~ Cyclone Gabrielle ~

The cyclone came as promised. Cyclone Gabrielle started late last week as a tropical storm in the Coral Sea and intensified quickly to a category 3, fed by warm oceans. “Concerns about the storm as it moved down to New Zealand have come to fruition,” said Niwa meteorologist Ben Noll. “The inverted barometer effect is associated with very deep low-pressure systems. The winds around low-pressure systems swirl in towards the centre. Where those winds meet, they rise,” said Noll. “That causes the air to rise and can cause the sea to rise.” (from Newsroom)
Reading this, I didn’t have any reaction. Having survived the last big storm on Jan 27, which caused widespread flooding and the loss of four lives, I felt somewhat storm-weary. When I heard the news of Cyclone Gabriella, I didn’t take it in, and I didn’t feel afraid. My nephew told me, “They are saying it’s a Category 3, that it could be far worse than the last cyclone, and we might get winds up to 300 km an hour.” Even then. It was like my senses were still stunned by the flooding, and I hadn’t fully come down to Earth. There was no energy left for fear.

We received warnings from Civil Defence days beforehand. And we prepared ourselves. We were as ready as we could be. My friends and I had put away anything in our yards we thought could become airborne, and we’d lifted things off the ground in our garages and so on. The boys and I had small bags packed by the door. Apart from that, all we could do was sit and wait. After days of waiting for it to arrive, we started to get strong gusts of wind. But the rain never hit us here. The last time it pelted down, we flooded, fearing for our lives, and this time it rained but not heavy and not for long. However, the same could not be said for other parts of the country as the cyclone wreaked a trail of destruction, causing terrible flooding and potentially billions of dollars worth of damage. I think the current death toll is five, while many others are still missing. The landslides have cut off many towns from food supplies, and downed trees have cut the power and internet, so hundreds of people can’t contact their loved ones to let them know they are alive.

Since the cyclone hit, I’ve stayed glued to my news feed watching the live updates. There has been footage of people throwing out their food after three days without power and people sleeping side by side on cot beds in evacuation centres. Clips of people rescuing folks stranded on their roofs, folks carrying animals out of flooded fields, volunteers making food, and helping others. Especially saddening were the news stories about the two volunteer firefighters, one in critical condition in a hospital, the other killed in a landslide. My heart goes out to their families. I feel moved by people who are true heroes for their communities like these guys. They remind me to believe in the good of humanity.
Crazy. While the North Island of New Zealand gets lashed by torrential rainfall and tropical storms, the central part of the South Island has been experiencing severe drought, and everyone is desperately trying to conserve water. They have too little; we have too much. Everything seems so unfair. I heard it said once, that only when you stop seeing life in terms of fairness and unfairness can you be a grownup. Guess that makes me still a kid; I feel how unfair it is that bad things happen to people working to make a living and struggling to make ends meet. A lot of people have lost everything, and my heart breaks for them.

This is not to say the first cyclone has been forgotten, either. After all, it only happened three weeks ago. I attended a school meeting last night and was asked by about five different people throughout the evening, “Where were you when the flood happened?” It is as if it helps us move on to tell our stories and listen to other people’s experiences of the same event. It deepens our empathy, therefore, our connections.
There is no doubt about it the cyclones have been a shock. I gather that a lot of us, like myself, have lived multiple years on the planet without ever experiencing a natural disaster. Now, we’ve racked up two in under a month. I feel a lot of empathy for everyone involved and a ton of gratitude to the first responders, and the emergency personnel, who are often voluntary, and who put their lives on the line to help others. Thank you. We love you.
What about you. Have you ever lived through a tropical storm or been in a natural disaster?

Talk to you later.
Keep creating!
Yvette Carol
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“We don’t even know how strong we are until we are forced to bring that hidden strength forward. In times of tragedy, war, or necessity, people do amazing things. The human capacity for survival and renewal is awesome.” – Isabel Allende

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~ A Flood Story ~

I would have posted this last week, but it was the Insecure Writer’s Support Group’s monthly question, so the story became delayed by a week. On the 27th Jan the rain that had been “persisting down,” as my father used to say, fell more steadily towards late afternoon. Another tropical cyclone was expected, and a heavy rainfall watch was in place. Nevertheless, my friends were gathering that evening for dinner. I wobbled down to the garage in heels, carrying a heavy oven dish of the blueberry apricot crumble I had made for dessert, plus a paper bag bearing vanilla bean ice cream and two tubs of thickened cream. I had to splash through water to get to the car, thinking, that’s odd. I’ve never had to do that before. Then I noticed sheets of water streaming off the higher ground beneath the house onto the concrete pad the car was sitting on, something I had not seen in my 58 years of living here.
Undeterred, I backed out of the garage and headed slowly down the road, having to breach a small lake of surface water at the end. I turned right and drove halfway along through swirling muddy water. The thought in my mind was, your instincts are telling you to stay home, you idiot. Why are you still driving? Through the sideways curtains of torrential rain, I glimpsed a line of cars ahead, waiting to get through as a little Suzuki car bravely pushed through the sizeable lake spanning the intersection to turn into our street.

