When writing is like housekeeping

Procrastination can be one's own worst enemy. There is always something else we would rather be doing, something else I would rather be doing, yet there are things that just need to be done.

For me, housework and keeping our home organised isn't really a chore - it's something that I enjoy doing and which relaxes and soothes me. The end product of a clean and tidy space is always worth the time and effort. It might also help that I try and keep our house tidy and clutter free throughout the week (whether I'm working or not) and maintain a really simple approach to housework. 

I don't follow a particular cleaning schedule or timetable for our housework and I've often wondered if I should. But I don't really like hard and fast rules, more of a guideline to get things done. Like I said, keeping it simple without pressure to complete certain things by certain times works better for me. 

Since I've been on leave I now have more days to get everything done and I seem to have fallen into the rhythm of doing the heaviest housework at the beginning of the week then tapering off as the week goes on (and I begin to lose my energy and my motivation).

Monday, the day when I have the most motivation and energy is for vacuuming and mopping the floors. After the busy weekends (when I tend to do as little housework as possible!) the floors need attention. Tuesday has always been bathroom cleaning day.

Dusting happens when I notice that things are dusty - but even that is getting done about once a week now that I have more time. 

Big jobs like cleaning the windows and the front and back deck tend not to happen as often as they could. When I sit on our lounge and look out the front windows and notice streaks or dirt, or when I am in the dining room and see that muddy paw prints on the back glass door, I know it's time to clean the windows and glass.

Just after Nic was born we lived in a small, Defense-owned townhouse which got no natural light whatsoever. Up until that point, I had no idea how important natural light in a house was to my sense of wellbeing! It felt like we were living in a mushroom - and not a pretty, red and white toadstool one like Mr Mouse. Since then, having natural light come in unfiltered into our living space has been a blessing. It is one of the things that I love most about our house. The warmth and light in the kitchen in the morning, then as the sun makes its way across the sky, various windows in the living spaces get sun (perfect for lying in during winter) until finally the sun hits our front yard and pours in through the lounge room windows - so long as they are clean and streak-free! 

I am also becoming quite adept at cleaning as I go. This winter so much of my time has been spent in the kitchen and this is an area that I love to keep clean and clutter free. Cleaning as I go keeps everything under control, without getting too overwhelming, especially if I am baking bread and a sweet treat. I'm not terribly up-tight about this, and I'm not striving for perfection, but having the space neat and tidy means that my mind is free to move on to other things, like creative pursuits. 

On the weekend, breakfast dishes and fixings can sit around longer as people tend to eat later and at different times. I try and avoid tidying up more than once a meal! Also on the weekends when the kids are home, the general mess and evidence of them enjoying themselves (chess boards out, lego battles in the hallway, bananagrams on the kitchen table, piles of books on lounges and rugs thrown about) is not something I stress about. By the end of the day, we make sure to put things away, but when they are being used then the mess is more than welcome. To me it is a sign of happy, young people playing and engaging with their spaces. As for their bedrooms, maybe once a week I will do a quick spot clean through their rooms, but most of the time we expect them to clean them.

When the washing is done, I try to get it folded and ready to be put away (the kids put their own clothes away once folded) on the same day that it is done. I really don't like having baskets of washing lying around the place. This just makes things overwhelming and, really, it's not that hard to just get it done straight away. 

I know not everyone has the same motivation as I do to clean as you go, or to clean - even if you don't feel like it. In fact, this is where I often find myself when it comes to writing. 

I want to write and often tell myself that I will sit down and write when "such-and-such" is done. This is my form of procrastination. I have realised that if I just sit down at my desk (which I try and keep neat and tidy so that I don't distract myself with more cleaning!) and begin to read over where I left off then the words will come. Even if I don't feel terribly inspired to begin, once I've picked up the thread of the story and gotten into the world of Sylvie et al, it becomes much easier to write.

As I mentioned, my daily schedule is quite flexible, but most mornings I'm done with my chores by mid-morning coffee time. I've usually put a bread on in the bread maker (my favourite way to make bread is to do the kneading and rising in the bread maker and then make the loaf or some rolls in the oven) and can sit and dedicate some time to my stories or to my research.

