When What You Love To Do Is So Hard

You know, when you love something, really love it and you think, because I love doing this so much, I’m going to be great at it. Well, that’s me and writing. I love to write, to sit down and let my pen glide over the paper and see my thoughts materialise on the page. It’s kind of magical.

Part of me, a big part has always thought, “This is the one thing that I could excel at.”

And I began to write and I thought here I am, I’m finally doing it and the first thing that I write is going to be brilliant and everyone is going to see what a genius I am and I’m going to be published straight away and my book is going to change people’s lives and everyone is going to love me.

Well, the truth is I can’t spell and my grammar is horrible, my punctuation is even worse. I don’t know where to put it or which one to use. And the whole science to writing something is really hard for me to grasp. Things like pace and structure, story arc and tension all meld together in one confusing tangled mess. And you know what? There’s an art form to writing, there are rules and people have to like what you write for it to be published. And it has to make sense to more than just me.

I found out that it’s quite easy to write, it’s incredibly hard to write well and to write something that captures peoples attention and imagination, well that’s infinitely more difficult.

What do I do now?

Well, I guess, for me writing is sort of like being a mum. It’s the hardest job in the world but I have these two little people who I love and I’m passionate about and I want to protect. I get up every morning and pray that I’ll make good decisions and pray that I can show them that I love them in ways they’ll understand, pray for patience and gentleness and wisdom. It’s not something that I discard just because it’s hard.

So it is with writing. I will continue to write, hopefully getting better the more I do it. Learning more and more each time I read a book, each time I talk to someone about writing, each time I do a course. And maybe, one day I’ll write something that is good and that inspires people, maybe one person.

I think for me I need to write. I have all these notebooks that I’ve written in through the years, I have journals, letters, e-mails, this blog, stories that I’m writing. It’s something I just can’t stop doing.

Even if I never get published, which I am told should not be the end goal of a writer anyway, I’ll continue to do it because if nothing else it helps me to sort out all the lose threads that seem to get tangled up in my life. When I write things down, my thoughts get clearer and I can see better what is happening and what has happened.

I am a writer.

Self-fulfilling Prophecy

I see you.

But do you see me?

And do I really see you?

Or do I see the you, you want me to see?

And do you see the me that I want you to see?

I want you to see me.

I’m begging you to see me.

But I fear that my fear is putting on a mask

And that you only see the me that I’m afraid/wanting you see.

Walking in the rain

I went for a walk this morning as the sun was rising up into the sky, glowing as it does and the clouds touched with pearl shine. This little corner of the world lends itself brilliantly to early morning walks. The birds already up since before daybreak singing everything into existence as if it is the first day of creation and the dogs eager to announce to the world when some innocent walker strays to close to their territory.

I decided to explore a street I’d never been up before keeping a weary eye on the grey clouds that were clustering over the dark mountains. When I’d gone too far to turn back and still not sure how long it would take me to walk home, the heavens opened and the rain began to fall. It was a soft veil of rain that landed gently and didn’t disturb. Still, after two minutes I was soaked and my hand protectively covering my phone. I squelched on in my crocs trying to decide if I should just remove them or keep squeaking along.

I love walking in the rain. In Rumginae there was really no choice to the matter. If you got caught in the rain it would be of such a drenching down pour that you’d be soaked through in a matter of seconds and not be able to see much in front of you to even attempt a run for cover. Walking was the best option.

I’d love to walk through Paris in the rain. Apparently, that is the epitome of walking in the rain. Though, I think walking in Paris, rain or not would be amazing.

In Cairns there’s really no reason to hurry along and try to get to cover, the rain is not a chilling one. I was told, when we first arrived that true Cairns people never carry umbrellas. Apparently, there are quite a few not true Cairns people living in this area because as I rounded the corner to the local supermarket I could see them all huddled under the roof waiting it out.

