"Baby, we were born to write...."(sung to the tune of Springsteen's Born to Run)

You would be easily forgiven if you have been feeling rather gloomy about the current publishing scene in New Zealand. We have been delivered several blows in short order - the departure of some or all of the Pearson Education and Harper Collins operations from these shores. The recent merger of Penguin and Random will undoubtedly have some repercussions for the total number of titles published here. And just over a week ago the publisher of my YA title The Half Life of Ryan Davis closed up shop. Pear Jam Books has ceased to operate. My book is however still currently available on-line at most e-tailers, under my own imprint, at the very reasonable price of US$2.99 - just in case you were wondering. I may also at some point have some print copies available (publishers, don't knock each other over in the rush to ask me about obtaining the rights).

It is all rather depressing if, like me, you feel you were born to write. We turn in ever decreasing circles.

Well the problem with that is the stories just keep jumping up in front of me to get my attention. 'Hey, hey, look at me. Look how cool am I with my plot and my setting. See my great characters? Aren't you just busting to find out how we are all going to end up?' My stories know me too well. I am a gullible fool and I conspire with these tricksy things to get them down in print and send them off into the world looking for a home. And that's the thing. Just because traditional publishing is under stress. Just because the landscape of social media has changed how we discover, devour and discuss literature. Just because everyone else is obeying the stories hammering away at their conscious and there seems to be an ever growing flood of books overwhelming readers. None of this should stop me writing. The only thing that should stop me writing is myself. When the love is gone. If ever.

I keep thinking, I will find a way through. Readers have enjoyed my books in the past. Why shouldn't they continue to do so if I work to deliver good stories. There will always be a way to get stories from writers to readers. Hopefully there will be ways for writers to be paid for their work. These things might happen in different ways to how they used to. The trouble with gloomy depression is that it doesn't facilitate forward progress. So I am ditching the gloom. And soldiering on...

The Half Life of Ryan Davis - an excerpt...

an excerpt from my teen novel The Half Life of Ryan Davis. This comes later in the first half of the book. Ryan has succeeded in falling out with his best friend Alex and younger sister Gemma. Mallory is his older sister, missing and presumed dead for the past three years.