That, in fact, is another area of procrastination for me. I love researching and taking notes. Some days I will do more of this than the actual writing and it is something I need to be mindful of. Do I need this information to write right now or am I procrastinating again and stopping myself from writing? Perhaps it sounds like I don't enjoy writing, but I really do and once I get start, well let's just say it's hard to stop! I can go for hours once those juices are flowing. Perhaps I need some clearer goals about my writing - in terms of achieving set goals, but most of the time I'm pretty casual about these too. I don't want it become a chore, something I really don't want to do but feel like I have to because I've set myself deadlines and goals. It's a fine line of balancing. For me, at this stage of my life, writing is a hobby. I don't make money from it or risk missing out by not completing pages by a set time. My overall goal is to complete the 12 short stories of Sylvie's life (one per month) and I've done seven, so that to me says that I'm on the right track. If procrastination continues to raise it's head I may have to consider how important this 'hobby' is to me right now. 

However you choose to clean your house or approach your writing, I am sure it is different to my rather laissez faire attitude. I'm sure in many ways it is probably better and more organised and your goals are achieved much more quickly than mine. I like the way I approach both though and feel that many things can still be accomplished without stressing or applying too much pressure. I suppose my main goal in housekeeping and in writing is to keep things as simple as possible. I hope you can also find a simple way to get things done that you might otherwise be putting off.

This photo is of my little 'library nook' where I sit with my electric fire early in the mornings until the sun rises and begins to stream in through the blinds. I always keep this space cozy and tidy :)

The World Of Sylvie Steeple

I am taking the first steps to set up a new blog which I hope will contain all things Sylvie Steeple. Sylvie is the protagonist in my new short stories series. The series is predominantly set in 1920s Sydney. The initial plan was to write 12 short stories, each chronicling a month in the life of Sylvie. She helps people, solves unique cases and treats people (she is a trained nurse). To date, six of these short stories have been completed. Perhaps comparisons might be made to Phrine Fisher from "Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries," but really Sylvie is very different to Phrine as are the 'cases' that she takes on. Sylvie's father was an occultist so in a way she is continuing on with his work but taking on cases of a supernatural nature. Also, Sylvie is not rich and does not dress elegantly or in a fashion-forward way. She is a nurse, practical and pragmatic. She has just returned to Australia after spending several years in Europe (both as a war-time nurse and after), but she is Australian at heart.

I love to research Sydney during this time and have used some great resources to help me.

Online resources have predominantly been The Dictionary of Sydney and photos from The Powerhouse Museum.

Sometimes, though, I find the Internet a bit of a rabbit-warren for accurate and specific information so will resort to books. At the very beginning of the year we had the good luck to stop in at a Lifeline bookfair where I found these little gems:

They have been so useful and the sketches in the top book are amazing. As my character Sylvie lives in Paddington, you can imagine what a treasure trove this little book has been!

These ones, albeit old, are still handy in planning and getting a decent overview of the situation in Australia one hundred years ago. 

I've also used these old books to get a good overview of some of the views contemporary from fifty or sixty years ago. It's a nice study in historiography. The text ("Our Sunburnt Country", 1964) is surprisingly forward in some (but not all) of its views on Indigenous history and British occupation post 1780. The novel ("The Spell of the Inland") however is very typical of the time (1934) in its portrayal of Indigenous people and white Australian farmers in the Outback. The imagery throughout is very vivid and does not attempt to sugarcoat the realities of living the harsh Australian inland.

This book has been invaluable for providing information and inspiration for the lives of Italian migrants in Australia. The stories are fascinating and diverse. I've had this for many years and actually stumbled across it in the library of the first high school I worked when I moved here to Canberra. The school has since shut down, and many of the library's books were donated or dumped in the process. I'm so glad I kept this one though!

I am really pleased that I have been able to set up a new blog for Sylvie Steeple. It is still very much a baby and not worth visiting now, but I hope to have some new posts up in the next week or two. 

going back

There is a saying that you can never go back again. As a historian and as a writer I whole-heartedly disagree. The beauty of living in the world that we live in today is that we can go back. Whether we want to stroll down memory lane with school pals on Facebook, or research into a past complete with pictures, documentaries via Youtube, university notes and online books, or even shut the computer and go back to writing a letter. With pen and paper. In fact there is very little these days that is stopping us from going back.

