The Self-Aggrandizing Self-Publishing Kings: Extreme Rhetoric, Inflammatory Language and Ulterior Motives « The Undiscovered Author

Where are the strong advocates with moderate language?  Where are the strong advocates who aren’t trying to sell you on why you should self-publish, but only tell the story of why it was right for them?  Where are the strong advocates who are actually self-publishing and not taking a major deal with a corporate sponsor on the sly?  Where are the strong advocates who have succeeded on their own merits, and not based on the prior support of the traditional publishing industry?  These people exist – of that I am sure – but we don’t hear enough about them.  Amanda Hocking, for instance, is invoked only as an example of “See, it can be done! You can make a killing digitally self-publishing!”

Read the whole excellent article at: The Self-Aggrandizing Self-Publishing Kings: Extreme Rhetoric, Inflammatory Language and Ulterior Motives « The Undiscovered Author.

Strange Horizons Fiction: One-Eyed Jack’s, by Tracy Canfield

This is fiction as it should be.

She oughter do something about the Sing. She oughter do something about One-Eyed Jack’s. But if she took one of them on, the other would have the valley to itself; and she wasn’t certain she had the strength to fight them both, what with keeping one eye on I-79 every minute of the day.

Read the rest at Strange Horizons Fiction: One-Eyed Jack’s, by Tracy Canfield.  And then go have a look at Tracey’s blog, Alien Tongues.


Being the all-or-nothing gal that I am, I’ve been concentrating all my focus on getting settled back into the house and working on the new job.  So much so that 2 months(!!) have gone by.

Where did they go?  I just can’t get my head around the fact that we have been here two months already.  I haven’t written a thing, but the house and garden are starting to take shape and work is exhausting but brilliant.

So in case you haven’t guessed, the sequel to the Creativity Workshop is off for another year.  But maybe now that I’ve surfaced, I can get back to regular posting.  And writing, well, there are a pile of notebooks that need transcribing, and a novella to finish, and some stories that really need to go out on submission before the dust on them starts growing potatoes…

Sorry!  I hope everyone is well and enjoying the winter/summer (depending on where you are).  Drop me a line and tell me what you have been up to so far, and explain why it’s June already…

The blues

I can’t stop sneezing.

My fountain pen is dry, and has been for months.

I’ve forgotten how to multi-task.

I keep falling asleep in the chair after work.

My garden is only half dug over.

I think I need to go to bed and start again tomorrow.

A journey


4,991 kms (3,101 miles) of tarmac

4 states

3 time zones (2 official, one unofficial)

13 sunrises

11 motel rooms

9 continental breakfasts

2 beaches

14 remote roadhouses

About 20 kangaroos

More than 50 emus

One lion, 5 giraffe tongues (one zoo)

2 motel pools

2 chinese takeaways

4 days of pouring rain

Several hundred road trains

3 tantrums (one each)

An infinite amount of dust…

…and we’re home.

A quick apology

So I have a number of posts lined up, which quite obviously aren’t being posted. The most I am managing at the moment are links to interesting things around the blogosphere.

The reason is, we’re moving back across the country at the end of March, and all of my concentration is going on that – getting new jobs, packing the house, sorting out clients and making sure we leave no loose ends behind.

So I apologise for being absent.  I’m still reading my blog list with my morning coffee, but you might not get much substance from me until we are home and sorted.

Thanks for sticking around :)

Reader feedback 2010

Dear blog reader,

It’s the end of the year, and I would like to ask you some questions about your experience here at my blog in 2010.  This will help me to choose a direction and focus for the new year.  Please be honest, and feel free to leave further comments on what worked and what didn’t work for you this year.

And finally, a couple of questions.

  1. Do you subscribe to my blog in a reader or by e-mail?
  2. Why did you subscribe?
  3. What keeps you from cancelling your subscription? (Or, why did you cancel your subscription?)
  4. What facet of my posts interests you the most?

Feel free to be honest, I have a tough hide, and I can use this to improve my blog.

Thanks for your time, and have a great new year!

Not so much a summation as an exhalation

Christmas in Perth means many things.  Dry heat, parched gardens, flies, burning sun.  All the spring flowers are dead, but the Nuytsia is in full bloom, lighting up the bush like a candle.  The sky and the ocean are the same heat-faded blue.

The west Australian version of a Christmas tree.

This is the season of endurance.  For the next three months the average temperatures are above 30 degrees Celsius, and the promise of a week or two of temperatures in the low forties.

There are still 11 days left in the year, but I am done with it.  I am finding it difficult to focus on anything.  I just want to stop, spend time with the family, clear the cobwebs of the year from my head and start fresh.

I have plenty of plans for the new year, and they start on January 1, 2011.  So I’m closing the blog down for the rest of the year.

Best wishes to you all.  Have a great holiday, whatever and however you celebrate. I will see you again, bright and fresh, when the year turns over in its bed.

Happy holidays!


The flash of lights from the police car behind me heralded the utter ruin of my day.  Client visits cancelled, income lost, time spent correcting a stupid oversight on my part that has cost us deeply.

I picked up my partner from work, my child from daycare and came home to a house like an oven.  Forty-two degrees of burning heat, nothing defrosted for dinner, breakfast dishes still in the sink.  The neighbours played angry music too loudly and shouted at one another.

I went outside to rescue the garden from dessication.  As I sat on the low wall, wasting water on dead grass, my son came and sat beside me, little legs swinging.  He watched me for a while, then reached for the hose.

For a moment he watered the grass, concentration etched on his face.  Then he noticed how the droplets of water caught the sunlight.  He held the hose up and rainbows danced in the sky.  He swept the water across the yard, and over us, and the cool droplets rained down like diamonds.

I smiled when he smiled.  I laughed when he laughed.

He leaned against me. We talked of nothing, sitting on the low wall, and it meant everything to me.

There was nothing in my day that could take away that pleasure.