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Avatar: Oscar Contender?

Feb 09, 2010

I finally made it to the cinema to see the movie that has people talking: Avatar. A spectacular sci-fi/fantasy action movie with an Aussie, Sam Worthington in the lead and the ‘King of the World’ director, James Cameron, at the helm.

I now see why it has people excited. Beautifully shot, using state of the art cinematography and CGI, it transports the audience onto the planet Pandora and into the lives of the indigenous population, the blue-skinned, ten feet tall, Na’vi.

The hero of the movie is a disabled, wheelchair bound marine, a ‘grunt’ named Sully who, in a decision based on economic rationalism, takes his dead brother’s place in a scientific research team. This means, he inherits his brother’s avatar – a ‘native’ grown from human and Na’vi DNA which the marine can ‘insert’ himself into. Not only does he have control of his inert limbs in his new form, but he finds a freedom with the Na’vi and on the planet that his military training (brainwashing) did not allow.

Instead of a patriarchal and capitalist system, Sully finds a culture in tune with its deity and nature – who are, in essence, one and the same. The environmental thrust of the movie is apparent; the significance of the female is too, not at the expense of the male, but working in tandem. Something Sully learns to appreciate. Romance flourishes in this fertile world – and not just between the characters. Audiences will find it hard not to fall in love with the world portrayed and feel protective about what is threatened. I also enjoyed the moral superiority of the scientists… doesn’t happen all to often in this genre!

Eyes and the notion of ‘seeing’ are strong motifs and themes in this movie and the central character, Sully, has his eyes opened to a whole new world – literally and metaphorically. So do we. Cameron’s planet, Pandora is a beautiful, lush place, imaginatively realised but, like its namesake from Greek mythology, its colonisation by humans with the intent to profit, opens a box of trouble…

Whether or not Cameron will win a Best Picture or Director Oscar for this film remains to be seen – no doubt, it will get some technical nods. It’s hard to imagine the Academy awarding a film that represents the military in such a negative light or uses the still raw memory of the collapse of the Twin Towers in an analogous manner to evoke a visceral anti-US response.

I really enjoyed this film. What did you think? (Oh, and I know that I am late seeing it – for health reasons – but I still tried not to put any spoilers in – I didn’t, did I???)

The Writer’s Ego: Coping With Criticism

Feb 05, 2010

A friend of mine on FaceBook prompted me to write this blog after she felt depressed about feedback she’d received from her writing group regarding a novel upon which she was working. She also felt a little guilty for feeling that way and was kicking herself because, feedback is what writers thrive on, isn’t it? It’s what we need in order to elevate our prose or whatever style we’re writing in to the next level.

Well, yes and no.

Let me explain. There are two types of feedback in this world and both involve the ‘C’ word. Of course, I mean Criticism.

The first kind is that delivered with knowledge and generosity – the knowledge springing from direct experience gleaned from the Critic being a writer and receiving feedback her or himself or from a deep understanding and love a literature generally or both. This kind of reviewer can be professional (as in reviewer is paid for their trouble) and published in newspapers, magazines, websites and other media or simply provided by a lover/fan/practitioner of writing and/or reading. the point being that none of these are mutually exclusive.

The second kind of review is that done with varying degrees of knowledge but most of all it is written with an ungenerous eye.

I know many writers and all of them tell me they have experienced both kinds. While a writer loves nothing better then a positive review, a negative review can be crushing. But it is the ungenerous, mean-spirited and destructive review that nitpicks and uses ad hominen attacks (attacking the person who wrote rather than the writing itself) that leave the worst kinds of scars and, frankly, I fail to see the point except to cause hurt and distress.

