The Tasmanian Literary Prizes were announced tonight. James Boyce won the Tasmania Book Prize, the biggest pool, for his wonderful history 1835, Rohan Wilson the Margaret Scott Prize for The Roving Party and Katherine Johnson won The University of Tasmania Prize for her unpublished manuscript Kubla. As a judge (a satisfying, time consuming and difficult role), I was asked to speak. Firstly, I spoke about the new prize, a prize for unpublished manuscripts, The University of Tasmania Prize, which has formerly been awarded to the best book by a Tasmanian publisher:
  "The University of Tasmania prize has, in the past, been awarded to the best book by a Tasmanian publisher and while the opportunity to offer a prize to an unpublished manuscript is welcome it is sad to see the pool of our publishers dwindle to such a level that it is deemed too small to offer a prize– especially in the face of international mergers between the likes of Random House and Penguin – who will soon have around 25% of all of the book trade internationally. For writers, this means less publishing opportunities - and for the reader it potentially means the loss of the special, effulgent work that is often picked up by small or niche publishers.
 That said, it is fantastic that we are finally offering a prize for an unpublished manuscript  and acknowledging writers in the earlier stages of their career.
  Even with the strictures on entry  - and I quote “Writers of theatrical works, literary fiction and non-fiction for adults or children, poetry and graphic novels who have had a limited number of works published have been encouraged to enter” there were a lot of people who entered – and indeed the manuscripts were across a diverse range of genres. That proves a challenge, to put it mildly for the judges.
  To be involved in the process of judging a manuscript reminded me of the importance of the editing process -both self editing and professional structural, sub and copy editing. It isn’t quaint to include grammatical clangers in your work, but the inclusion of these clangers did factor in to the judging process.
  So, how do you judge a poem against a play, a narrative story against a piece of pointy end literary fiction? In a consultative, reasoned and deductive way.  It was a pleasure working with Ross (Honeywill) and Lisa (Fletcher) to reach these outcomes – thank you.
  The manuscript prize provides Tasmanian writers with an unprecedented opportunity. $5000 for an unpublished work is not only money, it can also translate into time to write, an editor, an agent or a faster internet connection to send their work off to potential publishers. The winner will have the opportunity to label their manuscript as a winner already – and I expect that this will translate to a tangible publishing opportunity.
  It would not hurt in future to refine the definition of ‘emerging’ – and to open it to unpublished authors, not just those with published work already under their proverbial belt. To limit or refine the categorisation is understandable in terms of reducing the work of the judges – but having been part of this process I still call for it to acknowledge the truly emerging writer. To have even reached  the stage of having a completed manuscript can sometimes be a lifetime of work for a writer.
  I congratulate Leigh (Swinbourne), Katherine (Johnson) and Ben (Walter) on their work – and indeed I congratulate everyone who submitted a manuscript. I wish you all writerly satisfaction – and I wish all us readers more of the pleasure, challenge and inspiration you writers provide us.

Thank you."

  Next I spoke, alongside my fellow Judge Ross Honeywill about the judging process. I would have liked to begin with a bit of literary history - and my notes began with noting that the first novel published in what is now known as Australia was, in fact, written by Henry Savery, transported to Van Diemen's Land for forgery. However, the premier beat me to it so I fell back to the fact that not only was the first Australian novel published in Tasmania, but the first novel published by woman was also by a Tasmanian, Mary Grimwade. Then I continued -
  "Over the last few centuries this writing and reading culture has remained strong and in my view is still thriving. We all know how transformative a good book can be and it is often noted that Tasmania has a higher number of readers and writers per capita.
   To be able to offer recognition and support for literature in Tasmania is so important –not just through something as high profile as our literary awards but through editorial support, publication, promotion, ideas sharing, workshops, literary festivals, smaller writing (and reading) groups as well.
  This benefits not only the writers but also readers – and the flow on effects to the community as a whole, while somewhat difficult to quantify for policy makers are tangible. Proud to be Tasmanian was the ‘Love this’ slogan on all the stickers when I was growing up – but I reckon it should be, at the risk of being trite ‘proud to read Tasmanian’
   Both Ross and I have noted the challenges inherent in choosing ‘the best book’ out of such diverse genres, and how this is not the best way to showcase the diverse range of literary culture in Tasmania.  History, natural history, biography and fiction are some genres that have enough books in each category to offer a separate prize. Though – to split up the pool of prize money may prove a challenge – so! Who has a business that could benefit from a gorgeous affiliation with Tasmania’s literary culture? Who wants their name on an intelligent, informative and exciting prize (or magazine, I thought to myself)? Just a thought…."

