March 7 - Something you wore

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I know what you're thinking. This could be a curtain or granny's lap blanket. Well, I promise it's not. It's a cream shawl, with pretty detail and long fringe. And I wear it when I write.

It sits on the back of my chair, and now that Autumn mornings sneak up on us with their welcome chill, I'm glad to wrap it round my shoulders.

When my fingers get stuck in its lacy holes, or it slips off my shoulders, I straighten it again and imagine I'm not the only one wearing 19th century garb. I let the wool scratch against my neck or twist the edges of the fringe until they're frayed, and imagine how my heroine might feel with something similar draped over her. How she might use it to cover herself late at night when she's afraid. How she might tangle her fingers in the loops of wool as she wrestles with the issues of love and life.

Gathered alongside other pieces for an 1850s costume, I wore this thrift shop find on a school camp to the gold-fields in Sovereign Hill when my Tom was in year 4. It remained buried in the dress up box for years until it made the significant leap from costume to one of my favourite pieces of clothing. (Inside the house only!)

Now, I wouldn't be without it. It adds to the atmosphere of my world alongside tea pots, a fountain pen and old photographs. All kept close to inspire and evoke some of what my stories share. The fixtures of my writing room, where threads of romance knit together and drape my world in the richness of happily ever afters.

March 6 - 5pm

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If there were ever a perfect clock for the wall of a romance writer, this would have to be a firm contender.  Taken from the illustrations of Cicely Mary Barker, it caught my eye many years ago and quickly found its way home with me. Could I really leave a clock behind when it whispered, 'storybook?'

A clock and book cover all in one. Clever idea, that. In this age of custom made gifts and mass produced knickknacks I wonder if any of my writer friends consider making their book covers more than just that. A clock or a calendar to glance at all year? The front cover of a notebook perhaps or a set of mugs? Definitely a screen saver, right?

I've seen writers' walls with their first edition dust covers, framed and hung in rows. Entire franchises hum with book spun merchandise from t-shirts to bedspreads, and if your book's for children, the ubiquitous cartoon lunchbox. 

I have dreams for my book cover. I know the model well. She's my favourite green-eyed honey-girl and will look just like a heroine should, when she frocks up in costume. And perhaps we too can think of special ways to mark the occasion when the cover finally arrives. 

For now, I polish the inside. And I try not to watch the clock too much, as I scribble away. 

March 5 - Smile

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For 12 months our family lived in Thailand, the Land of Smiles. We arrived a party of 4, plus one in the belly, and 5 months later I gave birth to our youngest son.

He inherited this knitted toy, a gift from his older brother, who in turn had received it from his older sister. Always known as Baby, this little guy has never stopped smiling at us. From the day he entered our family and snuggled into Tom's glass crib in the hospital, he's been cherished as one of the few toys destined to stick around, when many others found new homes.

Perhaps that simple two stitch smile, neither overblown nor shy, is the reason we could never part with him. And who could blame us. A smile is the language every baby understands. The curve that sets all things straight. 

March 4 - Bedside

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There she stands. With her back against my romance novels, the shipping records of a 19th century clipper, and a collection of old colonial era letters, you will find a brass bell. Or should that be brass belle?

I bought this serene beauty at Sovereign Hill in Ballarat, a few short weeks before my tonsils were removed in 2004. I figured with smaller children, I would need a way to call them if I needed my jelly and ice-cream. And while my family came to regret the incessant ring of my crinolined purchase, I loved, and still do love, ringing that bell when I'm having a doona day. 

There's no denying we've embraced the latest technology since 2004, and all 5 of us at Crabapple House now use mobile phones, even to send free texts from one bedroom to the next. But I have fun interrupting modern living on occasion, and call my people the old fashioned way. 

Don't be fooled by her demure stature. While she may be small-waisted and fit in my palm, this upstairs bell can pierce the air of a downstairs room quicker than any iphone. 

True, my dear ones may not know what I want. Just, that I need them. And sometimes, that's enough. The rest we can say face to face. 

March 3 - Your Neighbourhood

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It's raining today. All day. So forgive me if I don't venture too far into my neighbourhood for today's photo, of what my family calls 'the stairs at the end of our road.'

This sneaky shortcut takes the happy wanderer through to the local primary school and up to the bus stop on the main road.