One very well known writer friend of mine tells me not to read reviews, that she doesn’t and therefore doesn’t know what’s said about her work (it’s usually always wonderful). But I am not yet ready to take that step. I wish I was. I don’t feel I am experienced enough to walk away from what might, buried in a review, prove to be a really valuable piece of advice or an observation that, whether positive or negative, should be paid attention to in order to improve future works. As a result, I do very occasionally get to read really ungenerous reviews. Interestingly, I can tell in the first line what kind it is going to be but, like an eavesdropper hearing no good about themselves, feel compelled to read on – just in case…

I am relatively thick-skinned when it comes to being criticised. I receive critiques all the time. As a newspaper columnist and feature writer, readers interact with my work on an almost daily basis. I receive feedback that makes me laugh, cry (in a good way), challenges, attacks me as well as some that makes me appalled that someone feels they have a right to make assumptions about me on the basis of an opinion or piece. One time, an article I wrote on Harry Potter caused a newspaper’s online feedback system to crash as readers around the world responded with vitriol to some of my points. They called me ‘sick’, spoke of the sympathy they had for my children for having such a mother, questioned my educational qualifications ‘What’s your doctorate in? Stupidity?’ and so on. These comments flew at me from around the globe and were a baptism by fire into the world of criticism. I was heartbroken and quite confused when what I had done was write what I believed was an intelligent, well-researched and humourous piece on what was fast becoming the Harry Potter phenomenon. And yes, my ego was bruised. The fact that I was able to respond with a piece entitled ‘I’m no Rita Skeeter,’ and the overwhelming lovely feedback I received and apologies, did a great deal to salve my wounds, but it also taught me a huge lesson in coping with not only the people who read your work and take it to heart, but the cruel anonymity of the internet. There’s also its immediacy to take into consideration, how anyone and everyone can now fire verbal barbs with the intention to make them stick or just as bad, without thinking…

As a result of this anonymity and speed I have, over the years via email mostly, been invited to burn in the eternal fires of hell, had my patriotism questioned, been told to go back to where I came from (I can’t, my mother is dead), had my sex and sexuality questioned and the list goes on. Strangely, those comments, which are more about me than my journalistic pieces, don’t hurt nearly as much as those which are directed at my creative writing. Hence, I understand exactly where my friend is coming from.

Doing my Ph.D. was an exercise in learning to write for a critical audience as is writing scholarly articles and having them ‘blind-reviewed’ by three peers around the world. Comments such as ‘ugh’, ‘point so lost it couldn’t find its way out of the London Underground’ and so on were relatively common. Even so, I only ever had one article rejected and that was in the first year of my PhD. So, I did get used to harsh comments.

But still, the ungenerous ones stand out from the crowd in a way that tells a great deal more about the reviewer than the piece he or she is critiquing.

Writers, regardless of what genre or for which audience they’re writing, labour over their words, even those writers, such as journalists, with strict deadlines and word counts. What might appear rushed, is generally thought out and edited heavily before someone else gets to fiddle with it and well before the public read it. All angles are deliberated (even if a particular approach is directed), and rejected or embraced. What can appear slap-dash, rarely is – even if it does invite that kind of criticism.

However, when we’re talking about a novel, a completely different set of skills and effort are applied. Generally, time works in the writer’s favour (though not always) and they use this wisely-ish. Every word, sentence, paragraph, character, theme, plot is highly developed and lovingly written and rewritten. What to include, what to exclude; where to allow the reader a breather, where to pick up the pace, where to use prolepsis (foreshadowing) and analepsis (flashbacks) are all are agonised over long before the work ever gets a public guernsey. By the time it reaches publication, all this has been mulled over and rewritten and edited at least hundreds of times and with the aid of professional editors, copy writers and so on.

But the truth is, no matter how much work you put in, it’s never perfect, it will never satisfy everyone – look at works that have sold millions and won accolades around the world. J.K. Rowling, Stephanie Meyer, Dan Brown, even ‘untouchables’ such as J.R.R. Tolkein, Cormac McCarthy and Annie Proulx, receive criticism. Why shouldn’t us ‘lesser’ souls? And we do.

But again, it’s the way the critiquing, the feedback, the review of the work is done that is so important. Most of us can accept that some readers (hopefully, only some) will not like what we’ve written and that’s fine (it’s even better if they keep it to themselves!), but if a reviewer has that reaction (though, I never understand why some media pick people to review genre work who have no experience in the genre! I remember, years ago, a review of one of my books beginning this way: ‘I didn’t like this book, but then, I hate fantasy…’ Go figure. But that didn’t stop them reviewing it – they were doing the job they were paid to do). We can also accept, as my friend did, the well-intentioned advice and observations of people we trust to provide honest, constructive feedback, the kind that comes from a position of goodwill with the motive to help us make our writing the best it possibly can be.