Holy crap. I knew I needed to get home as fast as possible. I turned around and ploughed my way through, making it back to the saturated garage about five minutes later.
Man, was I grateful to be home. But would we be safe? When I told the teenagers indoors about the street flooding, the youngest son and his girlfriend immediately galvanized into action. He needed to take his girlfriend home before the 6 p.m. curfew. The pair raced out the door slinging on raincoats, hoping vainly to catch the last bus, which their mobiles informed them was “five stops away.” I told them to run, as I had seen the state of the roads.

And from then on, I worried about them.

40 minutes later, the youngest son rang. They had realized the bus would not be able to make it through the rising water, so the pair of them had trekked to the nearest shops, sometimes wading through water up to their waists. They were wet, scared, and tired. The girlfriend’s mother was on her way to pick them up.
Thank goodness!
20 minutes later, the son rang again. Every road they took to return to the girlfriend’s house was blocked or flooded. They were still trying to get through.
At this point, I was praying. There was nothing else I could do besides giving instructions on the phone. I was at home, looking after my son with Down syndrome. Luckily, he sleeps through anything. I, on the other hand, spent a miserable evening. The rain pelted down harder and harder. I have never seen rainfall like it – the term “biblical proportions” sprang to mind. I kept checking the scene outside the house and listening to the radio. Friends and family on social media shared videos of people riding a bus home with water sloshing around their ankles and a bus floating sideways across the road. There were photos of the airport and the local supermarket completely awash.

Looking out the windows often and constantly reading the live updates on the news, I began to panic. Though I am an optimistic person, I found myself thinking about the real possibility of being flooded out of our homes, maybe evacuated, maybe loss of life and I was shaking all over terrified. I feared for my friends, and my extended family living across the city, including my eldest son and granddaughter. I also feared for my elderly neighbours, the white-haired couple and the grandmother on her own who live at the bottom of the street. At one stage, I donned a coat and gumboots to check the water level outside. It was a relief to see that it had not changed and everyone was still safely above the water level.
You can imagine it was a long night.
Finally, I got the news my son and company had arrived safely at the girlfriend’s house. They were straight into hot showers and promised me they would eat a healthy meal. Through social media family and friends chatted online together sharing updates, which is how I knew everyone else I loved was at home and dry.
Thank heavens!

I woke the next morning thrilled to find we were still in our beds and the rain had abated. I felt humbled, grateful for our lives and that our homes were still standing, grateful and aware of our blessings, and very grateful that the rain had stopped. We had 245 mm in 24 hours. It was officially our “wettest day on record.” Since then, we have had blue skies and sunshine. Strange weather, man! I went out and about the neighbourhood, looking at the damage. Folks were cleaning their yards, and I passed a few groups gathered on sidewalks or outside houses, chatting with brooms in their hands and rubbish bins. Everywhere people stood talking. I’ve been chatting with folks, too. It struck me that disasters make people connect with other people. I know the names of two more neighbours I didn’t know before. It helps to know the name of the folks living cheek-by-jowl with you when the chips are down. We’ve been reminded that we need each other, I guess, which is a beautiful thing to come out of this disaster. My thoughts are with the families of the victims. There were four dead. It has been horrendous for us, but somehow, we got through it.

As an introvert, I require time to come to terms with everything. It might take a week to sift through the contents of my mind. Secondarily, I need to clean the garage. Now, another cyclone is on the way. Whewee!
2023 – how’s everyone else finding it so far?

Talk to you later.
Keep creating!
Yvette Carol
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“You will face many defeats in life, but never let yourself be defeated.” – Maya Angelou

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~ IWSG: Talking About Book Covers ~

It’s time for another group posting of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group! Time to release our fears to the world or offer encouragement to those who are feeling neurotic. If you’d like to join us, click on the tab above and sign up. We post on the first Wednesday of every month. Every month, the organizers announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG Day post. Remember, the question is optional!!! Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.

