International day of tolerance

November 16 is International Day of Tolerance. The concept of tolerance has always had special meaning for me, and so, to acknowledge the importance of tolerance I set up Diversitywriters.net. Diversity Writers Network is a website where I hope to celebrate and promote human as well as biological diversity through story telling. It is a small contribution to the large problems we face in the 21st century and by no means do I expect to change the world, at least not in my lifetime. It is a place where writers who share my enthusiasm for diversity can submit work for publication in a serial online journal. It will be a place where writers can go for research, for networking with other writers, for the pleasure of being in the company of like-minded people.  I believe that by promoting the practice of tolerance to humanity and nature, humanity can begin the process of recovery of this precious planet and the incredible beauty it contains. I believe awareness leads to tolerance, and tolerance leads to preservation. This formula sounds simple, but it’s not. With so many people and so much at stake for nations, communities and individuals there is no easy path to preservation, there will be no utopia. But we have to start somewhere and this is where I choose to start from. Knowledge is the key to the preservation of humanity and its home.

In the future my hope is that Diversity Writers Network will challenge individuals and even communities to extend their hand to a neighbour, be they ant, human or whale. Perhaps this one small act will encourage others to pass it on.

Start changing the world by changing your behaviour and by making informed choices. Write a post on your blog today to acknowledge and celebrate International Day of Tolerance. Let others know you support this United Nations endorsed observance.

If you think you might be interested in contributing to the Diversitywriters.net journal, whether it is a short story, a personal narrative, poetry or profile please email me sharon.egan@diversitywriters.net.

Check out www.un.org for more information on IDT.

Also check out Bloggers Unite.

The door to bibliotopia

Here it is! The door that links the library of bibliotopia to its own private garden. Naturally it has to be prettied up yet. Yesterday I worked for ten hours in the library, painting, puttying and pandering.

Before the door

After the door

Don’t spoil the end

A great vacation, a tasty cake, a good book, the writing of a good book, the big project – whatever the event there comes a time when it must end. As I approach the conclusion of the Bibliotopia project I am left feeling somewhat anxious. I have loved the process of putting together my library and its garden – of what will become my new writing space. Choosing doors, colours, decor and finding the ambiance that I know I need there, has lifted my spirits and given me a fresh sense of purpose that was much needed. Though there is much physical labour to do on my part, the end is in sight and I will be installed in the library within the next three weeks. Which means I will have no excuse but to buckle down and write. Specifically I have to sit down and write the chapters of the novel. But this project, like the novel, has to culminate in order to be able to progress to the next step of life. It is important that I don’t spoil the last days of this project by attending to it as if I was attending a wake. It is the same with writing projects. For the majority of the writing of a piece the writer is able to live in the moment, to craft each word, to address sentences and paragraphs, plots and themes as if they were the only things that mattered, to love the experience of visualising the words, of having them manifest in the mind and transposing them onto the page. But as we approach the end the experience becomes twisted with anxiety. Feelings of disappointment and regret take over where there was once a feeling of unbroken satisfaction. As writers who care about our readers, we must urge ourselves put aside that anticipation and maintain that sense of now. Too many novels drift into a sort of incongruity where the end does not fit the preceding narrative. I suspect this happens either because the author is bored, or because the author knows the book must end and wishes to avoid the burden of ending. My sister once said to me “write as if no one is watching”. I would like to add to write as if there is no end.

The world is an amazing place

Something magical happened today. It was a small thing, but a very significant thing, given my state of mind these last few weeks. In my yard just outside the study from which I write this post, there is a large leopard tree. This leopard tree has been the bane of my gardening existence for two years. Leopard trees, while handsome and shade-giving, drop thousands of seedpods twice a year that cover the drive way, scratch and dent the paint-work of our cars, clog the gutters and garden beds and generally terrify the tiny critters that live in my garden. Many of the seed pods give rise to tiny seedlings, which grow like fungus around my other plants; some had even taken root in the gutter itself. It is a constant chore to clean them up so the front yard is not overrun by what has now been declared a weed in Brisbane. Obviously it would be impossible to collect every seed pod, and we still have to pluck the little seedlings out so they can’t rob important nutrients from the natives. Today as I was in the front garden plucking weeds from the garden bed, my eyes strayed to what I thought was a dying leopard tree seedling. Without hesitation, I plucked the little offender out and was ready to toss it, but something didn’t seem right. On examining it closer I realised that it was discoloured from dying as I had previously assumed, but that it was actually an albino seedling. All at once I was perplexed, excited, and most especially overjoyed to have found this little gem in my garden. Just when I was beginning to question the reality of wonderment, God/the Universe/life shows me the way. I don’t feel bad for plucking the seedling from the garden; it will only die since albino plants contain no chlorophyll, and thus cannot photosynthesise. It is a random and seemingly senseless mistake in nature, but a magical one that I cannot fail to notice.

It’s my job

Sad puppy dog eyes

Don’t be fooled by those eyes. This is the face of a tyrant.

It’s very hard to do much of anything when there is a puppy at my feet with a bucket on his head. It’s driving everyone crazy, most especially him, because the cone that stops him chewing on his stitches also stops him from entering a room in an eloquent and unobtrusive fashion – which is hard for a six month old puppy to do at the best of times. His banging and clashing jars the brain of anyone within earshot and makes it difficult to even contemplate working. And then there is a issue of him tail-gating. He likes to trot behind us, but when he has this bucket on his head all you can feel is the scrap of plastic against the back of your knees as he tries to keep up or get closer. Punishment for making him undergo this humiliation?

In his frustration Ernie has destroyed a chux cloth, his bed, some paper that I left carelessly in reach, several Christmas beetles, one rhinoceros beetle, a couple of pieces of a jigsaw puzzle I was working on, the edges of his bucket, the lattice work on the back veranda and very nearly everyone’s patience. My moments of working at the computer are haphazard and ephemeral. I constantly have to get up and check his whereabouts, check whether what he’s destroying is needed or wanted and check his stitches to make sure he hasn’t burst them in his careless frolicking around the living room. His presence is larger than any character’s presence at the moment, which says more to me about my enthusiasm than it does about this little monster called Ernie.

Every writer must face this obstacle when writing a lengthy piece such as a novel: call it boredom, restlessness or even apathy, when it hits it’s always a surprise. Six months ago you had this great idea for a story. You knew you could fill four hundred pages with gripping storytelling, authentic dialogue and a conclusion that would satisfy everyone. You couldn’t wait to get started and spent every waking moment thinking on it. Now any excuse is good enough to divert your attention: the dog, the dishes, lunch with friends, sleep, that movie everyone is talking about. What happened to that enthusiasm? Were you wrong about this story? If you’ve lost interest half way through then readers surely will too, since it will show in your work. For me, the best antidote to this dilemma is to go back and revisit my intentions for this particular story, the original idea and find what sparked my interest in the first place. Why did I want to write this in the first place? What did I like about the story and why did I have to tell it? Answering these questions requires rereading the first clumsy notes, and even remembering the moment when the spark first appeared. From this I can discern where I went wrong, why the spark has waned. For me it is a very simple case of losing faith in the original concept, which has caused me at times to contemplate abandoning the book all together. Fortunately I am a tenacious being; I won’t give up on something I have believed in so fervently for so long. The diversions will come and go, but the project must be done. It’s my job.