Tasmanian Literary Prizes 2013

The Tasmanian Literary Prizes were announced tonight. James Boyce won the Tasmania Book Prize, the biggest pool, for his wonderful history 1835, Rohan Wilson the Margaret Scott Prize for The Roving Party and Katherine Johnson won The University of Tasmania Prize for her unpublished manuscript Kubla. As a judge (a satisfying, time consuming and difficult role), I was asked to speak. Firstly, I spoke about the new prize, a prize for unpublished manuscripts, The University of Tasmania Prize, which has formerly been awarded to the best book by a Tasmanian publisher:
  "The University of Tasmania prize has, in the past, been awarded to the best book by a Tasmanian publisher and while the opportunity to offer a prize to an unpublished manuscript is welcome it is sad to see the pool of our publishers dwindle to such a level that it is deemed too small to offer a prize– especially in the face of international mergers between the likes of Random House and Penguin – who will soon have around 25% of all of the book trade internationally. For writers, this means less publishing opportunities - and for the reader it potentially means the loss of the special, effulgent work that is often picked up by small or niche publishers.
 That said, it is fantastic that we are finally offering a prize for an unpublished manuscript  and acknowledging writers in the earlier stages of their career.
  Even with the strictures on entry  - and I quote “Writers of theatrical works, literary fiction and non-fiction for adults or children, poetry and graphic novels who have had a limited number of works published have been encouraged to enter” there were a lot of people who entered – and indeed the manuscripts were across a diverse range of genres. That proves a challenge, to put it mildly for the judges.
  To be involved in the process of judging a manuscript reminded me of the importance of the editing process -both self editing and professional structural, sub and copy editing. It isn’t quaint to include grammatical clangers in your work, but the inclusion of these clangers did factor in to the judging process.
  So, how do you judge a poem against a play, a narrative story against a piece of pointy end literary fiction? In a consultative, reasoned and deductive way.  It was a pleasure working with Ross (Honeywill) and Lisa (Fletcher) to reach these outcomes – thank you.
  The manuscript prize provides Tasmanian writers with an unprecedented opportunity. $5000 for an unpublished work is not only money, it can also translate into time to write, an editor, an agent or a faster internet connection to send their work off to potential publishers. The winner will have the opportunity to label their manuscript as a winner already – and I expect that this will translate to a tangible publishing opportunity.
  It would not hurt in future to refine the definition of ‘emerging’ – and to open it to unpublished authors, not just those with published work already under their proverbial belt. To limit or refine the categorisation is understandable in terms of reducing the work of the judges – but having been part of this process I still call for it to acknowledge the truly emerging writer. To have even reached  the stage of having a completed manuscript can sometimes be a lifetime of work for a writer.
  I congratulate Leigh (Swinbourne), Katherine (Johnson) and Ben (Walter) on their work – and indeed I congratulate everyone who submitted a manuscript. I wish you all writerly satisfaction – and I wish all us readers more of the pleasure, challenge and inspiration you writers provide us.

Thank you.

