One of the things I love about writing groups is the support that we give each other. Sometimes this is via critiques and workshopping where we give each other feedback. This can, at times, be uncomfortable, but a good critique group is worth its weight in book contracts. Good critique groups help us to grow as writers, and let's face it: that's what most of us want to do.
Sometimes this support means going along to things together -- whether that's a night when one of the group is getting an award (such as the group from Sydney did for the FAW Awards, which I blogged about earlier) or just doing something together as a group as a bonding experience. Western Women Writers has had trips to art galleries to write poems, or to support a past-member who is an artist and had an exhibition. We've conducted launches of our magazine Poetrix, done readings together and attended residential weekends, hired people to run workshops for us, baked cakes to raise seeding money for the magazine -- all kinds of things.
Sometimes this support means picking someone up when they're down. Writing is a hard game. Few of us go through it without facing some kind of rejection. There are exceptions, of course (Isobelle Carmody comes to mind), but for most of us there are those depressing days when a manuscript comes back with a no-thanks (and if we're lucky a comment), or when we find out we weren't selected for a masterclass or workshop or whatever. One of my close friends is facing down this experience at the moment, having missed out on a place in a development program with a manuscript I thought was working really well. It is disappointing, but somehow being surrounded by fellow writers who understand, truly understand, what this kind of disappointment feels like makes it easier. Not pleasant, certainly, but easier.
We need to support each other through such times. Manuscripts get rejected for all kinds of reasons: not good enough, not right for the market, the slot that was going has just been taken, another similar story has just been signed, too long, too short, didn't like the main character... The list is endless. Our friends can remind us of the great things that our manuscripts have going for them. My friend's was full of terrific writing with great characterisation and setting.
The other thing about supporting each other is being able to rejoice in the success of others. My great friend, Sherryl, today was shortlisted for the Children's Book Council Awards, and I cannot tell you how happy I am for her. This is a well-deserved honour, and it's fantastic to see her up there with all the big names, because she sits rightly among them! So woo-bloody-hoo, Sherryl! Let me put my happiness out here in the public sphere.
Sometimes I hear of writers who aren't capable of offering this kind of support. They begrudge their friends their successes, seeing each as an opportunity they missed. That kind of competitiveness (the oh-you've-just-been-accepted-by-such-and-such-mag-so-I-must-submit-there-too) diminishes us all as people. This is not a competition; one person's fantastic success can open doors for all other writers, so we need to be happy about such things, not bemoan them. I really don't understand people who think otherwise, especially when they're your friends.
At Western Women, we have a tradition that anyone who has a success has to bring cake. It's not a recipe conducive to skinny writers, but perhaps it has fostered this atmosphere of goodwill that pervades the group. Personally, I don't know if this is the case or not, but I do know I enjoy working in such a supportive atmosphere.
Showing posts with label awards. Show all posts
Showing posts with label awards. Show all posts
01 April 2008
29 March 2008
Awards night
Well, it's official, folks. Someone other than just ourselves likes our group novel. We're not just navel gazing! Last night, Western Women Writers (well, some of us at least) went along to the FAW (Fellowship of Australian Writers) Awards night to collect a commendation for our group novel -- or the first 30,000 words of it. Originally, we began the project with this award in mind -- not so much because we thought we might win, but because it would give the group a focus for the year, and a deadline. And there we were, happily beavering away, at around the 35 k mark (and nowhere near finished) when we found out that this year there was a word limit on entries, and we'd already passed it. What to do? Well, we shaped the first half of the book into -- well, the first half of the book really. That involved picking out a suitable scene to break the story out, and removing a new subplot that was just starting up at that point, and which would have proved too distracting. And writing a note to explain what was going on (ie why the story abruptly stopped).
Entering any kind of competition is always a lottery. Whether we like it or not, such things are subjective. I've seen it with stories I've been a shortlist judge for -- when a story I think is memorable and outstanding is passed over in the final prizes for something that almost didn't make the shortlist. I know from the decisions I've had to make as a judge -- the final choice between the perfectly executed story that doesn't truly engage and the engaging story that has a number of flaws. The superbly written versus the original idea. Such decisions are not always easy. But winning or placing or even receiving a commendation in a competition offers writers tremendous validation. And going along to the ceremonies is a great way of hobnobbing with the rich (oh, no, that's right -- we're writers! No rich here) and famous (or not!). Awards nights are a great place to network and even, if you're not so good at networking, to feel a part of a community of writers.
Last night was no exception for me. But here were some of the surprises of the night:
(i) Those who were listed. In one category, one of the commended writers was no less than Booker Prize winning author JM Coetzee. He wasn't there, but it was still a moment when I felt a part of not just a writing community but a community of successful writers. Of course there were plenty of other "names" who weren't there, but Coetzee was the biggest, and as I've enjoyed Waiting for the barbarians, I was pleased to feel we were almost rubbing shoulders. (Not in any true writerly sense, obviously. I should be so lucky! Okay, I'll stop gushing now. And name-dropping.)