I was starting to get rather nervous about the time, needing to get back to my family and all, and the fact that I really had no idea where I was. I looked up into the clearing sky and there in front of me was a full double rainbow, the colours all brilliance and luminous, the sun shining through the rain. Every time I see a rainbow I breathe out relief. That promise symbol splashed full out in the open for everyone to see.

It was a good day for a walk, it makes me eager to discover that next reminder, cause I know there will be one.

Books are Better than Movies

Everyone knows that books are better than movies, especially movies of books.

I had to chuckle when that very statement was conveyed so eloquently in a movie about a book, Tomorrow When the War Began. I read the book and it was better, of course. 

One of the major reasons for this, I think, is because the emotion that a writer can convey in a book is so much deeper than an actor can show in a movie. A writer can show what is in different characters heads. A writer can convey thoughts and emotions at the same time and of course with a lot more time and space to do it in. It must be incredibly tricky to try and convey the depths of emotion through speech, facial expression and of course music. There is really only so much that can be achieved in a movie and it’s enough, if there is just the movie.

Of course there are horrifically written books out there as well but I'm talking specifically about movies of books.

I watched The Hunger Games before I read the books and I watched The Lord of the Rings trilogy before I read the books. I loved the movies they were fantastic, in fact it was watching the movies that inspired me to read the books. And it was fine for The Lord of the Rings because I watched all three movies before I read the books. However, I only watched The Hunger Games and then proceeded to devour all three books, because I couldn’t put them down and then I watched the second movie and I was so incredibly disappointed. The emotion was flat as a tack. It may have had to do with the actors or the script writers, whatever but man I’m not sure I even want to watch the last two movies.

When I was in primary school one of the older student was conducting a science experiment. She gave me a section of a book to read and then took my pulse as I read the book. I felt so incredibly embarrassed and exposed, because the section she gave me to read wasn’t a chase scene; it wasn’t a nail biting fight or emotionally wrenching death scene, it was the romantic part of the book. I can’t remember exactly what it was about but I do remember hoping beyond hope that my pulse would stay steady; gritting my teeth and trying to remain unmoved by the writing.

It really is such an incredible experience to be pulled into a book so much that you’re emotionally drawn in. I know it can happen in movies, I’ve cried in movies before but I think with a book, it can go deeper.

And I think to be able to write like that must take experience. A writer must have to know first hand what it’s like or have experienced similar emotions to what they are communicating; grief, heartache, love etc. to be able to even attempt to put emotions into words.

I read once that writers must be able to tap into their raw emotions and put them on paper or else the writing falls flat. Writers must be bold and honest even to the point of vulnerability in sharing their inner most feelings to be able to connect emotionally with readers. Phew, talk about a long D&M and sometimes with millions of readers.

I am beginning to realise how much courage it takes to write from your heart; the deep part of it that’s sometimes hard to listen to and share it with the world.

Reflector

Apparently I’m a reflector. 

This is probably quite an obvious statement to those who know me but I’ve never really thought that much about it to plonk myself into a category. I don’t really like the idea of putting people into categories, so maybe I should say I have quite a lot of reflector tendencies.

In his new job Matt’s been looking at different training and learning styles. He’s a logical learner and I’m a reflector. I like to think about things, mull over them, blog about them. I change my mind about a dozen times before I make a decision and I cannot stand being hurried into anything.

Over the weekend I was at a shopping centre and one of those sales people who have stalls in the middle of the walkways stopped me. I hate any form of confrontation or disappointing people in anyway, so I stopped and he went through his spiel. I listened attentively and nodded in all the right places. And then, he wanted me to spend an exorbitant amount of money on a product he’d showed me for approximately two minutes.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I said, to his obvious disappointment. It was, incredibly, his birthday that day as well.

And it wasn’t just my way of getting out of buying his thing but I was genuinely starting to feel claustrophobic by his insistence that I needed to buy what he was selling right then and there.