No one was speaking to me. Mum was so uptight
about what I’d said and Gemma hated my guts. And
there was no way I could talk to Alex. As I pulled
my good hoodie over my favourite t-shirt I checked
myself out in the mirror and had to ask Mallory what
she thought because there was no one else.
In her opinion, the t-shirt wasn’t smart enough
and the shoes were fine if I was going down to the
skate park on my bike.
“I can’t wear my good shoes,” I complained.
“They’re for like funerals and tea at Grandma’s
place…and they pinch.” Yeah, but the shoes you have
on now are for riding and P.E. class. I wished she was
here for real and not just in my head.
“At least my jeans are clean,” I said. “And my
socks.”
“Talking to yourself are you?”
“Dad! What are you doing here?”
“I was talking to your Mum last night …”
Oh no. Here came the lecture on staying in
school, the importance of education, the you-have-to-
do-as-you’re-told speech.
“Look Dad …” I began, ready to say that I
probably wasn’t going to leave school and he should
save his breath but he cut me off.
“She thought you might need a lift to this shindig
at your school.”
“Do you mean the social? Um…yeah…” Of
course I wanted a lift. Alex said his mum could take
all of us if we met at his place but that was before
Brittney dumped him and I told him to piss off. I
don’t think the offer still stood. But if I went with
Dad, what about Kim? I’d said I’d meet her at her
place. I was going to ride my bike there and walk her
to the social and she said she’d ask her mum to pick
us up. “I’ll be okay walking …” I said.
“Don’t be silly,” Dad said. “Are you just about
ready to go? I have somewhere else to be after I’ve
dropped you off.” He gave me a funny look: a kind of
unsure half smile.
“I guess…” I said. I’d figure something out. “Um,
Dad, do you think this looks okay?”
“If you change your shirt you can get away with
wearing those shoes,” he said with his normal size
grin. Well, if they both agreed, I had no choice but
to change into a shirt.
“Nice car,” I’d said when we got in. The Audi I’d
wanted to vandalise.
“It belongs to a friend,” Dad had replied. I
swallowed guiltily.
Now I sat hunched down, my mind running a mile
a minute. Could I run all the way back from school
to Kim’s house without getting too sweaty and then
walk her back to school in time before the whole
thing was over? I rehearsed telling Dad about her in
my head again and again but I couldn’t bring myself
to open my mouth. I must have been squirming in
my seat.
“Is something wrong, Ryan? Don’t worry. You look
good. Is there some girl you’re trying to impress?”
He’d made it so easy for me and I still couldn’t
say anything. I think I was going red in the face.
“Look buddy…”
That’s what he used to call me when I was little.
What the hell was going on?
“Taking you to this thing isn’t the only reason I
came over. There’s something I wanted to talk to
you about. Mum told me about what you said last
night … about your argument with her.”
This was it.
“Dad, before you go any further, stop the car.”
“I don’t think it’s that serious, Ryan. I know you’re
probably just yanking your mother’s chains. You kids
are too smart these days. It’s easy to wind her up.”
He looked sideways at me. What was he going on
about?
“Dad, stop the car,” I said more urgently, my
hand on the door handle.
Dad pulled over and turned the car off. “What’s
wrong, Ryan?”
“Dad, we ... we need to pick up my girlfriend on
the way.”
Dad burst out laughing. It kind of wasn’t what I
was expecting.
“It’s not funny,” I said through gritted teeth.
“No. No it’s not. I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m not laughing
at you.”
“What’s so funny then?”
“So I take it Mum doesn’t know?”
I shook my head.
Dad said, “Okay. Where does she live?”
I told him her address and we moved off again,
heading to Kim’s place.
“Look Ryan, you’re growing up…”
“Dad, I know all about that stuff. It’s not like that.
Not yet anyway.”
“You’re a smart kid, Ryan. I don’t think you’ll
make any stupid mistakes about girls. But don’t
make any stupid mistakes about school either. Don’t
leave unless you’re absolutely sure it’s the right thing
for you. Don’t do it just because you’re angry with
your mum.”
“I did just say it to annoy her,” I said. “School’s
okay. But I need to earn a bit of pocket money. She
won’t let me get a part time job. Having a girlfriend
costs money.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Dad said, turning into
Kim’s street. “Ryan, there’s something else I wanted
to tell you. It’s about where I’m going after I drop
you off …”
We came to a stop outside Kim’s. I patted the
pocket of my shirt to check the tickets were there.
I put my hand on the door handle again but Dad put
his hand on my shoulder.
“I’ve got a girlfriend too, mate,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say. My stomach kind of
flopped over. I figured he and Mum were never
getting back together but this news punched that
message home – right in the guts. I didn’t want
another mum. Girlfriends were what people my age
have. Not old dudes like Dad. He had a bald patch
on the back of his head and his stomach hung over
his trousers.
I turned back in my seat. Took my hand off the
door handle. “How old is she?”
“She’s younger than me,” Dad said. “Not by
a lot though. She works at my office. Her name’s
Annabel. She’s really nice, you’ll like her.”
I don’t even want to meet her, I thought.
“She’s got two kids too, although they’re younger
than you and Gemma. This is her car.”
A surge of anger drove through my body. I
wished I had that coin in my hand to run along the
paintwork. Two kids? He already had two kids. His
own kids. My eyes stung with tears. I didn’t want to
be hearing about this now.
“Does Mum know? Or Gemma?” I forced the
words out. He shook his head in reply, this gumpy
expression on his face.
“So why tell me?”
He shrugged and shook his head again. “I
don’t know. You were going to have to find out
sometime.”
“Not if it doesn’t last.”
“Ryan!”
“Don’t ask me to babysit,’ I shot at him as I
yanked open the door as roughly as I could and got
out, slamming it behind me.

Last chance...

If you have not already entered my fantabulous giveaway of 2 signed copies of The Half Life of Ryan Davis, and you still want to - THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!!! You have been warned. Here are the instructions again, in case they fell out of your head and broke on the pavement.

 The Half Life of Ryan Davis (was) Book of the Week over at Pear Jam Books and in conjunction we are running a giveaway of two signed copies. To enter the giveaway just tell me (in the comments) which book was the first Pear Jam title to be published (Hint, this super book was created for a very special reason and was published in the record quick time of just one month). All correct answers will go in the draw!!


I will be drawing the winners tomorrow.