Another name who wasn't there was Garry Disher, but he did, at least, send a lovely thank you letter, acknowledging the FAW's support over the years. I haven't met Garry Disher. He doesn't know me at all. I have seen him speak at the Melbourne Writer's Festival, where he seemed a nervous speaker (something I can relate to), but he also spoke from the heart. I came away thinking him gracious and honourable and thoughtful and ... Oh, that's right, I promised I would stop gushing. We use his Writing fiction with our first year classes (it's their one set text) and now with our online students, and every time I see something of his I'm glad he's a writer we can support this way. It's a great beginners book, BTW.
(ii) The number of people who will travel from interstate just to get a certificate! This always amazes me. Truly. I suppose it is an acknowledgment of the validation thing I mentioned earlier, but I'm not sure I'd be prepared to do it. If I were a winner, yes. But just for a certificate! Don't get me wrong -- I admire these people greatly. And maybe they're not all subject to the same financial constraints that I am. Anyway, they did add greatly to the night as a whole, and what was particularly lovely was to see a whole writers group come down from Sydney to support two of their writers. Today, they were hitting the bookshops, so I imagine they'll be enjoying their holiday immensely!
(iii) The people we know. So, the winners in our category (writing group anthology) were called The Cartridge Family, which I thought a brilliant name -- brought The Partridge Family (and I always respond well to the writing-group-as-family concept) into the world of writing via ink cartridges. Anyway, turned out one of them was a former client -- someone who's book I'd edited a few years back. The funny thing was that in the last few weeks, I was thinking about her and wondering what had become of her book! If and when it's published, I'd really like to get a copy.
The Williamstown Writers Group, like us, were also commended. Now, they're in our neighbouring suburb, so I know a couple of members, so it was great to see them there. Especially because I've had dealings with one, very recently, through a writing-related venture but this was the first time we'd met both as writers. Another member I'd been in a writing group with years ago, and I know her through her professional life as well. It's a small world, but it's at these types of places that we make the connections.
(iv) The names of unknowns we know. These are the kids. A talented few who seem to win competitions all over the place, and I know some of their names through shortlisting the Imagination Creation literary competition each year. Margaret Campbell, who runs Imagination Creation, and is my mother Rita in our group novel (in other words is part of Western Women) couldn't make the awards last night, but I knew she'd be as pleased as anything to see some of "her" writers up there. They become hers in the same way that the poets published in Poetrix become ours. Those writers might not know we "own" them -- it's just a kinship we feel with them, a pride when we see them doing well, even though their success is completely independent of any (small) influence we may exert. Perhaps I'm just rambling. Humour me.
(v) The judges. Ah, well, as it turns out the judge of our section was someone I know -- luckily such competitions are judged anonymously. He did not know it was our work; we did not know he was judging. It's always tricky, because sometimes such things can seem not quite kosher to outsiders -- for example, if one of Western Women Writers entered the Ada Cambridge this year (they didn't) and won. (Not that I was any more than part of a team who did the shortlisting, and have no influence beyond that on the final judging.)
In our group, we have a policy about awards -- if one of us is judging, the others can only enter something we haven't seen; they must not talk about it in front of us, and can workshop it, but not when we're in the group. That way we can ensure fairness, which above all is what we're all striving for in a competition. But, even so, there's always the fear that such an event would not quite seem fair -- that whole thing about not just doing the right thing but being seen to do the right thing as well. (And that in itself isn't necessarily fair!) I prefer not to enter if I know a friend is judging. It's easier all around.
(vi) The amount of interest there was in what we had attempted, especially by the other writing groups. Others seemed to think it was difficult, extremely brave, inventive -- all types of things. What they can't have imagined was how much fun it's been. How fantastic the plotting sessions are. How easy it is to get into character. My character is exactly like me (okay, now the members of my writing group have just keeled over in shock), and nothing like me. And I do enjoy becoming him. But now I'm back in my own novel, there's the worry that Brendan (my group novel character -- a 30 yo contemporary cartographer) might just pick up his sword, put his foot in the stirrup iron and swing up onto his warhorse. For the record, he doesn't ride. Or own a sword. But that's where my head is right now!
I just wonder if we've started something and next year the FAW might have a flood of partially completed group novels. Go, the group novels!
