.

Melbourne Writers' Festival 08

Last year I went a bit berserk. I went to twelve sessions. A wide range from poetry to crime to short fiction - all sorts. This year? I searched through the program, found maybe five things I was interested in and booked ... one. The program seemed laden with worthy sessions on issues and politics and topics I felt I should be keen on, but couldn't really be bothered. It all felt a bit academic and D&M. On any day there were two things of interest, they were at opposite ends of the day. Even I can't waste five hours drinking coffee and wandering through the bookshop, trying to keep my credit card in my pocket. So instead I had a look at the schools program for the festival, a challenge in itself since it's all on the website and is like trying to grapple with a many-headed monster.

I booked four school sessions, and attended three today (luckily you don't have to be a student or a teacher - anyone can go). There was I, and some teachers and a few hundred school kids from Grade 6 through to ... bigger teens, maybe Year 10 or so. Session 1: I've never read anything by Joseph Delaney (and neither had 99% of the audience, funnily enough) but I'd heard of his series which begins with The Spook's Apprentice. As soon as JD sussed out that hardly any of us had read his books, he quickly gave us a tidy summary of the characters and plot that sounded pretty good, and then talked a lot about background, characters, dialogue, research, all in a lovely Lancashire accent (he mentioned lads a lot, which made me laugh).

He was a teacher for many years before selling his first novel and eventually turning to writing full-time, and it showed. He talked fast, but had lots of interesting anecdotes and examples, and kept everyone focused. He had multiple rejections for adult novels before turning to fantasy for kids, and has found his niche, if you can call having books published in 20 countries a niche.

The second session was Melina Marchetta and Rachel Cohn, talking about characters, but for me, this session never really gelled. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because they talked about characters in that vague way that writers sometimes do (the characters talked to me and told me what to write) and the audience seemed a bit sceptical about it all. The joint reading was very, very fast, hard to follow at times, and the woman up the top giving the wind-up signal didn't help. A teacher standing next to me in the coffee queue had been to another session where a writer dropped the F word, which apparently didn't go down very well.

The third session was Emily Rodda, and many of the kids in the audience were Grade 6 or Year 7, and were clearly big fans. Emily got applause just for walking onto the stage! She talked about ideas, and the questions she often gets asked. She said many kids ask her where she gets her ideas from, but only one has ever asked how she makes her stories so believable. She said it's because she herself totally believes in the worlds and the characters she creates, and it just naturally comes through in the storytelling. Question time showed dozens of hands raised, with only a few able to be answered - a very popular session.

Afterwards, I thought more about that concept of believing in the world you have created, and I think she is absolutely right. The two novels I have really struggled with have both been ones that I have felt I never entered into entirely, heart and soul. Yet with others, like the Tracey Binns stories, I can see that school, those kids and teachers, as if they are real, and it feels so easy to dive into that world and write from within it. There are stories and novels I have written where I have felt that same experience, and even though some have been rejected and may never get published, I doubt I will ever give up on them. They have been "real" writing experiences, and I have to hope that one day I'll find an editor who will engage with that story world in the same way.

Lu Rees Archives in Canberra

One of the interesting places in Canberra for children's writers (and students and readers too) is the Lu Rees Archives, which are in the University of Canberra Library building. Among other things, the Archives holds drafts of manuscripts and illustrations, as well as books of historical interest.
These are all books by Ethel Turner, who wrote, among other books, Seven Little Australians. It's now considered an Australian children's classic.
And this is Margaret Wild, who donated many of her papers to the Archives last week. Here, she is standing in front of a display of her picture book, Fox, illustrated by Ron Brooks. It's one of my favourite books, and has won many awards.

Canberra at Minus 4 Degrees

Frosty football field!
Three days in Canberra whizzed by. I did ten sessions, covering six different schools (at one school I did three writing workshops in one day) and had a great time. Everything is amazingly well-organised, with volunteers to ferry the writers and illustrators around (unless you are foolish enough to venture out on your own - Canberra is pretty spread out, and it's easy to misjudge travel times). The kids were all great, and I had a range from Grade 2 up to Grade 6.