I am currently massaging a picture book manuscript into shape and reconfiguring a novel for intermediate readers so today's blog is short and sharp. In the meantime, I am rather liking this post here by Nathan Bransford - a nifty list of ten commandments for editing someone else's book. This is very good advice. In fact I think you should apply it to your own book as well. Standing back from the nitty gritty is necessary to see the global problems, issues and fixes needed before you can get back to fussing over individual words.

Go on, you know you want to!...

Win this book! Whet your appetite with the first chapter, then enter in the comments section of the previous post. Go on, you know you want to.

Chapter One

Apparently my older sister Mallory was perfect. That’s not how I remember her, but it’s what my mother tells me when I’m doing something wrong. My sister certainly looks perfect in all the photos mum has plastered her bedroom with; photos that sit next to trophies for netball and gymnastics, photos that hang next to certificates of merit for academic achievement, and principals’ awards for community service. But she was just my sister. A sister who fought over the TV remote with me and complained if I took up more than my fair share of the couch. A sister who told me my friends were rude and smelly and called me names. But I guess it doesn’t matter whether she was perfect or not. It’s impossible to be as good as someone who’s just a memory.

“What are you doing Ryan?” Mum asked, glancing over to where I sat at the kitchen table.

I covered my work with my arm. “Nothing,” I said.

“Is that homework?” she pestered. “That better be homework. Mrs Penman wasn’t very happy with your homework last term.”

“She’s just one teacher. I have lots of teachers … and Mrs Penman doesn’t like me.”

“So what did you do to make her not like you?” Mum said, standing at the kitchen bench, squeezing the last home-made muffin into an old ice cream container.

“Nothing. She just doesn’t like me,” I repeated.

“You must have done something, Ryan.’ I could feel her looking over my shoulder. “So is this for her?”

“She’s my science teacher, Mum. This is for English.”

“Ok. Well, make sure you do your science homework.”

I didn’t bother saying I didn’t have any.

“I’m off to a meeting,” she went on, sitting a knife and a small tub of cream cheese on top of the muffins in her basket. “It’s time to organise the Candle-light Rally for Missing Children again. Gosh, they come around quickly. I need you to look after Gemma.”

“I told Alex I’d be down to see him at the skate park with my bike as soon as I did my homework. You said nothing about going out.”

Mum pointed a wad of paper napkins at me. “Don’t be smart with me. There’s no one else to sit with Gemma and I can’t take her to the meeting. It’s too hard for some of the other parents. Too soon.”

Jeez. Mallory wasn’t here any more but she was still wrecking my life. I wanted to hate her but I couldn’t. It’s hard to hate someone when something bad has happened to them. I wondered if she’d felt this hacked off about babysitting me.

“Can Alex come here?” I don’t know why I asked.

“No. Next thing you know he’ll be texting his mates and there’ll be twenty of them round here. Or a hundred …”

I didn’t bother saying Alex didn’t have a mobile phone at the moment. I’d already told her enough times but she chose not to remember or blocked it out or something. She was good at blocking stuff out. I guess it helped her cope with what had happened to Mallory. I’d see Alex at school tomorrow. In science class.

“I’ll lock the back door on my way out,” Mum said briskly, brandishing her over-full, jangling key ring like a jailer.

Mallory was nearly fifteen when she disappeared on the way home from netball practice, I wrote as I heard the lock click and the back door slam. I’m older then my big sister will ever be.

I didn’t make Gemma go to bed until an hour after her usual bedtime. Gemma’s okay for a little sister. None of this is her fault. She is a bit of a cry baby, but she’s a girl. Its kind of what they do. She hadn’t moaned at all when I’d asked her to clear the table and wipe while I washed. So I just said nothing while she watched an extra hour of television. I guess you’d call it a silent protest. It’s not like Mum would find out or anything, but the program was a bit grown up and full of swearing. Gemma’s always been on about watching it so I knew she wouldn’t dob me in. I didn’t even bother to make sure she did her homework. That was Mum’s job. 

After I’d said good night to my sister I wandered aimlessly around the house. I wasn’t going to do any of the chores Mum would have made me do if she was here. I had a few more days to finish my English assignment and there wasn’t any other homework because the new term of school had only started a couple of days before. TV was rubbish and I didn’t want to ring Alex. He’d be hacked off I never turned up, although he had to be used to it by now. He’d met my mum enough times.

