And "just like that" a novel was written...

... if, by "just like that" you mean 27 days of showing up and writing in slightly-over-one-thousand-word increments such that the shitty first draft of a 38,000 word novel for young adults was cobbled together in four months.

So, yes -- "just like that" -- it happened.

Today, in fact.

And then I emailed it to two kind but constructive readers, one of whom is a writer, the other of whom is a publisher (albeit not the publisher).

And I solemnly vow that I will do my utmost not to check my email incessantly, acknowledging that these two women have insanely busy lives and are essentially doing me a favour. (It's been seriously gorgeous, the number of requests I have received from beloved friends and cheerleaders to read my novel. I'm playing it a little close to my chest for the moment, but I hope the time for sharing is not too far away.)

Also, I will continue to work hard to stay in the moment, validating my own achievement and gently keeping the sense of anti-climax at bay.

It's a funny little balance, the momentous milestone and sense of occasion versus with the knowledge that it's the end of one era and very much only the beginning of another i.e. editing, publishing (with any luck), and returning to my day job when we return from overseas.

But this strange intense little balancing act is mine and I'll take it any day.

P.S. Thanks must go to my creative coach, Satya Robyn, for her marvellous suggestion to ask the protagonist of my story what actually happened in the end. I was this close to wussing out and tying it all up with something trite and convenient... and inherently unsatisfying. So, if you've ever wondered about the value of a creative coach, consider this living proof of the value of digging deeper. It felt like such a win for my beloved main character and for the story... and for me.

A Sunday savoured

This week, I have been grateful for...

1. Sunshine! It has been a glorious week in Melbourne. The power of a beautiful day to lift the spirits should not be underestimated.

2. A solo artist date to see Joanna Murray-Smith's True Minds. It was hilarious and poignant and beautifully cast. Ms Murray-Smith lives in my neighbourhood and once stopped me on the street to remark on my Zabar's bag and reminisce about when she used to live in New York. I'd been meaning to experience her work for some time (well, ever since the Zabar's incident, really) and I am so glad I picked this play. Brilliant.

3. This excellent post by the inimitable Jen Louden on numbing out and the light that "shadow comforts" can shine on our true yearnings. She truly gets it.

4. As unlikely as it may seem, I bought the new Vampire Weekend CD when it came out on Friday. And I am loving it.

5. A hearty Mothers Day lunch, cooked by my husband, followed by a deep restorative two-hour nap. Just about feeling fully "me" again.

6. This Is Water, a beautiful rendering of the most incredible commencement speech by the late great David Foster Wallace. I was so moved to see someone tackle the grim reality of post-graduation life with so much grit and grace, and so grateful that the internet and generous geniuses such as Maria Popova make it possible for me to experience this from the comfort of my home in Melbourne, Australia some seven years later.

7. An impulse purchase of a new perfume. Looking it up and discovering that the combination of blackberry leaves, wild rose, lily ylang, musk, sensual wood, and vanilla is considered to epitomise "a natural, radiant and sensual woman". Ha! You betcha, honey.

8. Rob Brezsny, nailing it once again:

Gemini: "I need not sell my soul to buy bliss," says a character in Charlotte Bronte's 19th-century novel *Jane Eyre.* "I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give." This would be a great speech for you to memorize and periodically recite in the next two weeks. Do it in front of your mirror at least once a day to remind yourself of how amazingly resourceful you are. It will also help you resist the temptation to seek gifts from people who can't or won't give them to you.

9. Mandalas. Their capacity to heal. And to nourish.

10. Coming to the end of a crazy busy time, preparing to go away. I have my last therapy and TCM appointments this week (for a while, anyway) but have also made sure to book in a facial and a massage. No point getting on that plane frazzled, right?

Each weekend I link up with my dear friend Bron aka Maxabella and her brilliant 52 weeks of grateful project. You really should get in amongst it: it'll hone your vision during the week for all the things you're grateful for; and you'll meet some totally gorgeous kindred spirits along the way. Promise!

To the end of an era

Today, I am honouring the end of an era. The week after next, we go overseas for a family holiday and the routine I have been cultivating over the course of the past three and a half months will come to an end.

My little family and I, we have so much to look forward to. Catching up with old friends and savouring our favourite haunts. Respite from the routine. Discovering new places and new cuisines. Spring weather, time together. It is going to be gorgeous and I am so grateful that we are in a position to do this.

