Allan Cunningham's story would make a really good book using a creative non-fiction writing technique. It's a method I would love to use and a story I would love to write, however since starting out on my journey to tell his story I have discovered that writing is a learned craft, a skilled craft. No, naively, I didn't know, but isn't that what life is about . . . learning. To some, writing creatively comes naturally and to others, such as myself, it requires a long, gradual learning curve without end. Plus, when the story is a true one, the writer needs a strong sense of responsibility to be accurate and to cite sources. This is all very overwhelming for a person who has written one essay and a few short pieces of creative prose. However, it's silly to regret the skills you don't have and the time you have lost. I'll celebrate what I do have and that is skill to record detailed data. The result of this ability is the evolving Allan Cunningham Time Line, a chronological list of his achievements and geographical arrivals and departures, which is part of the Allan Cunningham Project.

The Time Line has been developing over the last few months and as each piece is written, I want to expand the story line and wax lyrical. My haphazard research over the last few years has given me a knowledge of this man's story, the detail of which surprises me sometimes. As I write I realise I want to tell the reader what the weather was like, what Allan saw, who was with him at the time, why was he there, what was he achieving, who cared and why he cared. There are no boundaries once the creative juices start flowing. However, this is history and must be accurate. Combining accuracy with creativity is challenging.

In Mark Tredinnick's wonderful book "The Little Red Writing BooK" he explains how to meet this challenge. His book provides much needed creative energy and inspiration.

He advises: "You'd want your reader to hear the bird cries - sweet crescent honeyeater, harsh yellow wattlebird, distant yellowtail. You'd want them to smell the eucalypts and the leatherwoods; to catch a vivid crimson glimpse of the waratah; to feel this waft of cold air; to sense, without seeing or hearing it, the cold, deep glacial water of the lake, hidden beyond the tea-trees; to guess at the whole long natural history that makes and goes on making the place they walk through."

Such wonderful writing makes one anxious of not measuring-up, but no, I won't go there. I'll celebrate what I can do and keep on keeping on.

Mark states "when you write you talk on paper. When it's good, you sing".

Allan Cunningham's Time Line is going to "sing". I promise, but . . . no quite yet.

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I attempted to power my way through more edits to The Gifting today and am indeed on Page 100 (of c440) - hurrah! - but still on ruddy Chapter 7 - groan ... Why are my chapters so long?? Can I not find the page break on my keyboard? I don't know, the plot thickens, m'dears. As indeed it does for the book - I can't imagine what Isabella is up to now, but I think it is definitely No Good. Or at least no good for poor Simon. Poor lad - such an innocent. Mind you, her brother's not much better either. Sigh. I now feel that all my balls (as it were) are fairly high in the air and Lord alone knows what havoc they will create when they land ...

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Dear Kitty

Since my friend got dumped last month she just sits there drinking cup-a-soup and staring at the phone. I’ve told her she needs to get back in the game but she’d rather stay in playing “their CD” and waiting for him to ask her back.

The thing is he wasn’t such a wonderful guy! He had a lame sense of humour, a job rinsing ash trays and a face like a dishcloth hanging off a stick, whereas she’s witty, clever and, from certain angles, the spitting image of Martine McCutcheon....


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I put on my flak jacket a couple of days ago, when someone on a forum started yet another thread about 'the rules'. (I'd post the link, but it was in the private part of WriteWords.)The gist of the question was: when, in learning to write, had each of us realised we were following... no, I won't say 'the rules', but established ideas of techniques that work? And in the discussion, someone posted what's apparently a Buddhist saying, that 'When the pupil is ready, the teacher appears.'

At school, and in most homes, and in most jobs, there's always a 'right' way to do things and the quicker you learn to do things 'right', the more impressed your parents and teachers are with you, the more ticks, the better the mark.


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A good start to the New Year. Fibs the short story I originally wrote for the Times Ghost Story Competition has been accepted for publication in the next issue of Estronomicon. I'm chuffed because I didn't hold out much hope for this one!

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This week I had the privilege of seeing the National Theatre's production of War Horse, adapted from the novel of the same name by former Children's Laureate, Michael Morpurgo. A theatrical tour de force, it tells the story of Joey, the beloved horse of young Devonshire lad, Albert Narracott. Without Albert's knowledge and against his wishes, Joey is sold to a Yeomanry Cavalry Division at the outbreak of the First World War. He is shipped to France to serve first the British and then, following the death of his rider, the Germans, before eventually ending up injured and alone in No Man's Land. Albert, though underage, follows his treasured animal out to France and searches for him through the muddy trenches and bloody years.

The puppetry that brings both Joey and a number of other horses to life is nothing short of incredible - it takes very little time to forget that there are three people operating each full-sized animal, controlling every twitch of their ears or toss of their mane, each flick of their tails or shudder of muscle – and the intense bond between man and animal is exquisitely portrayed and utterly believable. The haunting folk music and clever backdrop – which at one point is swallowed by the blood of the fallen – heighten the emotion and, together with the moments of violence and thunder, beautifully evoke and underline the terrible destruction and futility of the war.

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Mslexia, the magazine for women writers which I have found to be an invaluable resource since it began, several years ago, has highlighted The Short Review in its On the Net section, saying:

Created to make up for the lack of reviews currently allocated to the short story genre, this user-friendly site provides a much needed platform for original reviews of story collections and anthologies. New as well as classic collections are covered, giving those who aren't overly familiar with the genre recommendations with which to catch up. Reviews are written by short story writers with many including links to reviews by other publications, for quick, easy access to more opinions. The simple, clean design makes navigating your way around the site very easy and the "if you liked this you might also like' link attached to each review is a helpful addition. The browse feature also gives you several ways to search for something to read. Follow the links to the site's founder and editor Tania Hershman's blog for more reviews - and your chance to comment.

This is a wonderful endorsement and should, I hope, draw more people to The Short Review and give short story collections more exposure. Thank you, Mslexia!

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Have spent most of the day editing Chapter Five of The Gifting and I think I'm just about ready for another scene in Gathandria now. It's going off in some unexpected directions and I'm not sure I'm entirely in control of the beast, but hell that's always the case. I'm never entirely in control of the beast. At least it's giving me a lot of food for thought. Sometimes, I just have to let my obsessive need for control go and rely on instinct. I can sort the spiky bits out later. I hope ...

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Well, of all the things I thought I'd never do, going to Brownies, aged twenty-six, would probably have ranked quite high on the list.

I did last night though, to give a talk/workshop to help a group get their writers badges.

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I managed to get to my computer after the usual. Typed in the box where one should type when sending a flash to Bewildering Stories. The day got darker though night wasn't due for an hour or so but, switching on the lamp, ignoring two phone calls, I finished, pressed send and it wouldn't SEND! What a waste of time and energy. God, how I hate technology at times. There again, I'm Tipex clean nowadays though I still have that little tug of the heart when I remember my Smith Corona. Yes, the keys jammed. Agree, that when replacing ribbon, fingers would get covered in black which somehow transfered to the face. But she and I wrote our first stories together. She helped me succeed at times. She now lies in the garage as I couldn't allow her to be thrown out like a piece of garbage. And, if we have power cut, she's there waiting to help me out.