February 1 question – If you are an Indie author, do you make your own covers or purchase them? If you publish trad, how much input do you have about what goes on your cover?
I’ll be interested to read other people’s answers to the second part of this month’s question. That’s something I’ve always been curious about – how much input traditional authors have on their covers. One of the things that put me off traditional publishing houses is the fear they would control my end product too much and that my vision would end up being tailored to suit the prevailing market forces or whatever. The cover is incredibly important. For a great many people, the cover sells the book. What is it they say, a face can launch 1000 ships? For me, the cover is more than the face of the book or a mere money-making device. It is my creative intelligence. My book potentially lives on after I’ve gone. It has to be 100% genuinely mine and I need to have consented to every aspect. That is the way I feel about the cover. Besides all that, I want to create everything about my book cover because it’s super fun! You get to do it as a reward after all the hard slog of writing and editing.
I’m an Indie writer. I work on a cover (with the help of my artist and cover designer) until it “feels right” to me. It may sound like magical whatnot. But, it’s a matter of trusting the “gut instinct” to get a really great book cover. I’ve found that instincts will always be right.

Prior to publishing The Chronicles of Aden Weaver, I needed to create the covers. Being a newbie I didn’t know what I was doing. I cruised about on Fiverr. com, trying to find a cover artist. But, how was one to choose from the wealth of talent available? There were hundreds upon hundreds of artists and designers advertising their material. And everyone offering their work for really low prices? The task was truly boggling. I messaged back and forth with a random selection of cover artists, but the process felt cold and soulless. There was no connection with anyone. I didn’t feel reassured that any of them could deliver what I was envisioning.
Then, I had the idea to ask my nephew, Si, who is a natural-born artist, who I’ve always championed, to do the cover art. He is a busy working father of two children under 7. He said he could produce the artwork only if I was patient. That I could do. About six months later, Si came up with the goods right out of the starting gate. I looked at the image for the first book, The Or’in of Tane, and was instantly transported into another time and place with my character. I don’t know if it’s because Si and I have a family bond there, but it was instant love seeing his artistic representation of my protagonist, Aden Weaver, and the setting. I knew the artwork was perfect, and it felt like a real collaboration.

The next step was to design the covers around Si’s art. I talked with Jane Brown from Hydrangea Group. She was the wife of one of the guys at BookPrint, who printed the books for me. She and I talked colours. I chose blue, red, and green. I wanted the book titles at the top and my name at the bottom. Jane showed me the idea of a coloured background panel for the titles making them stand out and we had it. I adore the covers – although they have their share of detractors, as things must do. Well-meaning friends and family like to tell me what’s wrong with the artwork. And, I tell them, art is subjective, and I think the books are exquisite. I strove for deep shades on the covers. To me, they look like jewels. I put out the most beautiful books I could and I am proud of them. It is a warm feeling to share the credits for the covers with my nephew on the inside covers as well. It is a nice legacy for both of us to leave for the next generations of our family. I literally can’t wait to get to work with Si and Jane on the cover for my next book.
How about you? Do you make your own covers? When you shop for books are you swayed by the book cover?

Keep Writing!
Yvette Carol
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Why fetishize the book? None of the other vehicles for narrative bear this intimacy of simultaneously cradling and being cradled by a paperweighted world of still words. ~ By George Prochnik

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~ The Love App Launch ~

The launch of the Love App was a great success. In a previous post, The Love App, I shared the concept behind it. An initiative started by doctors, the baton was taken up by Dr. Mary Thomas, who spearheaded the project to make it a reality. “It’s just about getting people connected,” Dr. Mary explained. “In the middle of all this chaos, we are looking for love. We need to bring the world together. We want people to send virtual messages of support and virtual flowers to uplift others.”
l was so taken by the whole idea that I jumped to become involved when Dr. Mary invited me and a full panel of speakers from all over the world to speak about love at the launch. Quoting myself, “I was struck by the feeling this initiative can do a power of good in the world, and I wanted to be part of it.”

On November 11, 2 p.m. my time, we came together for three hours online and held our mini-summit where we talked and conjugated on all the many aspects of love. I was the second speaker and I am so glad to have spoken early on because my nerves were off the Richter. Naively, I had imagined that being a Toastmaster for eight years, the days of panicking were over. Oh, no. Apparently, it is still possible after 8 years of practicing public speaking, to experience out-and-out terror. It turns out that speaking in front of your club and speaking in front of a worldwide online audience for a live launch are two very different animals. Nevertheless, my Toastmasters training kicked in. I knew to keep breathing deeply and I managed to produce the words, like surfing a giant wave and managing to stay on the crest. An hour after the launch party finished, I was still zinging, still shaking. I had given my first international speech outside of Toastmasters. I had said what I wanted to say. Whew. I was happy with that.

Dr. Mary also invited me to participate in a monthly series of conversations over the next year called The Writer’s Bureau. We started with a panel discussion on Nov 22nd when Mary asked us about “The Love of Writing.” It was a hoot. The next session of the Writer’s Bureau will happen Dec 12, when we will continue to share more about the subject of writing fiction. All the interviews will be live-streamed on Facebook and available on YouTube.
And now, I get to be involved with this initiative going forward. Dr. Mary said, “The Love community is in service to show care for the betterment of humanity.” It reminds me of my grandmother, who used to say, “Give away a smile, it’s free” – even something as simple as smiling at someone can be a spirit lifter for that person. Yesterday, I paid for the person ahead of me in the queue at a shop and that felt great too. I love the thought of raising someone else’s spirits each day. That’s a good goal.
Why not download the free app and join The Love App Community!