(vii) The shy authors. Okay, I admit: I'm one of them. I'd prefer not having to get up and collect my award. Was perfectly happy to stay in my seat while the others went up, but for some reason this is a three-muskateers thing: one for all and all for one, and all of that. One could have gone up. Or all. And the others do enjoy their moment in the sun. And why not? It's well earned. (All writers deserve it!) It's just that I personally don't enjoy it. And, like me, there were others who took their awards, head down as they walked in and out, and made no speech. Or the one who said that she wrote so that she didn't have to do that -- or something along those lines.
(viii) The great speeches. Okay, the winners had to be the Sydney author who praised Melbourne (so much so that the convenor said she should be bumped up to first place) and the boy who said that he was glad he'd entered his commended poem and got a second opinion because his teacher had read it and said that poetry obviously wasn't his strength! There's a note of caution to all teachers in that one!
Well, I seem to have rambled on a bit -- but I do see this blog more as a place where I can explore my ideas than somewhere where I put up well-structured articles. Hope you weren't too bamboozled by my being all over the place!
Entering any kind of competition is always a lottery. Whether we like it or not, such things are subjective. I've seen it with stories I've been a shortlist judge for -- when a story I think is memorable and outstanding is passed over in the final prizes for something that almost didn't make the shortlist. I know from the decisions I've had to make as a judge -- the final choice between the perfectly executed story that doesn't truly engage and the engaging story that has a number of flaws. The superbly written versus the original idea. Such decisions are not always easy. But winning or placing or even receiving a commendation in a competition offers writers tremendous validation. And going along to the ceremonies is a great way of hobnobbing with the rich (oh, no, that's right -- we're writers! No rich here) and famous (or not!). Awards nights are a great place to network and even, if you're not so good at networking, to feel a part of a community of writers.
Last night was no exception for me. But here were some of the surprises of the night:
(i) Those who were listed. In one category, one of the commended writers was no less than Booker Prize winning author JM Coetzee. He wasn't there, but it was still a moment when I felt a part of not just a writing community but a community of successful writers. Of course there were plenty of other "names" who weren't there, but Coetzee was the biggest, and as I've enjoyed Waiting for the barbarians, I was pleased to feel we were almost rubbing shoulders. (Not in any true writerly sense, obviously. I should be so lucky! Okay, I'll stop gushing now. And name-dropping.)
Another name who wasn't there was Garry Disher, but he did, at least, send a lovely thank you letter, acknowledging the FAW's support over the years. I haven't met Garry Disher. He doesn't know me at all. I have seen him speak at the Melbourne Writer's Festival, where he seemed a nervous speaker (something I can relate to), but he also spoke from the heart. I came away thinking him gracious and honourable and thoughtful and ... Oh, that's right, I promised I would stop gushing. We use his Writing fiction with our first year classes (it's their one set text) and now with our online students, and every time I see something of his I'm glad he's a writer we can support this way. It's a great beginners book, BTW.
(ii) The number of people who will travel from interstate just to get a certificate! This always amazes me. Truly. I suppose it is an acknowledgment of the validation thing I mentioned earlier, but I'm not sure I'd be prepared to do it. If I were a winner, yes. But just for a certificate! Don't get me wrong -- I admire these people greatly. And maybe they're not all subject to the same financial constraints that I am. Anyway, they did add greatly to the night as a whole, and what was particularly lovely was to see a whole writers group come down from Sydney to support two of their writers. Today, they were hitting the bookshops, so I imagine they'll be enjoying their holiday immensely!
(iii) The people we know. So, the winners in our category (writing group anthology) were called The Cartridge Family, which I thought a brilliant name -- brought The Partridge Family (and I always respond well to the writing-group-as-family concept) into the world of writing via ink cartridges. Anyway, turned out one of them was a former client -- someone who's book I'd edited a few years back. The funny thing was that in the last few weeks, I was thinking about her and wondering what had become of her book! If and when it's published, I'd really like to get a copy.
The Williamstown Writers Group, like us, were also commended. Now, they're in our neighbouring suburb, so I know a couple of members, so it was great to see them there. Especially because I've had dealings with one, very recently, through a writing-related venture but this was the first time we'd met both as writers. Another member I'd been in a writing group with years ago, and I know her through her professional life as well. It's a small world, but it's at these types of places that we make the connections.
(iv) The names of unknowns we know. These are the kids. A talented few who seem to win competitions all over the place, and I know some of their names through shortlisting the Imagination Creation literary competition each year. Margaret Campbell, who runs Imagination Creation, and is my mother Rita in our group novel (in other words is part of Western Women) couldn't make the awards last night, but I knew she'd be as pleased as anything to see some of "her" writers up there. They become hers in the same way that the poets published in Poetrix become ours. Those writers might not know we "own" them -- it's just a kinship we feel with them, a pride when we see them doing well, even though their success is completely independent of any (small) influence we may exert. Perhaps I'm just rambling. Humour me.