I am particularly comforted by this fact at the moment. My 85 year old grandfather is quite sick. He has recently had a couple of falls which have resulted in a broken shoulder (now healed) and a broken hip (operated on but which has left him weak and unable to walk). He is in a public hospital undergoing serious rehabilitation.

I always had a very close relationship with my grandfather, who was born on the Greek island of Syros. Growing up I adored him and loved that fact that he came from somewhere so exotic. I memorised the Greek words and numbers that he would teach me and my sisters and I held tightly to his promises that one day he would take me back there with him. We never got there but the stories certainly remained with me.

They promised them a working paradise, they delivered hell.

One hot, summer day when the Captain and I were driving back home from a trip to Wollongong a new idea for a story came to me. One that revolved around his life. When he was barely eighteen his island was attacked by Nazis and he ended up in a ball-bearings factory in Austria. After the war ended he, like so many other displaced young men, joined the French Foreign Legion. After fighting in Vietnam he finally caught a boat to Australia where he jumped shipped and lived as an illegal immigrant before finally becoming an Australian citizen.

I love my grandfather and I love his story. A couple of years ago I sat down with him and got as many details as I could from him, writing them all down on scraps of paper that came to hand. I collated them all and brought them home to put together in my story. It is these scraps that led to the development of the character Tommaso in Pepper Ridge Lane.

Then I went back to work, had another baby, got re-focused on writing Orpheus and poor old Pepper Ridge got put in the dusty folder on my desktop. After speaking with my grandmother this morning and hearing the mixed news about my grandfather's transfer to a much nicer hosptial with better rehab facilities, and the fact that he has lost ten kilos because he isn't eating I felt the need to be close to him again. So I opened Pepper Ridge Lane. The file told me that it had been almost a year.

And as I read over it again I remembered just how much I loved it. I realise now that it is because it is real to me. I can picture Tommaso, just as I can picture the black and white photo of my handsome grandfather, twenty one years of age in his FFL uniform, one of my favourite photos of all time. I know Tommaso' story, because my grandfather already told it to me. Sure, there are fictional elements, quite a few that I've added in actually (Tommaso is Italian after all), but the bones, the heart of it are real. I've just fleshed it out with make believe.

I guess I'm just trying to say that I am so grateful that I was able to get the story from my grandfather when he was well (he is now also suffering from dementia and according to my mum gets quite confused and muddled at times) and that I can write it down. That day when we were talking and I was taking notes he pointed at my papers and asked me what I was going to do with it. I told him I was writing it down in a story. And he smiled. I think he would really like the story. Although not as much as I am enjoying writing it.

i heart italy...and del Piero

It's no secret that I love all things Italian.

I've been to Italy twice in my life. The second time, when I was 24 I spent almost two months there living with an Italian man (in a homestay arrangement :) named Francisco and the other girls that boarded there, and I studied the language. That was at the end of my teacher training degree where I was qualified as a secondary Italian/History teacher.

I've spent only the one year teaching Italian, which is a bit sad but I still think in it a lot, especially when I'm writing.

My books (the many that I am writing :) are set in Italy or have Italian characters.

I've blogged about Venice and the women of the Renaissance. Even the Black Death in Italy has had a shoe-in at KV Writes.

And those of you who pop by regularly know that Orpheus is set during the Italian Renaissance. In all of its many guises, Orpheus has always been set in Italy, both present and past.

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My sister-in-law comes from an Italian background and her parents are amongst some of the sweetest people I know. (Prayers for Marie, Paula :)

This is my favourite book in the kitchen. We eat pasta in our house at least once or twice a week.

Yep, you could say that Italy has a pretty special place in my heart.

When I was 18 and studying the HSC I began to be mildly interested (okay I was obsessed, as in wake up at 530 in the morning to watch the games obsessed) in Serie A Italian Football. For some bizarre reason. Perhaps it was this:

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No, no I remember now. It was because of this:

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As an 18 year old I thought Alessandro Del Piero, a striker for the Turin football club Juventus and also on the Italian national team, Gli Azzurri during the World Cup of 1998, was just about the best thing ever.