  Next I spoke, alongside my fellow Judge Ross Honeywill about the judging process. I would have liked to begin with a bit of literary history - and my notes began with noting that the first novel published in what is now known as Australia was, in fact, written by Henry Savery, transported to Van Diemen's Land for forgery. However, the premier beat me to it so I fell back to the fact that not only was the first Australian novel published in Tasmania, but the first novel published by woman was also by a Tasmanian, Mary Grimwade. Then I continued -
  Over the last few centuries this writing and reading culture has remained strong and in my view is still thriving. We all know how transformative a good book can be and it is often noted that Tasmania has a higher number of readers and writers per capita.
   To be able to offer recognition and support for literature in Tasmania is so important –not just through something as high profile as our literary awards but through editorial support, publication, promotion, ideas sharing, workshops, literary festivals, smaller writing (and reading) groups as well.
  This benefits not only the writers but also readers – and the flow on effects to the community as a whole, while somewhat difficult to quantify for policy makers are tangible. Proud to be Tasmanian was the ‘Love this’ slogan on all the stickers when I was growing up – but I reckon it should be, at the risk of being trite ‘proud to read Tasmanian’
   Both Ross and I have noted the challenges inherent in choosing ‘the best book’ out of such diverse genres, and how this is not the best way to showcase the diverse range of literary culture in Tasmania.  History, natural history, biography and fiction are some genres that have enough books in each category to offer a separate prize. Though – to split up the pool of prize money may prove a challenge – so! Who has a business that could benefit from a gorgeous affiliation with Tasmania’s literary culture? Who wants their name on an intelligent, informative and exciting prize (or magazine, I thought to myself)? Just a thought….

Forty Degrees South Short Story Anthology launch speech

 ‘40 Degrees South’ Short Story Anthology – launch speech by the irrepressible John Hale, winner of the inaugural competition in 2010.

"Firstly, thank you to Chris Champion and to semi-retired Admiral Warren Boyles of the good ship Forty Degrees South for the opportunity to launch yet another fine anthology. And thank you, as always, to Chris and Janet for so often providing this maze of possibilities and wonders.  And congratulations to Kate Esser for her beautifully crafted, poignant and finally exultant winning story, ‘Crossing Water’.


John Hale, 2010 Kate Esser, 2012, Chris Chamption, editor

It so happens that I’ve been to two short story writing workshops recently, which have convinced me of at least one thing: it’s far easier to talk about short stories than it is to actually write them.
And that’s why this latest publication is so important, giving the opportunity, as it does, to known and not-so-known writers to put their works ‘out there’/ in here, whether or not they were included between these covers. As Leigh Swinburne says, with his co-judge Rachel Edwards, “We had to leave out some excellent work”.

Back in the days when kindle meant to awaken desire – as  in ‘Kindle, kindle me’ she cried and he kindled her’, and when an e-reader was a recognised developmental stage of Early Childhood Education;  back when, according to my 1966 left-handed dictionary, George Bernard Shaw – a prolific, some might say prolix, writer (his plays consist mainly of stage directions and long marginal discourses on the few words the actors are allowed to speak) – back then, Shaw, with his tongue in his cheek, defined writers  as “purveyors of amusement for people who have not wit enough to entertain themselves".
But surely, we’re all internal writers, as we tell ourselves, ask, surmise, invent, rationalise, reject and elaborate our own stories and stories of others in our heads.
So I ask myself, what makes a short story succeed as these succeed?  Their narrative styles vary widely from ‘author as god-like omniscient observer’ to a created ‘I’ talking to a created ‘you’, and all frameworks in between.

I’ve come to the probably obvious conclusion (though I hadn’t highlighted it for myself before) that they are all about coping in one way or another – “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”, that stuff – coping perhaps to the point of personal catharsis in the lives of the created characters - even, in one story, coping with turning into a fish. 
Speaking personally, some story writing can be cathartic for the writer as well.
Here are some widely ranging ‘coping’ situations from these stories:

*the strength and determination of motherhood to feed and care for her newborn in the face of the implacable and unpredictable forces of nature;
*the determination for selfhood as a painted man struggles out of the prison of his wooden picture frame to return to his first love – the whole story an extended metaphor;
*the need to create a compatible home for oneself in the face of other loyalties;
*the necessity of reconciling unexpected poverty with a lived life of dedication;
*the interplay of one person’s idea of the idyllic being another’s one of  embarrassing futility;
*coping with a mental instability knowing it, at lucid moments, to be a mental aberration;
*a docile and ingratiating wife finding strength and metamorphosis - in a severed onion;
*finding the ability to create through the quiet presence of another;
*allowing life to flow by without recrimination or despair;

This collection is a beautifully woven, sparkling tapestry of human endeavour and foible in ninety pages.  The stories signify and reflect the wondrous  – often quietly wondrous – ways in which we go about tangling and untangling our lives.
And in a sense, the writer is the last person to know.