But I would be lying if I didn't admit that I am grieving. I have come to love inhabiting this place.  It took me a while to find my stride but over the course of the past sixteen weeks I finally settled in to a routine that allows me to focus on just two things: writing a novel; and nurturing my body/soul/most intimate relationship such that I might conceive.

It has been an intensely private time and I have learnt so much.

When it comes to my writing life, I have discovered that there is nothing that I can't do. I set myself a goal, I broke that down into smaller milestones, I made sure I had the support I needed. And then I just sat down and did it.

Every writing day, I had voices in my head and in my heart telling me that my writing was rubbish, that I had no business writing a novel, that it (and I) would never amount to anything, that I was a complete and utter fool. But every writing day, I showed up and heard those voices and wrote anyway.

And in doing so, I reckon I cracked the code, solved the mystery, unravelled the great enigma of the universe. I am praying with every molecule in my body that this is not the last novel I write, even though I do not have the fainted idea for the "next one"... and there's still a ways to go with this one, as far as editing and publishing it goes. But this I do know: I know how to be a writer. I can do it. I have done it.

When it comes to wellness, I've finally woken up and seen that it takes time and resources to get some semblance of a healthy eating routine off the ground. There's the research, there's the shopping, there's the trial and error, then there's the clean-up. And then there's the doing-it-all-again. I honestly do not know how women who work full time and have families manage to achieve this (that is, women who aren't Gwyneth Paltrow or Sarah Wilson -- I have a pretty good idea how they manage to achieve it!).

I suspect that loving this kind of stuff and finding it rewarding, maybe even relaxing, has something to do with it. With the greatest of respect -- and a healthy dose of envy -- allow me to confess that this is just not me.

That said, the time and space I did devote to domestic pursuits in the name of wellness did prove edifying as time went on. I grew to like providing new and different nutritious meals for my family and was genuinely proud of my efforts. But, for the most part, getting organised in the kitchen felt like work. Once I return to my day job, I am not sure to what extent I'll be able to keep it up.

And then there's the conception thing.

So I had this dream. I was going to take this first half of the year off, get pregnant, take enough time off to take me up until the end of the year, then go on a year's maternity leave. I confided this, somewhat sheepishly, to my manager this week over lunch. I figured my plan would suit everybody perfectly: I'd have a decent break from work; my manager would be able to keep the lovely lass who is acting in my role; that lovely lass would have a decent stretch of work.

I've been working so hard to make this happen. Traditional Chinese Medicine; psychotherapy; yoga/pilates/physiotherapy; naturopathy; tarot; vitamins. Three months of Clomid... that didn't work.

I'm learning the hard way that things don't always pan out the way we wish they would.

I felt so audacious wanting something that decadent and seamless for myself. And I guess I have been interpreting the fact that it hasn't materialised as evidence that I don't deserve it.

But today, as I raise my toast to the greater mystery of the universe, I see that this is not really true. I am a good person and I have worked hard and I am blessed with wonderful support and amazing resources. I do deserve my heart's true desires and, as with my writing, I know that it is possible to be deterred day after day and still show up.

And if this time has taught me anything, my friends (and thank you if you've persisted this far!) is this: I am strong enough to live healthily with complexity.

Even now as I feel a deep sadness moving through me I see how it is also possible to feel delight and optimism and gratitude. The sadness is not so scary and it will pass. Everything will pass.

So I see that, while I honestly don't know where this journey is going to lead me, the place where I am on this path is the place where I will always be.

The place where I show up.

Worthiness Wednesday #94 Faking grace

Ordinarily, I am a bit suspicious of the expression "Fake it 'til you make it".

But there are just some days when it feels like a lifeline.

Today, everything feels super-hard.

I know that I have so much to be grateful for and, in fact, have a fantastic life. I know that I have made great inroads into understanding what makes me tick -- and why I get the blues sometimes -- and am working on "the last little bit" that has been holding me back.

I am also learning that it really is about showing up each day and doing what I can. Even if it's just the bare minimum. Even if is not "my best". Even if it feels horrid. Even if I'm bored, tired or just plain over it. Especially when it feels like I am making no progress at all.