Talk to you later.
Keep creating!
Yvette Carol
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“When we feel love and kindness towards others, it not only makes others feel loved and cared for, but it also helps us to develop inner happiness and peace.” — H.H. 14th Dalai Lama

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~ Frankenstein’s Children ~

This is the final report from the local writers’ festival I attended in August. It took me a while to get through them all. The last session I attended at the festival was called Frankenstein’s Children. Acclaimed Kiwi Speculative Fiction writers, Elizabeth Knox & Lee Murray debated the influence of Frankenstein on modern literature. Knox is one of my favourite Kiwi authors. I’m a big fan of her Dreamhunter series, which I found transformative and compelling reading (reviewed long ago when I was a member of Goodreads). Knox has an ONZM, is an Arts Foundation of New Zealand Laureate, and won the Prime Minister’s Award of Fiction in 2019. She teaches at Victoria University and lives in Wellington, New Zealand with her family.

Lee Murray is a New Zealand science fiction, fantasy, and horror writer and editor. She is a multiple winner of the Bram Stoker Award and a twelve-time winner of the Sir Julius Vogel Award. She is a well-respected rising star.

It felt like a privilege to sit in on their live-streamed interview. I love hearing how other writers think and how they approach their craft.

Both authors were asked the same question about why they had chosen the spec. fiction genre. “From childhood, the things that most excited me had dragons and ghosts. My imagination went in that direction very early.” Elizabeth Knox said, “You have a reaction to the world, and you want to push against appearances and say, what if? How much do we live in the present; how much do we live in imagination? It’s a penetrating, all-time approach to the state of the human being.”
Lee Murray had done her research. “It was a term coined in the 1960s. It was called Speculative, and it’s developed over time. Ursula le Guin said, ‘It’s about possibilities.’ It’s also about myths and legends, asking what if, and looking at the human condition. It’s new perspectives. It’s changing all the time.”
What a great way of looking at it. Why did the two authors consider their work to be “Frankenstein’s Children”?

“Mary Shelley is considered the mother of spec fiction,” Murray explained. “She wrote Frankenstein at the age of 17 in the 1800s, writing about the resurrection of life with electricity before it was invented. It’s a book about othering. The monster wanted to belong. Shelley couldn’t be published because she was a woman. Spec Fiction is a place for women’s narratives. She was able to show she is intelligent.”
I found this thought-provoking.
Murray went on. “I wanted to write about what mattered to me and things that frighten me. It allowed me to write about things safely. Spec fiction is not this world. It’s not pointing at this person or thing. It gives us a little bit of distance.”
The author neatly skewered one of the reasons this genre drew me to it. I can tell my stories without having to worry about treading on any toes because it’s all make-believe. The genre is a forgiving umbrella. I’m fascinated to hear it is popular. Since the age of seventeen, I’ve been writing spec fiction, but whereas in the 80s publishers told me, ‘No one is interested in fantasy,’ now, suddenly, it’s cool. Or, as Murray said, “It’s the place to be.”

This reminds me of Neil Gaiman’s interview. When asked at a previous festival, did he expect to be where he is today in terms of career, Neil said he never expected to be famous. When he started, he worked in niche areas where no one in those days ever got famous. ‘You didn’t get famous in comic books, fantasy, or children’s writing—I thought I’d be out here with the weird kids. Then it spread out, and now we’re all the weird kids.’ That’s it exactly. Our strange little frowned-upon fantasy corner of the world is becoming more mainstream. Hey, it’s nice to have company.

I am also drawn to writing middle fiction, and maybe there’s a reason for that. Knox said, “There’s a period when young people are entering the world, and they’re refusing it.” I liked that. There’s an inherent kind of rebellion that comes naturally with being young or young-at-heart and trying things out, questioning the status quo. “I think we need fiction more than ever.”

Murray said, “Spec. fiction has a role in social change. It has real value. It’s the new black. It’s the place where the young people are.”
I agree. But you have to write with a lightness of touch. “As soon as you start hitting readers over the head with your message, they don’t want to read it.” Knox said, “I’m an avid reader. But I’m resistant to being told I have to do anything. You can’t step outside reality. Spec fiction is the world outside the consensual reality.”
That’s what makes it so exhilarating.
“I love fairies and Arthurian legends. Even a tragic ending can bring joy because of the shapeliness,” said Knox. “I’m changing my mind about hope. I think it belongs to the things that console us like fiction.”