I’m finding out that I’m the same with my writing. I have actually written a full-length children’s novel of which I am quite proud. Now, I have to let it sit and mull over what I’ve written. Have I actually said what I wanted to say? What was it exactly that I was wanting to communicate when I started to write this story? It’s not that I think every story has to have a moral to it. I love stories that you read and enjoy and think it’s wonderful without it having any deep and meaningful holding it all up. But having said that I am quite sure one of the reasons I write is to add to the discussion about life.

So I’m in my reflector stage at the moment. Also, I cut a huge section out of my story and in that section there was a pretty key revelation about one of my characters and now I’m trying to figure out how to put that revelation back into the story without it feeling contrived. I feel that like that poet when he was asked what he did all day, he answered, “I took a comma out and then put it back in again.”

It’s The Little Things

Well, I finally watched Frozen, it’s taken a while. But having two very young boys and a husband who doesn’t particularly go for the Disney musicals made it pretty far down on the list of movies to watch. Matt was away and I needed a break, so I decided to rent it and see what all the fuss is about. And, I have to say it was good. I enjoyed it. Heaps funny, great songs. Wasn’t Elsa amazing belting out, ‘Let it go’? Though, I have to say, my favourite song was Olaf’s, ‘Ode to summer’ (which is not the actual song title, I don’t know what it is). And the movie had a nice feel good ending and fantastic animation.

I wasn’t too taken with the story though and I thought something could have been worked on a bit more to make it stronger. Some of the minor characters (Sven) took over from the main ones (Elsa) and there were definitely unresolved plot points.

I read a blog post recently about those little details in writing that can be overlooked and not tied up. Like the character who picks up their ice-coffee and then gets carried away with an animated, hands waving about conversation but no mention of putting the cup down first. Or the picture book I read recently, where the characters were outside and then on the next page there’s an inside scene and we’re not sure how everyone got indoors. Matt was reading one of my stories and pointed out that my main character was busting for the loo in one scene but I never resolved that issue. She got caught up in a conversation and then walked back out the door again without seeing to her pressing need. So I added a sentence. Little details.

I don’t want to bag out Frozen or anything, because I did enjoy watching it and I even let my five year-old watch it. His main concern was; “Why did Elsa have special powers?” And this was one of the things I had a problem with; there was no explanation for this particular major part of the whole story, except that she was born with it. Why? Don’t know, it’s a bit of a mystery. Maybe Disney put it into the too hard basket but I think it could have been fleshed out a bit.

My three-year old only wanted to know, what was up with the scary ice-monster?

My questions are; why was there no resolution to the fact that Kristoff had seen Ana being cured when she was a little girl? That was a pretty major introductory scene for all of the main characters. They could have put in a little scene where there was light bulb moment, at least, but nothing.

And then how could the king and queen allow their daughters to live in such isolation from each other and everyone else?  What parent could ever sentence their daughters to such misunderstanding and confusion as well as fear?

And then poor Hans, the guy gets put in charge of the castle in a rather unconventional way. Why does Ana give control of her entire kingdom to a stranger? Where are her trusted advisors? The Prime minister perhaps? Hmmmm

Anyway, back to Hans, there is no lead into the fact that he’s a villain. Except for a throw away line about him have twelve older brother’s there is not hint of anything sinister in him. He’s doing a great job of protecting the kingdom, giving food and clothes to all the citizens who are freezing. He risks his life to go save Ana and bring in Elsa, in a very valiant way, I have to say and then all of a sudden, he’s like this mean, nasty guy who’s trying to kill people. Sorry, not convinced on that that one.

All this is to say that I don't usually take Disney movies so seriously :) And I’m not sure I’d be able to do much better but I'll certainly take a whack at it. I know that re-reading my stories and having other people read my stories always makes me realise the little details that I’ve passed and need to work on more. But it’s nice to know that I’m starting to learn more about story writing.

Thoughts on Belonging

How do I find a place to belong when I’ve never really felt like I've

belonged anywhere before?