(v) The judges. Ah, well, as it turns out the judge of our section was someone I know -- luckily such competitions are judged anonymously. He did not know it was our work; we did not know he was judging. It's always tricky, because sometimes such things can seem not quite kosher to outsiders -- for example, if one of Western Women Writers entered the Ada Cambridge this year (they didn't) and won. (Not that I was any more than part of a team who did the shortlisting, and have no influence beyond that on the final judging.)
In our group, we have a policy about awards -- if one of us is judging, the others can only enter something we haven't seen; they must not talk about it in front of us, and can workshop it, but not when we're in the group. That way we can ensure fairness, which above all is what we're all striving for in a competition. But, even so, there's always the fear that such an event would not quite seem fair -- that whole thing about not just doing the right thing but being seen to do the right thing as well. (And that in itself isn't necessarily fair!) I prefer not to enter if I know a friend is judging. It's easier all around.
(vi) The amount of interest there was in what we had attempted, especially by the other writing groups. Others seemed to think it was difficult, extremely brave, inventive -- all types of things. What they can't have imagined was how much fun it's been. How fantastic the plotting sessions are. How easy it is to get into character. My character is exactly like me (okay, now the members of my writing group have just keeled over in shock), and nothing like me. And I do enjoy becoming him. But now I'm back in my own novel, there's the worry that Brendan (my group novel character -- a 30 yo contemporary cartographer) might just pick up his sword, put his foot in the stirrup iron and swing up onto his warhorse. For the record, he doesn't ride. Or own a sword. But that's where my head is right now!
I just wonder if we've started something and next year the FAW might have a flood of partially completed group novels. Go, the group novels!
(vii) The shy authors. Okay, I admit: I'm one of them. I'd prefer not having to get up and collect my award. Was perfectly happy to stay in my seat while the others went up, but for some reason this is a three-muskateers thing: one for all and all for one, and all of that. One could have gone up. Or all. And the others do enjoy their moment in the sun. And why not? It's well earned. (All writers deserve it!) It's just that I personally don't enjoy it. And, like me, there were others who took their awards, head down as they walked in and out, and made no speech. Or the one who said that she wrote so that she didn't have to do that -- or something along those lines.
(viii) The great speeches. Okay, the winners had to be the Sydney author who praised Melbourne (so much so that the convenor said she should be bumped up to first place) and the boy who said that he was glad he'd entered his commended poem and got a second opinion because his teacher had read it and said that poetry obviously wasn't his strength! There's a note of caution to all teachers in that one!
Well, I seem to have rambled on a bit -- but I do see this blog more as a place where I can explore my ideas than somewhere where I put up well-structured articles. Hope you weren't too bamboozled by my being all over the place!
10 December 2007
Awards news
A nice email came into my inbox a couple of days ago -- one of my friends circulating the shortlist (finalists) for the Aurealis Awards, and there was one of my stories in the Young Adult category. Writers are funny creatures. Our self-confidence waxes and wanes faster than the moon, ebbs and flows faster than the tides. It's lovely to get such validation, to sit amongst such august company. This is the first time I've made the finalist's list -- in the past the closest I've come is having a short story commended in the fantasy short story section, and that was a pretty fantastic thing to happen.
I've noticed a couple of my friends on this list: Adam Browne and Cat Sparks, so I wish them both good luck! And mine is one of my Clarion stories, the only one I've reworked so far, so I have to give thanks to all my Clarion buddies and to Nalo Hopkinson who gave me comments on this story. And of course to Western Women Writers who read it as well!
I learn so much from others -- I do believe that each of us is shaped by the shoulders of the giants we stand on, and I've had some great giants along the way. (Hi, Sherryl!) Whether I've learnt enough from them is another matter, of course, but one of the most exciting things about writing is that no matter how much you know, there's always so much more to learn. I love learning new stuff.
Here's the link to the list of finalists in case you want to peruse the list further.
I've noticed a couple of my friends on this list: Adam Browne and Cat Sparks, so I wish them both good luck! And mine is one of my Clarion stories, the only one I've reworked so far, so I have to give thanks to all my Clarion buddies and to Nalo Hopkinson who gave me comments on this story. And of course to Western Women Writers who read it as well!
I learn so much from others -- I do believe that each of us is shaped by the shoulders of the giants we stand on, and I've had some great giants along the way. (Hi, Sherryl!) Whether I've learnt enough from them is another matter, of course, but one of the most exciting things about writing is that no matter how much you know, there's always so much more to learn. I love learning new stuff.
Here's the link to the list of finalists in case you want to peruse the list further.
05 May 2007
Williamstown literary festival
What I'm reading: student assignments.