In 2004 when I was living in Padova I asked the boys at the local bar who made my morning coffee how I would go about going to see a Juve game, because of course, I had to see Del Piero play. They told me it was hard to get tickets. And expensive. Too expensive for a student living on less than $20 a day. And so my dream of seeing him play was crushed. Actually the real dream was that he would see me in the stands and have to marry me there and then :)

But then I grew up and on. Started teaching Spanish, and then Italian, and then ESL. Got married and had some kids, none of whom were named after this luscious Italian God. And I suppose I forgot about him.

Until recently.

Because Alessandro Del Piero has landed on our sunny shores. Having signed with Sydney club Sydney FC earlier this year, he has already played three games.


Three games here. In Australia. Less than three hours away from me. Breathing the same air and looking up at the same southern sky.

So I'm already planning a family weekend trip to Sydney. What is a good age for children to start watching live football games? One month? Two? Does it even really matter?

A little slice of Italy on our doorstep. Yes please!!!

And I'll have a side of gelato with that thanks :)

snippets

I realised that it has been a while since I offered anything from the new Orpheus. So here are a couple of snippets, including the opening scene. Enjoy :)

(Please remember that this is copyright to kvwrites, 2012 and you cannot, absolutely not at all, not even a little bit, take it from this site. Thanks!!)

Chapter 1  - Villa Orfeo

The air as we left Florence became noticeably clearer as we made our way through the gorgeous countryside. The air conditioner in the little Fiat was working overtime to keep the hot August sun from melting us. The light in the country seemed preternaturally bright, as if a giant spotlight was shining down on the fields around us. I thought of all the books and movies I had heard of about Tuscany and could now see what the attraction was. No wonder people wanted to throw away all the stress and hassle of living in the hustle and bustle of a city to come and renovate an old house in the Tuscan countryside. The air was clean and clear, and although it was hot there were pockets of shade under giant pines, ancient forests of oak trees, farm after farm of perfectly lined grape vines and little pools and ponds sparkled in the sun. The summer wildflowers were out in bloom, covering fields and lighting up the landscape.

I dared a peak at Jack Perry, driving calmly beside me. I was thankful for my dark sunglasses. Jack Perry was a renowned lawyer, an Englishman who now worked with a firm in Rome doing high profile defence cases. He had even worked with some of Silvio Berlosconi’s defence lawyers.

Jack had come up to Florence a few times to meet with me. The night before we had had too much to drink and I don’t know if it was sweltering Italian heat, or the sweltering Italian passion that infused the people around us or we were simply caught up in the moment of too much red wine and good food but something had happened.

“If I were twenty years younger,” Jack had said regretfully pulling away. “And if I didn’t know your father still had that old hunting rifle on top of his wardrobe at the house in Dorset. He does still have it doesn’t he?”

“He does.”

We had laughed.No hard feelings.

                           ********************************

Jack hit the accelerator and the little Fiat lurched up the hill. On the top of the hill we had an amazing view of the valley we had just come through. Old, stone homes dotted the hills around us. In front of us loomed an iron gate. All I could see past it was a long driveway. Jack got out of the car and ran to open the gate. The driveway wound its way along a little creek, through the cooling shade of acacia trees. The driveway was bumpy and uneven, after the comparatively smooth dirt road we had come from. Jack manoeuvred the car around some dangerous looking potholes. An old house suddenly appeared before us. It was gorgeous, exactly how I imagined it. It was made of stone and comprised of two stories, plus a couple of separate more modern looking buildings.

“Oh my gosh,” I exclaimed pointing, “is that a tower?” I had only just noticed the awesome turret in the center of the main house. A beautiful stained glass window sat proudly at the top of the tower; its reds and blues on fire in the hot sun. Jack pulled the car to a stop at the base of the tower.

“It’s one of the converted guest rooms.”

As we got out of the car made our way up to the house I realised that the whole property was precariously perched on the edge of a rocky cliff. Below a whole valley of yellowing grass spread before us. I gasped again. It was the most chaotic and dramatic view I had ever seen. My stomach flipped a little as I realised just how steep the drop was and just how close the main house was to the edge. I looked dubiously at Jack.

