"The Book That Changed My Life"

A couple of months ago we had the Festival of Golden Words, a weekend writer's festival held in the town of Beaconsfield in Northern Tas.

Free hour long sessions were held in two large marquees with some fantastic speakers. Steve Bisley, Wendy Harmer, Rachael Treasure, Sally Dingo, Fiona O'Laughlin just to name a few. We were so lucky to have such a wonderful event so close to home.
The first session we attended was featuring Richard Fidler, Philip Nitschke and Tristan Bancks.

This was a thrill for me as I'm a huge Richard Fidler fan. He is a great interviewer.
The topic they were being asked about was "The Book That Changed My Life". They each spoke on their chosen book and why it affected them the way it did.
The audience was then asked to raise their hand if they were able to identify their own Book That Changed My Life. Probably only about 20% of hands went up.

We decided to raise this question at our Book Club and to take turns to bring our book and discuss it.

Snugglepot and Cuddlepie.

That's been one so far. One member shared that this was the first book that utterly engaged her and transported her to another world so completely. It was read to her in early primary school by her favourite beloved teacher.
Even now when walking through the bush she sees a banksia flower and imagines a Banksia Man.

I did have the same experience with this book. It was read to a enraptured class sitting on a mat by an early childhood teacher. I don't recall anybody fidgeting or being disruptive, we were all just enchanted.

Now everyday I walk my dog through bushland. I often stop and run my fingers over a banksia and think of the evil characters when I see the old ones with their "mouths" and "eyes".

Pretty scary character really.
I guess among all the British stories we had, this was one we could identify with in our own surroundings. We could actually almost see these little fairies as we walked through our local bushland as children.
Whenever I see the little flower 'caps' from a gum flower, I still know a gumnut baby has lost her hat.

"Do one thing everyday that scares you."

This would be a challenge, and we might ask why would I want to?
Lately I've done some very scary things, but not every day. Most of us prefer to live safely and our own self-talk likes to keep it that way. We are our own biggest limiters. How often do we hear things like "I don't do that" or "I could never be one of those people" or "I haven't got the patience for that" ?

And even if we do step out of a comfort zone, go out on a limb, say yes to something scary, we often sabotage our very own decision with our negativity and fear.

The story of Peter in the New Testament when he walks on the water is exactly that. It's all good until he gets afraid. While walking on water probably isn't going to be one of our problems, what about when we have to do something scary? Speaking publicly for example. Putting ourselves out there for the good of others at the risk of embarrassing ourselves. Or it could be something as simple as getting dressed and leaving home.

You've really just got to let go and do it. Decide that in spite of all these negative thoughts and self talk, I'm going to do this. Be bold, grow a backbone, drink some cement, laugh at danger and face the bear!

Fake it till you make it!

I loved the interview with The Eagles on Sixty Minutes last weekend. Always been a huge Eagles fan. These guys are arguably among the top, most successful bands of my lifetime. Guitarist and vocalist Joe Walsh admitted he had no idea what he was doing. "In the music industry if you pretend that you know what you're doing, then everybody actually thinks you know what you're doing" he said with a look of perplexed amazement, "I just didn't want everybody to find out that I didn't have a clue, in retrospect, none of us really did."

It's true not only in the music industry, but in many areas of life. pretend you know what you're doing and go for it!!

Taboo Subjects

Last night's Q & A brought up the subject of Taboo topics. The panel were made up of writers and artists. Comedienne Jean Kitson stated that menopause was the last great taboo in our society, and she has written a book about it to try and change that. I bet she's right because if I had any male readers here, I bet they stopped reading when the "m" word was mentioned.
It's certainly much talked about among middle aged women, in this day and age anyway.

I am at the tail end of the Baby Boomer generation. I remember the times when many subjects were taboo.
I remember when the word cancer was said in whispers and various topics were alluded to with strange words, metaphors or eyebrow raises. I remember a time when there were great uncles who had served in the war. These were usually strange, scary men to a child, and I was told they refused to speak of it. Post Traumatic Stress was not coined back then and these damaged men often turned to alcohol.

I still recall a time when there were lots of taboos. Things like divorce, death, race, illness, convict ancestry and even pregnancy. I remember as a child asking my grandmother if she had convict ancestry. She didn't want to exactly lie to me, but she was very uncomfortable about it. "Oh I think there may have been one way back somewhere" she told me.  When in later years I looked into this, I discovered he was her grandfather, hardly way back somewhere!

