Researching for the young adult fantasy series I'm working on at the moment is such a drag.
My present series (Emporium Sister's Escapades) is about five sisters who are given a magical emporium by a grateful dragon. (Although they are unaware of both the magical nature of their emporium and their donors identity or, indeed, existence.) Each sister has her own shop, one a spice shop (think candles & perfumes as well as cooking spices) one a cafe, one a tea-shop, one a silk shop and the youngest lucky sister a chocolate shop. Each shop has a secret door leading into a world of lost lore relating to her shops goods.
In the spirit of sharing, in the course of my research I can tell you that my favourite chocolate in Melbourne is Coco Blacks (their raspberry ganache, pear and caramel and Passion are prime favourites, but in the interests of cross-shop research the cinnamon chocolate is also fairly divine.) The chocolates are so rich that a quarter of one leaves you feeling full and savouring the different layers of flavours.
I can also inform you that T2 sell my favourite teas. My sister-in-law recently gave me a wonderful selection of teas for my birthday and I have since become obsessed with a T2 tea called Liquorice Legs. It's not something I would have thought to try, but it's entirely addictive and I could drink several litres in a day. It's made of liquorice root, fennel and peppermint and has a wonderfully sweet aftertaste. Sans added sugar and sans caffeine (unless liquorice is a source of caffeine I was unaware of) it yet has the buzz of both. And, unlike most sweet drinks, if you eat something sweet after it, say some grapes, the grapes taste sweeter, not less sweet. And if you eat something sweet before it... your Liquorice Legs tastes sweeter... its a sweetness enhancer! I am afraid to Google the ingredients in case they're horrifically bad for me..
Research is such a drag!
I'm itching for a name change.
It's not my own name that needs changing of course, not even the title of my novel - although I'm still undecided about that as well. It's characters names.
There are two names in my present novel that-just-aren't-right. Which is particularly distressing as each of these characters later gets her own novel - so if I stuff up now I stuff up good. I keep hoping if I give them a little time they'll turn out to be right. But so far, several years later, no luck. For the five sisters in my present series so far all but one has had a name change. But... I'm still not feeling the rightness. Nell, Bella and Susie are right. (As right as their first-incantation names were wrong) but Rose and Amaya are... irking me.
At present I think Rose needs to become Rosa (she needs a floral type of name) and Amaya become Mai-Mai... is Mai-Mai too annoying?
The wonderful Felicity over at Gifts of Serendipity shared this recently and I had to pass it on as the Poppet and Sprocket totally adore it. It's pretty much the first TV the Poppet's shown any interest in - so it's sad in a way - the end of an era :( But I'm glad the clip is so joyful and fun. My Poppet points out every time there's a crayon or someone drawing (which is a lot!) My Sprocket loves the big kids dancing and having fun.
I've had the tune stuck in my head all day - so here's to sharing it on!
You know you’re in a bad state when you’re getting riled by fairy tales.
Unable to sleep one night last week, waiting for my beloved to return from a late shift at the hospital, the kids curled sleeping around me, my mind somehow got caught up in fairy tales that bugged me.
Now, I know people often have it in for Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, one for needing a prince, another for being rather… passive (the whole sleeping through most of the story)… (Please see Spindle’s End by Robin McKinley for a completely un-passive and brilliant re-telling, also Enchantment by Orson Scott Card) but for my money the Princess in the Princess and the Pea takes the cake in bad fairy tale role models.
For those that don’t know the story – it’s about a prince looking for a wife who rides east and west and all over the place looking for a bride and none are right. He returns home in despair and one stormy night a young woman knocks at the door seeing shelter. He likes the look of her and gives the wink to his mother who decides to check if she’s a real princess.
So instead of checking out if she’s kind, intelligent, joyous, well-read, displays good judgement, courage, honesty and persistence in adversity (hey, even fertility would be more useful), she decides to check… how … delicate she is.
As such when the bed is being made for the young woman the Queen hides a pea under the first of a three score of mattresses.
The following morning the Queen and Prince ask the princess how she slept and she says terribly, she’s black and blue from a shocking lump in her bed. And they all rejoice that the girl is a real Princess and she marries the Prince.
As a (hopefully) future mother-in-law, I would not be enraptured to find my future daughter in law got bruises from a Pea buried under 20+ mattresses. How would she survive pregnancy, let alone childbirth? And the toddler years? Not a chance.
That Queen was DENSE. An ability to bruise easily is not what you want in the person responsible for supplying you with grandchildren.
Not to mention it being an indicator for some rather nasty diseases. (Um, yep, there speaks the wife of a med-student...) If someone you love falls ill, that’s another matter – but to go looking for heatbreak? Masochistic.
And how rude! Surely there was a more tactful way to suggest maybe new bedding was required.
Anyway, this is how I spent my tossing and turning.
Is there a fairy tale that just bugs you?
Many, many years ago. In fact nearly half a lifetime ago, I went for a swim one crisp blue sky day. Impatient to be in the sea I stripped off and left my clothes on a handy piece of twisted, silvered cast up tree. About to run into the water, my hand went to my throat. I was wearing a little blue cross – metal with an enamel painting of lovebirds and curlicues on it, that I was very fond of. It belonged to my mum, but she let me wear it.
