Doing It

Do you listen to podcasts? I do. I listen to them every chance I get - while I walk to pilates or to the market, while I'm on the tram, while I'm watering the vegetable garden.

One of my favourites is Radiolab, a podcast that sets out to explore the boundary between science, philosophy and the human experience. The episode I just listened to is called 'Help!' and it looks at how we might control those forces inside us that are so strong that they seem to come from outside. Some of these are bad, like addictions, others are good, like creative insights, but what they all have in common is that they feel uncontrollable.

What particularly interests me in the programme is the way people manage these forces as they apply to writing, both negative elements, such as procrastination or being stuck or blocked, and also positive elements, like inspiration.

The problem seems to be that one part of you knows what it wants to do but another stronger part is resistant. The answer the programme offers is to make a deal with yourself that forces you into the behaviour you need, arranging things so you can't compromise. The question that then arises is what kind of deal could you make with yourself when the words don't want to come? How would you force your own back against the wall?

It seems to be about now versus later, with the now part of the brain being much stronger. About tying the long term plan into a present tense battle, thus giving it an emotional prominence. I guess that's what people mean when they say they work better with a deadline.

The neurologist and prolific author, Oliver Sacks, says that when he couldn't start writing his first book because he was so stuck, he gave himself the ultimatum that if he hadn't written the book in ten days he would commit suicide.The result of this was that after months of stewing and not doing anything he suddenly felt he had a 'wonderful engine' inside him that was pulling things out of him and putting them on the page, as though the book was being dictated, and he managed to finish the book a day early.

That's a bit extreme for most of us though.

Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat Pray Love, talks about speaking directly - bargaining even - with the muse. In order to live a lifetime of creativity without cutting your ear off (or threatening yourself with suicide) she recommends learning to talk to Inspiration, as though the source is outside you, to establish negotiating distance, to set terms and boundaries.

She refers to that old saying, 'Success is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration.' If you consistently show up at the page, sooner or later Inspiration will join you.

All this has great resonance for me. I'm naturally very lazy. To force myself to work I mainly use a mixture of some pretty strong self-talk ('If you don't write you're not a writer, and that's all there is to it.' 'You're not getting any younger and you may develop Alzheimer's.') and the deadline of my regular workshop group meetings. 

I also talk to my book, write it letters, beg it to help me. I always feel that the work exists somewhere and it's up to me to persist until I make contact with it. It's nice to know I'm not crazy - or at least not alone in my craziness.

How about you? Are you naturally self-disciplined? Is any of this even a problem for you? What methods work for you in getting yourself to sit down and write?

Whatever your work habits, the podcast is well worth listening to, I think.

Bearing Gifts

It's just over two years since my mother died and I have thought about her every day since.

In the early days I could remember only how she was when she was in the grip of Alzheimer's Disease. Her helplessness and despair as the mists began to swirl and she knew she would soon cease to be counted as a person who mattered and become instead an object of pity - someone of lesser value. Then that blank stare, the rage in her eyes when she became agitated in the late afternoon. 'Go awaaaay!' she'd scream.

It was so painful and exhausting to watch, relieved only by the joy of witnessing my father's devotion to my mother - his sweetheart of 65 years.

These days I remember other times. She was funny, my mother, with a wide smile that revealed one slightly crooked eye tooth. I remember how excited she was to see me, how she refused to allow me to help her in the kitchen when I visited because I was her honoured guest. It's hard to lose that kind of love and especially hard  to lose it to Alzheimer's.

But my mother's disease also brought with it many gifts, one of which was completely unexpected.

When my book, Alzheimer's: a Love Story, was first published, I dreaded hearing readers' stories. My own experience was so raw I thought it would be too painful for me to hear about other people's. But to my surprise I found that I loved it, and I could see too how much it meant to these strangers to share their stories.

Gradually I realised that it's because these journeys we take as we farewell those we love are so lonely and so difficult but also so rich and rewarding that they change us forever. When we tell each other about our journeys, these readers and I, we recognise our fellowship and we feel less alone.

I mention all this now because I am discussing my experience next Sunday at the Well-Being group in the hall at 2pm at St Mark's Anglican Church, 21 Beatty Street, Reservoir (just off Gilbert Road).

Come along if you're free, and join us for what I know will be a moving and enjoyable afternoon.

Wombat Ben

It's been many months since there was an occupant in the Onemilebridge wombat Hilton. So long in fact that today Farmdoc and I opened the door to allow wallabies to come in and graze on the grass there. It's about waist height.

Yesterday we had a little preview visit with its next occupant, wombat Ben, who'll be coming to us at the end of this year. For now he still has some growing to do. Until he comes to us he will live with his foster parents. There he has the run of the house, with occasional supervised visits outdoors.

