The Flip-side

The flip-side of dedicating yourself to creative projects, gritting your teeth and getting them into some semblance that can be called 'finished' - is working out how to get them out there. This often takes just as much hard slog as getting the thing to exist in the first place. And it's more depressing.

Hand embroidery flip-side, the mess behind creating

 While you’re working on something you have plenty of moments of doubt, but there is a lot of hope in there as well – otherwise how would you keep going? While you are writing there is a feeling there that you are creating something – something whole and real and maybe even beautiful, that might stand up by itself. But then it comes to getting it out into the world all that hope can slowly get chipped away. Leaving you with nothing but the knowledge of all the time you spent working on this thing that nobody is interested in, when you could have been at the beach or eating pancakes or having sex or drinking beers or... well the list of other things you could do rather than go to the library is endless!

Anyway, that is one pathway your brain can go down when you get a rejection letter – but to be honest I am still in my salad days and I do try to stay optimistic. I take every project as a springboard to the next and learn as much as I can because you never know what is around the next corner.

While most of my writing projects are bubbling along in my head, and a few of them are out (hopefully ) being looked at in the world one one of them is getting close to actually existing.

It is very exciting to be able to say that I have a story between the covers of a book that will be published soon!

The actual book! With a cover and pages and everything.

 I am a part of the Edinburgh Cooperative of Creative Writers  and as well as having a story chosen to go into their current anthology I have become part of the team putting it together. It is all hands on deck at the moment as we polish, publicise and get towards publishing.  

It was with much excitement that I went along to our fortnightly meeting and saw the proof copy of our book, but I have to do more than pat it. My project today has been line editing the proof. This is a rather laborious task which requires not cartwheeling creative performances, or grim determination but a whole other subset of skills.

The big surprise – to myself and probably every teacher I have ever had - is that that particular part of my brain actually works. I have known that I have a creative brain for quite some time, and I've also known I have the capacity to bounce back from rejection (thanks boys!). But as every report I have ever had in my life has said that I am a decent student, engaged with my work, but that I must watch my spelling and punctuation, it is a surprise to find that I have any capacity at all for editing.

And I am not saying that I am good. I still struggle, but perhaps all the struggling has paid off a little. That and twenty five odd years of reading books that have been professionally edited must have taught me something, because line editing the proof copy I have found myself confidently able to pick up my own and other peoples mistakes.

And I actually enjoy the work. Ok yes there were moments when I found myself stomping around the room saying -

'Does nobody know that a question mark MUST be followed by a capital letter!'

All the while quietly aware that I must have caused similar tantrums in tutors, lecturers, teachers and glorious friends and family who have proof read for me over the years.

But I stand by my younger self – the story must come first. What is the point of having all your apostrophes, commas and em dashes perfectly tweaked if there is nothing on the page worth reading?

It is nice though to be getting around to what comes after, if only because it means the story exists.

Many stitches later and ta-da! 

P.S I will be loudly and excitedly spruiking the book itself when it has been born, so do stay tuned!

P.P.S Adding an extra postscript one week on. Received this email from the hard working Andy from the Co-op and just had to share it...

'Hi Sandy, 

That was exhaustive and excellent work, you're good at spotting grammar
errors and I'm glad I didn't have you marking my exam compositions. :)
Thankyou.
Regards,
Andy'

This blog is posted in conjunction with Natural Suburbia's Creative Friday. 

A growing pile of rainbows

I live in Edinburgh, so after I made a hot water bottle cover on my borrowed sewing machine, knitted a balaclava and a hat the next logical craft project was a nice cozy blanket.

cloud and rainbow hot water bottle cover

Having recently discovered the joys of circular needles – perfect for balaclava and hat – I have stuck with them for making my nanna squares.  

circular needles - knitting squares

In Norway in February it turned out that the only thing that was cheap-(ish) was the wool. 

So my blanket got started on Norwegian wool left over from the hat knitting projects and received a mighty boost by my boyfriend allowing me to unravel an old and rather holey Norwegian jumper. That is where the red – my dominant colour comes from and I had almost as much fun unravelling it as I am having knitting it back up again. It is perhaps an odd statement to make but I happen to find unravelling, de-tangling and mending relaxing.

It is a bitsy blanket, absorbing all wool that I come across – lots of bright colours and a few sombre tones as well. My latest addition is a pink wool alpaca blend that came from the Scottish isle of Aran, chunky and bright enough to bring cheer to even the grey day that was our Summer solstice.