I found myself standing outside Mallory’s bedroom. The last door on the upstairs hallway. I’d seen those forensic crime shows on television. I know what dead people look like. In the beginning I’d imagined Mallory, pale, lying in long grass, her eyes closed. Just her face because I didn’t want to see beyond it. But I couldn’t do it any more. Mum kept telling me she was still alive somewhere. And one day she’d come home and we’d be a happy family again but that was one big fat stupid lie. Mum could tell it to herself but I’d stopped believing it ages ago.

Don’t get me wrong. I wanted Mallory to come back for so long. I waited and waited and waited and the police kept coming back with developments and new ideas and then questions and then, eventually, they stopped coming. I cried bucket-loads of tears – I was a lot younger back then - with Mum and Dad and Gemma, and by myself in my bedroom, and then they just dried up because they weren’t going to bring her back. For a while I hated everything and everyone because what had we done wrong, why was everyone else’s life going along okay and this shit thing had happened to us? And I hated and cursed the person who had taken my sister and wrecked our family and made it break apart into five lonely pieces.

And sometimes I blamed Mallory.

In the end it was Gemma who kind of saved me from becoming a pathetic crying hermit because they were forgetting about us and we had to stick together. Poor Gemma.

I felt a little guilty standing outside Mallory’s room now. It’s not like she’d chosen to be abducted and murdered. For ages I blamed her for all the bad things that happened after she’d gone. And then I did my best to shut her out of my head, except when it suited me to blame her for something else. Like having to babysit Gemma tonight. Even if she was here, she’d be seventeen, nearly eighteen. She’d probably be going out with a boyfriend. Probably some jock like Mike Crenshaw who played rugby for the senior first-fifteen at my school. Or maybe someone older to piss Mum off. Or she’d be hanging out with her girlfriends and I’d still be minding Gemma although Mum wouldn’t be at the meeting to organise the Candlelight Rally for Missing children. I couldn’t imagine what else she might be doing if Mallory was still around. There wasn’t anything else.

            I felt for the light switch and flicked it on. For a second I thought she’d probably be annoying me like crazy if she was here. She’d find a way. And suddenly I desperately wanted to be annoyed. And this flood of sadness swept over me like a wave and threatened to suck me down. As if casting off from the safety of the shore in a leaky boat, I let go of the door frame and drifted into Mallory’s bedroom.

I didn’t know why I was in here. I gave up on the idea long ago that I could find some clue in here myself, something that everyone one else had missed with their fine-toothed combs and their specialist equipment but I couldn’t help feeling a small stab of hope. Then I remembered it all happened three years ago and any clue would just lead me to a pile of bones or a faded empty netball uniform.

When she first disappeared the police spent hours in here, looking through her clothes, flicking through her books as if she'd left a secret coded message in lemon ink in a pocket or between the pages of a favourite book as a clue to what had happened;  like she was someone in a Nancy Drew mystery. But she didn’t keep a diary and there was nothing in her room to show what she’d been thinking those last few days before she was gone. There were posters on her bedroom walls of people famous three years ago, but they had nothing to say now. She’d kept a whole lot of stuff in her school bag. She never let anyone else look inside it but she had it with her when she disappeared. They searched for her mobile phone but it was missing too. They monitored it for weeks but there were no calls or texts. Mum had convinced Dad to get a mobile phone for Mallory, saying it would help keep her safe. But a phone can’t protect you if someone has bad intentions. Mobile phones don’t know kung fu and can’t dial for help on their own. And they can’t tell you where they are when the battery’s dead. Just like a person.

 A frilly pink duvet lay smooth over her bed with a couple of soft toys propped up on the pillow. The one on the far side was Mr E, her first teddy that I always wished was mine, but I didn’t recognize the other one. It looked brand new; as if no one had ever held it or dragged it through the mud or wiped their nose on it like had happened to Mr E. I punched the new one off the bed. Mallory would have hated it.

Like I’d seen a hundred times before, there was Mallory’s hairbrush, and her earrings and heart necklaces and other jewellery and a bunch of face junk on the top of her drawers. Mum had tidied her girly magazines into a pile but you could see strands of paper sticking out where she’d cut out her favourite hot guy to pin on the cork board above her bed. A chill ran over me as I thought that these things were all that was left of her. Her celebrity crushes in May the year she disappeared and the big plastic rainbow heart that Tyler had given her in year seven, that she wore on a cheap rusty chain. Forever stopped at fourteen, just a roomful of stuff that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else but us. Like when you take your hand out of a bucket of water and the water falls back into place like you were never there.