But it’s the destructive, nasty reviews that are hard to take. It’s as if the reviewer takes to heart the notion that critiquing is ‘criticising’ – fault-finding and nit-picking and little else. I mean, I’m sure if we all looked long and hard enough, and examined Mother Teresa and Ghandi with that kind of attitude, we’d find fault as well. But what does it achieve? To read something through the lens of ‘what can I find wrong with this? What flaws can I point out? What mistakes has this writer made? What do I NOT like about this book?’ is not helpful for anyone really. I imagine that it gives that kind of reviewer a sense of power. But over what? Some poor author who has invested a part of their life (and usually their family’s as well), heart and soul into a work of which they’re very proud. And then someone comes along and sinks the boot in – not in a way that is useful, but which is designed to bring that big-headed writer down a peg or two, because of course, anyone who is published must have a huge ego.

Well, maybe one or two do, but in my experience, most writers are quite humble souls who beaver away in solitude, lost in their imaginations. And they tremble at the thought of reviews and reviewers. Hence, they can potentially fall apart at the first sign of criticism – especially vile, toxic criticism. But guess what, they also pick themselves up again and keep going. That’s because they can’t help themselves, they love what they do with passion.

I’m not suggesting that reviewers go easy or soft – not at all! But that when they’re writing they weigh up the pros and the cons and try to point out the good and the bad. Because as the adage goes, one person’s trash is another’s treasure – ever heard of Twlight? That series polarises people faster than a compass finds Magnetic North.

So, I really do understand my friend temporarily floundering under criticism that was generously given. But I admire her for taking it on board and using it in the way it was delivered, to make her work stronger and more appealing. But I also understand why my other friend doesn’t read reviews. The ungenerous ones serve no purpose for writer or reader, rather they do little more than diminish both.

You know, writing a book is like having a baby. It gestates for months, if not years, before being born into the world. But the difference between writing and having a baby is that, while no-one will criticise your human baby to your face, when it comes to your creative one, there’s lots of bastards out there who delight in telling all and sundry what an ugly baby you’ve delivered!

What do you think?

Life is NOT a competition – but try telling that to RTV

Feb 03, 2010

I’ll be upfront and warn you that this a bit of a soapbox post (aren’t they all). Seriously. As a teacher and commentator in and of the media, I try and give most shows a try – good, bad, pathetic and thrilling. At least, that’s my excuse for watching far too much television.

It occurred to me lately that with the plethora of RTV (reality TV) shows soaking up screen time (and more set to come), there’s been a shift of emphasis in the overall thrust of the shows. Whereas once they were referred to as ‘fly-on-the-wall documentaries and may have been able, in their initial heyday, to wear that badge proudly (even while deploying aspects of other genres such as soap opera, drama, mockumentaries, comedy and game show characteristics), lately, they’re reduced to little more than competitions.

Now, I’m not talking about your benign Deal or No Deal, RockWiz, Einstein Factor or Too Stupid to be a Millionaire, which are what you see is what you get competitions, or even of the Surivivor, Idol, talent shows or Race Around the World mould. No, this latest batch, brewed over the last four years or so, take competition to new and scary heights.

Instead of drawing on game shows for inspiration, they draw on life and turn it into a game show apropos Death Race 2000: families, relationships, renovating, cooking, travelling, entering countries, courtship and even child-raising (nothing is too important or insignificant) have, through the genre of RTV, become competitor-based. What these programs do by using a ‘winner takes it all’ scenario, is transform the daily grind of life into something, not only far more interesting than it generally is, but also try and persuade us that it’s all right to turn every miniscule second of our realities into dramas with us at the centre or, at the least, into drastic problems that need to be solved. Don’t have the right cheese for your sauce? OMG! Tears, tantrums and abuse are appropriate responses. Mum didn’t get the dress you wanted to wear clubbing dry-cleaned for you? OMG! Tears, tanties and tons of abuse are perfectly acceptable things to hurl at your parent.