Not wanting to lose it, I unclasped it, and carefully draped it over one of the branches of the driftwood tree.
When I got out of the water, freezing cold, exultant, shivering and snot-nosed, I threw on my towel, scooped up my clothes, and hurried home to a scalding hot shower.
And although I returned to the beach when I realised my loss and although I scoured the shore for hours I never found the cross again.
I’ve been looking for a cross like it for about twelve years now.
As has my dad. He brought the cross for my mum in a shop in the Edinburgh Grassmarkets when they were first married. He’s referred to it ever since as ‘the Cross you threw away’ or ‘the Cross you threw into the sea’, and he’s looked in every antique shop, second hand shop and jewellers he’s passed. When he went back to Scotland one time he looked in the shop he’d brought it in, but it had turned into a Goth shop and was not helpful.
Awhile back I gave up thinking I’d find another cross like the one I’d lost in a shop. I just hadn’t seen anything remotely like it. I decided to search on line. I did a google search under images – starting with ‘blue enamel cross’ ‘blue enamel jewellery’ and finally, after three or four hours of scrolling through weird and wonderful blue stuffs, I found a perfect match.
It’s a style of Persian art called Mina Kari – a special way of using enamel and many of the examples of vases and bowls made my eyes go wide with covetousness – o those blues – those blues!
But best of all…. the Cross. Just like the one… well… I didn’t throw away. But I left on the beach.
We ordered two and they arrived yesterday – now mum has one and I have one.
And this one, I won’t take off.
It is so very, very lovely to be home.
It’s been awhile since we were last here - a little blue house tucked away by the sea. It seems like aeons. Already I can feel my breathing deepen as I settle down and send out damaged roots.
I have come to be very fond of our little Gippsland shack, but it’s not the same.
The space is different here, the smell of the sea, the sound of the sea. Even the wind sounds different. I can hear great gusts of it blowing in off the strait, rattling the doors and windows.
Lying in bed now, listening to Capercaillie, the wind easing through the open window, bringing with it the smell of brine. The house is empty but for me and Issy. My Beloved has taken the kids to drop my mum off at the train station in Geelong.
And it feels a little like stepping back in time.
A little like the night before our wedding, when my Sprocket was still summersaulting within. A little like those months my Beloved and I spent here while I studied for my Teaching Grad Dip (and dreamed and puked as the Sprocket grew within me) A little like the year I spent just writing, me and my dog – a different dog, although equally tempermental. My beloved and I were married here and both the Sprocket and Poppet were Christened here. Their memories of here are not yet strong -it’s been too far for us to come regularly - but they will be.
It is so easy tonight slip within a story, slip within a dream.
The world outside seems very far away. As always, the house seems disconnected from the world. Just me and frail wood afloat on the elements.
After a hot day spent driving, we went to the beach in the late afternoon and were caught in the storm as we returned. My Beloved put the Sprocket on his shoulders and carried the Poppet on his hip and we ran up the clay road to home with the lighting flashing and the rain belting down and the kids squealing with laughter.
Home. Already my heart is breaking at the thought of leaving.
Although… it is true. The sea air is horrific for roses. And I doubt I could plant my tulips here.
One The Holidays have started. My beloved gets a week off. Yay. The washing is now officially his business.
Three My wonderful sister-in-law is coming down from Queensland. Triple yay. I foresee big fires, lots of merlot and many teas!
Four We have finally stopped with the tag-team of various tummy bugs and flues. (Touch wood) Don't you just love a morning when you wake up and you don't have vomit in your hair? Only a few lingering coughs remain.
Five My roses are blooming again. Seduction and a lovely pink creeping country rose are both in flower. I have hopes my Peace rose will come out again soon. So so beautiful. Never fail to smile every time I see them.
Six. Packets of jonquils, hyacinths and tulips are just waiting to be planted. I look at the pictures and just hum with pleasure.
Seven. This didn't make me smile. But my beloved sure laughed. My Poppet and I were minding our own business sitting on the woodbox on the verandah. The Poppet having a nurse, me having a tea and checking the weather for the next week on my laptop. Suddenly we're drenched. And there's the Sprocket with the hose.
Wisely, he ran and hid in the car.
Eight. Last night when I was giving the kids their bath the Poppet wanted her new doll in with her. I said no, as the doll has a stuffed cloth body and she'd get all soggy. The Sprocket immediately got out of the bath to fetch her. "Give bubba back her dolly, mama!"
Nine. My Poppet. Every thing she does is just magic. From the tips of her copper-gold curls,to her little toes (she's just started walking around on tip-toe,) her cheeky grin, her little stamp, every little thing she does is just enchanting. She never fails to make me smile. There's not a minute of the day when I'm not thankful that she's mine.
Ten. My Sprocket. Those few moments when I'm not incoherent with rage or shaking my head in perplexed amazement? He's pretty funny. And sort of cute.