Wow!
Do you see why Elizabeth Knox is one of my current writing heroes?
I’m proud to write Speculative Fiction or Frankenstein’s Children. It’s fun! How about you? Do you read it or write it?

Talk to you later.
Keep creating!
Yvette Carol

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Good stories are dangerous. Dangerous, anarchic, seductive. They change you, often forever…they challenge our vocabularies and our history. Sometimes they challenge our comfortable morality. And sometimes…they challenge our most basic assumptions. ~ Jane Yolen

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~ FAMILY TIME IS IMPORTANT ~

Covid caused a lot of division in many ways. One of the ways it affected us was that our family split down the middle and the two sides stopped talking. We have operated in two camps throughout all the trials and tribulations of the last two years. It’s been so sad and unnecessary. We didn’t even come together for Christmases. We’ve missed celebrating one another’s birthdays and other milestone events. In 2020, I released my trilogy, The Chronicles of Aden Weaver, while we were scattered to the winds. It sucked when only five family members showed up.

This situation was at the forefront of my mind this week. My family has been split asunder for two years. Life has not been the same. In the diagram created by Abram Maslow, called the ‘Hierarchy of Needs,’ one of the levels of basic human requirements are the security needs followed by those of love and belonging. A well-functioning family fulfills those basic needs. There is nothing healthy about family battles. They fundamentally weaken us.
What changed the stalemate? We gathered together for a wedding recently, and it caused a thaw in relations between the factions. The door opened to a reunion, and it was because one member was brave enough to “just invite everybody and let them deal with it.” Everyone dolled up and gathered in one place for this glorious occasion. We hung out together for half a day and remembered, Oh, that’s right, it’s fun being together. Oh, that’s right, we’ve spent years of birthdays, Christmases, and parties together. Oh, that’s right, I love these people.

The next thing that happened was we started discussing a family vacation together this summer and even booked accommodation. How’s that for something to be grateful for? I have such good memories of holidays gone past. We used to travel most summers while my parents were alive to gather at their seaside cottage for Christmas and happily spend the summer break there till after New Year. We’d spend whole days at the beach. In the evenings, the parties used to go into the wee hours, with music, laughter and talking. There were card games, and rounds of Cribbage. Dad would tell a story and sing a ballad or two. Mum would do an interpretive dance, which always made us laugh. There were board games of scrabble and Trivial Pursuits. All the things.
The night skies in the Coromandel Peninsula are exceptionally clear and have a following among stargazers worldwide. At some stage during the evenings, we would go outside when it was dark and look at the stars. There is something otherworld and magical about seeing so much more of the Milky Way at a decent elevation.

Mum’s and dad’s log cabin was sold after dad died. Then Covid happened. The family went separate ways, vowing never to talk to one another again. Then two years of estrangement ended recently with the family wedding. This summer will be the first time we’ve gathered together as a family for a seaside vacation in years. I feel gratitude that the truce is in full effect. To think of our family coming back together again gives me a feeling of succour, strength, and stability.
All this made me realize how much we need our families. Sometimes it takes forgiveness. Sometimes it takes a willingness to let things go. Sometimes it takes preparedness to back away from the argument plus acceptance that that’s okay. But, whatever it takes, the effort is worth it. We need that family bonding time, that love and support. They call this ‘the age of anxiety.’ What a soothing balm it is to the harried modern soul to have one’s family intact and functioning.

A year or two ago I would never have thought this would be possible. Covid caused the division, but we’re not letting Covid have the last word. Even when sometimes family rifts seem unsurpassable, I have learned that all is not lost. Even the most torn-apart family can heal if both factions reach the point of wanting to heal. We needed to step back from our differences and remember the common ground we do share as a family. We needed to be prepared to let bygones be bygones. We needed to attain the point of saying, Life is too short for this. We’ll never be perfect but we are finally coming back together. So, now I know it can be done. Take heart.
Family time is important. Now, more than ever. What about you? Did you manage to stick together throughout the pandemic?

Talk to you later.
Keep creating!
Yvette Carol

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Eventually, you will end up where you need to be, with who you’re meant to be with, and doing what you should be doing. ~ unknown

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~ IWSG: Genres ~

It’s time for another group posting of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group! Time to release our fears to the world or offer encouragement to those who are feeling neurotic. If you’d like to join us, click on the tab above and sign up. We post on the first Wednesday of every month. Every month, the organizers announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG Day post. Remember, the question is optional!!! Let’s rock the neurotic writing world! Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG, and the hashtag is #IWSG.