On Tuesday evening we all went to the Lu Rees Archives for a donation event. Margaret Wild handed over a lot of her papers - drafts, manuscripts, etc - and also someone who had bought an illustration from Lucy Goosey by Ann James then donated it to the Archives. We were given a tour of the Archives, which are in the University of Canberra Library, and it struck me how much they are managing to cram into what seems like a very small space. It'd be great if the uni could find another 2oo square metres or so for them!

After an exciting Friday last week (the CBCA Awards where I didn't have to make a speech, thank goodness - I was focusing on not tripping over when I went up for my Honour certificate), I spent the weekend with my family who had flown in for the occasion. Then off to Canberra. Trying to be healthy and remove some of the sludge in my system, I went for early morning walks each day (hi, Craig!). The first morning there was a frost, the second morning there was an even bigger frost. Unfortunately, my photos don't do the icy ground justice. My fingers may have been freezing but I did enjoy the VERY crisp air.

The Awards are Announced!

On Friday the CBCA Awards for 2008 were announced, and I'm now allowed to tell everyone that my book (above) won an Honour Book award in the Younger Readers category.
Yaayyy!
Full awards list here.
Only the winners had to make a speech, but Aaron Blabey brought the house down when he showed us his first draft of Pearl Barley and Charlie Parsley - written on a long strip of toilet paper because that was the only paper he could find when the full idea hit him (first notes were on the back of his boarding pass for his plane trip)!

Fear of Success

A few years ago, I had a great day in San Antonio with two writer friends, talking books and writing, and how do you cram writing into a jam-packed day - all that stuff that writers share and complain about, when they're not eating cakes to celebrate each other's successes (well, it was San Antonio so we ate burritos instead). One of the things we looked at was an exercise in a writing book about what do you anticipate and fear most about achieving your writing dreams. In other words, when you have plenty of books published and are (maybe) making a living from your writing, what will you be happy about and what do you think the down sides are going to be.

It was very interesting, not least because each of us had entirely different ideas on the subject. The exercise, by the way, is in Word Work by Bruce Holland Rogers. He calls it Pig Will and Pig Won't, and as you can guess, I have just found all my notes from that day, which got me thinking. We talked about what it might be like to be J.K. Rowling, who now can't go to the supermarket in peace. But she is the exception. However, as a successful writer, there are other things to fear. Like being signed up for a two or three book contract and not being able to deliver. Or writing a second novel after a very successful first, and it gets terrible reviews and your publisher hates you.

I often hear people say, "Oh, when you get published, all your problems are over." No, you just get a different set of problems! But one thing that no one talks about much is the fear of getting published. As long as you are writing only for you, you can do whatever you like. You can walk around all day in your PJs or trackie pants, you can ignore your personal grooming, you can let your fear of public speaking rule the roost and never have to confront it. You can choose to write, or not to write. Nobody is waiting for your book. Nobody cares except you.

But once you send it out, and it gets accepted, the rules change. You need to be presentable, you need to grit your teeth and work with an editor, you need to do publicity stuff - and these days, you can't kid yourself you can get away with being a recluse or a grunge eccentric. It's in your contract that you do publicity and they expect you to do it well. So there's a lot of pay-off in just writing and rewriting your book, year after year, believing that one day it will be ready. One day you'll be ready. Just not yet.

Branding or Blanding?

A few years ago, series for kids started to get "hot". We'd had the Babysitters' Club and Saddle Club for a long while, and my daughter had other series on her bookshelves (usually the theme was either animals or diaries/penpals). But then series started to become the thing. We moved from books to collectibles, with the idea that a kid who had two or three would want the whole lot, or as many as Mum or Dad would buy them. Kind of like bubblegum cards, but it was books.

Some of the early series writers, like R.L. Stine and Ann Martin, had to give way to books that had no "name" author. It was the brand that counted. Or the concept. After years of telling us that fairies were old-hat, suddenly fairies and pixies and elves were spilling off the shelves in all kinds of colours and glittery bits. The current bling series is Go Girls, but if you move up a notch, age-wise, you'll get Gossip Girls and the like.