I remember when the Hobart theatre company Polygon performed the play ‘Wallflowering’ at the Peacock. The female playwright, Peta Murray, came from Sydney to see a performance, and afterwards she said to the two actors, “I didn’t know I wrote that”.
I believe that’s also true of short stories - that meaning is in the reader to discover - personally.

To revert to those short story workshops for a moment, in both was emphasised the importance of the opening line – the bait, the lure, to encourage the reader to say ‘yes, please’.

I expect you’re aware of that old formula for finding out how many pages of a novel you should read before deciding to keep going or not.  ( If you’re under 50 you add your age to 50; if you’re over 50 you subtract your age from one hundred.  (That means I only have to read 16.))
But what about short stories?  For me, reading the first line is very important, particularly if I don’t know what’s going on.  The uncertainty is a great stimulus.

Here’s a pretend first line example:
Given the inclement weather I was somewhat surprised to see His Reverence walking through Salamanca market.
Given the inclement weather I was somewhat surprised to see His Reverence walking through Salamanca market completely naked.

But much better - here are some opening lines from this treasure-trove:
It’s cold the day the first eggs hatch.
The old man had felt restless of late.
I hurt. I open my bleary eyes to a grey street and lift my cheek from a wet gutter.
The first thing I noticed was how rough his hands were.
I am pale, with long thin hands that swim in the air when I talk.
It was him. She was sure of it. She could hear Led Zeppelin.
My grandmother was born in a horse and cart. (That’s a story I found difficult to read through my tears.)

In all, then, a magnificent choir of voices over the ten stories – “Here I feed on ambrosia, drink nothing but nectar, breathe incense only, and walk on flowers”.
I wish I’d said that – I didn’t – it was the philosopher David Hume 248 years ago speaking of Paris.
But it fits these stories, and I have the greatest pleasure and honour in launching the ‘Forty Degrees South Short Story Anthology’ for 2012.
Thank you."

Forty South runs an annual short story competition. Enter here.

Book Show Jeanette Winterson Interview.mp3

Book Show Jeanette Winterson Interview.mp3


Despite spelling errors, bad sound quality and voluminous questions, this one is worth a listen.

Tasmanian Literary Prizes - Open For Business

  Entries for the 2013 Tasmanian Literary Prizes opened yesterday and I'm a judge. The prizes have, in Arts Tasmania's words "been reimagined for 2013 to ensure that emerging writers are also celebrated and that literary content in its many different forms is valued," and while the Tasmania Book Prize (best book with Tasmanian content, any genre) and Margaret Scott Prize (best book by a Tasmanian author) remain, the University of Tasmania Prize has taken on the mantle of the emerging.
  This prize was previously awarded for excellent in Tasmanian publishing and while it's true that there is a dearth of Tasmanian books being published by other than a few, I am so glad to see that there is now an opportunity for emerging writers to be publically recognised, awarded and inspired by in this prize.
  The category of 'emerging' is as tricky to define as 'old-growth' but, as a good government body should, there are strict guidelines about what constitutes 'emerging' in this context apply. It corresponds to changes in the definition of emerging at the Australia Council too - and over the next few months I'll comment further about this. There is a lot to discuss about literary prizes. Whoever would have thought!
   It delights me that as I write this on this misty, icy Tasmania morning that in November I'll be in the city of angels, Bangkok to discuss the importance of literary prizes further at the Reaching the World Conference.
   There is so much to talk about when it comes to literary prizes and their importance; their ability to imbue excitement in the normally insular world of literature, research and writing and it draws our attention to all corners of the publishing and reading experience. It provides financial recognition for work that, if published, probably doesn't pay a lot. It affords and encourages discussion about the beauty of the 'book' and it shows that the government supports and encourages Tasmanian writing and writers. It would be remiss not to comment on the newly elected Queensland premier, Campbell Newman's short sighted decision to cut the Queensland Literary Prizes and the incredible response in the community to rebuild these awards.
  I'm looking forward to getting my eyeballs on the entries.