I heard the car door slam outside and footsteps climbing the wooden back porch stairs to the house. The key rattling in the lock. I sprinted for the door, quietly let myself into the hallway and along to my room at the other end. It wasn’t worth the trouble I’d be in if Mum found me mucking around in Mallory’s room.

500th post competition...win some books!!

I resisted reading The Hunger Games books by Suzanne Collins for a long time. I'm not much into dystopian /futuristic or sci fi stories. I find wading through someone's world building can be a bit of a drag. I like a light touch. I want to feel like I'm there in a story without having to do the engineering to construct the whole world in my mind. The hype was off-putting as well. Too much hype makes it harder to approach a book objectively. I like to make up my own mind. And I wasn't that struck on the premise either - a game where teens have to kill each other to win? And then I saw the trailer for the movie and I bought the first book. While busy trying to get someone else in my family to read it so we can talk about it, I bought the other two in the trilogy and read them back to back in less than five days. Now I'm feeling mighty tempted to start back on the first book again. I haven't had this kind of reaction in a very long time (maybe reading Lord of the Rings as a teenager? I think I read it around twelve times). The books are not without flaws. Plot flaws, annoying qualities in the characters, inconsistencies, some repetitiveness, especially in the last book. But I didn't care. I loved it all. I felt satisfied by the twists and turns and clever resolutions. I loved the politics and the machinations and the uncertainty. This is why I love books. This level of satisfaction is what I aim for when I write.

My book, The Half Life of Ryan Davis, has been reviewed again (yay!). You can check out the review by the fabulous Bookie Monster here. (BTW I am discovering that some adults are enjoying this book too and have been wondering about its crossover qualities).

I have finally decided on a competition to celebrate reaching 500 posts on this blog. I will give any two of my books (your choice) from the following list (picture books The Were-Nana, The House That Went to Sea, or Made with Love, and novels Jack the Viking and The Half Life of Ryan Davis) as a prize to be posted anywhere in the world to the person who comes up with the best crime writing pseudonym for me. Competition closes March 9th. Please submit your entry in comments to this post. Multiple entries allowed.

March is New Zealand Book Month here in our fair country. I am involved in a number of events some of which I've posted below. To support these events I was encouraged to write educational resources for my new books and while I complained about doing it at the time (sorry Maria), especially as I don't have a teaching background and I have only a small sample size of three to base any understanding of developmental and comprehension levels of children, with the aid of my starry teacher sister Halina I have been able to produce the educational resources and I will be making these available here on the blog. If you are writing for children these are a terrific thing to have to support your books. They give teachers the necessary material to help utilise your books in the classroom which seems a win-win situation all round to me.

Kiwiwrite4kidz and NZ Book Month present

A trio of events for those who love children’s books, this March:

• Know Your NZ Children’s Authors & Illustrators: Test Your knowledge, Win Prizes -
  6pm Tuesday 6^th March,
  Takapuna Library, Cnr The Strand & Gibbons Rd, Takapuna, Auckland

For more information or to RSVP mariagill@ihug.co.nz

• Stories Over Supper: Get the inside scoop on our authors and illustrators –
  6.30pm Wednesday 21^st March,
  Paper Plus, Westfield Shopping Mall, Cnr Glenfield & Downing St, Glenfield

For more information or to RSVP mariagill@ihug.co.nz

• Stories Over Supper: Get the inside scoop on our authors and illustrators –
  6.30pm Wednesday 28^th March,
  Paper Plus, Meadowbank Shopping Centre, Cnr St Johns Rd & Gerard Way, Meadowbank, Auckland

For more information or to RSVP melinda@tale-spin.com

Enjoy a relaxed evening - Hear from new and established New Zealand Children’s Authors and Illustrators –
Find out about the latest New Zealand children’s books.
Featuring Jill Marshall, Chris Gurney, Maria Gill, Nina Rycroft, Melinda Szymanik and many more.

Just hold steady a minute, so i can get my bearings...