This month’s question:
What genre would be the worst one for you to tackle and why?
There are a few genres I would be too scared to tackle, and some I know I should never attempt. I wanted to write romantic novels at one point when I was a lot younger, and I made it to the halfway point with a contemporary romance set in the South Island of New Zealand when I ran out of steam. It felt like a case of mentally choosing a direction, but my heart wasn’t in it, so I couldn’t sustain the energy levels needed to finish the project. As Gina Cole said at the launch of her book Na Viro last Friday night at the New Zealand Society of Authors meeting, “Writing a book is tough.” Short, sweet, and to the point! All the fates have to be aligned, and your energy has to come from the inexhaustible fuel supplied by conviction. You can’t fake story writing. It needs to come from a deep source within or the well runs dry pretty quick.

I wouldn’t dare write literary fiction because I neither read the genre nor enjoy it. Throughout the recent writers’ festival, I sat in on several live interviews or “conversations,” and two of them were with authors of highly-praised literary novels. Those were the only events where I felt out of place. Truth is, I’m not as intelligent as I look. The thought that went through my head multiple times while watching those interviews was, “I think this conversation is above my pay grade.” A lot of the points they made did not compute.
Likewise, horror and all variations thereof leave me cold. It’s another personal no-go zone. I don’t have the stomach for horror. The only horror story I’ve read – apart from critiquing my friend, Maria Cisneros-Toth’s book, Spooky Tales – was Ghost Story by Stephen King (Peter Straub). The latter’s novel freaked me out big time, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Ghost Story afterward. I didn’t like feeling afraid in my own time because of a book, and it put me off reading horror altogether. The only horror movie I’ve ever seen was Dawn of the Dead when I was a teenager. I lasted five minutes watching that movie, and then I stood up and walked out of the cinema. It’s the only time I’ve ever done so. And I’ve not seen a single horror film since. The genre is not my bag. I don’t want nasty images replaying in my mind long after a movie is finished. And the same goes for the darker sorts of fiction. I don’t want to read threatening material or have it cloud the bright sky of my imagination. It feels like I need to protect my good spirits and keep my environment positive. My friend would call it ‘keeping my armour polished.’

Another genre I avoid is picture books. There was an extended period in my twenties when I wrote picture books for the 0 – 5-year-old range. I spent at least a decade developing the stories and illustrating them. Looking back on this time, I learned a lot about writing through labouring under the constraints of the form. The economy of language and tightness of composition is essential, along with an ear for the rhythm of the spoken word. However, I prefer using lots of words, and I felt confined by the genre and miserable. Eventually, the limits of the form began to feel like a straightjacket, and I felt driven to escape.

Alternatively, my first ever experiment writing middle fiction was like lighting a flame. With more generous word limits, I could have fun with words and spend more time getting to know my characters. I could explore the plot, the story arc, and so on. The natural fit for me was to write fantasy because that is the genre I read as a child and still like to read now. When I think back, it wasn’t a matter of consciously choosing what I would write at that point. I picked up the pen and that’s what came out. Fantasy middle fiction fit like a glove, and I’ve been playing happily in my sandbox ever since.
What about you? What genre do you avoid? Which do you embrace?

Keep Writing!
Yvette Carol
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Let it be easy. ~ Anon

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~ Why Critique? ~

I have finished the first story in the next children’s series I’m writing and have done some preliminary editing. I’m feeling tentatively happy with the story as it stands, therefore it is time to share my story with other people to get feedback. This is the point I traditionally reach with every book, where I need to field it out to beta readers via a writing group. I want to know if the story is working. Where is it weak? And, the dreaded question, do you want to read more?
It’s easy to rag on yourself when you’re self-employed in a creative industry like writing fiction. I jump to compare myself to other more professional author friends, who pen their masterpieces and then move straight onto professional editing services. These authors are so secure in their prowess, that they go from writing to publication, without any need for a middle man to grease the tracks. I, on the other hand, acknowledge that I need feedback – a focus group! – first. The grumpy voices in my brain say, Why do you need a writing group? Let me pick this apart.

What are critique groups? Critique groups are friends willing to give critique in return for feedback on their work.
Why use a critique group? In 2004 I joined the newly-formed children’s writing collective, KiwiWrite4Kids. I remember asking one of the founders, Maria Gill if she had any tips. She said the best advice she could give me was to join a critique group. It sounded like good advice, although I will admit it took me years to act on it.
Lucky for me, I finally joined a critique circle in the 90s, because looking back, it was a turning point in my writing life. Which is not to say it’s easy. Criticism is hard to take. It was a jolt at first, having several other writers pick my story apart in a face-to-face situation. I didn’t imagine I’d stick around for long. But, the fact is that critique groups are on the fast track to growth. It didn’t take me long to figure out I was learning in leaps and bounds. How could I walk away?

