Batley House, Jill Marshall, and Writing Again

  Wednesday 28 March 2012    9pm       NZ Time
  It's hard to believe I haven't written here since Miriam's birthday last year.
  Recently I am writing again, new stuff, and getting old stuff into shape, and organising life so there's more time for it, and much of it is due to an on-line course Mum and I signed up for, taught by Jill Marshall*, during which a group of us on the course had a one-day seminar with Jill up at Batley House on the Kaipara, the scene of the love story by Rae Roadley, "Love at the End of the Road," published by Penguin late last year.
  Rae, one of the group, generously offered her lovely house as venue, and invited us all to stay overnight. I was nearing the end of her account of falling in love with man, house, and Otamatea, and it was thrilling to settle down to sleep in a big room upstairs, all well fed on schnapper caught by husband Rex, as well as a plate we'd each brought, and an evening of wine and good conversation under the country sky, dogs and cats milling around, with the sound of cattle, sea and a rather vigorous wind all close at hand - in fact something like roof iron was flapping just above my head as I turned off my light and was stunned by the utter darkness through the curtainless windows, before falling into a deep and refreshing, eight-hours-in-one-go, sleep.  Earlier, a sky full of stars took my breath away as I roamed the driveway in search of mobile coverage to talk to children abandoned with their father overnight for the first time ever without me, brother having a birthday in Auckland, and father staying with old friends in Paparoa.
  Driving the half-hour along winding metal roads, like reading Rae's book, every second letter box, every second page, contained a name I had gone to school with - Batley House is, after all, just past the end of Bickerstaffe Road, so on Saturday morning I flew past my dear old Otamatea High School as I did maths in my head, constantly revising rate of travel, how much tar seal I thought there might be, how much slower I'd be on the metal, how late I was going to be (arrived one minute early in the end!).
  Thanks to Jill, both in terms of the content of her course, and the motivation factor of sitting down to do it, not to mention her enthusiasm and energy, I have now begun writing a book I've been carrying in my head for the last four years or so, which I hope to complete in a matter of a couple of months, and planned out a couple more, as well as tidying up my first novel, currently known as "Alchemy," for publication on Kindle, through Amazon.
  And thanks for Mum, for finding the course and signing me onto it, and thanks to Rae for her hospitality, and thanks to Barbara, Jo, Zana for being such interesting people to rub shoulders with and get ideas from, and thanks to Rex for putting up with us, and to Niven for looking after the boys, and to Viktor E. Frankl, whose book on his experiences in Concentration Camps during World War II, and his strand of optimistic psychotherapy known as "Logotherapy" or "Tragic Optimism," having been at the back of my mind for the last seven or so years, I have finally read. I find his philosophy of life to my taste, and the timing of it has converged with the Batley trip and novel-writing course to provide another form of motivational push.
  My time is up, so perhaps another time I will explain the Frankl reference more fully: tonight, suffice it to say that he got himself through hard labour in freezing conditions, underdressed and poorly shod, while suffering from typhus, with all the horrors of the Nazi torture regime, where the job was too hard, the strength was almost non-existent, and to show weakness was to be shot and left lying in the snow, by vividly imagining himself lecturing, after the war, in a well-appointed university lecture theatre, on how he had got himself through the worst of times.
  My times are not at all worst, but I hold his example in mind when dealing with normal challenges that occasionally do seem impossible, or just too much if not too hard - and indeed, I hope I'm not jinxing anything by saying so, but many things seem to be coming together well: writing, home-schooling, fitness, ballet, household organisation -
  But enough.
  I must away, and with luck and / or good management, I will return to post again in precisely about one week!
  (I know I've said that before, but I will, I really really will!)

  By the way, was anyone else a little taken aback at which bits of Stephen Fry's comments on bunjy jumping the NZ Herald  yesterday felt it necessary to *** out and which remained? Something like "Suckmothering Arse! I c*cking did it!"
  I love Stephen Fry and find his creative approach to swearing very refreshing, even though I don't exactly share his vocabulary. I guess his swearing is as literate and articulate as the 15-year-old boys's who sat at the back of the bus when I was a younger High-School student wasn't.

  Good night!
  Teufel
 
  * Author of Jane Blonde, Doghead, The Two Miss Parsons, amongst others.