One of my favourite series is Junie B. Jones, bad (intentionally) grammar and all. The Magic Tree House is immensely popular with kids, and I can see why. It's history and magic all tied together, for 6-8 year olds. I've read quite a few series books over the past few years, more out of curiosity than anything else. As a writer, you can't help but wonder: a) what the attraction is for kids, b) what the quality of writing is like, and c) could I come up with something like this?

I did try. I came up with what I thought was a good concept, some interesting characters, and the first book - all great stuff to show an editor, who was interested at the time. Her eventual response? Bland. I'd played it way too safe, trying to either emulate what was already out there or stick too close to what had already been done. That's the thing about publishing - the good editors are looking for the next new/different thing, and the editors who just want more of the same aren't who you want to work with, mostly.

So what is a series? Mostly - it's about branding, I think. It's why you get series with a bunch of different author names on it and no one cares. Penguin have several chapter book series and none of the authors get their "name" from being published in them. The kids recognise the distinctive die-cut covers first, then they say, "Oh, you wrote that!" R.L. Stine is a very distinctive name in series fiction for kids, but any kid will immediately equate his name with horror - scary stuff. If he ever tried to write, say, nice horse books, his readers would be greatly disappointed. They're ready for blood and guts (but not actual death).

We hear a lot about branding these days. I teach it to students - gee, I even have a Powerpoint on it! And I've done a couple of seminars on branding for writers. Has any of that led me to developing my own brand? Nup. Wish it had. But I'm caught in my own loop - I'd like some kind of recognisable "thing" about my books, but I want to be free to write whatever I want. That means everything from picture books for toddlers to edgy YA. I've had both published. It's a bit hard to find a brand for myself that covers both of those areas, let alone chapter books about very small pirates and award-winning verse novels!

I look at children's writers like Morris Gleitzman and Andy Griffiths, both of whom write very recognisable books aimed at (mostly) 10-12 year old boys. That's their thing, and they are doing very well at it. Sonya Hartnett writes very literary novels for readers 16+ and adults. While she has been complaining for years that she doesn't earn enough from them, winning the Astrid Lindgren recently should be enough to make her happy. And the thing is, the one book she did write out of her "zone" was an erotic novel for adults that sparked a lot of publicity, mostly bad.

So branding can be both good and bad. It can garner you a loyal following, sometimes that will spread into million-seller books. I love Ian Rankin's books, and I always enjoy reading about his character, Rebus. Would I read a Rankin book that wasn't about Rebus? If it was crime, probably. If it was romance, probably not. Writers who write the same kind of book, over and over, will grow a fan base. One that could well turn on them if they step out of their chosen field. Or produce a book that the fans don't like. I was interested to read, for example, of the backlash against Stephanie Meyer's latest book in her vampire series.

I think the biggest problem that writers face with branding is not so much being forced to stay in their recognised genre and type of book, but that in finding themselves there, they end up writing stuff that is sub-standard in order to feed the mob. And for new writers, the danger is what I encountered - writing "safe" in order to try and break in. In this time of "hot and new", editors don't want safe - they want innovative and different. That means taking risks and hoping someone loves what you're trying to do (and lying awake, night after night, coming up with ideas and throwing them away because they've been done already).

I have two series now, both accidental. One is the chapter book series about The Littlest Pirate, the other is about a character called Tracey Binns. My biggest challenge is to keep the characters fresh and new for me, before anyone else. Then it's about maintaining the voice, developing the character a little more in each story, and most importantly, trying to make each new book better than the last. It helps when you love your characters - it helps a lot! But as neither of these set out to be series when I wrote the first one, I backtrack a lot to keep it all together and make sure things are consistent. And most of all, I try very hard to stay away from bland.

Great Beginnings at an End

Thanks to Paperback Writer, who set all this up over on her blog, and provided the links so we could all do a dozen or more workshops last week (or, if you're like me, copy and paste the info for reading later - there was a heap of good stuff going on). Millions of thanks too, to the people who read this blog in the past week, and the people who bravely put their beginnings up for comment - and of course those who commented.