The RTV programs seduce us into believing that the minutiae of daily life, our lives, is not only interesting, but so is that of others. And, they do this in the worst possible way, by setting us against each other, as if life is a race that has to be won. You want to be a winner and not a loser, don’t you? They reduce the world into binary opposites of hot/cold, hero/villain, sexy/ugly, smart/stupid, manipulator/manipulated etc. All the time making it clear which side ‘winners’ should be on who, at the least, it’s appropriate to champion.

Of course, the ‘winner’ accrues certain rewards – fame, notoriety, presumably money and a boorish and quite horrible reputation. But many people are thinking that’s a small price to pay if you’re ‘famous.’

Take for example these shows: Firstly, Come Dine With Me, Australia and My Kitchen Rules. Ostensibly about cooking and sharing food with those who consider themselves gourmands, it pits couples or, in Come Dine With Me, Australia, single strangers (or strange singles) against each other in what is transformed into a dog-eat-dog attack fest. Invited to dine together and pull apart the thought and effort that the cook/s have gone into, it turns that all-time favourite between friends, into a competition. It encourages us all to become critics and, like some book and film reviewers, approach the experience with an ungenerous eye and with the primary goal of fault-finding.

Sharing food with friends and strangers has, across many cultures, been a traditional and significant part of the guest-host relationship and a way of breaking down barriers, forging relationships and above all offering pleasure and love through preparing, cooking and partaking in a meal together. These kinds of shows completely overturn all this and make it something superficial and tasteless… but also, and here’s the difficult thing, compulsive viewing! By turning the act of meal preparation and eating into a competition, the viewer also judges the efforts and results, critiques and awards a ‘winner’. The side effect of this is, potentially, that this kind of way of viewing food and dinner parties can be brought across into reality. Come Dine With Me and let’s have a food fight….

Then, there’s also shows that are touted as offering a glimpse into various types of relationships, whether it be The Real Housewives of Orange County, The Hills, or the new kid on the block, Dallas Divas and Daughters. What all these programs have in common is groups of women (and some men) who are shown doing little more than pitting themselves against each other in terms of material possessions, income and relationships and who spend a great deal of every show sinking their claws into each other and agonising over superficial issues. They show the worst side of women and men and in doing so tend to suggest that this is what women and men of that age, area and culture are like. While, logically, we know this to be untrue, at another level, the stereotypes these shows construct become imprinted, making it easy to become critical and dismiss all women from Dallas, for example, as being like that; or all young women or men as vapid and narcissistic. They homogenise and reduce people – diminish them in every one’s eyes – and for what? Ratings, which equal money. As viewers, we’re invited into these so-called lives to also offer judgement, the harsher the better and the more it’s likely to keep us engaged and discussing them.

That people are prepared to appear on these shows and sell their lives and souls so publicly seems extraordinary. Since Big Brother first debuted in Australia in 2001 and at different times in different parts of the world, never mind, Survivor, our knowledge about editing and cutting and the way a producers and directors can control what is finally televised and the way a personality is shaped, is growing. We can no longer, whether audience or participant, plead ignorant as we understand how there has to be a ‘villain’ or ‘bitch’, a ‘hero/ine’, a ‘bimbo’ and even an physically unattractive character so the audience can relate to the various roles and the way they are played and the people who fulfil them. There no ‘shades of grey’ in these shows. They juxtapose reductive types and limit representation in the process.

Despite possessing this knowledge, contestants queue to be on these shows, to attain ‘stardom’ even if it’s blighted by the ‘villain’ reputation – this is because it accrues those rewards I mentioned earlier. Even if they are brief and a heavy price is exacted. In this celebrity-obsessed world, it’s considered a small one. All for the sake of trying to be perceived as number one, a winner, a star, in other people’s eyes.