This is the only way to...

write a novel

love someone for a long time

eat healthily

be a good friend

learn how to do something new

push past old demons

live your dreams

[add whatever it is you are trying to do here]

Given the choice, I would crawl back into bed today with a family-sized block of chocolate, endless cups of tea, a weepy DVD or escapist novel. Plus my journal and a big box of tissues.

Instead, I have showered, combed my hair into pigtails, squeezed into skinny jeans, slipped on my sassy heeled boots, donned some glitter eye shadow, dug my delectable furry vest out of the closet.

I'm not advocating ignoring feelings. You would only have to glance me and my shoulders sloping down the street -- despite my fancy getup -- to see that. Or ask me how I am.

But even with those feelings, I can still step outside, take a deep breath and turn my face to the sunshine.

I keep coming across the word grace at the moment. It sneaks up in my twitter feed, in books I'm reading, in songs and on television and, occasionally, in conversations.

I feel anything but graceful.

But I am inviting grace, with all that I've got right now.

It's not much. But it will do.

Savouring my Saturday

This week, I am grateful for...

1. Friends who email me to the effect of Saw this and thought of you. This is exactly what I do, so I am rapt to discover kindred spirits who think of me in the same way (and actually bother to put it in an email or in the post!). I am particularly in love with Vivienne McMaster's beautiful short film (above), forwarded to me by Gill, and this terrific anti-self-sabotage manifesto sent by Krissie.

2. The haunting film Life in Movement. I recorded it back in December and only just got around to watching it this week. It is one of those films that I can't stop thinking about. Maybe I never will.

3. The cranberry and lime Zest for Life candle and bath scrub from Bomb Cosmetics. I've been using both daily and they feel like love.

4. Wonderful feedback from my little 'un's kinder. I recently compiled a mini cookbook of egg-free recipes so that we could pool (and therefore diversify) our kids' snacks without compromising the safety of a little lad in the class who has a severe allergy. I named each recipe after the child whose parent contributed it, and apparently this has resulted in the kids informing each other that they have baked their special recipes. Sweet!

5. The exquisite book I Am Her designed by Heidi Rodriguez. I am going to be reading and re-reading this for some time to come.

6. This poignant and timely reminder from Rob Brezsny:

Gemini: Ray LaMontagne sings these lyrics in his tune Empty: "I looked my demons in the eyes. Laid bare my chest and said, 'Do your best to destroy me. I've been to hell and back so many times, I must admit you kind of bore me.'" I wouldn't be opposed to you delivering a message like that to your own demons, Gemini -- with one caveat: Leave out the "Do your best to destroy me" part. Simply peer into the glazed gaze of those shabby demons and say, "You bore me and I'm done with you. Bye-bye." And then walk away from them for good.

7. Gathering momentum on my manuscript. The action is picking up and I am nearing the end. I have a deadline of 17 May to send it to my first critical reader, so it's head down/bum up, folks! And it feels so very good.

8. Booking myself a ticket to the members breakfast preview of the Monet's Garden exhibition at the NGV. My little 'un is having a day at my Mother-in-Law's house, so this feels like a decadent way to start a day just for me.

9. Playing hooky! I begged off a session with my therapist (my excuse of killer sinuses was 75 per cent truth) and indulged in a quick bit of retail therapy (largely comprising gifts: my favourite) then had a leisurely lunch in a lovely location with a delightful friend, followed by some intense acupuncture. Somehow that felt like the most potent form of soul food... and exactly what I needed.

10. Feeling calm and centred and so very much more ME the following day, including the various treats pictured below. Even my little 'un and my husband seemed more upbeat, which I am sure was not a coincidence.

Each weekend I link up with my dear friend Bron aka Maxabella and her brilliant 52 weeks of grateful project. You really should get in amongst it: it'll hone your vision during the week for all the things you're grateful for; and you'll meet some totally gorgeous kindred spirits along the way. Promise!

To A Mouse

I have a small number of searingly precise memories of starting school.

One is being handed a small chalk board and being required to draw a circle on it with a piece of chalk. And this striking me as utterly ridiculous.

Another being asked by a visiting doctor (?) to strip down to my underwear and stand with my arms by my side. The whole class had to do this, though I presume the girls and the boys were separated. Mostly, I remember being fascinated at how thoroughly floral the undies were of the girl standing next to me. And then incredulous that she had her hands crossed defiantly across her chest and was not standing straight with her arms by her sides, like she'd been asked. She had been asked! And she didn't do it! And she didn't even care! What sort of planet was this?