Launch of 'Vulpi' by Kate Gordon

A few weeks ago I launched Kate Gordon's new novel, 'Vulpi,' which follows on from 'Thyla'. They are both set in Tasmania, both tell of shapeshifting-time-morphing creatures and are both YA (young adult) novels. The launch happened in the macabre Female Factory, the prison for convict women and 'nursery' for their children.  I don't read a lot of YA and it is a pleasant surprise when I do. Kate is about to do a little shapeshifting herself (she is veeeerrry pregnant). This is beautiful and exciting news. Here's what I said at the launch;

There are three things that I know about Kate Gordon:

1 – that she has a quirky elegance in her dress style

2 – that she has deep, loving, meaningful – and reciprocated relationships around her

And

3) that the woman can write.

And as we stand here to celebrate the launch of Kate’s latest book, Vulpi, this is obviously a widely recognised fact – and that all of the hard work and tenacious effort that Kate –and her muse Mephy ‘Danger’ Gordon –who may be a cat, have put into the writing has paid off.

I say ‘may be a cat’ – because having read Thyla, the predecessor to Vulpi – and of course Vulpi – I have entered a secret – and local underground world of shapeshifting and timewarping creatures – Thylas, Sarcos, Vulpis and the well and truly baddies – the Diemens .

'Far out' – the reader might think – a big jump from reality – a whole lot to suspend in terms of disbelief – but the trickery and wit of Kate, her writerly skill has eased me there through the familiar, accurate and harsh rendering of teenage girl existence.

In Thyla we are introduced to Tessa, who arrives at Cascade Falls, an exclusive private girls school located somewhere up the mountain. Tessa has lost her memory – and she has scars seared deep and wide across her back. In Thyla we are also introduced to Cat, who is told in the negative – she is ‘gone’ – Cat is the daughter of local copper, Rachel Connelly – and she had been a student at Cascade Falls until she disappeared on a bushwalk with the school.

Luckily for the reader, Cat is ‘found’ – and revealed to be a thyla herself – a shapeshifter from human to thylacine form – one who shared Tessa’s experience of the female factory many years before– as child inmates before they discovered their true shapeshifting colours.

I learnt a lot from reading these books – and one of those things is that they resided there after the female factory had its curious first incarnation as Lowe’s rum distillery.

  It’s not a simple story told in black and white, subtleties and nuance are present, the characters are fleshed – or furred out –with a sharp yet delicate pen. Vulpi is a wonderful reminder for me- a reader of mainly adult and mainly the  ‘literature’ end of the spectrum, that rich, entertaining and challenging work is found in the broad category ‘YA’ – young adult.

  Kate takes this one step further – into genre YA – oh – and maybe even further genre Tasmanian YA and my goodness she does it well. Yes, we Tasmanians do have a particular penchant for reading about ourselves – our histories, (herstories) – our landscapes and our mythologies – and Vulpi takes us around the state. We travel on four legs, two legs and by boat (deftly borrowed from Kingston beach) by one of our eponymous Vulpis, Archie – who is wonderfully described as having a rather Nigella Lawson tone to his accent – he is the vulpine yet strangely friendly character with whom Cat works ‘very closely.’ And a wonderfully topical inclusion as a fox like creature in the Tasmanian wilderness. Wait until the fox taskforce get their hands on this book!

  This book is a tribute to Kate’s hard work – and deeply enquiring mind. She takes YA one step further – and doesn’t shy from the complicated layers of human – and vulpi, thyla and sarco lives. She affords her characters growth and transformation – and in doing so gently reminds the reader of this in our own lives. This is layered and intelligent fiction and I feel privileged to be launching this. I wish Kate and Leigh – and of course the shapeshifting muse/cat Mephy all the very very best for the future. Kate – I want more of your words.

