Digging around in some of the backwoods of my computer’s hard drive, I came across a writing CV last opened and modified on 31st October, 1999. I was a little surprised at the date on this file. You see, back in 1999, I had no writing credits. I was yet to be published anywhere and in any form.

I opened the file, wondering how exactly I thought I could put a CV together with no credits and little experience.

It turned out to be more like a bio than a CV—a list of qualities and irrelevant experiences pointing out all reasons why I am such a good writer, while side stepping the rather obvious fact that I wasn’t listing any publications. I was embarrassed to read that I was listing all the competitions and publications I was submitting to!

It’s interesting to look back at something you’ve written almost ten years ago, absorbing all the rough edges and sad desperation. I don’t even know what I was using the CV for, nor who had the misfortune of receiving it. If I were to receive such a document now, with the benefit of these advancing years, would I bother reading on?

It’s good to know though that, regardless of my determination to embarrass myself, I was able to get on with writing as a profession and successfully publish short stories. If there’s anything to take away from this strange little tale it’s that you do find your way and the credits do eventually start flowing in.

Just don’t list the publications you’re submitting to. It’s not a good look.

This is the redraft. I think the differences speak for themselves. Probably.

When your self-esteem is shattered by harsh reality, can stories save you?

Here Today is a contemporary novel that follows a young occupational therapist’s locum stint in a Brisbane hospital. Astrid is rootless and restless in her life — unable to commit, unable to settle.

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So here’s the synopsis written for my first novel, the older version that feels a little laboured and floppy. I think I wrote this under pressure of a deadline and it shows. It smells of desperation. Please, please, please make this novel about something, damnit!

When your self-esteem is shattered by harsh reality, can stories save you?

Astrid Reinhart is set to coast through this two-week hospital job, all she has to do is turn up every morning and smile sweetly, but the ward that awaits both entices and terrifies her. Martin Finn, a successful novelist whose stroke has left him with the rare locked-in syndrome, wants Astrid to help him write his next story - one letter at a time. Leith McAuley, Astrid’s fuck-off-flatmate, through a volley of four-lettered philosophy, encourages Astrid to abandon her professional veneer and immerse herself in the worlds of her patients. Astrid remains unconvinced until a stray bite misses her lunch and takes off the end of her tongue. Unable to communicate beyond painful, barely decipherable utterances, Astrid has no choice but to listen.

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Well, there it is. The synopsis is now out ‘in the wild’, as they say. It seems strange to put out so much information about a novel that exists only as a manuscript on someone’s desk (not mine).

I wanted to put it up on the web site though, partly to prove to myself that I actually complete it, but also to show how the synopsis will change over time. I recently dusted off the synopsis of my first novel, which is itself making a few rounds of prospective tree killers. It astounded me how ordinary and clunky the synopsis now sounded to my ears. I promptly hacked it to pieces and came up with something snappier. I’ll post up examples of those in coming days too.

The synopsis is a difficult piece of writing. How do you summarise 60,000 words of your blood and sweat into a few pithy paragraphs that prompt the reader to want more? Which bits of the story do you emphasise over others? Do you attempt to tie it all together and hint at the conclusion or do you leave the reader hanging? Will that piss them off?

The one essential requirement for writing a good synopsis is the one thing that the author has absolutely none of: perspective. Given time and some distance from the manuscript, it is possible for the author to approximate perspective and use such approximation to good effect. But I suspect that the publisher’s requirement of an author-penned synopsis is one final joke from the industry. You’re stupid enough to write a novel? Now summarise it!

Liberty Star Jones was a shoo-in to take out the grand finale of the MusiClash, the television talent quest that pitches itself as the only show that matters. With a truckload of talent and the singular viciousness of her uber-stage-Mum, Bunny behind the scenes, Liberty was set to coast her way into this Christmas’s number one single. America beckoned.

How did it all go so wrong?

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So the iPhone was released today and another contender for the ultimate digital reading device enters the Australian market.

What? No one said anything about the iPhone as a digital reading device (or eBook reader if you want to get cute).

Actually, in places where the iPhone has already been available for up to twelve months, a lot of speculation has come out of the kind of people who speculate about such things.

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Following on from the previous post, a new development.

With some amazement I write again to announce that the University, in its wisdom, having let LiNQ almost expire, has now decided that it [should] try to resuscitate the journal. So there will be at least one more issue

My previous rant still stands, by the way, but at least the life support system is still hanging on for that bit longer.

I’ll watch the next few months with some interest.

This message arrived in my inbox the other day.

With deep regret I’m writing to say there will be no 2008 issue of LiNQ. The general editor has unable to gain funding, and the University has not provided staff support or other assistance. We are therefore unable to produce any further issues of the journal.

With LiNQ now confined to memory, Queensland has lost yet another literary publication and short story publisher. It’s telling that, although potential submitters for the 2008 edition have been advised of the closure, the web site remains static.

I should mention at this point that I’ve had it up to here with “the death of the novel”. Novels are doing just fine, last time I looked. You want to see the death of a literary form? Check out the short story. No one’s bemoaning its death — it’s been on life support so long most people have forgotten about it. And the power to the life support system is gradually draining away.

Does it have to be this way? Of course not!

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After a few mad last-minute tweaks, the new novel is now dispatched for competition. I would have liked to get an appraisal (and the associated editorial raking over hot coals) before doing this, but you never know when you might fluke a win.

This brings me to the point of this post. Competitions are strange beasts. As I writer I often find myself busting my arse to complete a work for the deadline only to watch the piece (and the entry fee) sail off into the sunset never to be heard from again.

For me, competitions are purely a shot in the dark on the off chance that you might have written a freaking masterpiece without realising it.

While I’ve had my successes (and I’m in no way complaining about them), I don’t consider myself a “lucky” writer. I’ve been shortlisted, runner-upped, and notably mentioned, but nothing I’ve ever written has actually taken out an award. When I submit a manuscript for competition, the most I ever hope to achieve is making it past the first round.

So why bother?

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A work night tonight. My task now is to cut my previous draft into pieces and reassemble, filling in the blanks that emerge as I go.

The blanks can get pretty big.

The piece I’m working on right now concerns itself with a tabloid television story and one of those famous combative interviews. It’s not an easy thing to pull off in a believable way. You may scoff, but I’ve actually turned to clips of Corey Delaney (thankyou Crikey!) to get a feel for how an interview can really head South (although I can’t employ that schoolmarmish interviewer technique).

It’s the kind of thing that seems like a good idea when you throw it down in notes, but bloody hard to get the final language perfectly nuanced. Words like nuanced, for example, are complete anathema, as would be anathema.

I’m not huge on throwing newly minted text up here, the urge to immediately rip it back from the blog is too great, but I’ll think about throwing this part up, at least to get an idea of the anatomy of a scene like this: switching between a narrative of two people watching TV and the stuff that is actually airing.

I don’t like to make things easy for myself, obviously.