Another is a little hazy on the context. I am not sure why I felt compelled to recite Robbie Burn's To A Mouse to my teacher; I doubt they would have asked grade preps to recite poems so I can only assume it had something to do with describing an animal. I wasn't even fond of mice but I would like to point out that it was the original version I was keen to impress upon her. And, strangely enough, 18th century Scottish poems were not so big in Melbourne's outer North West in the early 1970s. So somehow Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie did not quite appear verbatim. In fact, I distinctly recall the word "carrot" appearing in there somwhere. As well as my teacher's expression, which told me in no uncertain terms that I should err on the side of vigilance when crossing the road near the school.

I also have a memory of meeting a girl who would actually become something of a friend by the time I was matriculating and who, I believe, went on to become a successful journalist. But on the day we met, she shook her bunched up pigtails and tapped her spiffy square lunchbox knowingly, like I was supposed to know that the red, white and black shield she was pointing to with almost religious reverence represented St Kilda football club. I just suspected she was slightly deranged, like practically everyone else in the class.

So when my little 'un returned from a recent sleep-over at my parents' place, I was quite tickled that she wanted to listen to Flanders and Swann's parody of Mozart's Horn Concerto on high rotation. It reminded me of all the wonderful British music and comedy and theatre I had been exposed to as a child, one that instilled my sister and me with a highly nuanced and rather adult (if somewhat left-of-centre) sense of humour. Not to mention penchant for uncanny and somewhat unnerving impersonation.

But it also made me grateful of the greater likelihood that my daughter and I would share cultural references.

And it finally made sense why I was the one who taught my daughter the words of the Carlton football club's theme song when she was two years old. Even though I don't even follow football. In fact I wouldn't know the first thing about it. And I have only attended one game in my life, and that was when I was 32. And it was a draw! And it's my husband who supports The Navy Blues and he is not even an especially avid supporter.

I guess I'm hoping that it will help ease her transition into school when she pipes up, "I'll bet you a quid, somebody did!". Because who, in this day and age and on this side of the planet, is going to have a clue what a bloody quid is.

Except for the kid who proclaims Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie! at the sight of a rodent.

Worthiness Wednesday #93 Give what you got

Friends who have been reading this blog for a while may recall my rapture at attending The Song Company's rendering of Khalil Gibran's The Prophet. And that I subsequently wrote the company an email, congratulating them on their achievement and asking whether they had plans to make a recording.

Many weeks later, after their tour was over, I received the following reply from the company's Development Manager:

I am so glad that you enjoyed The Prophet so much.  Many thanks for taking the trouble to let us know – it is wonderful to receive such positive feedback.

We would love to make a recording of the program, but sadly like many small arts companies lack the funds to pay for the recording studio, engineering, and distribution costs associated with producing a CD.

The Song Company is about to launch our Annual Giving Campaign and one of the projects which people can support is the recording of programs such as The Prophet.

Would you agree to my quoting parts of your email as a testimonial to be included in our appeal letter?  You would not be identified by name (unless you would like to of course!) but your words are bound to inspire other Song Company supporters to donate.

Thank you again for writing to us.  I do hope that you will agree to help us by allowing the use of your words.

I can't begin to tell you how this email made me feel. I mean, I hope I will be able to contribute to their campaign financially. But, if not, my words will be my contribution.

Allow me to admit here that, in all honesty, it had never crossed my mind before that my craft is something I could donate to a cause and that it has its own value (that may also lead to financial outcomes). I know I am always banging on about how words can change things and how words have changed me and, goodness, my by-line is "words to soothe a weary soul"!

But this feels like a game-changer.

This week, I invite you to think of how you could contribute to something you care about without actually donating money. What could you give freely? How could you give of yourself? Could it be that just doing your thing -- be it writing a testimonial, taking a photograph, organising an event, making some bunting, reading something over for someone, baking surprise cookies -- could be enough?

What about the possibility that it could be highly appreciated, truly valued and simply splendid... and it made you feel good to the tips of your toes?

I can't tell you the answer, but I can tell you this: you sure deserve that toe-tingling feeling.

It's delicious.

And may just be a game-changer.