Rarely are anything but superficial interactions discussed on camera. Usually, the only emotions portrayed are reactions to others comments or responses to trite situations – such as a meal being cold while really important discussions like having a baby (see The Hills), are shared with girlfriends instead of the husband and cheapened dramatically by also being turned into a competition that, in this instance, pits wife against husband. It’s tragic.

I don’t know where these RTV shows are turning next, but I do know that life is not a competition, rather its a story that we all write together – with its highs and lows and ups and downs. It’s also something we share. I can’t help but think of that old adage, ‘it’s lonely at the top.’ I am sure they’ll make an RTV show about that all too soon…

The ‘Delete’ Button: A Writer’s Best Friend

Jan 27, 2010

As a writer, I am so often asked advice from aspiring ones as to how, where, what to write and how to get published. Frankly, I feel such a fraud giving any! Even though I have written a few books, I learn something new about the art of writing and my own limitations every time I set out to turn a wild idea into a coherent narrative. As for where I write, generally I do it in my study and envy those who can write anywhere, anytime (though I do occasionally receive ideas in the early hours of the morning and fumble around for the pen and notebook which are supposed to be by my bedside but tend to travel around the house. I flick on the lamp and scribble it down. Then, in the morning, I look at what it was that was so important it disturbed me and my hubby, and mostly think it’s equivalent to automatic writing – senseless and belongs in the realm of the dead).

However, I am now over 30,000 words into Book 2 of The Curse of the Bond Riders, which is called, Votive (I’ll write more about this at a later stage) and realised there is a little piece of advice I can humbly offer, though I am by no means the first to do so. That is, as precious as your words are, as wonderful as you believe the story is and the descriptions delicious and relevant, the ‘delete’ button is your best friend – don’t be afraid to use it.

Before I was diagnosed with cancer and had my operations (see previous post), I was fairly romping along with the story. Then I hit a wall. Hard. A few times. Even filled with painkillers, I read over what I thought was good and worthy of keeping at the time and I was a little appalled. So, on January 8th this year, the day I ‘officially’ sat back at my desk and returned to my novel (which is plotted out carefully), I did what any sensible writer would do and I deleted 30,000 words. Just like that. To paraphrase a famous commercial for insect spray ‘one click and they’re gone.’

I felt sick.

Then, I sat down and, apart from the first chapter (which I rewrote seven times from seven different points of view and may do so again), I started all over.

Then I remembered what I’d done and I felt sick again. Word counts are what writers live by.

*Brief aside* – The writer’s day: A very short synopsis.

Sit down at computer.

Check word count

Write

Check word count

Have lunch

Check word count

Write some more

Check word count

Decide to stop

Check word count.

Read over last few sentences.

Check word count.

You get the picture: live by the word count, die by the word count. So, in short, deleting is a BIG deal.

And I had just done a huge one. But, I kept going.

Every day when I return to my novel, I go back over what I wrote the day before, and I delete all extraneous material. I rewrite, edit out mistakes, plot inconsistencies, and strengthen the language. What I do more than anything is delete. I delete all the adverbs that, in a fit of stupidity or distraction I included. I also try to eliminate many of the adjectives. This is because, whereas the ‘delete’ button is your best friend, the adjective is the utterly worst, diabolical, corrupt, malicious and heinous frenemy (enemy that pretends to be your friend) a writer will ever have the misfortune to encounter.

Persuaded by teachers of creative prose in primary and high school, perhaps by our own reading experiences (especially the ‘purple prose’ that dominated for decades and decades), or even writing courses, that adjectives reveal talent as well as an impressive vocabulary, we have a tendency to liberally pepper our works with them. But they don’t do us any favours except to slow down the pace and distract. That’s not to say that we shouldn’t include them but, if we treat them like the culinary equivalent of truffles and use them sparingly, they’ll have a much greater impact.

It’s like the Anton Chekov rule of writing. It is something like this: If you describe a gun on the wall at the beginning of the story (clearly he wrote in a different century), unless it’s fired at the end, get rid of it.

In other words, don’t describe or even over describe something you don’t have to (OK, and try not to end sentences with infinitives either).