I find it rather easy to tell myself that I don't belong. To dig out those feelings of 'otherness.' I grew up in a country completely different from my 'passport' country (Australia). I went to a boarding school run by and mainly populated by North Americans. When I came back to live in Australia I did not recognise the place as my home and wanted to leave as soon as possible. For six years I lived in PNG and now back in Australia I'm struggling to once again to feel at home.

The picture is of me when we first moved to
PNG during our bush orientation.
I was definitely struggling with feelings of not belonging 

Belonging: the word is so weighted with deep, deep yearning. Longing to ‘be’, be included, to feel needed— to know where one fits.

We’ve moved to yet another city and once again I feel lost— between worlds. I’ve left the comfort of my belonging, of my knowing what my place was, what my purpose was. We’ve come to a place where I don’t know the rules, the boundaries, who’s busy on what days, who’s up for a chat at anytime. I don’t know where the good beaches are or where’s the best place to get an ice-coffee.

And inside my mind the doubts and questions always come thick and fast; what if I don’t find my place to belong? What if I’m not needed here? What if there is no space?

In my many moves I’ve come to realise that there is always space. The space will look different then the last one, it might not be as big or as comfortable but it will be there. I am needed in some way and it might take a bit of creativity to find out exactly what it is and a bit of openness and willingness to bend and see life in a different light.

It takes time and effort to fit into a place and in the floundering times there are awkward times, embarrassing times, frustrating times.

And, there are those time when I get up the courage to ask someone in my floundering and the conversation flourishes and it becomes more than just a cry for help but a reaching out and a relationship is built and the belonging starts.

Be strong and very courageous. To belong somewhere and to make room for others to belong takes courage and strength. When I am outside of my comfort zone, this is the time that I stretch and grow. To step into an environment where I feel like the ‘other’ is when I start to dig deep and understand myself. There is a time when everyone feels like they do not belong.

I always find myself convinced that every other person has there lives all sorted out. Like I’m the only one struggling with feelings of inadequacy, with feelings of not belonging. But it’s not true. Every single person has something that they are struggling with and to each individual it’s huge.

So, maybe belonging isn’t so much a feeling of fitting in but knowing that no matter where I am in the world I can belong. When I am secure in the knowledge of who I am (I’m still working on this), I can rest secure that God has already made a space for me. I belong. God made me and placed me here therefore I belong.

Choices

Choice, it’s such an interesting concept. In some parts of the world it’s taken for granted, in other parts there is no such thing as having choice.

For the most part, I haven’t been to bothered by needing to make choices where I feel conflicted about my ability to make the right decision.

Having lived overseas for most of my life, in places where people do not have a lot of excess or choice, I still have to fight a feeling of claustrophobia whenever I go into shopping centres and supermarkets with their incredible range of absolutely everything. Do we really need ten types of toothpaste or fifty types of breakfast cereal? But then again, why not? We’re all different. We all like different things. Obviously there is a market for it all.

I’m in the position at the present where I’m feeling strangled by the immense weight of choice. What do I want? I can choose and there are lots of good choices. So what is it that I want?

When we worked in Papua New Guinea we were told in what community we would be living in and in what house. So, we made the best out of whatever we got.

Last year, when we lived in country Victoria, we had the choice of two rental houses for the whole town. One was a dump and the other was a lovely house, so we chose the lovely house. There was one kindergarten, so no decision there and Matt and I worked out of our lovely house.

Here in Cairns, we have a whole city to choose from, there are hundreds, if not thousands of rental properties. There are dozens of schools. And the whole decision making process is made somewhat mind-boggling by the vast amount of choice.

Sometimes, I just want someone to say, “This is the right choice, go with it.”

We are trying to get a rental property at the moment and the market is pretty tight. There are lots of people looking for houses and lots of people looking for houses, like us, who are also considering schools for their kids and proximity to work.

