|need a holiday|
The good folks at Verity La said "thank you for sending us cultural submissions. We enjoyed it and would like to publish it - congratulations." Nothing flowery in that feedback. Still, it's nice to be published. And it's on-line, Click here to read.
I'm about to have a story published with an American on-line journal, apt. I loved going through the story making changes assuming that most readers would be American. It opened things up a little.
In other news, my wonderfully talented friend Emma Beech is performing in Melbourne Fringe. Her work is unique, developed from having conversations with people. Emma is all about connecting and reflecting. She actually wants to know what people are thinking and feeling. I know, weird right? Homage to Uncertainty won the Melbourne Tour Ready Award at the Adelaide Fringe, which basically means "Emma, darling, your show is sooo wonderfully good! People in Melbourne should really see this and we're going to help you make that happen." Nice, huh? So if you're anything like me and get completely overwhelmed by festival programs, simply take my advice - go to this show and no other. Easy.
The writing continues at a fairly slow pace. I just finished a short writing course, by Threasa Meads. Not having been formally taught short story writing, I was really feeling the need for a better approach to my writing. Threasa's course was great and has provided me with a methodical yet flexible approach to writing. All the basic elements of storytelling were covered; so much meatier than a 3 hour workshop, which I find dissatisfying these days. What was especially useful about it was that it gave me an approach to editing, which I - like so many others - can find so overwhelming. There was a session dedicated to critiquing, too, which was invaluable and actually changed the way that I read my own work/ And, happily, another little story was born called Walking with Men. I'll let you know when it finds the right home.
And yes, I'm needing a holiday. That snap was taken a few years back, on the ferry crossing from Wellington to Picton, on New Zealand's north island. Next week I have a week off. But there's no New Zealand in sight. Instead I'll pitch a tent in the lounge room, draw a picture of a sunset, spray suntan lotion on myself during the day and mosquito repellent at night, sing lustily about the stars and wine, drink the wine, and maybe even write a story.