Long descriptions of the way a character looks can be so distracting and unnecessary, yet so many writers persist in providing them. They don’t have to – try this for size:

‘As she strode into the room, the red dress swirled around her ankles.’

What hair and eye colour does she have? Is she tall or short? Is she confident or shy? What colour lipstick is she wearing? Is she meeting someone? Who? Is the room at the top of the building or bottom? How did she get there? I’ll bet you can answer one or all of those questions because in that brief sentence a picture was already being formed in your head.

Or, I could have written: ‘As she strode into the room, her blonde hair flowing down her back, her blue eyes sparkling, her scarlet lips curled with confidence,  her red chiffon dress that clung to her firm breasts swirled around her slender ankles.’

I know that’s over the top, but I have done all the imaginative work for you. I need my best friend, ‘delete’, to go to work and I have a much stronger sentence, a much clearer picture that the reader can form for him or herself.

Having said that, I generally overwrite in my early drafts and then when I revise, clear out as many extraneous adjectives as I can. You just don’t need them. They don’t make your work luscious, or poetic or demonstrate a great vocabulary, they interfere. They are not a friend, they simply mask themselves as one. They are the enemy and must be deleted!

And really, I have rambled and half this post could be deleted and still get my point across! See, I told you I am not equipped to offer writing advice – but good luck anyway!

Karen

THE DAY MY BUM WENT PSYCHO

Jan 26, 2010

(with due and proper acknowledgement to Andy Griffiths from whom I stole the title).

The day the doctor said to me, ‘you have cancer,’ was a day I will not forget in a hurry.

Instead of reliving that moment, I will now insert the column I wrote in the Courier Mail that talked about my diagnosis and subsequent fallout. Please, read it if you wish…

http://www.news.com.au/couriermail/story/0,23739,26267299-5012471,00.html

This post, however, is about what came after. What came after the quite public admission of bowel cancer, two horrible operations (an ultra low anterior resection with reverse loop ileostomy followed by, five and a half weeks later, the reversal of the ileostomy), and what comes while on the long road to recovery.

This is about metamorphosing from being a cancer sufferer to cancer survivor.

I should be grateful; I should be leaping around for joy and smelling the roses and thanking whoever it is you thank for being given a second chance.
Believe me, I am grateful and I want to thank the surgeon, the gods etc. I have, I do and I would keep doing it if I could… and herein lies the problem. I can’t do much. But I can write and sort of think. Here’s what I have been thinking:

While you’re in the cancer stage – before, between operations and immediately after, everyone wants to know how you are, what the prognosis is, what you’ve been through, how you feel, look and what are your plans for the future. There’s also a hell of a lot of paperwork – but that’s another story.

Unfortunately, it’s during that time, when you’re reeling and trying to come to terms with everything, that you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to articulate how frail you feel psychologically; physically; how having a bag attached to you is difficult, even if it is temporary (I have such respect for those who live with a bag permanently). How talking about the most negative experience in your life to date is the last thing in the world you want to do. It’s like a bad dream, a nightmare from which you awoke but the memory and sensations linger… you want them gone, not to relive them with every phone call and email.

Yet, even though you feel desperately ill – in body and mind – you oblige and you talk. Sparingly, inadequately (because there sometimes aren’t any words) and deliberately upbeat… You see, though some people ask as if they want to know how you are, they don’t really. Well, they don’t want you to whinge. They don’t want to hear that your self-confidence has been shattered into a million pieces, that you’re afraid the old energetic self will never return; that your mind has gone to mush and the skills that you relied upon to get you to where you are in life have vanished; that you’ll never again feel like a sexual, sensual human being. That’s just too much.

And how would you respond anyway? I wouldn’t know what to say to someone baring his or her soul to me like that!

People want to hear that you’re doing well – after all, you survived. They ripped that cancer out of you and you don’t even have to have chemo! Lucky you – how good is that, hey! They expect you to express your gratitude over and over. So, you do. To them. You talk, you laugh, you hide your real tears and fears. Part of the reason for this is because you know that the day will come when you are ready to talk about all of this, from the perspective of distance, and you want them to come back. I know I didn’t want to be survivor who was also a Nigel No-Friends.