Today, I've spent part of my day at the Williamstown literary festival. I began by meeting Sherryl to help her set up the display for our course, but by the time I got there she'd already done it. There was still half an hour before the opening and the library, next door, was having a book sale so we meandered over. Writers should never meander over to book sales. Oh, the temptation. I did come away with three books: one on managing kids with ADD, which I'll give to The Gadget-Man, one on the Bible (Princess Sleepyhead has to study RE till Year 12, and we're not particularly religious, so it might come in handy), and James Frey's biography that turned out to be not so biographaphical at all. When I opened it, I noticed that none of the paras were indented, nor did any of the dialogue have quote marks. Hmm. Still, the writing looked lively, so I'll have to see how I go with that one.
We wandered back to the festival and took our seats. After the speeches, they had a fifteen-year-old guest speaker whose first novel is coming out with HarperCollins next month. This amazed me less than her poise, her confidence in standing up before all those people. At her age, I would've been a quivering mess. But she looked like she'd been doing it for years. Perhaps she had. She did mention she was in the debating club. She spoke with passion and enthusiasm and made the journey from no-one to published writer sound so easy. Pleasing to hear her talk about how she wants to grow as a writer, though. That to me is one of the great joys of writing: knowing that you can improve. She came across as being down-to-earth, very nice, enthusiastic.
Then I went home. Mr Gadget-Man was at work. His job finishes in about seven weeks (everyone's job there does), and yet they were offering them all overtime this weekend -- bizarre! So I had to get Princess Sleepyhead off to rehearsals, which is no mean feat. Rehearsals happened to be at the same venue as the lit fest, which was rather convenient. So I headed back in and saw half a session on the craft of writing. Seems I'd missed the editor speak, which was a shame. One of my students was there and said it was quite pertinent to what we'd been talking about in class. The writer was speaking about sentence structures, which is always going to interest me. One thing he said that I found intriguing was that he spoke about leaning against your strengths as a writer. About making your strengths your weaknesses. That would be one way of assuring growth, I would imagine. We all need to push boundaries.
My next session was about writing the city. Or more specifically about writing Melbourne. So really it was about place. I love thinking about place -- in real life place is one of my touchstones in life. When I left Clarion, I kept thinking, I'll see these people again, but I'm never going to see this room again, never going to enjoy this view. All I'll have are my photos. I don't think anyone else gave a shit -- they couldn't wait to get out of that sweatbox, but for me, well, I lost part of myself when I left there. That is perhaps hard to understand, but place inhabits my blood, it seeps in through the cracks in and pores of my skin. I am grounded by place. But I'm digressing, as I am so apt to do. This session was lively and interesting. Both authors read from their novels, and I remember being particularly impressed by the dialogue in one. And having a laugh when that author was questioned about one of characters and gave a colourful response.
Wanting a change of pace, I went and listened to the singers. I love listening to them sing -- the purity and clarity of their voices. Just lovely. Tomorrow they're singing in a choral festival at Montsalvat, and that will be a real treat because Montsalvat is incredibly beautiful. Last time I was there was for a poetry festival, years ago, and I remember being very nervous because I had to read. That was my pre-teaching days when standing up before an audience was an ordeal with a capital O, and every letter done in bold. Now, it's not nearly as bad.
When the singers finished it was time for the Ada Cambridge Award. Being shortlisting judges, most of Western Women Writers went, and the organisers thanked us and presented us with a free copy of the awards book, which was a really nice touch. I wasn't expecting that.
It's always interesting when you're shortlisting to see whether the story you thought was a standout was chosen or not. Our group was torn between two stories, so were the judges, though only one of these two was in our top two. Our second story was Highly Commended. (They didn't have second or third.) Anyway, from the comments made the judges found the final decision as difficult as we'd found it.
What I love about attending these events is catching up with old friends, aquaintances and old students. I love finding out how people are going -- that curiosity -- must be the writer in me.
Today, I've spent part of my day at the Williamstown literary festival. I began by meeting Sherryl to help her set up the display for our course, but by the time I got there she'd already done it. There was still half an hour before the opening and the library, next door, was having a book sale so we meandered over. Writers should never meander over to book sales. Oh, the temptation. I did come away with three books: one on managing kids with ADD, which I'll give to The Gadget-Man, one on the Bible (Princess Sleepyhead has to study RE till Year 12, and we're not particularly religious, so it might come in handy), and James Frey's biography that turned out to be not so biographaphical at all. When I opened it, I noticed that none of the paras were indented, nor did any of the dialogue have quote marks. Hmm. Still, the writing looked lively, so I'll have to see how I go with that one.
