TP: “The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.” (or how to survive NaNoWriMo)

This was the year that I didn’t think I would get those 50,000 words on (virtual) paper, for National Novel Writing Month. There was too much else that had to be done. One of my avocations is being a marriage celebrant (I love romance). Here on the Gold Coast of Australia, November is wedding season.  It’s the month where we’ve well and truly seen the back of winter but it hasn’t started to get too hot. Perfect for beach weddings. So there have been brides and ceremonies and planning and writing all month. Wonderful fun but none of it progressing my novel.

I made early mornings and evenings after dinner my NaNo time and the novel moved along. One word after another. A sprint here and there. And many cups of tea.

The story needs at least another  twenty thousand words to finish but it’s a start.

Terry Pratchett is reputed to have said, “The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.” This is the mantra I took in writing this month. The story is rough, rough, ROUGH. It lacks tension between the main characters, there’s a lack of depth in many of the scenes. Some of it doesn’t even make sense.

It’s a draft.

I locked my inner critic in the next room for the month, but I can hear the scratching at the door. Things will soon be back to normal.

I can’t say it’s been a great month for writing, but it has been productive. It’s a start my novel may not have had without the 50K goal. Now it’s on to finish, edit, redraft and re-edit. And maybe, at the end of all of that, there’ll be a publishable work in there somewhere.


Visit of the Water Dragon

Today is one of those days when you know how wonderful it is to live on water. Glancing out of the kitchen window, as I was preparing breakfast, I saw a water dragon on the far shore of the canal. We haven’t seen any around for a while, so sighting this one created a wee bubble of happiness for me.

Then it was gone.

I looked again. A small wake appeared on the surface of the water. The dragon was swimming across! It arrived and sat at the edge of the beach for twenty minutes or so before deeming it safe to emerge.

I don’IMG_8943_Moment (2)_LIt know what startled it and caused it to high tail it back to the canal. Perhaps it was the swoop of the gulls, but scurry it did. I had only a moment to capture a shot as it made its escape (check inside the orange circle.) The debris on the beach is part of a palm frond about a metre long. There are lots of those in the canal right now, thanks to the wind we’ve had over the past few days. The dragon, side-on, was about the same size.

Of course, its appearance triggered a bit of research. That’s what writers do :)

I found that the Eastern Water Dragon has been around for 20 million years, will stay under water for over an hour if threatened, and can be an Indigenous totem. There is a great picture and some useful information on the Backyard Buddies site.

IMG_8924It seems to be a week for visits from the wild.

On Monday morning, there was a pied currawong sitting on the railing outside my study; Tuesday brought this trio of pelicans; Wednesday a series of stingrays swimming by; and today, the water dragon.


Perhaps the Universe is sending me a message? For now, I’ll enjoy the visits as they come and look forward to what tomorrow may bring.


Canal living joy!
Water dragon swims across,
Says hello and skips.


The Bridge

Our pre-cruise trip to Warsaw, Auschwitz, Copenhagen and Malmo introduced us to many places we had not seen previously.

We found Warsaw, the capital city of Poland, to be a delightful city. It was clean and modern while also making way to remember its history. The guides, young by our standards, reflected that. They knew their history and they had built upon it – in the spirit of ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. They were proud of the heritage that their antecedents had held to so steadfastly in the face of the atrocities visited upon their citizens in the past seventy years and they were proud of what the nation was building in the post-Communist era.

Our visit to Auschwitz was confronting. When I asked a guide how people in Poland responded to those who would deny what had happened here, she said, “We laugh. It is a joke. We have the evidence in front of our eyes. And we will not forget.” There were thousands visiting the sites of Auschwitz and Birkenau on the day that we were there. In 2014, over 1.5 million people visited the museum. The world, it seems, will also remember.  The rooms of human hair, spectacles, shoes, suitcases, prayer shawls and everyday kitchen wares that spoke volumes of promises and hopes betrayed are the most stark images that I have carried with me.

Copenhagen in Denmark, is one of those places that I have long wished to see. My Grade 5 teacher, Miss Caithness, had visited and wove wonderful stories around it for us. Of prime importance for me were the The Little Mermaid statue, Tivoli Gardens, and the royal palaces. Added to those was the delight of discovering salted licorice (who’d have thought?) and a wander around the University area. Our accommodation was out of the city in the midst of what is a growing technology and industrial area so provided an immediate contrast to a city centre dating back to the 11th century.

We took a train from Copenhagen across the Øresund Bridge to Malmo, Sweden. As a fan of Henning Mankell‘s detective stories, I was interested to see Wallender’s Malmo. We walked through the town, a spotlessly clean place, and on to Malmo Castle which houses a natural history museum and aquarium.