Only, many don’t come back – despite your efforts.

My chemist said to me the other day, as I was filling a script for very strong painkillers – narcotics, actually, which I take twice a day along with other meds to control the pain, ‘I’ll bet you don’t get much sympathy after all you’ve been through.’

I was quite taken aback.

‘Why’s that? I asked.

‘Because you look too good.’

And there’s the rub. I don’t look too bad at all. Please don’t think I am being conceited. I have lost weight and am quite gaunt, but I don’t look like I’ve suffered enough. I don’t look like either a cancer sufferer or survivor. How funny and, in a sense unfair, is that? You have to laugh.

Shit. I’ve had bowel cancer. Grade 3, highly aggressive and lost parts of my body that most of us don’t mention. I can’t return to academic work, I can’t go out except in short stints and I can’t eat before ‘enjoying’ those short stints. My bum has gone psycho, leaving me chained to the house and, in fact the smallest room in the house, often for hours on end as I endure gut-wrenching cramps and terrible pain as my body readjusts. As I have already said, I am going through psychological hell as well as physical… but I look good. LOL!

I guess I should be grateful for that.

I am, I suppose. No, I’m vain. I am glad.

But the thing I am most grateful for is the unending support and love of my kids, and my family and beautiful, amazing friends – including on Facebook. That is, those of you who came back! Also, the readers of my column who have maintained contact with me. Those of you who understand the façade – and not just the accidental physical one I am perpetrating!

Thank you so much for letting me ‘whinge’, be bleak and sad and for not expecting me to shout my survival from the highest hills.

When Channel Seven Sunrise asked me to appear a few weeks ago to talk about John Singleton’s confronting ad campaign about bowel cancer, I really wanted to do it – I believe in it. I think Singo’s done the right thing. But, I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to face the world. I am now (in tiny doses) and I want to discuss the aftermath of surviving bowel cancer – not just the diagnosis and operation. And that’s partly because there are two people particularly who have allowed me to speak openly and frankly without cringing at my whinging: Stephen, my beautiful hubby whose love and support has been endless, and my darling friend, Sara Warneke whom many know as the fantasy (and non-fiction) writer, Sara Douglass. She also wrote so eloquently about her own experience with cancer in such a frank and moving way. I want to share (with Sara’s permission) this with you as well:

http://nonsuchkitchengardens.com/wordpress/?p=505

Thank you so much, Sara and Stephen, you have been such rocks – and Sara at a time when she needs one, such is her generosity, love and compassion.

OK. Enough said. My bum is still psycho, but it’s mine. I will learn to control it… eventually.

Welcome to my new website and blog!

Jan 22, 2010

At last, after months of planning and preparation and a good deal of patience (with me), my new website with blog and Twitter feed is alive! Thank you to everyone who kept asking “where’s your website?” for bearing with me – especially the designer and host – Byron Media Solutions and the wonderful Oliver Purser. I haven’t worked with someone so professional and yet so relaxed for a very long time. He has done a magnificent job and tried to accommodate my every wish – but would also guide me back from the realms of digital fantasy when needed. Oliver also has a great team working with him and Jules specifically needs a mention. Having read Tallow and spoken with me a few times, Jules grasped the vision I had for my website and, I think captured it perfectly – aided by the generosity of my publisher, Random House, who gave us permission to use the images from my latest novel, Tallow.

So, here I am at the beginning of 2010 with a new website, my health starting to get back on track after cancer (I will write about that in another blog shortly), my column appearing in the Courier Mail, doing radio and newspaper interviews again, writing book 2 of The Curse of the Bond Riders, Votive (stay tune for news regarding that as well!) and having a break from my academic life until I am given the all-clear by the doctor’s. After the horrors of last year, I really hope and intend for this one to be a vast improvement. I hope it is for all of you as well.

Karen Brooks in Florence with family

Travels with a broad

So welcome to my website – I sincerely hope you visit it and my blog regularly and that you tell others about it as well. I look forward to our conversations!

Warmest wishes,

Karen