Scottish and Norwegian wool to keep me warm

Each piece has a different mood: some have been made on evenings in with my boyfriend watching West Wing, or listening to the radio while he worked, some have been knitted while I sat home alone watching movies, one got finished while I listened to my Tolkein audio book on a rainy afternoon, others have been worked on out in the world at my craft group or writing group and there was even an evenings knitting in the passenger seat driving across the UK. So the blanket, when it is made will hold many memories already – and go on to have more as it takes it's place in my life.

My mum is visiting in August – and is bringing me some treasures from down under. She asked if I wanted any of the previous homemade blankets packed and flown over, and I said no, I am making a new one. She is a knitter and a writer too, and understands the practical magic we weave when we sit down with needles and yarn. And how even when things go a little awry it does not matter too much because you can always unravel and start over. 

She knows about the soothing effects of knitting something which has...

'… no practical use

that I've discovered,

except to occasionally

cover my legs on a wintry night

when the wood fire is low.

The colours are soft pinks and blues

the texture, angora,

grown, spun and dyed by a friend

whose son has ms – her sanity.'

Exerpt from Sitting Knitting, Dr Helen Sheil – 60 Ahead – A timely collection.

I am itching to sew the squares (ok they are rectangles...but anyway) together, but I also want to wait in case I get new colours so I can make sure the colours get an even distribution.

So for now I have a growing pile of rainbows. With luck it will be finished in time to put it on my mum's bed when she gets here. 

growing pile of rainbows

This blog is posted in conjunction with Natural Suburbia's Creative Friday. 

Lunch at the Museum

I had lunch at the museum today. It is the best option on a rainy day in Edinburgh if I have a packed lunch. I was on my way to the library in a round-about manner, and as hunger pangs struck I thought having my lunch before getting down to work would be the smart move.

Museums are great spaces for learning and seeing into the heart of things; whether it is the solar system or the inner workings of a clock you can usually find an exhibit to tell you all about it. As well as the science I go for the curiosities and the people watching. I sometimes have the time look about at an exhibit or two, but often I just eat my lunch and watch the folks go by. Either way it is usually educational.

The Grand Gallery, National Museum of Scotland.

Today, as I sat on a bench and ate a father walked past with two young boys in tow, the boy must have pointed to an exhibit over to my left, wanting to explore there, but his father said no.When questioned as to why the man replied:

'Because boy's aren’t interested in jewellery.'

While I was dealing with the narrowness of that particular gender stereotype a small girl posed for her mother by an ornate fountain, rather than simply standing beside the enamelled drinking fountain, the mother insisted that her daughter pose with one leg bent backwards, in the manner of a Hollywood starlet receiving a kiss.

Drinking fountain and pavilion, built Glasgow circa 1800.

The learning and teaching going on seemed to be about how to be a good little boy and how to be a good little girl. Apparently boys don't like jewellery and girls need to make themselves as alluring as possible in order to get boys to give them jewellery.

'Argh! Bahh! Yuk!' I say.

I finished my lunch feeling a little unsure about the state of the world and wandered over to the exhibition in question. Jewellery is something people chose to carry with them close to their bodies. To display publicly as a part of saying 'this is me,' and in my experience jewellery collections can be mind expanding, fascinating, intricate, capable of interrogating stereotypes, full of stories and wonder.

A sense of place - New Jewellery from a Northern Land

And I was not disappointed.

First up I learnt a new word – topophilla - a term used to describe a strong sense of place or identity among certain people.

A sense of place – New Jewellery from a Northern Land, is an exhibition curated as part of a doctoral research project. Beth Legg asked sixteen artists from Iceland, Scotland, Norway, Finland, Sweden and Denmark to create jewellery in response to an environment significant to them.

Each artist was asked to put together a topophilla box displaying the inspiration for their work. These 3D scrapbooks are little windows into the concentrated essence of these artist's love for a place. 

Looking in one you might see a photograph of a man staring out at you from his sparse kitchen, others contain a miscellany of objects: bone, paper, clay, metal, plants, glass, red wax, driftwood, scraps of poetry, rope, shells...

Topophilla boxes

Many of the boxes could easily be rock-pools transported into the gallery, you can see quickly that for many of these northern artists the ocean has a strong influence, but the environments referenced are not exclusively  nautical. 

Nevertheless they are all things any good little boy or girl could be fascinated by. 

Above each box there is the work of two jewellers. One is the artist who made the toppphilla box, and the other is the response of an artist in the group who received the box at random and anonymously.

collection triptych- three brooches, Beth Legg, 2011- Skirza Scotland, made
after receiving the box by Per Suntum, Allinge Denmark. 

Rut-Malin Barkland, 2011, Stockholm, Sweden. Made after
receiving the box by Helge Mogensen, Kaldbaksvik, Iceland.

