Wednesday, December 31, 2008
I should go and edit something. Lord knows I have enough work there that needs it. The trouble with being a prolific writer is that you need to be a prolific editor and rewriter.
Instead though I pick up a stack of my Christmas presents still sitting where I placed them a week ago. The Bodies left Behind by Jeffrey Deaver, Body of lies by David Ignatius, Inside their minds - Australian Criminals by Rochelle Jackson and Bullies, bastards and bitches - How to write the bad guys of fiction by Jessica Page Morrell. I will get to them all soon but first I must finish The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. I guess writers get books fro Christmas.
I can't sit around and watch Joy do all the work around the house while I sit and read of course so I get the boxes for the trees (we use false ones) and go to the shed where she has left the disassembled trees.
I pull the big one off the bench first and too late I realise the bottom of the small one, with all the electronics and heavy base to keep it stable, falls from the bench.
Have you ever noticed how things dropped seem to be able to find your weakest point. I cannot move the big toe on my right foot quick enough ...
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Good luck all
Sunday, December 28, 2008
My first memories of writing having an impact on me where at school, some good some not so good but I will share with you the interesting ones that give you insight into me, the man (or boy back then). One teacher who was less than credible but taught English all the same gave us an assignment to write a paper on how we could fix the world. There were no criteria, boundaries and the aim was to test our writing skills. I wrote a marvelous piece of taking the world back to the stone age but she thought that was stupid and impossible . The writing was entertaining and I had fulfilled the task as set down but she failed me. I knew then that imagination was the key and that she had none!
The second instance occurred in my last year of school. I left early to go to work and only attended school for the exams. They changed the date of the English exam without notifying me ( I think the first schedule written had contained an error so the date wasn't changed but the schedule was) and so I missed the exam which was 50% of the years mark. I still managed to score in the high 40s but failed. The gave me extra points so I could pass and get a job and never return!
The first time I realised people enjoyed my writing was when I joined the RAAF and wrote home to family and friends. They could not get enough of my quirky writing and humour so I figured I should try writing as a money earner. My first short story I ever sent off was accepted and from the moment I got the letter saying they were putting it in their magazine I was hooked. I still remember the day I got the letter but I can't quite recall as clearly the day I got the cheque. Just goes to show you which one was more important to me.
In the interest of keeping this short I'll leave it there and come back tomorrow, but I will be finished this soon and on to other topics, I promise
Saturday, December 27, 2008
So what was my journey to becoming a writer and why did I make that decision? The obvious answer is that I love to write but don’t we all? I have been writing since the moment I knew how and have had mixed success with it over the years. School teachers loved my writing or hated it depending on whether they wanted the truth or my version of it. Technical journals were pleased with my work because researched the subject to the enth degree (I don’t do that with fiction as I like to make things up, although some fact is useful of course) and newspapers liked my sports columns because I wasn’t afraid to use humour. I knew no other way.
Add to that the fact I am a storyteller by nature and I guess it was always my destiny. (A bit corny perhaps?) My parents tell me of my story telling ability as a young boy, even before I knew how to write so it comes natural to me. I should point out here that stories told by young boys are not lies but merely stories (some of the time at least). I must confess to being proud of some of the stories I told as a boy, even if they were a bit of a stretch. There is nothing wrong with imagination.
My mum spoke at the launch of Room 22 and told the hundred or so people gathered there (oh alright, it was more like sixty but I was paying for the grog so it seemed like a hundred) and she said that for me anything was possible. She recalled a day when I was three or four and a man came to the door . I answered the door, he said his name was Joe and could he speak to my father. I had an Uncle Joe and so I ran inside and yelled to Dad, Uncle Joe is here and he has a new car and a new face. Nothing is impossible. For those of you who have read Room 22 you will know what I am talking about, and if you don’t you will by the time the sequels has you by the throat.Cana book take you by the throat? Anything is possible.
Perhaps I have digressed.
So, I was not writing for a career because I had a family, little mouths to feed and mortgages the banks wanted to see paid back so I had a day job as well. Life as an author/writer can be tough and I had other skills people were prepared to pay good money for. If you want to know what they were just ask and I’ll write another blog (or make something up)!
Like many people I got caught up in doing everything except the one thing I loved and it was all due to money. Its funny that I would worry about that coming from a poorish background but I guess in life you sometimes find yourself dragged down a path before you realise its happening. I remember thinking as a young teenager that if I could earn enough money to allow myself to buy a hot dog whenever I wanted I would be a happy man. How times change, now I don’t even like hot dogs. But I digress again.
So what brought me to my current career as a writer/author/poet and anything else driven by the written word?
I woke up one morning and realised that working in the field I was in was turning me grey and making me old. There was only one thing I could do, and that was the one thing I loved. Writing.
If doing this for a career means I no longer have enough money to buy a hotdog whenever I fell like it then so be it. I am an author and a good one, so I am persuing my dream. Perhaps the thing that took me there in the end was not my love of writing, as that has been with me since I was school age, nor was it my love of stroy telling as that has been with me from birth, but just maybe it was my dislike for what I was doing instead of writing that brought me here. Life has a funny way of getting you where you should be (a point that has been explored in my latest manuscript that you might get to see in years to come).
This has not answered the question entirely but I will write again tomorrow and talk about the path my writing has taken over the years, where I started, how I learned and where I want to go.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Here is the Press release.
Supernatural Thriller from Australian Author Unlocks Secrets of the Mind
Canberra, Australia—September 15, 2008—Jack has always used his unique mental gifts to do good, but in Room 22 he discovers there is someone else who shares his talents—and is using them to fulfill a deadly purpose.
What if our minds were stronger than we ever thought possible? What if we could control not only our own destiny, but also the destiny of those around us?
What if nothing were impossible?
In Room 22, Jack Firebrace knows the answers to these questions. He has a gift that has allowed him to help hundreds. But something sinister has come looking for Jack. When innocent people he has helped in the past begin dying and a serial killer begins mutilating women in a bizarre ritual, Jack finds himself in a deadly race.
As he searches for a link from his past that will allow him to restore balance, Jack struggles with the thought that he may have set all of this in motion by using his abilities. To top it all, he has fallen in love, but he is not sure if the woman of his dreams is a target of the killer – or the bait being used to trap him.
Publisher’s website: www.eloquentbooks.com/Room22.html
My website: bernardjrossi.com