The critique group process pushed me out of my comfort zones and made me aware of the reader. It made me accountable and focus far more on the writing.
The dynamic of critiquing other people’s work and then receiving feedback on mine changed my stories profoundly. I came to value the process highly and could see why Maria Gill had made the recommendation.
After a year of traveling to the city once a month to attend the in-person meetings, I left the in-person group and joined forces with a number of American authors to swap critiques online. And I have been a member of many online groups since then: The Magnificent Five, The Gang of Four, The Two Amigos, and The Inconsolable Pen.
This week I met up with my aspiring writer friend, Jane Doe. Remember her? She had always wanted to write books. Turns out, I have more than one friend who feels that way. When two more of my friends from Toastmasters learned Jane Doe and I were preparing to swap critique, our writing group swiftly gained two new members.

Exactly three days ago, we kicked off the new critique group over tea and coffee at a little old-fashioned cottage cafe. There were three of us present. Our fourth member is currently overseas. The three of us figured out the ground rules and collaborated on how to run our critiques. Every three weeks we will get together – yes, in person, – isn’t it wonderful to be able to do such normal things? We will each print out four copies of our chapters, then read them aloud while everyone else reads the printouts, and receive critique verbal and written. Yay! It is exciting to be at this point with my story. I can’t wait to see it flower into fullness.
The name for our writing group is still on the table. We are considering the merits of Inkplotters, Inky Fingers, or Fabulatores (Latin for storytellers). What do you think? Do you like any of them or have a better suggestion?

Talk to you later.
Keep creating!
Yvette Carol

‘Everyone knows writers are only a limerick away from complete insanity.’ ~ Lisa Scott.

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~ IWSG: SCENE CONFLICT ~

It’s time for another group posting of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group! Time to release our fears to the world or offer encouragement to those who are feeling neurotic. If you’d like to join us, click on the tab above and sign up. We post on the first Wednesday of every month. Every month, the organizers announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG Day post. Remember, the question is optional!!! Let’s rock the neurotic writing world! Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG, and the hashtag is #IWSG.

March 2 question – Have you ever been conflicted about writing a story or adding a scene to a story? How did you decide to write it or not?
Yes, the example that stands out in my mind concerns the first book in my Chronicles of Aden Weaver series. In the first book, The Or’in of Tane, Aden Weaver lives with his grandparents, Nana Jeen and Papa Joe. One night, two assassins attack Aden in the vegetable garden of his grandparents’ house. A big fight ensues between Aden and the two assassins. Nana Jeen and Papa Joe arrive, and the fighting is ferocious. In the first draft of my story, both grandparents are killed in the fight.
My then critique partner, the wonderful author and YouTube queen, Maria Cisneros-Toth, took exception to this version of the book. She cited good reasons: it was too much for child readers to lose both beloved characters so early in the story, it was unnecessary, gratuitous to kill both of them, etc. But what it boiled down to, Maria admitted, was that she did not like the idea of losing both the grandparent characters. Maria pleaded with me to keep them alive and change the storyline.

In the world of writers, there are plotters and there are pantsers. Plotters map out a story in detail first. Think of JK Rowling’s grid pattern story plans which detailed every significant development and turn in the seven-book series. Whereas Pantsers write stories as they come, flying by the seat of their pants. Then they edit for years afterward. I’m a Pantser, and I write all my copy as stream-of-consciousness material coming straight from the muse onto the page. I had set down the content for The Or’in of Tane as faithfully as it came to me. In other words, I felt wedded to the content. That’s one of the things I find most valuable about joining critique groups when I’m working on new material. They offer the dispassionate third-person perspective. They can reflect things the author can’t see. When it comes to editing I can delete an adverb and correct punctuation. But, I find it difficult to question the big things. And this was one of those times. Maria was able to reflect that it was too much to kill the grandparents so early in the series. And, I could hear the truth.

When I thought about it, I felt excited at the thought of them surviving the fight. I couldn’t wait to get started on the changes. And that told me I was going in the right direction. I went back to rewrite. In the new version, Nana Jeen and Papa Joe get badly injured in the fight. It changed many things about the way the rest of the story played out. It was the right thing to do. Furthermore, having the grandparents there in the final scenes of the trilogy, to witness their grandson on his triumphant return, gave an emotional resonance to those end scenes. I never once regretted saving the grandparents and rewriting that scene. I was just glad there was a seasoned eye on hand to guide me on the story development at the right time. Thank you Maria for the advice.

I had written the grandparent characters into the narrative for a reason. As the daughter of immigrants to New Zealand, our little nuclear family grew up without the benefit of extended family. My only experience of grandparents was through letters and those grandparents I saw in the movies or read about in books. My grandmother moved out to New Zealand when she was 79. We had some sweet years getting to know each other before she passed away ten years later.

My siblings and I grew up without grandparents, and for that reason, I revere the elderly and always have to add a grandparent or two into my fiction. I didn’t want to kill off Nana Jeen and Papa Joe. But, I struggle with questioning the muse. Maria more or less gave me permission to throw out something I didn’t feel worked and to replace it with something lighter. The story immediately improved.
Some edits are too scary to make on your own.