Happily many of these taboos are now broken. I do think it can be the responsibility of one who suffers from one of these difficult subjects to speak of it and try and bring awareness.

I suffered quite severe post-natal depression twice. At the time I would not have admitted it to anyone. I was ashamed and felt a failure. I hid it as best I could, successfully, I don't know? I looked for signs in my friends who had babies too. I knew what to look for. I felt very alone.
I wonder if I had my time again have things changed now? Would I more freely admit to it nowadays?
Fortunately mental illnesses are more openly discussed and understood now.
Tara Moss was also on the panel. She has just written a memoir about her personal experience of rape and abuse. "People call me brave" she said, but she stated that to speak of it and empathise, she had to tell her true story.

As for menopause, I'm not so sure. Richard Flanagan said his women friends all talked openly about it, he was quite relaxed about it. Tim Storrier was squirming in his seat when his turn to comment came, it was quite funny!



“The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma.” 
― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery


 P.S. Menopause can be a horrible event at times!!

The Shut Eye Train

Inspired by a poem by Eugene Field.

Last night I missed the Shut Eye Train to the Land of Nod. I almost got on, but then "toot toot" the whistle bleweth, "ting a ling" the bell it goeth, and off it went without me.

I waited on the platform, with much tossing and turning and fluffing of pillows. I started playing the alphabet game to pass the time and to lull me into a slumberous state. The theme I chose was rocks and minerals. Alabaster, Basalt, Crystal, Dolerite, E....E....E....stuck. Go on to F....F....F....stuck again.
Try another theme. Plants. Hang on, are we going to allow trees? No, no trees. What about flowers? No, not flowers, just shrubs or bushes, medium sized flora. Agapanthus, hang on that's a flower, yes but it's also a bush...okay we'll let that one pass, Briar, Catmint, Dahlia. E....E....E...stuck, F....F....F. Obviously this was not working for me tonight.

Eventually another train came and I boarded. Alas, this was not an express. It stopped at every station. First stop, I knew I'd been asleep but checked the clock some time after midnight. Next stop, an hour or so later. Finally got to Shut Eye Town in the Land of Nod, but I had the most disturbingly awful dream, you know the sort, you can't even begin to describe?

I heard a sleep expert interviewed on radio this week. Apparently the functions the brain performs during sleep are unlike any function of the awakened brain. We do things in our sleeping brain that we cannot when we are awake. Fortunately sleep brings with it a complete paralysis, or else we would be acting out our dreams. Now that would be bad. Neuro scientists are still at a loss to explain why we sleep, and why so much. Evolutionary science is at a loss too, as sleep leaves us so utterly vulnerable to danger, as all our senses are on shut-down. We are not like other animals, dolphins for example. They sleep half a brain at a time. The best explanation is that sleep and dreams de-frag the brain (like a computer) and sort and store memories.

Well, I love my sleep, and usually I love dreaming (flying dreams are The Best).
Today I might need a little Nanna Nap after last night's train ride.

A Writing Excise: A Modern fairytale.

Once upon a time there was a young and beautiful princess. She was from a small European principality and descended from a long and wide line of royalty. She was taking a gap year and touring Australia. That was how she found herself stranded in Lower Wilmot, Tasmania. Her car had broken down. She walked to the nearest homestead to garner help.

"Come in dear" said the friendly local lady upon hearing her plight. "No you will simply stay the night here with us. Brian will get the car going in the morning."

As it happened, Brian was also descended from European royalty. His wife Marlene was quite proud of her royal connections but never mentioned the fact that her husband's great great grandfather was shipped off to the colonies as a matter of convenience for the family.

Marlene had high hopes her son Shaun would marry well, but well connected aristocracy didn't surface much on rsvp.com. Now here she was, at her door, beautiful, young, excellent english.

"Brian make up the guest bed" Marlene said. "But use the KMart sheets. If she's really a princess, she won't sleep a wink in them."
In the morning the Princess emerged looking very well rested. "I slept wonderfully, thankyou" she replied when asked. "Brian, get her the Black & Gold brand Corn Flakes' Marelene whispered "if she's really a Princess, she'll choke on them". The Princess ate them with enthusiasm. Marlene was getting suspicious.
"Now the bathroom's down the hall, go have a shower dear" said Marlene.
"Brian, get a new block of  Country Fresh soap, if she's really a Princess that stuff will bring her out in an awful rash."