I’m beginning to understand the frustration of making a decision where there is no one right answer. We are going to have to make the decision and whatever the outcome live with it. We can’t blame someone else and say, we had no choice. I’m so glad that life is not a tightrope. If our decision turns out to be the wrong one, well, we can always do a u-turn.

So we’re doing a lot of praying, a lot of looking and a lot of pushing on doors to see if they open or stay firmly shut. Trusting that whatever decision we make will be done so with wisdom from God and trusting that God will see us through in the outcome. 

Reflections

Here's one I prepared earlier.

I wrote this while we were still living in PNG, beautiful Rumginae, my writing journey already begun. I guess it began when I wrote my first story about Princess Lisa sliding down the rainbow in grade 3.

I read this and I can see and feel and smell home.

Reflections

The full moon rises, its reflection paving a shimmering silver path on the river outside my lounge-room window.

Two small boys sleep under gauzy mosquito nets, the fans in their rooms whirring to keep the residual heat at bay.

What did the day bring?

This morning, up while the dark still crowded in to make pilot husband his lunch; zucchini slice, cheesymite scroll, Anzac biscuits, carrot and cucumber sticks (he hates sandwiches). 

Wiping sleep from his eyes he sits crunching his cereal. He reads the Bible.

It’s quiet, no generator-hum yet, the house is still. Outside, God paints a magnificent sunrise, colours bursting forth, the clouds clinging to the treetops, a reminder of His sovereignty, His ever-presence. Loving God’s extravagant gifts of beauty that speak to my soul.

The house stirs, creaking as the day begins to heat up. Two boys fill the space between four walls with their exuberant energy. “Bye daddy,” and off to work.

Porridge bubbles, change clothes, the generator comes to life and the air suddenly explodes with noise.

I go to put a load on, juggling squirming toddler and laden basket down steep steps to the ground where the washing machine is, up again—to be repeated endlessly through the day.

Playing in the shade of the house, it’s too hot for a walk at 9am. Then making rolls for lunch, moulding soft dough in my hands. Oldest son clambers to help, reaching into the bowl and pinching off dough to pop into his eager mouth. 

Painting and learning letters with my bright three year old, What does ‘d a d’ spell?

The lawnmower starts up outside napping son’s window, hang the washing. Lunch is served, fresh baked rolls fill the house with their irresistible smell and are slathered in silky green avocado. Reading books, a quiet moment, then hectic chaos, wash dishes, wipe table, sweep floor, boys running past flying aeroplanes, driving trucks, clamouring for attention.

Slow down and breathe while two boys pause for their afternoon siesta. A brief flicker of pure luxury, the generator stops and I sit on the porch swing gazing at the river below as it glides past. Close my eyes and hear the birds’ ever busy movements, the palm branches swaying in cool breeze. Bible open, soft words of peace and trust penetrate my hectic pace, I slow and inhale. Lord please help me through this day.

The moment passes as hungry lawn mower starts up again a noisy interruption, yet welcome to rid the world of pesky grass seeds, which create endless work in small boys’ clothing.

Doctor friend drops in, we share life, and it is hard, exhausting, never ceasing. How do we communicate this to loved ones? We need rest. She goes to change a life with news not good. I sit and breathe out the weight of another’s burdens into the hands of the One who carries everything.

The afternoon is a blur, the boys are out with adopted family, quick, wash the floor. Grime from weeks of neglect lifts stubbornly. Pilot husband texts to say he’s not coming home tonight, aeroplane’s engine problem too hard to fix in one afternoon. He’s safe, which is all that matters.

Dinner is leftovers heated quickly in the microwave, tear boys away from noisy Thomas train and convince little mouths to eat. Too tired, bath-time, story, bed.

Now I sit at this wooden desk cricket noises filling my ears. I gaze at dishes unwashed, piled in the sink and clothes heaped in woven basket needing to be folded. A mum’s work consists of endless cycles of repeat.