Getting your work published is not the end of your education it is just the beginning. Every time I have had something published I have learned something new. The more I learn the more I appreciate how little I know. And it does not help that the industry is constantly evolving and currently seems to be experiencing some rather major shifts. Jeepers, just hold steady for a minute, will you, so I can get my bearings. Yet there are certain fundamentals which will always apply in this business. Being polite and professional is always the right place to start. And you can check out some more good advice on how to get on the publication road here at Nicola Morgan's blog.

I am in the teaching seat this summer holidays, taking a two day weekend workshop on writing for children as part of the University of Auckland's Centre for Continuing Education Summer Programme. There are still spaces available and you can check it out here. To be held at the lovely Epsom campus, it will be a fun weekend of juicy writing secrets, tips and the chance to weed and iron out those pesky writing problems you might be having.

Thanks to the wonderful Graham Beattie who reviewed my new book The Half Life of Ryan Davis on his blog. "YA psychological drama thriller writing at its best......."  Crikey - I wrote that book :). And I just want to share this juicy link because I think this is very smart. Janet Reid talks about the mistaken assumption of stupidity when someone does not 'get' what you are saying.  This is not just for writers but for everyone, everywhere.

I visited the primary school at which a fellow writer, Phillip Simpson, teaches last week to read to his year 3-4 class. I put up a signed copy of The Were-Nana as the prize for a writing challenge I gave them. Here is the winning entry by Eva Colthart. Well done Eva...I have chills running down my spine...

Halloween  Night

By Eva Colthart

Once   a   little   girl   was   going    to   do   trick   or   treating.   There   was   a   house   near   the   grave   yard.   She   trick   or   treated   there.   She   knocked   on   the   door   and   an old   man   came   out.   She   screamed   and   ran   away   as   fast   as   she   could.   Then   BANG!!   Something   came   from   the   old   man’s   house.   She   went   back   to   her   house   and   ran   into   her   bedroom   and   told   her    dad    everything .  He   didn’t   believe   her.  A    minute   later   the   lights   went   out   and   her   dad   lit   a   candle.   Then   the   lights   flashed   and   there   was   a   spooky   noise   it   sounded   like   a   howl.   She   thought   that   it   was   a   were-wolf   but   when   she   went   back   to   the   house   of   the   old   man   it   was   him.   He   was   turning   into   a   were-wolf!!!   She   was   scared   she   ran   and   told   her   dad,   he   still   didn’t   believe   her.   She   took   her   dad   to   the   old   man’s   house.   Then   they   went   into   the   old   man’s   house.   He   was   dead   on   the   floor.   Aaaaaarrrrrraarrr!!!!   She   screamed.   They   both   ran   back   to   their   house   and   the   lights   were   still   off.   Her   dad   lit   another   candle.   Then   a   zombie    came   through   the   wall!!!!!   And   on   that   day   they   both   died.

The   end!!!!!!!!

Instant success, just add water and stir...

It was, I thought, a good idea. A company wanting to provide some free children's story downloads to customers for long car trips. Authors would receive a free audio file professionally produced to use as they saw fit. They would retain all rights and get some free promotion through folk being able to listen to their stories (a huge bonus when promotion can be such a hard slog). But the company hadn't planned to 'pay' for the stories they chose to record. Fair enough, I thought, they are not selling them. I thought about the stories I had written that might fit the bill and sent them in. But I was somewhat surprised to hear some folk thought this was a terrible idea. As far as I can tell its not a scam. I always think of a scam as the situation where things are nothing like you think they are. Or where you have to pay them to accept your story. Neither of these things was true in this instance. If my stories made the cut I would be getting a return on them but not one instantly quantifiable in dollar terms.