Looks pretty doesn't it? All wet and shinny on a quiet Saturday morning.

Wrong!

Don't be tricked. These steps are evil. Especially if your Beloved thinks they're perfect for running up, and down. (There's a further set of steps, hidden from view, designed to make legs burn.)

And all that lush, green groundcover?

Disaster... for the hens at Crabapple House. Rumour has it, a den of foxes uses this area as home-base... and my poor chickens' pen as their larder!  (Ok, this happened only once, but I'm still crying for those lost chooks.)

So there you have it, My Neighbourhood on a wet Saturday morning. When runners push their unlaced shoes back into the cupboard, and foxes and chickens keep their noses dry another day.

March 2 - Fruit

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In my own mind I like to call our home Crabapple House. 

Don't laugh. It doesn't yet sport a sign or anything elaborate, but one day we will name it formally and hang a shingle some place where others can see and mock, I mean join in the fun with us. We are, after all, surrounded by 7 gorgeous crabapple trees.

But their glory is long gone by the time we reach early autumn. Now is when our two fig trees shine. Tucked at the back, against the garden shed, they wait until all the other trees have wowed us, and just when we think the summer bounty is over, they offer their deliciousness. 

So finding today's photo challenge was as easy as picking it right off the branch. The perfect afternoon tea, paired with a good hunk of goat's cheese - I couldn't ask for more. Actually, I have been known to ask for a goat.


Imagine, being able to make my own, easy to digest cheese. But the answer was a resounding 'No.' Still, I'm happy to plate up my own fresh figs. Perhaps the goats will come in some retirement small farm dream of mine....


March 2, your rewards are sweet indeed!


 Are you a fan of the fig?  What favourite fruit do like to find on your plate?

A Mission for March - Photoaday

My eye is always drawn to the remnants of life from another era. Anything old, anything not plastic. Nineteenth century is always a winner. So when I read about the March challenge by FatMumSlim to take a photo a day from her prescribed list, I wondered if I could capture something around me to fit in with my love of all things yesteryear.

Most things on her list marry well with my love of everything old. Some might be a challenge, like the sunglasses, and I'm going to have to think hard about day 29, but I'm looking forward to collecting 31 photos I hope will reflect the images which inspire my writing, and feed my love of Victorian life in Colonial Australia.

So, in an effort to share the world as I see it, here's my first photo. 

 March 1 - UP

The view from the bottom of our staircase. Wood, plaster, a brass hinge and glass. So far, so good.

For more photos, see Instagram #marchphotoaday.

Sweet Nothings, and Simple Splendidness

Or....How a Romance Writer and History Nut 

Spends Valentine's Day

So, when your Beloved clears the diary of all obligations and promises a simple but 'all day' Valentine's Day, what can a girl expect? 

Well, here's a snapshot of my special February day. Not only in honour of the shrink-wrapped, over-priced rose bouquet variety. But a day to remember the moment we went from 'single' to 'taken.' 

Our slow breakfast in a  Healesville second-hand book shop would have been perfect on its own, but my Beloved added to this, a morning walk through Maroondah Dam Reservoir and Park, with a long stop on the picnic blanket to watch the sun through the gum trees. 

And could a beautiful nature park offer a more delightful children's playground, than this all-wood (no plastic, yay!!) row of houses and dainty chapel? Yes, the symbol of the little church with bell-tower didn't escape us. So cute and very Little House on the Prairie. But it was not the only symbol we found.

A long lunch, a potter in antique shops, and old books purchased by me would have been more than enough. So would the gluten free cake and coffee stop on the way home. 

But this day was to be filled with simple tokens, and I was thrilled to discover my antique treasure, an old Australian book of poems, held a secret smattering of dried rose petals pressed between its musty pages - left there by a previous owner and fellow lover of romance, I like to imagine.

But the best surprise was a simple find at our feet. A perfect heart shaped leaf. Already golden and hinting at Autumn, it stopped us in our tracks. I thought my Beloved orgainsed this day, but I guess God wanted to play too. 

And so the leaf joined us on the road home. Pressed in the pages of a book of old love verses and faded rose petals.

Yes, he promised simple. And he delivered. 


Simple... and perfect. 

Alas, they say.

The love letter is no more. 

