New novel, new website, new destination

It's been an exciting month. My new novel, Evie's War, is just a few weeks away (advance copies look great), I'm about to head off on an amazing trip (Africa here I come), and my new website is now live.
 
I'll no longer be using blogspot, but you'll be able to find all the information here and so much more at
annamackenzieauthor.com

Come by and say hello...

Anzac Day - and a new book

When I was a child my family marked Anzac Day, 25 April, by climbing to the trig station on the hill behind our house. It was steep and - in my memory at least - often hot, in that blue-skied, bright, autumnal kind of way. Coming down was the best part - we generally slid, at some cost to our trousers, and with a degree of regret each time we discovered a seedling gorse bush tucked amongst the grass.
We understood that Anzac Day marked the blooding of New Zealand and Australian soldiers in the First World War, but understood less well that the Gallipoli Campaign was just the beginning of a costly and hideous waste of men's lives that would run on for years and that, though thousands of New Zealanders would die and be wounded in the Dardenelles, far more would be broken and slaughtered in the bloodbath of the Western Front in Belgium and France.

I gathered, like broken beads, fragments of my Grandfather's personal story of the war, in the Dardenelles and on the Western Front. As I grew older I tried to understand the impact his experiences had on his family at home, at the time and throughout his life. With the centenary of WWI approaching I became absorbed by a need to understand the First World War. I started to read - histories, diaries, letters. I visited the battlefields of Flanders, Artois and the Somme; I searched out buildings that had housed hospitals, empty fields that had hosted Casualty Clearing Stations, bunkers where men had sheltered and killed and died.
Evie's War, due out in July, tells the story of one woman's experience of those bloody and challenging years, of her coming of age in an era when the world was coming apart.
I can't wait to share it with you; it's a story I love, that I feel privileged to have created, and that has in some way helped me to understand, if not why we do the things that are are done, at least how we survive them.

SFFANZ Sir Julius Vogel Award shortlist

Donnel's Promise has been short-listed for the Sir Julius Vogel Award.

I'm looking forward to the Awards Ceremony at the annual SFFANZ Convention in Rotorua next month. Apparently cosplay is big - sure hope I bump into Risha or Muir...



You can check out the shortlist here:
http://www.sffanz.org.nz/sjv/sjvNominations-2015.html

And details of the SFFANZ here:
https://sffanz.wordpress.com

The Sea-wreck Stranger was joint winner of the YA section back in 2008. Fingers crossed!

Fair to say I'm a very occasional blogger. There always seems to be a deadline that is more pressing. Maybe that's as it should be: those deadlines turn into achievements. And here's one that I didn't post, and should have: late last year, iBooks selected Donnel's Promise as one of its top five picks of 2014. And that's got to be something to celebrate!

Recommended reading

August is always a busy month, filled with everything but writing. I have a couple of annual teaching commitments and no less than three festivals and two award ceremonies, all absorbing a day's travel to and from as well as the events themselves. In the lead-up to the days away I often find myself resenting the intrusion - until I'm standing in front of a group of students. Then I remember how much I love teaching. This year's Wairarapa Schools' contingent was very impressive, and their finished stories are starting to trickle into my inbox.

Speaking of which, stories aren't the only thing to be arriving. Yesterday I received this recommendation from Amazon... !

Donnel's Promise

My new title, sequel to Cattra's Legacy, hits the shelves this week. This book seems to have come into being very fast - partly because I wrote it at speed, partly because in the interim I've been frantically busy - and on the other side of the world - causing time to concertina. It feels as if I've barely finished it, and yet here it is, a hard copy in my hands.
Looking forward to reading reviews and hearing from readers. And to the launch, which is delayed because of my stint overseas, but will doubtless be a heap of fun nonetheless...

London Calling

Grubby old London is neither so grubby nor so ill-tempered as I remember. The crowds are worse - but a few blocks back from the Monopoly board streets you can find leafy little parks and quirkily meandering streets. Step off the footsore tourist trail and there are treasures lying in wait: Sir John Soane's extremely quirky Museum, the rooftop garden and woodland of Queen Elizabeth Hall, Ladywell's water meadows. It's often the small and unexpected that delights: scattered sunlight on Victorian facades, the soaring voice of a soprano practicing scales in a church, a late night meeting with a suburban fox.
The Queen was out and about yesterday. I didn't see her; I was busy admiring sycamore trees and a photo of Wilfred Owen.
The AusNZ Festival and subsequent days of meetings have been fun, fast and curious. This weekend I have something altogether trickier in mind: Winston Churchill and Will Shakespeare are on my meeting agenda - wish me luck; I've heard they're elusive. But here somewhere.

Festival tripping

A hectic few months of completing a novel, editing a magazine, catching up with my family, and I'm off again, heading to London for the Australia & NZ Festival of Literature & the Arts.
It has been more than a smidge stressful getting to this stage - the schedule for signing off on Donnel's Promise was punishing (18-21 hour days in edits and proofing: maybe this will be one long-haul where I really will sleep on the flight) and the delays over ticketing for the festival added to the stress. But on track now for a fun and work filled month in the UK. If you're in London at the end of the month, come along and say 'hi'.