We wandered back to the festival and took our seats. After the speeches, they had a fifteen-year-old guest speaker whose first novel is coming out with HarperCollins next month. This amazed me less than her poise, her confidence in standing up before all those people. At her age, I would've been a quivering mess. But she looked like she'd been doing it for years. Perhaps she had. She did mention she was in the debating club. She spoke with passion and enthusiasm and made the journey from no-one to published writer sound so easy. Pleasing to hear her talk about how she wants to grow as a writer, though. That to me is one of the great joys of writing: knowing that you can improve. She came across as being down-to-earth, very nice, enthusiastic.
Then I went home. Mr Gadget-Man was at work. His job finishes in about seven weeks (everyone's job there does), and yet they were offering them all overtime this weekend -- bizarre! So I had to get Princess Sleepyhead off to rehearsals, which is no mean feat. Rehearsals happened to be at the same venue as the lit fest, which was rather convenient. So I headed back in and saw half a session on the craft of writing. Seems I'd missed the editor speak, which was a shame. One of my students was there and said it was quite pertinent to what we'd been talking about in class. The writer was speaking about sentence structures, which is always going to interest me. One thing he said that I found intriguing was that he spoke about leaning against your strengths as a writer. About making your strengths your weaknesses. That would be one way of assuring growth, I would imagine. We all need to push boundaries.
My next session was about writing the city. Or more specifically about writing Melbourne. So really it was about place. I love thinking about place -- in real life place is one of my touchstones in life. When I left Clarion, I kept thinking, I'll see these people again, but I'm never going to see this room again, never going to enjoy this view. All I'll have are my photos. I don't think anyone else gave a shit -- they couldn't wait to get out of that sweatbox, but for me, well, I lost part of myself when I left there. That is perhaps hard to understand, but place inhabits my blood, it seeps in through the cracks in and pores of my skin. I am grounded by place. But I'm digressing, as I am so apt to do. This session was lively and interesting. Both authors read from their novels, and I remember being particularly impressed by the dialogue in one. And having a laugh when that author was questioned about one of characters and gave a colourful response.
Wanting a change of pace, I went and listened to the singers. I love listening to them sing -- the purity and clarity of their voices. Just lovely. Tomorrow they're singing in a choral festival at Montsalvat, and that will be a real treat because Montsalvat is incredibly beautiful. Last time I was there was for a poetry festival, years ago, and I remember being very nervous because I had to read. That was my pre-teaching days when standing up before an audience was an ordeal with a capital O, and every letter done in bold. Now, it's not nearly as bad.
When the singers finished it was time for the Ada Cambridge Award. Being shortlisting judges, most of Western Women Writers went, and the organisers thanked us and presented us with a free copy of the awards book, which was a really nice touch. I wasn't expecting that.
It's always interesting when you're shortlisting to see whether the story you thought was a standout was chosen or not. Our group was torn between two stories, so were the judges, though only one of these two was in our top two. Our second story was Highly Commended. (They didn't have second or third.) Anyway, from the comments made the judges found the final decision as difficult as we'd found it.
What I love about attending these events is catching up with old friends, aquaintances and old students. I love finding out how people are going -- that curiosity -- must be the writer in me.
31 March 2007
How much help is enough?
Last night, Sherryl and Margaret (two Western Women Writers) and I attended the FAW awards night. FAW, for anyone who doesn't know it, is the Fellowship of Australian Writers. Sherryl and Margaret were both judges in this years awards (and have been for the last several years). The FAW awards cover a broad range of categories from unpublished manuscripts, to manuscripts by a writers' group to short stories and poems and screenplays. They also include a number of children's awards.
I'm always amazed at the poise and confidence of some of the children who win awards at these kinds of things. I suppose I remember my own adolescent awkwardness, the shyness that made me dread public speaking. But a lot of these children look as though they were born in front of a crowd.
Speeches are optional at the FAW awards, so some people make them and some don't. And this is true of the child as well as the adult recipients. Last night was interesting because one of the children who got up to speak thanked her mother and father for helping her to write the story. I started musing about this, wondering exactly what this meant. Did it mean they offered editorial advice -- looked at commas, spelling etc? Did it mean they offered structural advice? Or did they help shape the piece in some more substantive way?
My son recently entered a competition and asked me to look over his work. I was loath to do this because I worried that that might give him an unfair advantage over those who don't have parents for writers. But what about those whose teachers help them with their stories? What about workshopping that those of us in writing groups do?
Over summer, I do shortlisting for a children's writing competition, and there are invariably entries that don't feel like they've been written by children -- they show a sophistication not just of language but of ideas far beyond the child's age in years. Sometimes I've raised concerns with Margaret, who organises the competition, and who runs several children's writing groups. Sometimes she'll look over a story and say that, yes, she's seen kids do amazing things. So, ultimately, we have to take these stories on trust, but I'm still sometimes left wondering whether one particular child hasn't had a whole lot more help than the other children have had.