The train took us back across The Bridge that was the inspiration for a television series of the same name. Watching the V-shaped struts of the bridge, as the train sped past, created a stroboscopic effect to create the optical illusion of a black, flapping rag. It kept me entertained for a little while and became the focus for the haiku and the title for the blog post.

One more night in Copenhagen and we were off to Ireland.

(You’ll note I’ve returned to the 5-7-5 haiku style.)


Optic illusion
turns steel struts to flapping rag.
Eye-brain confusion.





Z is for Zoo – Singapore

I’ve visited Singapore times unnumbered, but last week’s visit to the zoo in that country was my first.

I recognise that the concept of a zoo doesn’t suit everyone and it doesn’t suit me either when the animals are caged in small enclosures. But here the animals move around freely.

We started the day with breakfast in the company of some orangutans. It’s hard to comprehend that without zoos such as this, orangutans may well disappear from the face of the earth as their natural habitat continues to be eroded.

My fictional cruise line will give its newest ship its maiden voyage in the Australia, New Zealand, and southern Asia routes. This quick trip to Singapore en route to our Dublin-Barcelona cruise, provided a refresher for things to do in that part of the world.


City of Asian delights:
shopping and zoo,
chili crab, Singapore sling!

Y is for Youghal

Youghal (pronounced Yawl) is a port city on the southern Irish coast only 50kms from Cork. We (husband and I) have visited both Cork and Youghal previously, but when our cruise pauses in Cork in a couple of weeks time, we hope to make a day trip across to reacquaint ourselves with this village. Its strategic location made it the target of many raiding forces. As a result, it has an interesting history and is worth reading about.

If it is as I remember it, I’m thinking of setting a proposal scene there!


Youghal, Ireland’s southern sea port –
Battles of hist’ry –
build cosmopolitan life.

X is for Xander and other less common names

When I’m writing a novel, often the characters’ names will suggest themselves to me without too much of an issue, but then, as I mentioned in the Jolene post, my critical friend will quickly let me know if they fit. She tells me if they’re dated or too weird. Thank goodness for friends like Kathy.

I tend to be drawn to unusual names. My name is unusual to many so I know what it is like to live with one that’s a bit different. But not everyone can relate to them, so I need to use them like a strong spice – very little and with care.

I often research the meaning of a name before I use it. The meanings often surprise me.

Xander is one name I’ve wanted to use for a while. It is a diminutive of Alexander and means defender or warrior. I’m thinking that would be a perfect fit for Donatella’s love interest when I come to write her cruise ship story. Donatella is a very strong character and needs a strong alpha to be her equal.


Personality defined,
simple moniker –
one’s label for a lifetime.


W is for wine and wineries

One can’t write novels involving an Italian restaurant without knowing a little about wines. But my knowledge was limited when it came to Italian varieties. For “Happy with the MIllionaire” , I undertook some internet research on wines from the Piedmont region of Italy and the wonderful barolo variety that is produced there. There was also work to do on the products from the Rutherglen wine region in northern Victoria.  This was done in person! It was here that I learned about the tokay/topaque name change and I was able to incorporate that into the story. One of my favourites from this region is the malbec.

In “Loving the Celebrity Chef”, Vincent and Angelique make a day trip from Sydney to the Hunter Valley Wine region about an hour and a half north of the city. It’s the first time they go off together and the first time they share a kiss.

They go to one of the winery restaurants for lunch and Vincent encounters his former TAFE teacher. For some reason, this scene didn’t make it into the finished book, so you can read the section here as an exclusive:

As they stood to leave the table, a plump woman wearing the signature black and white trousers of the chef came through the door from the kitchen. She carried a plate hooked against her body with her elbow and a black marker pen in her hand.

“Not so fast, Vinny, my boy! You need to sign this before you go. It’s for my gallery of plates signed by famous people who come here,” she said pointing up to a shelf a couple of hand-spans below the ceiling along the opposite wall.

“Hey Magda! I didn’t know you were working here.”

“Well, I am and you’ve just turned my wait staff and juniors into quivering masses of sexual excitement. It’s a wonder you even got a meal with all of those carryings on in the kitchen.” She fisted the hand with the pen on her hip and lifted one eyebrow at him.

Vincent laughed. It started as a chuckle and ended up as a full belly laugh.

“You never change, do you, you old witch? But I love you.” He leaned down and kissed her with a loud, mwah!

“Go on with you!” She flapped her hand to wave him back out of her space. “People will talk. What would my darling Rosie say?”