Juggling

A month of dedicated writing time disappears more quickly than you can imagine. But not without trace: 50,000 words, thousands of photographs, a host of new friends and memories and ideas and focus. Retaining the last as I squeeze back into life on the opposite side of the world, especially at the frenzied festive season, proves a challenge.
But here I am in the first week of 2014, once again writing, juggling work and family and editing and any number of commitments, wishing it was less hot and that I had fewer interruptions, and that Paris and Ieper and Scotland were only a train ride away. And an email arrives from Vollezele; one of the writers who shared the Villa reminding me of that time and space, and I am once again standing in the narrow kitchen, looking out at lawn and woodland and thinking about artillery fire while I wait for the coffee to brew and the world a hundred years distant to shape itself in my mind.

Day 18

Three cock pheasants fighting at the edge of the woods beyond my door. They leap at one another then wander about quite contentedly, so I assume it's a mock fight. Meanwhile I'm thinking about men being slaughtered by machine guns and torn apart by shrapnel.

There's a poignant memorial at a cemetery, once a trench, near Fricourt: 'The Devonshires held this trench. The Devonshires hold it still.'

Half the World

Villa Hellebosch, my home for the next month, is peaceful, comfortable, charming. And - most important - it really does deliver time and space for an undivided focus on writing.

After a week of rushing around the world (not to mention the excess of pre-departure rushing that rushing around the world requires) it comes not a moment too soon.
My journey included three beautiful days at Lake Cavanaugh, Washington State, two brisk nights in Yorkshire, and three glorious, culture-laden days in Paris where I walked my feet to blisters and gobbled up an excess of art and music. Musee d'Orsay is definitely on the list for a return visit, while concerts in the city's lovely old churches, including the tiny and sublime Sainte Chapelle, proved the find of the trip and may be compulsory hereafter.
On Sunday evening Europe's efficient rail system delivered me to Brussels and thence on to Vollezele, and here I sit, dividing my time between the laptop and the view, and discovering that the novel I thought I was coming here to write has been taken over by another. So be it.

Today has been warm (19 degrees), the sun bright, though it now falls in lengthening shadows, the wind busy with twisting drifts of golden leaves. Windfall apples hide in the grass and the fields alternate between corn stubble and flowering mustard and freshly turned earth. TheVilla's woods smell of leafmast and wild mushrooms.
I am privileged to be here, to have this time and this place, to be writing 10 hours a day. I may not want to leave.

In praise of writing residencies

Last week my hard drive died, suddenly and inexplicably, leaving gaping holes in my backed up data. Turns out you don't know what you're missing as soon as you're missing it. It sneaks up on you kind of slow.
But it was a good week too. I was awarded a writing residency in Belgium. Dedicated writing time, no interruptions, no other demands on my time - it's hard to imagine but, I suspect, easy to experience.

Passa Porta International House of Literature is an international organisation based in Brussels. They have an apartment for writers in Brussels and two more in Flanders. October will find me heading for Europe, laptop under my arm, to focus on the new novel. (I'm hoping to have finished the current one first. For which some uninterrupted writing time would be extremely beneficial.)

Because Europe is so far away, because I don't get there very often, I'll be packing as much as I can into the time I'm away. Friends, agents, publishers, festivals, book fairs and research will be squeezed around the edges of the residency. Right now it feels kind of unreal: the first flush of excitement has worn off, the list of jobs that have to be done first is mounting. But still I catch myself, now and then, thinking: Nothing but time to write. No interruptions, no family, no garden, no business, no housework, no teaching, no editing, no magazines, just writing. Can it get any better than that?

And I do know that, somewhere along the way, it'll sneak up on me that I'm missing some of those things. And that, too, might become a part of the novel I write.

Holiday...?

I haven't had a holiday in a year. We finally plan a week away and on Day One two things happen: first, we have a fairly hair-raising trip in a small aeroplane; second, I spend a high proportion of the time planning how to work the experience into a novel - not just in terms of the specific words I might employ, but also in mentally debating the depth of reader skepticism.
Examples: The luggage hit the roof of the plane. Really? Yes, really. 
A plastic ice cream container is not the ideal receptacle for vomit, at least, not unless you get the lid on really fast. And off again, same speed. And on again, and... you get the idea. (Which beats the reality). 
In certain circumstances it's really not a big deal to be suddenly and somewhat unexpectedly covered in someone else's vomit. Who'd have thought it? (Maybe it helps if you're related.)
But a shower and a good night's sleep later, what's really interesting is that a writer is never on holiday. Battered (and spattered) by clear air turbulence, I was writing. In my head, sure, and maybe I'll never find a place to use that material, but I was, nonetheless, busily capturing it in words. Maybe it's a coping mechanism. Maybe it's a compulsion. Maybe writers don't ever get to have holidays because you never get to leave the writing behind.