She emerged happy and refreshed. Marlene was getting surer this girl was a fraud. "My you speak excellent English dear, did you learn that at the Sorbonne?"
"No, I watch lots of Disney movies" she laughed "somebody poisoned the waterhole" she said in a perfect American accent. Brian walked in. "Got your car going love" he said.

Marlene was very keen to find out more before she let this girl go though, she really wanted Shaun married off well. "Your family, they are financing this trip for you?" she asked
"haha, no" she replied "my job at Maccas financed this. Even before the GFC my family had long since lost their fortune and sold the jewels".
"No castle?" Marlene further enquired.
"No, there may be a slight ruin left."
"No tiaras, orbs, sceptres?"
"Haha no, none of that old rubbish."
Marlene sighed. "Oh what a shame my dear. You'd better be off them"

The young Princess lived happily ever after and Shaun moved to Ulverstone.

A Bit of Gothic.

I do love a good ghost story.
I have just read "The Woman in Black" by Susan Hill. This is the first time I've read anything of that genre as my reading genres are pretty limited :(
Susan Hill is a classic writer and this book is a traditional gothic story.

My love of a good ghost story stems from childhood when my friend and I would scare each other witless with repetitive recounting from our repertoire of cheesy, clichéd stories. This is the best way. Oral retelling, at night, by candle light or camp fire. We were about age 11, the perfect age. Too old to need to run to a parent for comfort, but too young to be a cynical non believer. There was The Black Hand, the slightly less scary Brown Hand and a few local tales such as the Stone House in Dunorlan where no man would dare spend the night.

I first came across The Woman in Black as a movie in 1989. This was one of those old school movies where less was more and it was your own imagination that scared you, not the visuals. What could be more scary.... walking into the old nursery of a completely deserted, remote old house to see a rocking chair rocking as if someone had just been sitting there? Or seeing a woman in a distant graveyard, wearing Victorian mourning dress and then mysteriously disappearing?

The recent remake of this starring Daniel Radcliffe, while having some good elements, was not in the same class in my opinion. I don't like the use in recent years of graphic horror and over use of creepy supernatural themes.

The book was great, a classic tale. Set in the deserted house of the late Alice Drablow, a young lawyer must sort through her affairs. The house is only reached by a causeway which the tide cuts off every day. This story has every element needed. A great unfolding plot and a scary, haunting location.
I wouldn't call it horror, I wouldn't call it supernatural, just a good old-fashioned haunting.
I did avoid reading it at night though!

Winter Reading.

Is reading seasonal? There's the summer holiday read, but is there spring, autumn and winter reads too?

"Woman at Beach Reading" Marie Fox               "Woman Reading in a Forest" Gyula Benczur

Summer and Autumn.....

"Woman Reading" Tavik Simon
Spring, you can tell by the peonies on the table.
It is warm enough to have the window open, but not warm enough to have a summer dress on.......











and winter.

"Woman Reading on a Settee"
William Churchill

Trying to catch that winter sun.






We are well into autumn now with the prospect of winter upon us. Thoughts of snuggling up with a book (or a movie) are wonderful.
So...three winter books from me:

The Lion, the Witch and the wardrobe, also a movie.
This is a lovely winter book because it places you so well into that snowy, wintry environment, you can almost hear the crunch of snow under foot and feel the warmth of the collar of the fur coat on your face. One of the wonderful things about winter is the promise of an eventual summer. This book shows the bleakness of a prospect of an eternal winter. Always winter, never Christmas. The cover says it all though, spring does come and the White Witch is defeated.

The Remains of the Day, also a superb movie.
The story of Mr Stevens, the old-school butler at Darlington Hall, recalling his life and his relationship with Miss Kenton, the house keeper. After serving Lord Darlington for many decades, the estate is purchased in 1950 by an American , Mr Farrady. It is a story of duty, loyalty, memory and loss. It's about the winter of life, the passage of time and eras that are no more
I must confess, this book sits by my bedside still as yet unfinished.

Wanting.
A Tasmanian book, by a Tasmanian author. I love Richard Flanagan, but he's no lightweight summer read that's for sure. This book tells the story of the young Tasmanian aboriginal girl, Mathinna, adopted by Lady Jane Franklin in the 1840's. But it is the interweaving of the story of Sir John Franklin's disappearance in an Arctic expedition with the failing of the marriage of Charles and Catherine Dickens that is chilling and heartbreaking. It's a cold and crushing book, but one that you can't forget.