“Since you’ve been together thirty years or more, I don’t think it would bother her much.” Vincent chuckled again. “Where’s this gallery of plates? I want to see who my competition is.”

Magda looked nonplussed for a moment. “I’ve only been here a week. Give me a break! Sheesh! Everybody expects everything to be finished before it’s even started these days! You’re the first, Vinny, so make it good!” She thrust the pen and plate at him. The platter was white with the restaurant’s crest on one edge.

Vincent held the dish and narrowed his eyes at his former TAFE culinary teacher. “It’s my first too. I’ll have to think.”

He picked up the pen and scrawled across the face of the plate, “Best food ever!” and signed it, “Rosetti” with a V below his name that gave the appearance of a goatee.

“Yeah! That’ll do!” Magda beamed at him as he handed it back to her. “Now you’ll have to put it up there for me. Us vertically challenged older people don’t do heights too well.”

Vincent arranged the plate on the shelf as directed. Magda nodded her approval and bustled back the way she had come, calling over her shoulder and waving one arm in the air. “Come again, Vinny.”


Good food, good friends and romance –
life’s simple pleasures,
cost little but mean a lot.

V is for Valour and V is for Veterinarians in the country


Today is ANZAC Day in Australia and New Zealand. ANZAC Day commemorates all those who have fought in wars under the Australian and New Zealand flags, including my own grandfather who served in both WWI and WWII. ANZAC stands for the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. The date remembers the Gallipoli landing on April 25, 1915, as part of the first world war, in which the ANZACs suffered major losses. The ANZAC spirit is the aspirational standard for those who serve, even now, in the defence forces of both countries.

I’ve tried to capture a little of that in Nash’s two tours of duty in Afghanistan in ‘A Baby Denied’. Like most of our heroes, he didn’t set out to earn that badge, he was just doing what needed to be done to keep his team safe.


Valourous deeds can require
sacrifice of self,
serving larger agendas.



When Danielle’s red kelpie, Meggs, is hit by a car in ‘A Baby Denied’, I had to work out how a vet would handle that and how survivable it would be for the dog.

This is  a little of how it translated into the story.

The vet took his time checking the underlip of the dog. “I’m checking for shock here, Brodie. [Brodie is Danielle’s six year old son.] Do you see how it’s taking a little while for the blood to come back in? That can mean she’s suffering shock. I’ll check her lungs and then we’ll get a drip set up quickly before we check anything else.

“Lungs sound fine. This needle thing is called a catheter and we’ll stick it into her leg right here and use a drip to get fluids into her.”

“Won’t it hurt?”

“It might, but she’s in shock, so she’s less likely to feel anything. The biggie we have to worry about is the fluid running out of her blood vessels. When that happens, she won’t have enough oxygen moving to her brain or her vital organs. And you know what happens if there’s not enough oxygen going to her brain?”

“She dies?”

“Probably. So, we work on that first to keep her alive, then we’ll take a look for broken bones and stuff like that.”


Country vets minister to
cats, dogs, horses, sheep,
Bring them all – I’ve healing skills.

U is for Utes!

Utes (short for utility vehicles) are the mainstay of tradesfolk, rural workers and others who have a need to transport themselves, others and equipment from one place to another. Deniliquin in New South Wales celebrates the humble ute with a muster each year. In “A Baby Denied”, the fan belt of Dee’s ute fails her at one point and Nash uses one of Dee’s stockings to jury-rig a replacement fan-belt to get her home. My brains trust (Jay, on this occasion) told me this was possible and my research confirmed it. Then I just needed to find out how to fit it and the internet coughed up that information too. Interesting trivia to have at the back of my mind.


Utes with patina of age
or shiny new skin
serve as humble workhorses.

T is for Travel

Travel is one of my favourite things to do – either in physical form or in my imagination across time and place. The forms have a symbiotic relationship. The experiences of one feed the dreams of the other.

To that end, I’m off on another (physical) adventure soon. I’ll fly with my husband to Singapore, Copenhagen, Warsaw and Dublin and cruise to Barcelona before heading back to Australia.

The cruise is already, in my mind, the basis for one of my cruise ship novels, so I’ll be taking lots of notes.

The trip to Copenhagen has been in the making for 50 years! When I was in Grade 5, my teacher returned from holidays to tell us that she had visited this city. The stories she wove fed my determination to visit one day. Finally, thanks to my husband’s careful planning, that’s about to happen. Any suggestions on the “Must-See” list of things to do there would be appreciated.


Travel in time, space and mind
quiets soul’s questing
striving always to know more.