Perhaps I'm super sensitive because when my daughter was in Year 7 I got a rap over the knuckles from her English teacher for helping too much with a poetry assignment. My daughter had no idea how to do the assignment, how to write a poem. I spent more than twenty hours instructing her, going through all the different forms. In the end I did help shape the poems by leading her with questions. For example, she wrote a poem about anger, and I said things like: "If anger were an animal, what sort of animal would it be?" She gave an answer, and I told her to write it down. The actual ideas and words were her own. It wasn't about cheating, or getting a better mark, it was about my trying to teach her something. I told this to the teacher, and said I didn't care if she only got a D for the assignment, as long as she'd learnt something. The teacher marked her down because I'd helped her, and I thought that was fair enough. I'm still uncomfortable with what I did, but it was the educator in me stepping in. I don't know if I was right or wrong, but I've backed off from giving that kind of help ever since, and especially wouldn't do it in a competition where there is a monetary prize at stake.
So how much should parents help with writing for competitions or assignments? I guess we all have to find our own line here, and it will be different for each of us. I've had teachers suggest I help my kids with their work. I've been horrified at times to hear friends confess they do their children's assignments for them. What do their children learn from this approach? And as any kind of judge for a writing competition for children, I have to hope that I really am judging that child's work and not the work of their older brother or sister, or mother or father, or teacher or tutor.
I'm always amazed at the poise and confidence of some of the children who win awards at these kinds of things. I suppose I remember my own adolescent awkwardness, the shyness that made me dread public speaking. But a lot of these children look as though they were born in front of a crowd.
Speeches are optional at the FAW awards, so some people make them and some don't. And this is true of the child as well as the adult recipients. Last night was interesting because one of the children who got up to speak thanked her mother and father for helping her to write the story. I started musing about this, wondering exactly what this meant. Did it mean they offered editorial advice -- looked at commas, spelling etc? Did it mean they offered structural advice? Or did they help shape the piece in some more substantive way?
My son recently entered a competition and asked me to look over his work. I was loath to do this because I worried that that might give him an unfair advantage over those who don't have parents for writers. But what about those whose teachers help them with their stories? What about workshopping that those of us in writing groups do?
Over summer, I do shortlisting for a children's writing competition, and there are invariably entries that don't feel like they've been written by children -- they show a sophistication not just of language but of ideas far beyond the child's age in years. Sometimes I've raised concerns with Margaret, who organises the competition, and who runs several children's writing groups. Sometimes she'll look over a story and say that, yes, she's seen kids do amazing things. So, ultimately, we have to take these stories on trust, but I'm still sometimes left wondering whether one particular child hasn't had a whole lot more help than the other children have had.
Perhaps I'm super sensitive because when my daughter was in Year 7 I got a rap over the knuckles from her English teacher for helping too much with a poetry assignment. My daughter had no idea how to do the assignment, how to write a poem. I spent more than twenty hours instructing her, going through all the different forms. In the end I did help shape the poems by leading her with questions. For example, she wrote a poem about anger, and I said things like: "If anger were an animal, what sort of animal would it be?" She gave an answer, and I told her to write it down. The actual ideas and words were her own. It wasn't about cheating, or getting a better mark, it was about my trying to teach her something. I told this to the teacher, and said I didn't care if she only got a D for the assignment, as long as she'd learnt something. The teacher marked her down because I'd helped her, and I thought that was fair enough. I'm still uncomfortable with what I did, but it was the educator in me stepping in. I don't know if I was right or wrong, but I've backed off from giving that kind of help ever since, and especially wouldn't do it in a competition where there is a monetary prize at stake.
So how much should parents help with writing for competitions or assignments? I guess we all have to find our own line here, and it will be different for each of us. I've had teachers suggest I help my kids with their work. I've been horrified at times to hear friends confess they do their children's assignments for them. What do their children learn from this approach? And as any kind of judge for a writing competition for children, I have to hope that I really am judging that child's work and not the work of their older brother or sister, or mother or father, or teacher or tutor.
29 March 2007
Fiction versus nonfiction
What I'm reading: entries for the Ada Cambridge award, submissions for Poetrix, The secret river by Kate Grenville
This last few weeks my writing group Western Women Writers has been shortlisting entries for the Ada Cambridge award, which is part of the Williamstown Writers' Festival. This has been particularly interesting for me because the Ada Cambridge is for biographical or autobiographical writing, which is not what I usually do. I'm a fiction writer. A speculative fiction writer most of the time. My passion is my fantasy novel/trilogy. But I write short stories as well, and have been known to dabble in poetry. Very occasionally I'll write a bit of nonfiction -- usually for a particular purpose, rather than because I have any great drive pushing me that way. I suppose I've even written a bit of autobiography, but it's not really my "thing".
