Hometide

Some of us leave. I guess I always knew I would leave. I used to lie down in our suburban Sydney back yard and watch the jumbos crossing the sky westward. I was obsessed by my English aunty’s London life. I held Christina Stead’s For Love Alone to my heart for years, until it was a sheath of curled pages. Why do we leave our homes? In my case a terrible accident upended my adolescence, and made me more of an introvert than before; I used to play Tchaikovsky over and over on the tiny record player in my room, play Chopin on the piano, read of the existentialism of Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir. Who does that as a mid-teen?

It’s strange to look back at the course of your life and understand what has governed your choices. Was it the man you fell in love with? The language that felt exciting and liberating in your heart? The freedom of rebuilding a shaky traumatised self on new terrain, on new terms? Was it an acceptance of restlessness, rootlessness - or a yearning for it? Can you belong nowhere, but everywhere?

I’ve always felt I belonged to story, words, beauty. Resilience and truth. Writing has always been the way I measure myself, and belong to myself. I know there are many of us like this.

What happened last year was that I had a book published in Australia. My home place. The place where I don’t have an accent and people laugh at my jokes (Italian sense of humour can be daft). I made a submission. I was lucky enough to find a publisher who appreciated my work, who allowed me to compile a selection from the three story collections I published in the UK, who let me make The Carnal Fugues.

I’m still reeling. Because it’s a beautiful book, and I hope there will be more of this kind. And this new foray into the Australian literature scene has been warm and fruitful. A joy. New friends. Shared passions. New knowledge of a place that is an enormous part of me.

A hometide.

Let’s see how things pan out.

Seasons to Be

This place - fondly called The Ranch - requires utter acceptance of the seasons. Winter is long. Not as long as in some places, but it is a long stretch of writing, refining, editing, teaching, structuring, waiting, watching. Now that the cherry blossoms have fallen and the wisteria is almost out, it’s time to get out paint brushes and start cleaning out the portico, sweeping, brushing, cutting, tidying. I do enjoy the physical side, the lengthy exhausting preparations for summer, new scents on the air and the birds are back. A new chapter of hope.

During Covid restrictions I did a lot of soft renovation - painting and rearranging and chucking out - as we all did, and find that after years of kid time this house has come into her own. It’s imperfect. There are a lot of rough edges. But all my West African art is happily spaced about and treasured, the colours have fallen into place; I have far far too many books and it’s time to reread many of them. The garden still needs a lot of work but it’s lush and inspiring, just about manageable. I’m home. But it’s also home for others. Kids return, family members. Writing guests come and each one wonderfully finds his or her writing niche, becomes productive - it’s so good to see productivity and creativity happening here.

Soon the mud will be baked dry and the roses wilting and the grape vine leaves bursting forth, and I will be watering tomatoes. Seasons to be.

A Year of Blossoms and Sorrows

Updating one’s website on the final day of the year automatically becomes a gesture of reckoning. And yet another war is at the back of all of our minds. We face our own powerlessness and go on, in this uncomfortable limbo between hope and darkness. Through this, we try to find the path back to our stories, our fibre, our origins. It is no easy path.

An unexpected doorway appeared for me in the publication of my new book, The Carnal Fugues, with the Australian publisher Puncher & Wattmann. The book has been called a ‘greatest hits’ selection, owing to the stories coming from three U.K.-published collections, Love Stories for Hectic People, The Cartography of Others, Pelt and Other Stories. A veritable coup for this Italy-based author, who has always dreamed of publishing a book back home.

My first port of call on a return visit to the southern hemisphere late in 2023 was the Australian Short Story Festival in Adelaide, a warm and inspiring event where many memorable moments were had and new friendships forged. I felt I had happened upon the beating heart of the Australian short story. An official book launch was held at Better Read than Dead Bookshop, Newtown, and at events at other bookshops I read from my stories - twice I read ‘On Being Eaten Alive’ - and felt the matchless joy of seeing a room of faces focussed upon my characters, my words, my invention. And to see my book in readers’ hands. This makes one feel that a peak has been reached, and delivers a hard-won, momentary serenity. Grateful for this.

The summer of writing retreats brought forth a series of very special guests, each one seemed to bring a vivid gift to the art of writing, of discussion, of womanhood. I was floored by the range of authors who turned up at my place, with evenings spent exchanging ideas, creative energy - and good wine. Making me more convinced than ever that hosting writers brings fresh life and intent to this sometimes unwieldy house!