I believe I should be paid for the creative work I produce, but it is hard to know what I am worth. Who decides? The market? The market is saturated with books; many very, very good ones. Plenty of great writers get ignored by the market and it has nothing to do with the quality of their work. Publishers? They want to reward writers but must do so at the behest of the market. They are, after all, commercial operations. Award judges? Sure! They select stories they believe are of a high quality and it can only help to be talked about in this way. But ultimately it is the everyday purchasing reader I have to impress. In my opinion I have to earn the reputation I want to be rewarded for. This doesn't happen overnight. I can't wash it in Pantene and have instant success. Sometimes it does happen overnight to people (I want the shampoo they're using) and good on them but it hasn't happened to me. I have to write the best stories I can and send them out into the world. And then I have to keep doing it. Because if someone does find one of my books among the many, many others and then discovers they like it, I want them to like my next book even more. They might remember my name. Next time they venture out to the bookshop or the library or onto Amazon they might ask if there are any other books by me. When a new one comes out they might get that too. Building a readership can be a slow painstaking process. I have to win people over with my writing cos most of the time that's all they see of me. I can't make them love me. And with children it can be extra challenging as our target readers are always growing up and moving on. "Hey, I just won you over, stay 8 a few years longer!" And then we have to do it all over again with a whole new group and who knows what they will like. If having a story on audio helps win people over to my writing then that sounds pretty good to me. And having that recording to help sell my other stories sounds even better. I like the idea of expanding the formats my stories are available in. That's part of the reason I signed up for The Half Life of Ryan Davis to be published by Pear Jam Books. It's already in 2 formats and a third is in the pipelines. Four formats is the goal for all Pear Jam Books.

So I am willing to give my story to that company to help build my name. So its building their name as well? Good for them. I know how important that is. And if I get no financial return on a short story today its not the end of the world. If one kid likes my story on a car trip who knows where it might lead.

Spooky tales....and pink hair

Happy Birthday Geneva - my little Halloweenie :) Looking forward to giving out treats to the best dressed who knock on our spooky door this evening.

The Half Life of Ryan Davis is now out in print and can be bought here. I still have a copy to give away.

I have been at the Armageddon Expo over the weekend at the Pear Jam Book Stall.  The Expo hosts a wide variety of fans who love all manner of things from Fantasy, Sci Fi, and Military, to Anime, and Manga, Steam Punk and tech. There were a wonderful array of costumes including Where's Wally, Star Wars Characters, Star Trek characters, Manga characters, Super heroes and lesser known Heroes, Ghouls, Zombies and Space Tarts.  On Saturday I got a little carried away and/or inspired and dressed up as you can see above. T'was very pleasing to hold my latest baby in my hands and feel its shiny cover. Hope those who went away with a copy enjoy the story.

hey it's another competition!! Win a print copy of The Half Life of Ryan Davis or The House That Went to Sea

Unless you've been hiding under a rock, by now you will be aware that the All Blacks won the Rugby World Cup on Sunday night. YAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!! And if you are hiding under a rock you probably aren't reading this so I will assume I am talking to the informed. It was torture to watch the final. Finally France played like finalists - much respect to them. However you cannot dismiss the All Blacks response. They played defense as if their lives depended on it. Despite injuries, quality All Blacks kept rocking up to take their compatriots places. If I found qualities in Piri Weepu that I would like to emulate, after Sunday I think the whole New Zealand team showed the kind of determination and commitment that get results. It was not their best game but they had played a tournament's worth of cup winning rugby. Mentally we all played that final, our hearts pounding in our chests.

I read this post with great interest. It's interesting to compare it to this. Why do we do what we do? I must confess sometimes the desire to be published can be overwhelming. Perhaps not to the extent that it was for Ms Whipple. But I respect her advice. Step back. Write the stories you want to write. Take your time. Ok, maybe I can't do the last thing on that list. I don't think my impatience will ever be cured. Everything is still too slow. I don't want to take my time. I will always want things to happen now. But as months and years have passed, things I never thought would happen have happened. I guess the treatment for impatience is never giving up on anything because the things that are only now coming to fruition make up for those things I'm working on now that just aren't happening fast enough.

I am giving away a print copy of The Half Life of Ryan Davis and one of The House That Went to Sea, and I will post them anywhere in the world. All correct answers to the following question will be eligible for the draw. Please advise which book you would prefer.

Question - why is Halloween extra special in our household?
(update - I will accept incorrect answers to this question if they are very creative and make me laugh)

And for those people who would like to see how our eldest is doing here is a photo taken last week

A winner!!**!!

UPDATE: We now have a second winner - congratulations Angela! Your e-book will be with you soon. The competition is now CLOSED but watch this space as there will be another competition soon.

Folks, we've had a correct answer! Congratulations Kath for getting both questions 1 and 2 right. Please send your email address to me at melinda@tale-spin.com and Iwill arrange for your e-book to wing its way to you.

I still have one more copy to give away, so have a go. One correct answer will qualify you. If you do not have an e-reader do not despair as the e-book can easily be read on your computer.