It's been a very interesting experience for me. I'm used to standing up in a classroom and going "Blah blah blah" and drawing diagrams on the board and getting instant responses to questions. Having to put my ideas and theories and information here on a daily basis should've been easy (especially since I've written material for a couple of online units) but it was a different kind of format. It got me thinking all over again about beginnings, and looking at a range of examples.

I did promise book prizes, so I put everyone's name in the hat and this is who fell out:
ljcohen
natalie hatch
Can you email me at the kidsbooks addy with your postal address please, so I can mail something to you? (Hope you have kids!)

Next week, things start to heat up around my place - the CBCA Awards are announced on 15 August, I'm off to Canberra for Children's Book Week, and then in September I am going to France (to research, write, take photos, create a book or two, and immerse myself in a different country). Apart from reading the print off my Lonely Planet and DK guides, I'm also having a revision week this week. It's hard to imagine, but I think I have spent eight hours, on and off, on the last three sentences of one story. Maybe next year I'll do a blog workshop on endings ... No, bad idea. Because every ending depends entirely on the beginning, the middle, the set up, the pay off, the theme ...

One Last 200 words

This came a little late, but I thought I'd post it anyway and see if you would like to add comments:

*The Fire Dying*

He fought with all he knew but he didn't know enough.
They claimed immortality and they claimed Longnight -
 that the sun would shine for but a few hours each day,
and then they would reign, unchecked.
Cyran believed them. He was the last man standing.
Cyran stood naked before the assembly, the red blood of a lashing and
the black ink of his marking both stark against the pale flesh of his back.
He was too weak to cover himself, too weak to keep his eyes open to the
mages who sat before him on high seats in the shadowed room. Fear gave way
long ago to emptiness.
"Will you join us or not?" Bodris, their leader,  sounded bored.
He had killed or ruined every mage who had joined him. "The power
of the dark can be yours. You can train just as you had -
on the magics of the night."
"No."
His men were brought in now, chained. They grunted to
conceal the pain of their bondage. Cyran heard a lash fall against
Ladvic and hid his cringe.
"If that is your answer?" Bodris did not let him respond. He
turned to the other mages. "Death for this one as well? And the
others?"
"Kill me and spare me your evil," Cyran mumbled, but they heard
him.

Opening No. 9

For the thousandth time, Isabel wished Jared had sent someone else to 
cover this story. Taking a deep breath, she composed a professional 
expression on her face and followed the mother up the stairs.

Isabel paused at the threshold of the girl's room. Sera Campbell's ashen 
face and blond hair stood out against the oppressively cheerful pink 
bedspread. Pink curtains filtered the afternoon sun, filling the room 
with pastel light.

"Sweetie? This is Ms. Jepsen, the reporter I told you about. Remember?"

The girl's eyes were open in a fixed stare.

Isabel perched on the edge of a wicker rocking chair next to the bed. 
Turning her tablet to record, she leaned close to the girl. "Sera, can 
you hear me?"

The child's slow breathing never changed its cadence. Isabel reached out 
with her full senses and felt nothing. She shivered. Even mindblinds had 
an echo, but Sera was like a life sized hollow doll. Isabel forced 
herself to swallow against a rising tide of nausea.

LJCohen

Opening No. 8

The blacked out windows of the Rockhampton National
Dance Hall might hide the light, but any passing invader
could find it by sound.  Cares and inhibitions were thrown
away for just a short time.  Some lights could be
seen twinkling as bodies jumped and swung past the
open entrance.  People were already milling around
outside trying to cool off.  A few couples
were trying very hard to find a more romantic place
in order to spend time together.

Heather knew some of those girls would be
getting themselves into hot water pretty soon, and
once Beatrice Price knew,
then so would whole district.  Rockhampton's
small town society ostracized those who didn't
conform to their rules.  It helped her
determination to not succumb to
any stupid behaviour.

Jeeps started arriving with loads of sexed-up
American GIs whooping and hollering up the street.
It was sure to upset the locals, who were
sitting down to listen to their favourite radio show.
One thing was for certain, the boys were here
for a good time, if not a long one.

They were a conglomeration of khaki suits with slicked
back hair, big smiles and big plans for the evening.