What I've found interesting in reading the entries is how many people think that good autobiography is just a recitation of events, a retelling of their life, if in a somewhat abridged form. Only a few craft a story out of events, dramatise a situation so that it really comes to life with a blend of narrative and dialogue. These stories leap out from the rest and really catch your eye. And they make me think about the lines between fiction and nonfiction and how these lines are drawn on unstable ground. I remember a friend who wrote an autobiographical piece, sent it off to a literary magazine with no explanation as to what it was and was amused to find it published as a short story. Some award-winning stories I've read in prestigious competitions I think aren't stories at all, but read much more like real-life vignettes.
It must be seredipity that I'm doing this shortlisting while reading Grenville's book. I love The secret river. It's the story of William Thornhill, a convict from London who is transported to Australia for stealing some lumber. Grenville's world is so compellingly real, so beautifully detailed that I've lived the convict experience in a way I never have before. Perhaps that was part of the appeal -- because last year I did a stint teaching a subject called Text and Culture: Imagining Australia in the Diploma of Liberal Arts. I have a science background, not an arts background, so for me it was a mad (but enjoyable) scramble to stay ahead of the students. Part of what we focused on was the whole invasion versus settlement thing. So Grenville's book was always going to appeal on a thematic level, but the setting just transported me back in time. I had wondered about the type of poverty that people must have experienced, but I don't think I'd ever truly imagined the full desperation of their situations. This book made me not only do this, but feel their desperation as well. However, The secret river has been dogged by controversy because of liberties Grenville took about dates and events. In her companion book about writing the novel, she makes no bones about the book being a work of fiction. We've talked about it at work: historical fiction versus historical fiction. It's all in the emphasis.
For me, the most important thing is telling a good story. Getting your readers in and holding them there. Compelling them to sit in their comfy chair or their bed or on their floor or wherever even though their bladder is bursting and they're fading away from hunger. Grenville, to me, has told a great story. It's not a fast read -- it's rich and dense and spectacular and well worth the read. To me, as a writer, it's a resounding success -- as are those stories in the competition whose writers took the time to really think about how best to show their stories rather than just telling them.
This last few weeks my writing group Western Women Writers has been shortlisting entries for the Ada Cambridge award, which is part of the Williamstown Writers' Festival. This has been particularly interesting for me because the Ada Cambridge is for biographical or autobiographical writing, which is not what I usually do. I'm a fiction writer. A speculative fiction writer most of the time. My passion is my fantasy novel/trilogy. But I write short stories as well, and have been known to dabble in poetry. Very occasionally I'll write a bit of nonfiction -- usually for a particular purpose, rather than because I have any great drive pushing me that way. I suppose I've even written a bit of autobiography, but it's not really my "thing".
What I've found interesting in reading the entries is how many people think that good autobiography is just a recitation of events, a retelling of their life, if in a somewhat abridged form. Only a few craft a story out of events, dramatise a situation so that it really comes to life with a blend of narrative and dialogue. These stories leap out from the rest and really catch your eye. And they make me think about the lines between fiction and nonfiction and how these lines are drawn on unstable ground. I remember a friend who wrote an autobiographical piece, sent it off to a literary magazine with no explanation as to what it was and was amused to find it published as a short story. Some award-winning stories I've read in prestigious competitions I think aren't stories at all, but read much more like real-life vignettes.
It must be seredipity that I'm doing this shortlisting while reading Grenville's book. I love The secret river. It's the story of William Thornhill, a convict from London who is transported to Australia for stealing some lumber. Grenville's world is so compellingly real, so beautifully detailed that I've lived the convict experience in a way I never have before. Perhaps that was part of the appeal -- because last year I did a stint teaching a subject called Text and Culture: Imagining Australia in the Diploma of Liberal Arts. I have a science background, not an arts background, so for me it was a mad (but enjoyable) scramble to stay ahead of the students. Part of what we focused on was the whole invasion versus settlement thing. So Grenville's book was always going to appeal on a thematic level, but the setting just transported me back in time. I had wondered about the type of poverty that people must have experienced, but I don't think I'd ever truly imagined the full desperation of their situations. This book made me not only do this, but feel their desperation as well. However, The secret river has been dogged by controversy because of liberties Grenville took about dates and events. In her companion book about writing the novel, she makes no bones about the book being a work of fiction. We've talked about it at work: historical fiction versus historical fiction. It's all in the emphasis.
For me, the most important thing is telling a good story. Getting your readers in and holding them there. Compelling them to sit in their comfy chair or their bed or on their floor or wherever even though their bladder is bursting and they're fading away from hunger. Grenville, to me, has told a great story. It's not a fast read -- it's rich and dense and spectacular and well worth the read. To me, as a writer, it's a resounding success -- as are those stories in the competition whose writers took the time to really think about how best to show their stories rather than just telling them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)