Kate's website is here
She tweets here


Vulpi 
by Kate Gordon
Random House Australia
9781742752365

South From Alaska - an interview with Mike Litzow

I have a penchant for nautica extrema - which, in all likelihood is a made up expression. It essentially translates as 'excellent sailing stories' - so when I saw South From Alaska; Sailing to Australia with a baby for crew - I was pretty impressed.   Then the publicist from New South Books emailed me to advise that the author, Mike wasn't just 'somewhere' in Australia, he was in fact in Hobart with Alisa his wife and their 'baby' Elias, who was ten months old when they left Kodiak in Alaska for Australia. Elias is now five years old - and has been joined by another seafaring baby, Eric, who is one year old.
     The book is great, it has the wonderful multi layered flow that I think a good travel narrative should have; story of the journey itself, story of the inner journey - or what the experience of the travel means to those travelling it - and how it transforms and changes them. It also tells of the places visited - and these storylines meld with ease.
   In our conversation - which first went to air on Edge Radio's Book Show on February 21st, Mike and I discuss some of his and his family's trials and joys, their visit to the mythic Marquesas, a group of islands in the Pacific who lived under ritualised warfare between valleys for centuries and is now shot through with (stereo?)typical Polynesian friendliness. We discussed some of the friendships that can develop in the intensive environment of the boat and I learnt a  wonderfully self explanatory Alaskan expression "end of the roaders," - a lot of whom can be found on sailing boats and in remote regions of the world.  Oh - and we talked about new translations of Tolstoy's War and Peace.And of course we talked about what makes traveling with a child - and traveling with a child on a boat different from traveling alone.
You can listen to the full interview here and read Mike and Alisa's blog Twice in a Lifetime here.

South From Alaska
by Mike Litzow
New South Books
9781742233017

Regular?

Tonight I became a little flustered preparing some lentil soup. I've had it in my head that I would like to post here more regularly - podcasts, interviews and reviews yes! absolutely - but I've been slowly turning in my mind the notion of linking to some of the fantastic essays and short(ish) works that, beyond a retweet or a splash on the transitory facebook timeline I feel I don't pay enough respect to. The fluster arose from the fact that I have been procrastinating writing the first post in what now will come a regular (weekly, mostly) project - because I couldn't decide which piece to link to first. Pfffft. Procrastination?
  Cut to: spicy, spicy soup smell drifing through the house, laptop perched on knees, cat asleep on a copy of (unread at this point) The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach and to my left a stubby of Cascade Draught.
  I considered Gillian Mear's eloquent essay 'Fairy Death,' originally published in Heat from The Best Australian Essays 2011 (edited by Ramona Koval, Black Inc), also an article I read about Lord Byron and the birth of celebrity that was published in The Independent - but the one piece that rocked my mildly bruised heart last week was an essay about reading Joan Didion that was published and tweeted by The Rumpus and retweeted by Readings Bookshop - and read by me on the Gagebrook bus I sometimes catch home.
  People often create a spray of white noise around them, an energy of static that inhibits any closeness, any appearance of secret thoughts and feelings, rawness hidden behind hand gestures, chat, or the propensity to gently probe others with questions. I have my own tricks for diverting people away; it is simpler to keep the carapace intact.
   But when I read I discard the shell, there is no need to be protected or closed. It is just me and the text - yeah?  And this is the wisest way I think we can read - raw, open - and awake. Except when you are on the Gagebrook bus - and as I slowly read this incredibly moving essay about a mother and a daughter's shared reading of Joan Didion, penned by the daughter, Abby Mims, I felt exposed and I had to fight back tears. I have sisters and, of course, I have a mother. The relationships that Abby describe aren't the same that I have with my family, but the nuance echoed clearly.
  I've read Joan Didion only intermitently; the occasion essay. One of my best friends, a journalist, talks about how important Didion has been for her writing life. I read the reviews of Didion's most recent book Blue Nights, in which she tells the story of the death of her daughter, Quintana at age 39. The reviews have generally not been good - though the admiration and respect for what she had written before has not dimmed for those who read her, excitedly and diligently. The essay is truthful and sad; an exploration of both Abby's family and Didion's writing.
  The fluster which is so wrong for my newly discovered Sunday evenings, has abated, I'm glad I have commited to more regulary posts - and I truly hope you enjoy the well written, honest-to-raw essay from Abby Mims about Didion 'What We Talk About When We Talk About Joan Didion'.