Sometimes you need a friend to hold your hand and say, it is okay. You can do this.

Sometimes you need friends.
What about you. Have you joined a critique group? Have you ever been conflicted about writing a story or adding a scene to a story?

Keep Writing!
Yvette Carol
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“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

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Subscribe to my newsletter by emailing me with “Newsletter Subscription” in the subject line to yvettecarol@hotmail.com

~ IWSG: EMPTY SEATS ~

It’s time for another group posting of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group! Time to release our fears to the world or offer encouragement to those who are feeling neurotic. If you’d like to join us, click on the tab above and sign up. We post on the first Wednesday of every month. Every month, the organizers announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG Day post. Remember, the question is optional!!! Let’s rock the neurotic writing world! Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG, and the hashtag is #IWSG.

February 2 question – Is there someone who supported or influenced you that perhaps isn’t around anymore? Anyone, you miss?
I miss my parents. They were my biggest supporters, especially my mother. In the early days, as a writer in my teens, I used to edit my stories, then print out several copies, have them spiral bound, and give them to people. I had given my parents many copies over the years. Ma was my biggest fan, and she kept my handmade books on their bookshelf. Anyone who came over their threshold, be it neighbour, friend, or stranger, Ma would bring out one of my stories and read aloud to them. As a younger, more foolish person, I can remember feeling red-faced and embarrassed at having my early stories paraded in public. But after my parents died, I missed Ma’s earnest, innocent, unerring support more than words can say. It struck me that no one (apart from maybe paid professionals) was ever going to sell my stories every chance they got or with such fervour ever again.

I was very close to my parents and was the only one of four siblings to live at home* for long periods in adulthood. (*see, starving writer). When my parents retired, they shifted to live in a log cabin by the seaside for twenty years of bliss. I would travel down from the city to visit them for a three-day weekend every six weeks. Not once did Ma ever fail to ask how my writing was going. Even after the six mini-strokes that slightly addled her brain. She always asked about my stories and – wonderfully – would sit and listen to the answer with rapt attention. Ma genuinely wanted to know what I was writing. She would ask interesting questions and I loved to fill her in.

Every writer knows that the process of submitting work to publishers and competitions is soul-destroying. If I faltered in my self-belief and began to feel I couldn’t send out another manuscript to a publisher, Ma’s enthusiasm and unfailing belief in my ability would keep me going. She loved my stories and was utterly convinced that it was just a matter of time before someone turned them into bestsellers. Her strength kept me aligned due north.

About twenty years ago, I was unpublished and still entering stories into every competition and awards contest. I submitted the first manuscript in my future trilogy, The Chronicles of Aden Weaver, titled The Or’in of Tane, to an international “unpublished manuscript” competition. The first prize was the publication, physical copies, and worldwide distribution of the resulting ebook. It was a pretty awesome prize by anyone’s standards. The publisher would contact the shortlisted authors after they chose the final winner. Everyone else would hear bad news within a few days of submission. A month after the deadline passed, I still had not heard from them. I felt tentatively excited. Publisher silence meant my story still had a chance.
But then another month passed, and I still hadn’t heard. I finally emailed the publisher. I found out my story had arrived a day after the deadline. I realized I had made a simple mistake calculating the difference in time zones. Therefore, they had not even considered my manuscript. After all the years of rejections, to think I had potentially crossed the finish line, only to find out I’d failed again, was too much. I fell into a black hole of depression and stayed in a dark place for an entire week.
At the end of that week, the phone rang. I picked it up. “Hello?”
My mother’s voice. No preamble. She said, “The darkest hour comes before the dawn.”
And with those words offered as a lifeline, she pulled me out. I started to weep. While I bawled my eyes out, I could hear Ma saying positive, encouraging, uplifting things. Then I dried my eyes, and we talked. Later, when I got off the phone, I realized my perspective had shifted, and I could move on with my writing life. Ma always knew when to ride in on the white horse.

Both my parents were avid supporters.
When I finally went the Indie route and self-published The Or’in of Tane, it was September 2015. My mother had died in June of that year. She never got to be at my book launch. But my father was there. At the age of 82, he traveled all the way to the city to attend, and in the speeches, he stood up and started his piece with ‘I’m Dad.” He was proud, and I got to feel my parents’ faith in me was vindicated.
By the time I released the second and third books in the trilogy, my father had passed away, too. There were two empty chairs at the launch, which I allocated to my parents because they would have loved to be there. The dedication I gave them on the front page of The Or’in of Tane read, For my parents, who believed in me, no matter what.
I sure do miss them.
What about you. Is there someone who supported or influenced you that perhaps isn’t around anymore? Anyone, you miss?

Keep Writing!
Yvette Carol
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The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with the heart. ~ Hellen Keller

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