“Is this even safe?” I suddenly had thoughts of falling off the edge of the cliff and falling to a very long and painful death. Craggy rocks and prickly bushes jutted out from the cliff; I wondered if they would even find my body.

Jack laughed. “It’s been here for more than six hundred years and hasn’t fallen yet.”

                                                                                                                       *********************************

The book then went on in some detail about the history of Orpheus and his revival during the Renaissance and how this had been attributed to Figlini. Apparently it wasn’t so much the famous story of Orpheus and his beloved Eurydice, for whom he travelled to the Underworld, that fascinated Figlini, Lascaris and others like them, but the power Orpheus wielded with his music and poetry. Power that had the ability to control the planets and stars. In fact, a whole sect of followers developed during the time known as the Cult of Orpheus. This cult, very much the ideal religion that Figlini had dreamed of, was based around the use of talismans, especially those which were related to the Greek legend and his lyre.

The author even went so far as to suggest that Lascaris had built a shrine in his villa, named after the ancient Greek legend, which was a portal into the magical, musical world of Orpheus. A portal which gave the magicians the ability to tap into the power of the universe.

I chuckled quietly at this then I looked up at the beautiful old villa and despite the blistering heat, shivered. Was it me or did the villa suddenly look different? I wondered for a moment where this supposed portal could be. Perhaps it had burnt down in the fire of the 17^th century. But I knew better. If you were going to have a portal anywhere it would be in that glorious tower. Curious I got up and went inside.                                        **************************************

Would love to know what you think :) Let me know, please!!

orpheus update

Just a quick update in between settling the baby, preparing dinner and assuring my kids that yes, I do remember who they are and hold on wait a minute don't I have two sons?? No?? Oh right, it's just the one four-almost-five-year-old who is everywhere all at once and has the uncanny ability of asking ten million questions a day. Plus a two and a half year old daughter who is on the cusp of losing her nap, that is until she reaches a point of high strung hysteria and we all go a bit crazy for a time until I declare that yes, indeed she does still need a nap.

All that in mind, I think it's pretty good that, as promised I'm back with an update on my last post's vow to do some writing three nights a week. I have to admit most of the writing has been done in the daylight hours, with the Captain home I do get a bit of time here and there to squeeze in some words.

So, drum roll please, since last week I have written....


Wait for it....

4,303 words!!

That's right folks, I am now up to 33,363 words in Orpheus! Hooray!!

I'm hoping to reach 50,000 words by Christmas and because I have a couple of scenes coming up that I have already written (in some of the many other versions of Orpheus...oh Lord...) I think it is quite do-able. But check back and I'll keep you posted!!

Keep writing friends!

what the doctor ordered

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Dr Who Season 7 has just finished up here. Booooo!!!!!!
Now we have to wait for Season 8 to begin. What does this mean? Well, for me, a very big Dr Who fan, it means a number of things.

1. I now have a free window of time from 7.30-8.30 every night.

2. Recently our DVD player broke (and the DVD player in the tv has been broken for a while) so my plan to send the Captain out to buy Season 1 of the Doctor to relive the magic right from the beginning during this sad, lull period, is a bit of a moot point.

3. I am no longer getting my daily fix of adventures in space and time.

4. The inspiration that the Doctor's fantastic character development, plot, settings (both time and space) and twists and turns inspire in me have left me feeling excited and restless.

Again, what does this mean???

Well, it means that I have made a big decision about my own writing. And I'm going to write it down here, because all experts say that you have more chance of achieving your goals if you write them down. So I am. Here. Now.

I propose that for three nights a week, from 7.30-8.30 I am going to devote myself to writing Finding Orpheus. This year it has undergone yet another facelift (what? no one's surprised to hear that?? hmm) and I'm really happy with where it is at and where it is heading in my mind. This way, I'll be getting my adventure fix, plus working with the inspiriation and ideas that have been floating around my mind for the last few months is very exciting.

So there you have it. I have publicly made this declaration and I am going to stick to it. I'll be on here next week to let you know how it has gone. I have big hopes for this week. This new Orpheus is currently sitting on 29,060 words. Maybe if this is successul I'll be able to make my goals into reaching word limits. Like I said, big hopes.

Anything inspired you this week??