Tag Archives: Hunter Valley

A little about setting

27 Monday Apr 2015

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Hello again reader, sorry it’s been so long. All I can say is life seems to have taken some interesting twists and turns and I’m just now beginning to catch up.

My days have been jam packed and writing is only one part of the routine. But I am pleased to be able to say it still has top billing. I’ve actually been blessed with more time to call my own, but somehow, it’s also been sucked down a vortex of having to share my house again.

One of the things I’ve been contemplating is my story setting. With any novel, there needs to be research done. Even when you know your subject, there are points and information that will need checking.

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Sinclair Girnigoe Castle, Caithness, Scotland UK

Sinclair Girnigoe Castle, Caithness, Scotland UK The setting for my YA timeslip.

I began writing a YA time slip story about ten years ago, I got about half way through and got lost. I found I couldn’t write it when I had never been to Scotland. In an effort to not simply stop writing, I decided to write an Australian Historical. Maybe a short story. Just to keep my writing happening.

I found a suitable competition for a story of about 3,000 words and thought it sounded perfect. 100,000 words later I had my first ever finished first draft. It was wobbly, had no structure and way too many adverbs and adjectives, but I finished.

Fast forward seven years and several million words, well maybe a bit less, but you get the idea, and I’ve dragged out the old manuscript and have started again.

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Hunter River, setting for my historical fiction

 

The setting for this is the early settlement of the Hunter Valley and it’s been so much fun to research where we live. There is so much I didn’t know about the river and the people. Every time I come across a familiar name in historic accounts or articles I want to add yet another character to my too long list.

The setting in my stories are pretty much a character in their own right. From the wild northern coast of Scotland, to the brown ribbon of the Hunter River, I love to weave in a sense of place for my characters to move about in. I also love to read stories that ground me in the setting. I want to feel as if I am standing in the characters shoes and looking out through their eyes; smelling, feeling, experiencing everything they do.

Some of my favourite authors are really good at this and I find reading their stories inspiring. My top 5 favourite Australian writers are Kate Forsyth, Juliet Marillier, Cathryn Hein, Margo Lanagan and Felicity Pulman. But I can’t fail to mention Diana Gabaldon, Jilly Cooper, Stephen King and Nora Roberts.  I love lots of different writers for different reasons, and we’d be here all day if I listed them all. Now reader, how about you? Who are your favourite authors and why? I’d love to hear from you, so don’t be shy.

flies, baths and dunnys

26 Thursday Jun 2014

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I was nine, almost ten, when we moved from our nice suburban, 3 bedroom, red brick house in the Western Suburbs of Sydney; into two caravans on the top of the hill in the bush. It was billed as a great adventure by mum and dad. And they were so right! It was awesome! Cramped? Yes. Hard work? YES – though mum and dad were the ones who carried that load. But mostly, it was fun.

On the left is dad, Darren, Gina (standing) Mel & Me in the centre, the two other girls and lady are the Reindler's our neighbours twice over.

On the left is dad, Darren, Gina (standing) Mel & Me in the centre, the two other girls and lady are the Reindler’s our neighbours twice over.

We had two caravans set up at right angles with the annex’s somehow joined into an “L” shaped living area and bathroom. The bathroom consisted of an old bathtub and a copper. We had electricity, so it wasn’t so bad, The tub sat in a “bespoke” frame that was high enough to place a bucket beneath the plug hole for easy emptying. Bucketing out the dirty water onto the veggie patch was a job for us kids. Hard yakka, but it didn’t kill us.
The thing that did kill us, or almost, was Dad’s love of Baygon Surface spray and Dettol.
The local flies were smitten with these newcomers. Fresh white skin and dewy eyes must have been a welcome change to the Foran’s Herefords. So a gazillion flies moved into the two caravan/annex home with us. Dad to the rescue, with liberal douses of Baygon, sprayed into the air to kill all and sundry. Flies or kids, it didn’t seem to matter. Even the dog ran for cover when she saw that blue and orange can lifted off the shelf. I still feel a catch in my throat and my chest contracts at the memory of breathless gasping for non chemical air. No wonder I hate chemicals now!
baygon
The Dettol, however was another matter all together. To set the scene, we had no buildings; so no roof or tank to catch the rain when we first moved. So 20ltr drums were brought from town and that was our water supply. Drinking, cooking, washing and bathing. As you might imagine, it needed to be recycled somewhat! The bath water was great on the first night. The second night it was reheated in the copper, liberally doused with the Dettol, the enemy of any self respecting germ. By the third night the bath water would be enough to make your eyes water and other parts sting! A lot. Much clutching at vitals and a few squeals were part of the process, but Dad wasn’t having us “undisinfected”.
Dettol-Classic-Liquid-125ml_2
We were all pretty happy to help build the shed and set up the new 300 gallon water tank. Anything to be rid of the dreadful nights of torturous Dettol burn!
We lived in the caravans for a few months, until Dad and mum built a shed with bedrooms divided up by curtains and wardrobes. We had chickens, a red cattle dog called Lucy and a whole lot of, very happy to see us, flies.
We were on an adventure and had parents who billed each hardship as part of the fun. Mum and Dad’s attitude set all of us up with a resolute approach towards difficulties for life and I thank them for it.
Misfortunes, frustrations and dilemmas were to be tackled head on, determination and more than a little lateral thinking. Tenacity was the example we grew up with and so all four of us knew to be ready to look for a solution. I never have seen; nor ever expect to see, my parents be beaten by a problem or difficulty. What fabulous examples they were.
We all had jobs to do, be it feed chooks, collect eggs, dust and vacuum on Saturday mornings or everyone’s UN- favourite, dig the dunny. Perhaps we won’t venture into the realms of toilet humour. Though there is a tale or two to be told there. Yet another set of memories provoked when remembering, there was the odour. No, not what you’re thinking. I’m talking about Phenyl, there’s no smell like it. Clings to your clothes and body for far too long.
Excuse me while I drift off in a chemical induced swirl of memories. The memory of water has nothing on the headache brought on when just thinking about this stuff. Does anyone else remember this “cleaning” product?
Black-Phenyl-
Ahem, sorry about that reader.
How about you? Do you have memories invoked by smells and scents that send you hurtling back to your childhood just thinking about them? Do some smells just make you sick to the stomach or reach for the tissues? (Tissues for tears, not due to stomach upset!) Although these smells were not pleasant for most part, the memories they bring back are, and so I don’t mind. It gives me a laugh, and that’s a good thing.