Killed by twitter, email and texts.

Hiccups with my iphone have meant I've not been able to send or receive texts all weekend. Not a huge drama, but it will be if the phone's not working properly soon. And while its most valuable function to me is that of communicating with my kids, it's also how I send quick love notes to my Beloved. And how he replies.

Don't worry. I won't share any of them here. But I have missed the three word messages which flash on the screen - and this from the man who works from home and is only one staircase away most days.

So why am I pondering romantic sweet nothings and love letters? Probably because tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Like most Aussies, I'm not so tightly bound to its traditions but it is a day I hold dear. For it is that blessed day I received my first love note, and went from 'single' to 'taken.' (And I might add, still taken - by the same man.)

23 years later, and many love notes have passed between us, but fewer and fewer of the hand written variety. Now we rely on electonic means, and the old letters are as dated as my puff sleeved wedding dress.

So if we're writing digital love notes now, what will be left for us to sift through when we're old and longing to revisit the past? Where will our love letters from today be then?

And what about the rest of you? Are all suitors laying down the pen in favour of hasty emoticons? Is 'I heart U' the best we can do now?

Biographers lament the scarcity of love letters. While journals and diaries abound, written with posterity in mind, the rare and raw emotion of the private love letter allows a secret glimpse into the yearning of only one soul to another. Think Solomon. Think of the one who pursued you. And wooed you. This is the power of words. This is how God captures our heart too.

I was surprised to discover most love letters preserved by historians, especially those written 100 years ago or more, are written by men. Whether it was 'presumptuous' for a lady to declare her love this way, or the notion that women are better at the 'keeping' of treasures, one thing remains. Paper love letters are dwindling in number and our generation may not have much to add to the stack. Even if its your private stack.

Hand written, often stained with tears or perfumed, love letters hold more than sentiment. They cradle an apology with sincerest remorse. Whisper the longing to see one much loved, yet so far away. Declare one is more than smitten, decades into a relationship.

They capture the heartbeat of the writer and reveal a vulnerability only the recipient can treasure for what it's worth. They are poems. Works of art. They are love messages intended for keeping, and if you're like me your letters may be tied with a velvet ribbon or locked in a box where only you can find them.

While there were only 10 words in my first love letter, I know each one by heart. I memorised them the day they arrived. And although I don't need that faded paper to remember how it tipped my world, I would never dream of throwing it away.

So, where do you keep your love letters?
Are they hidden or not yet written?

I've Been Asked To Be A Slave. 

So, I'm going to. Be one. At an auction, for the highest bidder.

I'm not selling all of me, only a piece of 'me'. Actually two pieces of me. The sale will take place this Saturday at the launch of a fundraiser for the redevelopment of my home church's facilities, to open our building up to those who happily crowd it now, and hopefully many new faces in the days ahead.

I won't be the only slave. Many others have offered services, their time or their worldly goods, to be added to the auction items. But how does a writer of romance turn herself into a slave? I'm glad you asked.

Here's what I've come up with for lucky bidder No.1.

A Devonshire Tea hamper for two. Delivered to your door, this will include one basket filled with freshly baked scones, home-made jams (my own - apricot and plum), and vanilla cream. Added to this, will be tea or coffee of your choice, and other mystery goodies (probably of the chocolate variety) in keeping with the afternoon tea theme and guaranteed to make your taste buds pop. As a writer of romance, I can't help but hope my basket will be bought by someone who wishes to court their true love, perhaps with a Valentine's Day picnic in mind.

For lucky bidder No.2, there is no food on offer. Sorry.

As much as I love my baking, and slaving over a hot oven, I also slave my way through words and scenes, each day. So here's my other auction item.

For the successful bidder, I offer the opportunity to name a character in my historical romance, The Everlasting. This means, you may choose your very own name to feature in my story, or if it does not suit the late 1800s, you may nominate your husband, kids or grandkids. Or you could honour your grandmother. Or pay homage to your address and immortalise your street name, if you love it that much.

Isn't that fun? YOU get to choose a name, and I give it to one of my characters. Who wouldn't want to do that? The real question is.... how many bidders will fight over it, and how high will they go to see their name within the pages of a love story?

Have you ever featured in such an auction? What would you have fun offering if you were asked to be a slave?