Hope from Tragedy- seventy seven pins, Ingjerd Hanevold, 2011, Asker Norway.
Made after receiving the box by Tarja Taupanen, Lappeanranta, Finland.

Taupanen's topophilla box contains, not seaside floatsum, but an aged collection of cardboard that once backed an assortment of picture frames, pinned through with silver fasteners. The already evocative nature of this box full of absent images becomes even more haunting through Hanevold's response. The box arrived on 22 July, 2011 - the day of the massacre in Norway, and through the making of a silver and pearl pin for each victim Hanevold memorialises each lost face. Event as well as place is responded to here.

This show allows you to glimpse into the artists imaginative process, outcomes loop back to the inspiration, but they also project what the artist carries with them – the events and places that touch them. As the viewer, on my lunch-break - I must say the jewellery was interesting to me. 

The exhibition can be seen free of charge in the Grand Gallery of the  National Museum of Scotland until 16 September, 2012 . 

Flamingo Bookends

By bookends I do not mean to say that I have added to my collection of flamingo miscellany with a pair of flamingo bookends (though that would be something), I mean that today my day started and ended with flamingos.

new flamingo miscellany 

To start my day the flamingos manifested themselves in a piece of writing I am working on. A travel piece for a writing competition, which I have decided.... surprise surprise to base on one of my flamingo expeditions. So I have been going back over some photos and notes and memories, and generally putting myself in the happy flamingo zone.

Cappadocia, Turkey, 2011

It is the Diamond Jubilee long weekend in Britain and it could not be complete without afternoon tea, so after lunch I went out to meet a friend and we went on a little expedition to a tea shop in Gullane, passing by many little towns strung with bunting.

Bunting explosion

Bunting close up

more bunting...

After a very hearty dose of lemon sponge and a good gossip we got back on the road. On the way home we stopped to walk off some of the cake at the Longniddry Bents, and while we took in the sea air we learnt that the strange concrete blocks littering the coast were old tank blockades put up to stop German tanks rolling into Scotland via the Forth.

The grassy rocks of Longniddry Bents

anti-tank devices on Longniddry Bents

Educational and tasty - a perfect afternoon.

Home again home again and what do I discover... that a crafty blog I am quite partial too has been transformed into a flamingo blog and is full to the brim of brilliant flamingo pictures taken 2.5km from the bloggers house! So, many thanks to natural suburbia for allowing my day in Scotland to be bookended by flamingos!

Zebra Crossing

I have just had a little anniversary. This week it has been one year since I left Australia. In late May 2011 I had a lovely lunch and final round of hugs with family, friends and my very dear Grandma Ruthie who just recently passed away. After lunch I did a final check of passport, documents, camera, camera battery ect, then I had an early fish and chip tea and the lovely Helen took me out to the airport. And at the scene of so many hellos and goodbyes (mine and many others) I said a bit of a choked goodbye to Helen -for I did not know how long. Then after the requisite amount of time waiting around in the airport I flew out to Tanzania- the first leg of my world adventure.

A year is a funny thing. Sometimes we look back and go 'my- hasn't time flown.' But when you are in so many different places each little bracket of time elongates, the hours and days are so packed with new sights and sounds that they almost burst the seams of your memories. A single day can have more stories than you ever get around to telling - that does not make me - or any other traveller more interesting to sit next to at a dinner party - I am more often than not without two sentences to string together, but  it does make it impossible to say- 'This year just went by in the blink of an eye'. With all those memories different bits of my travels percolate in my brain at different times and for some reason or another just now it is Zebras that have popped into my head.

So this one year anniversary blog is not about all the goodbyes I have said in the last twelve months, or about how some faces are no longer there to say hello to in the future - it is about Zebras.

On the last day of my safari in Tanzania, as has already been gleefully reported I had my first flamingo sightings in the Nogorongoro Crater. You might think all other animal sightings would pale into insignificance after that, but actually just after the flamingo rapture there were still more mesmerising wildlife encounters to be had - we took part in a Zebra parade.

Nogorongoro Crater, Tanzania 2011

We somehow found ourselves right in the middle of a line of Zebras that went on and on. The zebra's dealt with the intrusion of our vehicle with very little fuss. After a little confusion they simply re-routed around the blockage, and then as soon as they could they returned to their original well worn path. They wanted to get from A to B and we were in the middle of their path - so they would go around us.