This visit was a special treat because by the time wombats come to us they are too old and too large for cuddles and human affection, and for their own sake we don't encourage them to bond with us. Our job is to prepare them for the wild.

But at eight months wombat Ben is still young enough to need cuddles and affection in order to develop properly.

He weighs six kilos right now and is still bottle fed several times a day. 

And, like any toddler, he  takes his naps in a sleeping bag in a cot surrounded by snacks and toys.

My brother and sister-in-law came with us so they too had the rare privilege of a cuddle with a young wombat.

Keep growing, wombat Ben. The wombat Hilton will be ready when you are.

One Computer Two

Farmdoc's computer died last week. It was five years old - about quarter of a century in computer years. Fortunately he'd learned from a false alarm about 18 months ago, so he'd backed up just about everything. But still there are ongoing problems, in part because things have changed so much in the computer world over the last five years.

Yesterday our friend Craig, who in a previous life was an IT guy, turned up to save the day, armed with equipment, know-how, sympathy, and a box of assorted home grown potatoes. Each variety came in its own labelled brown paper bag -  

Spunta, Seymour Gold, Innovator, Royal Blue, Kipfler, King Edward, Salad Rose

and that special variety - Unsure what these are.

Farmdoc and I adore potatoes - cooked any way you can think of - but more than its value as comfort food, we appreciate the gift as a comforting gesture. I can't wait to bake, mash, chip and cube. Have I left anything out? What's your favourite way of cooking spuds?

Thanks, Craig and Sue, vegetable gardeners extraordinaire. We're glad you won the battle with your property's hungry wildlife population.

Flood

This time last year it was bush fires we were afraid of. In the end they came close to Onemilebridge and the air was full of their smoky breath but fortunately we weren't directly affected.

In the twelve months since then there have been wild winds that brought down dozens of fine old trees on our property but otherwise left us unscathed.

Now it's floods. Again the devastation suffered by others has passed us by. We are so grateful for our good fortune and our hearts go out to those affected. The survivors will have a long road to recovery, I know, and all we can do is wish them well and send donations. Our talented daughter Kate and many of her fellow craft bloggers are organising auctions of their work to raise money. I'll be bidding.

Yesterday at Onemilebridge Home Paddock developed a waterfall

and a stream.


The creek rose to the level of the timber supports of our bridge but left the structure itself unscathed. Our neighbour (who is also the bridge builder) said he saw it shake with the rushing of the water, but it stood firm. Thank heavens!


Some of the residents of Mole Creek weren't as lucky. These people have no other access to their property:

Water rose from the creek and across the main road, flooding a couple of houses. The post office and the pub were sandbagged.

Late in the afternoon, after the rain stopped, Farmdoc and I walked down into the village. It's always a friendly place. Drivers wave at each other (or at least raise one finger in recognition in what we call the Mole Creek salute). But yesterday friendliness was in the air. Strangers waved and stopped to chat. On our way home a driver pulled alongside us and asked if we wanted a lift anywhere.

It's nice to know that in difficult times neighbours are there for each other. It makes us feel less helpless and less alone. And actually, when it comes to Mother Nature we're all neighbours.

Suffer the Little Lambs

This morning we put rings on the tails of all our new lambs. It wasn't a big job, just a matter of rounding up all the sheep, catching the lambs, vaccinating them and then slipping on the rings. But it's important because if we don't do it the lambs run the risk of fly strike, and if you've ever seen a fly blown sheep you'll want to avoid it at all costs.

After we let them go there was a cacophony of sounds from all the animals - lambs seeking their mums, ewes searching for their offspring. Just listen to the racket!

A Year In The Life Of

It's a year now since my book was published. A year of interviews and articles and reviews and speeches and festivals and libraries and book groups and emails from readers. An extraordinary year really.

This photo was taken at the inaugural Melbourne Jewish Book Festival. That's me there on the left with, in the centre, Michelle Prawer from Sunflower Books who was one of the organisers as well as being terrific in the chair, and also the beautiful and talented Maria Tumarkin, author of Otherland.

A year ago I began all my sentences with 'Maybe this book will sink like a stone...'. Well, maybe it still will, but it's certainly caused lots of ripples along the way.

In this photo I'm holding forth at the Brunswick Library. That was a great session. There weren't a lot of attendees but that made for an intimate and quite intense evening.

A year ago I thought I'd be lucky to get one or two interviews, and maybe an appearance at a festival. Instead of that I've lost count of the number of interviews and appearances I've had with one more to go for the year. One day when I have time I'll add them all up.

A year ago I had no idea what to expect. I thought that getting a book published was the end of the road. This year I have learned, thanks to Nicola my wonderful editor, Emma my amazing publicist, and the rest of the hard working team at Scribe, that it's just the beginning.