I leave it and head out the door to moon-gaze, it is rising, full, up through the clouds with a halo of colour all around it. The river races beneath, all glimmering and silver. I can see silhouettes against the deep blue sky made light by the bright pearl orb, palm trees stretching up, up, up, broad banana leaves bending low. Stars are diamonds twinkling, dotted here and there. This place mesmerises me, I cannot get enough of it. How much more beautiful than His creation is the Creator? Here in the beauty of the night I feel His presence so close. Every detail of what I see a love message from the creator of the universe, a reminder of the easily forgotten.

So what did the day bring? The day brought so many things routine and unexpected. How many times did I reach out for God’s hand today? Continuously I hope. And each time I reached out I was grasped and held close. 

Oh To Write Well

So, how have I gone with tidying up those loose ends? Well, I’m slowly getting there. I’ve finished another two books that I was in the middle of reading and I am working on my children’s book again (yay!). I’m also trying to get back into reading the writer’s blogs that I’ve subscribed to and commenting on different articles that author’s are writing. It’s amazing how much there is to write and read when one takes the plunge into writing. All in all, I continue the learning journey. I know I shall always be learning. I guess we all are.

I have been reading through the amazing book of Ruth. As with most things it’s taking me a while to get through this study. I just listened to the first of four talks about this book and I am renewed in my eagerness to read through the whole thing and learn once again from this story about God’s mercy and great love.

I love how the Bible is story after story after story and within each story, linking to another, is the overall story of God’s love for us and his plan to rescue us.

I am appreciating the book of Ruth more and more as I learn about what good writing is. Ruth is simple and yet so complex. It’s short and to the point and yet full to overflowing with rich meaning and symbolism, emotion, tragedy, drama, romance, quest, allegory. What other plot patterns can be seen in this one story?

Naomi and her family leave their homeland because there is no food and they are propelled into this incredible experience of immense tragedy. Naomi leaves empty to return home with Ruth a stranger, a symbol of everything that has gone wrong. Naomi and Ruth are in need of family and food. And the first chapter ends there except for the second half of the last sentence, “arriving in Bethlehem as the barley harvest was beginning.” What a cliff-hanger of a chapter ending, to make you want to read more. It’s full of hope and expectation.

Oh to be able to write like this.

I’ve been reading a wonderful children’s Bible to the boys. They want to read it after every meal and not just our usual after breakfast. It’s called “ The Jesus Storybook Bible: Every story whispers his name,” by Sally Lloyd-Jones, illustrated by Jago. This book clearly shows how every story within the Bible is linked and pointing go Jesus.

Getting back into it: Finishing what I’ve started

Getting back into writing is a struggle. I put aside my writing to pack up our house in country Victoria; travel around speaking about what we’re doing with MAF, move to Cairns, settle in, as much as possible with no permanent house and watch Matt go off to full-time work, while I stay at home with our two energetic boys and return to full-time mum. I’ve found it very difficult to find the time and energy to even think about my writing.

Where do I start?

When do I write?

What was I writing about?

What I’ve concluded is that I have to finish what I’ve started. I am so good at starting things and never finishing them; starting off a book or a Bible study, reading ‘how to write books’ and yes, starting to write a book and getting scared about how to finish.

So, my first task that I’ve assigned myself is to finish all my unfinished projects. I finished reading the book of John (great book). I’m about to finish reading one of my ‘how to write’ books and Psalms (also great books) and I finally worked up the courage to look at my book in progress again (hopefully a great book).

So no magic formula, just one step in front of the other to finish what I’ve started. I'm hoping this will be my springboard back into writing.

Freeze

Writing has been put on hold for the moment as I think about once again packing up our house and moving interstate. This is the second time in as many years that we’ve done such a major move. I’ve been frustrated that I don’t have the time to write, that my work is just on hold for the time being until who knows when.

I haven’t even written on this blog since March and I’m not sure when I’ll get the chance to write again.  One thing that I am thankful for in all of this is that my work is transportable. I can take it wherever I go and so far my life has been one of moving from place to place.