Zebra Parade

On safari we had seen quite a few Zebras- but this was our first on-mass sighting. The orderly, seemingly endless line was a delight to watch. Often when you are on safari you are waiting for something to happen - a glimpse of a lion cub, a Cheetah attack, a rhino to materialise out of the bushes, and this makes for a weird combination of boredom and excitement. Watching the Zebras was not like that, we were just happy to watch, I think we would have been horrified if something actually happened to interrupt the parade.

re-routed Zebras

Part of the reason Zebras are so fascinating is that combination of the familiar and the strange. We all know what a horse looks like and they are beautiful in their own right - but these are weird horses - they are stripey! And you cannot help ogling them and snapping an unnecessary amount of photographs.
Especially when they walk in a long straggling line, one after another, after another on and on as far as you can see in both directions.

baby Zebra - on parade

Presumably this parade happens every day, as the herd makes its way across the crater, but that makes it no less of a precious memory. So I thought I would share it. Happy Anniversary me!

just another safari memory 2011

To Market- To Market

A market is a place to both hunt and gather. There are endless possibilities, you might find nothing, but maybe just maybe... the next stall will have... something completely unique.

Even the other words for market are evocative: how could you not be drawn to a flea market, a bazaar, a fair, a car boot sale, or a souk...

light shades for sale in Kahn el-Khalili

My first souk was Kahn el-Khalili in Cairo, a maze of ancient little sellers where I spent a very nice evening with my cousin. She browsed and bargained tirelessly and I walked about, mouth watering, trying to simultaneously take it all in and keep my Egyptian pounds in my wallet. It was early in my trip and I had many days and nights to stretch my pennies over. 

Rover on the street in the souk- Cairo 2011

The retail lure tugged at me, but stronger than that was the delight of looking at so many exotic treasures, the intricate lights, the fabrics, the jewellery, vintage snaps of Egypt in postcards, jewelled scarab beetles, hookahs, ornate enamelled cups... and on and on. Eventually we had to stop to eat- braving the local food before heading back into to maze for more.

meal break at the souk, Cairo 2011

In one of my favourite books, Tirra Lirra by the River by Jessica Anderson, the main character travels from her small town in Queensland to London. There she makes a life for herself as a dressmaker and on weekends she wanders about the many markets, trawling through boxes of bits and bobs- maybe taking home a buckle, some sparkling buttons or a broken piece of jewellery. I can’t recall the scene precisely, (and have no access to a copy of the novel) but the mood of it always fired my imagination to want to do as Nora did; wander about at a London market, trawling through one of those boxes massed with a miscellany of beads, odd earrings, cuff-links, belt buckles... looking for that particular piece of buried treasure, that was dirt cheap and absolutely perfect.

Not to say that I haven't gotten a kick out of searching amongst similar boxes of bits at Australian markets and antique shops, but although the Kongwak market is pretty hard to beat- getting to do precisely as Nora did IN LONDON has tugged at my heart- something about the power of fiction probably.

Before I got to London my mum forwarded a picture of a a vintage flamingo print dress her friend had picked up at the Spitalfields Market in London – they knew I would get a kick out of seeing it. 

Alison's Spitafields market buy

I couldn't resist the recommendation, there are so many markets in London, and only so much time, so I followed the flamingo pointer once again. As luck would have it I had some Australian buddies (who love a bargain hunt) to drag along with me. Spitafields traders vary from day to day and we got lucky with our day because the very first stall we came to exactly fitted with my imagined London market scenario. Boxes and boxes filled with shiny objects of dubious worth set out for us to run our fingers through.

boxes of bits!-Australians at Spitafields, London 2011

I was still a backpacker at this point and had been restraining myself against purchasing anything much for months on end, but I was happy to look, just in case a perfect (little) trinket caught my eye. Mostly the looking was reward enough. But... in amongst the jumble I did find a very nice, very kitsch thimble to add to my collection – and a perfect British souvenir- a Royal wedding commemorative thimble... for Andy and Fergie.

Is that a badger next to the boobs?
You never know what you will find.

We eventually dragged ourselves away from the first stall and explored the rest of the market- it did not disappoint, and although my thimble was my only purchase for the day I loved looking through all the stalls laded with steam-punk jewellery, taxidermied foxes, animal skulls, records, stamps, more thimbles, vintage frocks, cameras... and some pretty characterful market vendors as well.

Spitafields treasure

More recently J and I were the vendors at a Car Boot Sale in Edinburgh. You arrive early to the underground car-park, line up to get yourself a trestle table, and then wait for the buzzer to sound before you can unload your goods. Everything is strictly regulated. Early sellers will be asked to leave. Early buyers at these markets have a determined agenda. Rushing from stall to stall searching out their quarry: handbags, mobile phones, particular clothes brands all get snapped up early- presumably to be re-sold some-place else.