As these hours pass I know I for one carry apprehension - while recalling moments of joy that have occurred this year. We all hope for an end to dreadfulness, and the rebirth of good sense, purposeful creativity, harmony and good health.

Cherry picking

Writing retreats have kicked off after a long hiatus and I have just completed the first flash fiction boot camp of the season. The satisfaction of working with three talented writers - something that is at the centre of my work as an editor and mentor. We treated ourselves to a long day in Venice which involved wandering into off-site Biennale exhibits - a balm for the senses and a way of dodging the crowds - and glorious pizza in San Polo. The intensity of the week was fruitful, with all writers producing new work and going home with a submission strategy in mind. While I return to my novel draft and watering the veggies behind the house.

The winter has been long! Always a wonder to see cherries anew on the trees and smell jasmine passing through the house. And yet, through this season of invasion and violence - with new catastrophes daily - we can only look with shock at the year’s fresh horrors. Even as I sit here writing there are gunshots and blasts just hours away, fear and pain, another day of terror.

Wish you were here

2020. The year of unexpected awfulness.

I began the year in Sydney, watching 50 metre bushfire flames on the television news at night, breezing in ash as I swam. Then came home to a northern Italy about to be thwarted by this virus, whose first victim lived in a village 10kms away.

Lockdown. Fear. A car with a megaphone telling everyone to stay inside. Not being able to go 200m beyond the house. Much has been written comparing Italy’s historical plagues with this year’s suffering and isolation and social ravaging. I wrote two articles - it was all I could do it seems. Keep communication lines open. Scale down. Small things. Here and here.

Now of course it has not disappeared as we knew it would not, and we march towards winter. How many good things have you plucked from the air, this year? One for me has Patrick Stewart’s daily instagram sonnet, a reminder that our concerns are far from original, and rarely so well expressed. And then my flowers. Plumbago especially this year. Jasmine. Orange blossom. All beautifully oblivious to our chaos.

And more practically. Novel revisions. The book is now with first readers and this author is terrified. My flash fiction collection is now out in February 2021. Every so often, the brain needs to travel far. I’ve been doing that with mentoring, with much joy. Look above for my new page, given writing retreats are off. And now two courses with Litro Magazine, where I work as flash fiction editor. Join us if you’d like to hone your flash fiction or short story writing skills! Info here: Litro Masterclasses

Stay well. Live the small things. Be present. (Currently an anxious mess so I’m speaking to myself!)

And then there was summer

It’s over, it’s written on the trees. A bold, bursting summer of travel and sea and words; good news and sad departures. Now it is time to finish this long crazy novel, fruit of so many months work.

In June I learnt that The Cartography of Others was longlisted for the People’s Book Prize - an incredible honour and joy. The next round is a people’s vote so I have been urging readers to vote all summer, hoping to arrive on the shortlist. Here’s to hoping! Voting closes on October 15th so do vote if you can !

Writer guests arrived for my country retreats and words were written, Campari spritzes and cool evenings enjoyed, along with wandering along the calle of Venice. We hiked in the nearby Euganei Hills, home to the elderly Petrarch; and breathed the lovely green of the garden. Exploring the area and hosting writers has become a summer delight for this country mama! I’m grateful that bookings have started for 2020 and look forward to another round of guests next year.

Considerable writing was done during my own writing residency at the Three Rock Studio in Triopetra, on Crete’s southern shores. A sun-blessed setting, brushed by the scents of thyme and cedar. I recommend stuffed zucchini flowers and honey raki - food of the gods for the common writer.

My collection of flash fiction Love Stories for Hectic People has been picked up by Reflex Press and will be out in Spring 2020. This assortment of love and not-love stories is a refraction of decades of inhaling this unguarded sensation. I hope readers will enjoy these wild wanderings..

Back to work. I am currently holed up in the attic with this autumnal manuscript.

xcat

Award Night in Athens

Last year The Cartography of Others was awarded Grand Prize in the inaugural Eyelands Book Awards. The prize included a five-night stay in Athens - one of my favourite cities - a thrilling ceremony at the central Polis Cafe and a beautiful ceramic trophy. I can’t say how grateful I am to Grigoros Papadoyiannis and the Eyelands team for the wonderful evening and fabulous stay. I had a great balcony overlooking Lycabettus Hill which I climbed one warmish afternoon to see the whole of Athens, and I was located close to the National Archaeology Museum, where I wandered for hours. Food along Benaki Street was REMARKABLE.

It is a rare thing to be awarded for the many, many hours that go into the publication of a book of short stories, so this has been an utter highlight of my writing experience. I’ll be back next year as a competition judge!