The sap is rising...

Must be Spring. How can I tell? I posted off my funding application on friday, I sent off a flurry of submissions (12 in total out at the moment, mostly to overseas publishers), I finished off my fourth assignment for my studies and got organised for the two final essays, and then I bought an embarrassingly large quantity of books at the local indy bookshop today, including Wasted by one of my favourite bloggers, Nicola Morgan. My eldest sister (part inspiration for a picture book of mine) made a comment yesterday that has my creative brain frothing with interest and on monday night the Fabo Team received an e-mail from a fabo participant which included this paragraph:

By the way you are my inspiration because since the FaBo story started I decided I want to be an author. Keep up the good writing and continue to write and maybe I can be an author.

I never anticipated how children might respond to our crazy writing experiment. I was hopeful they would want to join in the fun but results so far (not even half way through yet) have exceeded my expectations and I was thrilled to find how much it is inspiring some kids. If you'd like to see what its all about click here . The quality of the children's writing is very high. Make a note of the names of these kids - they are the writers of the future for sure.

Yet again Maureen Crisp has found some wise advice on the intramawebby you should be checking out - two items needed in every author's book promotion toolbox.

Had fun yesterday with a small but dedicated crew of intermediate students in our third workshop together, with the highlight a diversionary discussion on the significance of the book titles of a particular series.Fascinating for everyone concerned I think. Looking forward to next week.

Oh, and huge congratulations to fellow fabo team-mate and all round excellent writer Brian Falkner for winning the Sir Julius Vogel Science Fiction YA Award for his book Brainjack. Brilliant stuff.

I'm off to smell the new grass - the aroma of vigor and potential. Quite a heady fragrance.

Proof of the existence of magic...

Sometimes when I am reading I come across a line in a book that is so cunning, and so lyrical it really does prove the existence of magic. I am re-reading Philip Pullman's Northern Lights for my university course at the moment and I came across this line yesterday which definitely proves it.

It was about as long as Lyra's thumb, and dark green, not black. Its wing cases were erect, like a ladybird's about to fly, and the wings inside were beating so furiously that they were only a blur. Its six clawed legs were scrabbling on the smooth glass.
"What is it?" she said.
...
"If you was to crack it open," said Farder Coram, "you'd find no living thing in there...There's a clockwork running in there, and pinned to the spring of it, there's a bad spirit with a spell through its heart."

Its kind of the holy grail, these sentences that blow our minds, that make us want to work harder and strive more to write these things ourselves. To touch this magic and reveal it for other readers. Sigh. I've been thinking about things I've written and sentences that I've been especially proud of. Sentences that have a hint of this kind of magic. I can't quite bring myself to post any up today, so close to Pullman's genius. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. In the meantime I'd love to hear about the sentences that made you feel this way - in your own writing or the writing of others.

My life is a Salvador Dali painting...

I feel like my life is a Salvador Dali painting but without any of the humour. It is all very surreal as I have been dragged unwillingly into the universe of that sad ass drooping clock. I thought for sure I would go mental about a month ago as I waited impatiently to hear back from anyone in any of the different publishing houses at which I have thrown my work. And here we are a month later and nothing has changed (except maybe that a bunch of publishing professionals have gone on holiday - at least three from three different houses - which pushes any decision making back another 3 or 4 weeks). My clock is definitely wilting. As Tim Roth (in-character) said on Lie to Me the other night, "patience is overrated." I'm with you Tim. I find the only reward for my patience has been more waiting. I am choosing to self medicate with chocolate, wine and DVD watching and managing to plod through the days in a weird kind of haze. How did Dali know?

And whats with all the mud. I spend too much time scrubbing mud out of boy clothes. That'll teach me for having a son, especially one who likes to wallow in the stuff (he does have a nice complexion though). Elinor Dashwood knew what she was talking about when she lamented that she was experiencing all the punishments of loving someone without any of the rewards. I feel that way about mud. I don't know that that was what Jane Austen was trying to tell us but it just goes to show her themes are timeless and widely applicable.

Loved this post over at fellow writer Tania Hutley's blog. I am curious to know what the website where Tania found that lovely quote is trying to sell. Luck perhaps?

Before anyone else is awake...

Every morning for the past week I have wakened to see an outrageously bright star hanging in the pre-dawn sky. I'm reminded of Tintin and The Shooting Star, because it looks impossibly large, like its hurtling towards us, a meteor on a suicide mission. Or maybe someone left a light on up there. Maybe somewhere in a distant solar system on the edge of time, a sun went supernova thousands of years ago, billions of years ago - I don't know. I read the science books which talk about these things but the numbers just drop out the other side of my head. Or the shear scale of those numbers is too much for me to manage so a few zero's are bound to wander off. All I know is, this week, this enormous shining star has been hanging in my bedroom window when everything else is dark and silent. Does anyone else see it? I feel like its trying to tell me something. Maybe I can only understand its message in my dreams and when I wake its just beyond my grasp, leaving only the star to wink and hint...