Car Boot Sale buyers and sellers

Our little stall had some house clearing miscellany – a pair of gum boots, speakers, CD's, tools and other boy toys. Nothing much that would draw me in, but plenty of people came to look and we re-homed most of our stall. I must admit that on my breaks from the stall I spent more than we made- but that's all part of the market fun. My haul was some coloured cotton reels, DVD's and a packet of stamps for my stamp collector friend- which were featured in her blog.

more treasure in Edinburgh

Pretty restrained I thought, even though there were many to choose from though I resisted the thimbles that day. You don't want to over do it- best to leave a few pennies in your pocket and the heart yearning for something I say. The next impossibly perfect something might be just around the corner.

my little market bits and bobs for the last 12 months

Esky Esky Who?

The start of May saw me going on a last minute camping trip to Swanage on the south coast of England. This  involved a road trip down from Edinburgh and right across the UK. We camped at the Tan Hill Inn, the highest pub in England and I pranced about admiring the baby lambs at Arbor Low, bronze age standing stones, long since tipped over by pesky puritans in the 1600's. The stones were pretty amazing also.

Early morning patrons at the Tan Hill Inn

Arbor Low

New life at Arbor Low

And pleased I was to be exploring new corners of the globe I still found it mighty odd to simply leave our groceries in a carry bag day after day.

Some old habits die hard. Like enjoying an ice cold beer and wanting to refrigerate your food when you go camping.

Both the times I have been camping in the UK it has made me just a little uncomfortable to pitch up in a field with the tent, sleepingbags, coffee, milk, bacon, booze BUT no ice or esky: for non Australians an esky is otherwise known as a cool box, cooler, ice box ect.

There are reasons for this, for one thing the Brits don't drink their beer quite as cold as Australians, for another, thus far in my camping experience it has been perfect refrigeration temperature in the car.

Nevertheless camping with no esky is still a struggle. I have been on some cool camping trips in Australia, once camping in the mountains in Far East Gippsland we got up in the morning to find the night befores dish water frozen solid, and Easter in Malacoota was frequently chilly – BUT we still packed our eskies- in fact the bigger, more fancy your esky was the cooler you were. Some mates had wheels and a handle attatched for easy movement, and the sturdier they were the better- that way they double as seating around the campfire.

True, our May Bank holiday weekend camping trip was not overly warm. My thermals got a good work out and our exploring on the first day involved walking wind swept coastline and muddy fields between pubs. 

Dorset coastline

We were motivated by the views and the lure of warming ale, cider and pasties in some very pretty country pubs.

I am pleased to say that the sun did come out on the second day, and it was timed perfectly to encorage us to stay out of the pub and do some more strenuouse adventuring on the edge of the English Channnel. A good part of the day was spent rock climbing on Dancing Ledge in weather that was even warm enough to let me climb about bare foot.

Setting up the climbing rig on Dancing Ledge

Rover barefoot climbing

The sun sparkled off the sea and the blues were set off nicely by the verdant rolling hills leading down to the limestone cliffs. After warming up scrambling about on the rocks we eventualy got ourselves together to take the plunge and go Coastering.

in the 'washing machine'

I did not know there was such a thing as coastering before Sunday- but it is a thing where you scramble about exploring the coast, jump off rocky outcrops and generally get buffetted around by the power of the ocean. A wet suit is essential, as is a helmet and boyancy aids are preferable. I am a pretty eager ocean explorer so when a wetsuit became available a happily put my hand up for the challenge.

Saying yes was the easy part, actually taking the plunge was where things got challenging.

You know you are alive when you plunge into a very cold ocean and although the sun had warmed us all morning it had no effect as we bobbed about like corks and let the waves have thier way with us.

Coastering rover waiting for a wave to lift me up

Five went in and five came out and despite a few hair raising moments we were all happily exhilarated by the experience, slightly numb but absolutely buzzing. A few hardy soul's went on to continue climbing- but my whole self knew I was done for the day so J and I went back to the camp site to begin the BBQ.

Even after a sunny day as soon as the sun had vanished from our campsite the temperature plummeted- but the thing I learned from my first week in Scotland is that you do not let the weather stop you from getting out and doing whatever you want to do. If you did you would never leave the house. The evening stayed dry and we happily huddled around the cooker getting smoke in our eyes and re-telling stories of our days daring.

Funnily enough even without an esky the bottle of Prosecco I stored in the car all day was a perfect drinking temperature- and I used it to toast my mother who turned 60 this week and my Grandma Ruthie who sadly passed away. Cheers.