So, for this new season of transition, hopefully short, the writing will be frozen until I once again have the time and space to sit down and think coherently about my stories. 

The Next Step in the Journey

Pep Talk

I’m having one of those days where I sit at the computer and cry because I’m so incredibly frustrated that I just can’t seem to get out what it is that I want to say in a way that will actually make sense and is well written. I feel like I’m banging my head against this invisible force field. One of my main problems is that I have to cut down to one day a week of writing. This means stress-head Linsey goes into overload trying to cram into one day what I would normally try and do it two. This, of course is impossible but I still try and do it.

I keep telling myself; just breathe, there is no deadline on this. The more time I take, the more I think about it, the more I let ideas stew and become fully complete, the better chance I have of communicating well and being understood.

So, pep talk done, it’s time to get back to work.

What exactly am I working on? At the moment I’ve got two picture books that I’m tweaking, trying to get the perfect word to make the perfect sentence (urrrgggg). Also, I’ve got a manuscript for a children’s book that I’m going over again for the 32^nd time (actually I don’t know how many times I’ve gone over it). These are the ones that I have in front of me at the present and I’m not thinking about the other half-baked manuscripts sitting in my computer’s memory.

So writing…. Just do it!

All in Good Time

One of the major things that I am learning as I go through this writing journey is that writing takes time. 

I naively thought, at the beginning of my journey, that if I sat down and wrote and finished a story— I could send it to some friends, maybe get a manuscript appraisal and ‘whala’ – it would be finished. Done and dusted, on to the next project.

This is not how it works. Well, at least, for me, this is not how it works. And I am so pleased to find out that it’s not how it works for other people as well. I’ve been encouraged to read other writer’s journeys and how it might take years to get a first novel, picture book, children’s book etc. completed and then published.

That probably doesn’t sound encouraging but I guess in a way I was thinking, “Quick, get this done as fast as I can.” Stress, stress, stress.

I don’t know why I was thinking that but I was. No that's not true, I know why I was, cause I'm a stress pot. But I've admitted it now and I'm getting help.

Now it’s more like, “I want to get this right. I want to write a good story. So I’ll take my time about it. Learn more, write better, get advice and hopefully make my stories the best they can be—in time.” 

Time, Time, Time, Time

I have to be one of the most impatient people in the whole world. Okay a lot of exaggeration went into that sentence, but that’s how I feel so much of the time, especially with two boys under five.

So what does one do when so much of writing has to do with letting a manuscript sit so that ideas can evolve and mulling can take place? And I quote, “Time is your friend.”

When writing picture books or probably any book really. Write it and then put it away for a couple of weeks. Then take it out again and see how you feel. Okay, fair enough. I can put it away but what in the heck am I supposed to do in the mean time?

Write something else. Yes, I can understand that and I would love to as I have a few projects on the go. (I’ve discovered that I write how I read, a few books at a time.)

But going from one book to another, let along going from one age group to another or one genre to another is really quite brain boggling. 

So, I’m still in the learning process; learning how I write, how I work, how my brain functions (which is a bit of a worry sometimes).

Who knew all of this would crop up with a simple decision to write? 

After the course

I just finished my ‘Writing Picture Books’ course and I can officially say that writing picture books is hard work! I applaud anyone who even attempts it. My brain feels full to overflowing with all the information I’ve been cramming into it over the past six weeks. I feel like I’ve been given the tools to take my writing further.

I’ve been doing my writing courses through ‘The Australian Writer’s Centre’, if anyone is interested. They do a great job.

I have decided that I’m trying to do too much with my writing at the moment. I’ve got stories galore on the back burners and they’re all from different age groups.

I’ve got to figure out how to focus on one thing at a time, without getting distracted by everything else that I’m interested in exploring.

So maybe I need to actually plan my year out and try and finish something instead of starting and starting and starting.