$300 prize package up for grabs

Two days to go! Why not give it a shot: it's a great prize package.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151397618683355&set=a.337140388354.156153.274039478354&type=1

FANCY YOURSELF AS A BOOK CRITIC? GF’s got it’s hands on ten copies of Cattra’s Legacy, the soon-to-be released book from NZ author Anna MacKenzie! We’re looking for ten girls to receive a copy before it goes on sale to read and review! Plus, all reviews go in the draw to win an awesome book prize pack worth $300! To enter, email nzgf@nzgirlfriend.co.nz with ‘Cattra’s Legacy’ in the subject line before March 28 at 12pm.

New Release

More goes into producing a book than you might think. The writing of course; that's definitely no small feat. And 'writing' means the first draft, the second, the third; editing, reading, re-reading, re-editing. And so on.
Then once it's in the publisher's hands there's yet more editing, there are marketing discussions, there are debates about the title, about the press release, the release date, the cover. Cover design is a long and sometimes frustrating process - no doubt for the designer as well! A lot of people have input and the author is not at the top of the list. Then there's proofing and more proofing and last minute amendments and...
And then it's out of your hands. That comes as a relief, for me anyway. It leaves me free to move on, to think about the next book (usually well and truly underway by this point), to write rather than tinker. And, just occasionally, to meander to the mailbox as I wait for those advance copies to arrive.

Writing and life

Writers have a significant advantage in dealing with the darker, messier, more painful side of life. To at least some extent, everything is material you can take apart, study and reassemble; material you can later turn loose on your characters.

Yesterday afternoon, as an orthopaedic surgeon shoved a needle through the capsule of my shoulder joint, a small part of my mind – maybe ten percent, maybe less – was analysing and recording. Not just pain (note to self: they prefer to call it ‘discomfort’) but my own response, and his. The room, the equipment, the observing trainee. The other ninety plus percent was quite comprehensively occupied with ‘ow-ow-ow-ow-ow’. But that ten percent pulls you through. And here’s the thing: afterwards, there’s plenty of time to study your own observations. At 2.37 in the morning, for example, when the lignocaine wears off.

One question I found myself toying with through the small hours was the classic ‘does art emulate life or does life emulate art’. (Okay, so you don’t do your best or most imaginative thinking at 2.37am.) The answer is both, of course. But in specific terms, a few years ago I wrote a scene where a character has two very painful injections into the shoulder – bone marrow in that case, but the general feel of the thing was the same. The scene returned to my mind during the night. Comforting, really. Turns out I got it pretty much right.

In an early draft of a novel that came out in 2008 I wrote a serious car accident. When a member of my family was, not long after, involved in a tragic accident – he recovered, but it was a long haul – I down-sized the incident in the novel: too close to the bone. In that same novel the main character’s mother has a fall while carrying a glass bowl, with resultant cuts and concussion. A few months later, while helping one of my sisters move house, our mother fell, carrying a glass bowl. Shattered shards, blood, kind and professional ambulance staff. You get the idea. But at 3 in the morning you can get to wondering whether writing it makes it real (at the time my sister suggested I add a lotto win into my next book, but as I never buy lotto tickets there wouldn’t really be any point). Of course it doesn’t. You write what’s already real. Ideally after the event – because then the idea of writing it can help you get through.

Nitty gritty

Deep into the research for the next book, and about to head for Europe to pursue it further. Historical fiction is a new genre for me; there's a different pace and heft to it. Have to say I'm loving it.
For updates on the digging and discovery, watch this space!

August gadding

A month of festivals, workshops, teaching, touring - all good stuff, but pleased to be home. And then there's the writing to get on with: I'm loving the new book. Fresh, compelling, this story is just desperate to be told!

Giving and receiving

Writing is about long, lonely hours. It's about sitting at your desk and getting on with the job. There's also the delight of discovering each novel; unveiling its unique voice, exploring, unravelling, unpacking the story. There are the highs of completion and the lows of - well, there are lows. There's also the 'business' stuff - does anyone enjoy that? I doubt it.
Alongside writing and the business of writing, for some writers, there is teaching. It would be wrong to assume that because someone can do something they will be able - or will want - to teach it. I never expected I'd want to. The first workshop I ran came about as an accident - I'd agreed to talk for half an hour about being a writer and I ended up running a full day creative writing workshop for forty 10-13 year olds. No warning, no preparation, no experience. Cold turkey in reverse - maybe that makes it hot turkey. It certainly made it a challenge. It was full-on and exhausting, and I loved it. There is a special joy in seeing a kid get something - pick it up and understand it and make it their own, so that you know they have it, from there on, and can take it to new places of their own. And there's also the delight of hearing or reading the amazing pieces of work that come out of intensive workshops.
There's something particularly special about teaching teenagers. Writing is intently personal and brazenly public. There's a generosity to good writing that young writers have naturally - they haven't unlearned that skill yet. Being able to share in that is a gift.
A few days ago I ran a day-long writing workshop and it confirmed my gratitude that I somehow stumbled into running that first workshop - it was a challenge that goes on giving me rewards.

Wintry chill and welcome warmth

Finder's Shore set sail with a crowd of 70 or so to see it launched. Thanks to all who attended, the speakers, the students who escorted people to the temporary door (landscaping in progress at KHS library!), booksellers Beattie & Forbes and Random House.
I've had some great feedback since; hope all my readers enjoy it as much as those who've so far been in touch.
And now, on with the next...