Book Review: Take me to Paradise by @_WritersJourney #AWW2015

Here we go. Review number 2 for the Australian Women Writers Challenge. Today I am tackling Jan Cornall, not only a writer but an institution in this country. She sings, she performs, she teaches, she is a mentor to many an artistic soul. Australian artists salute Jan Cornall, so let’s take a look inside her first published novel.

Take me to Paradise follows the journey of Marilyn, both her physical and emotional Journey. Marilyn wakes up one morning and instead of catching the bus to work, catches the ‘I don’t like Mondays’ flight to Bali. It is a poignant journey of self-discovery and self-recovery. A woman getting out of her element and in doing so she can strips away the trappings of her life and discovers what is truly her and versus what is a construction of her. It has many nods to metaphysical thought but also has that feeling of rebellion of like expressed in feminist movies like Thelma and Louise. I think this book would resonate with anyone who has had an existential crisis, midlife crisis, or went through those awkward teenage years, because all of these times are  a deeply perplexing and painfully personal experience. The novella has a beautifully rich setting, with sights, smells, and sounds blasting at you. You feel as if you are immersed in this world. The tropic jungle descriptions in particular are quite powerful and make you want to travel. Take Me to Paradise shows how different the paradise dream can be: for a western woman, for a Balinese man, for a Balinese wife, and the many characters Marilyn meets.

Dream Builders- the gifts of speculative fiction writers to emerging writers

Fantasy readers have long been familiar with Tolkien’s three gifts of reading Fantasy, eRcovery, Escape and Consolation, but what I have come to discover is that these are not the only gifts of Fantasy. Not only are there three gifts for the readers, but there are also three gifts for the fellow writer. I call these gifts Embracement, Academia, and Dream Building.

Embracement
Many a budding Speculative Fiction writer has endured the slings and arrows of outrageous prejudice because they apparently write just silliness. They write about trivial things like believing in the good in people, how hope shall prevail, these are apparently things that don’t mean anything to anyone… Obviously they should be writing about relevant things like sexually ambiguous, serial killers, who love porn, inject heroine into their eyeballs, are charismatically alluring and yet are still the best darned kindergarten teacher around. That’s what real writers write about, real life. Not minority groups like Hobbits showing that they too are of value, that they too can be great. That’s just babyish nonsense. Brethren (I hope you don’t mind me calling you that), if you think that writing about hope and triumphing over obstacles is something that you’d actually like to do, then boy is Speculative Fiction the community for you. They’ll love you for your dedication to fairy tales, they’ll adore your deliberations over exactly what colour a skink that lives in a Mars like environment would be, they’ll accept that monkeys can talk and fly and wield magic and that’s important. What’s more, it isn’t just your fellow fledging writers who will encourage you, those published demi gods will actually come down from on high and actively encourage you. They’ll even remember you. So if you don’t necessarily want to become a starving artist, unappreciated in your time, living in a mental institution, slowly sipping contraband absinth, these people will accept that. Heck they’ll accept it if you do. That’s what is so great about Speculative Fiction writers. They believe in people and they welcome people.

Academia
Yeah, I know, ironic right? Don’t Speculative Fiction Writers just make it all up? Aren’t they writing Speculative Fiction because they aren’t smart enough or disciplined enough to write about and understand real life? No and No. Sitting down with a Speculative Fiction writer is like have a living encyclopaedia in front of you. If you are lucky enough to hear Ian Irvine speak, he’ll cover a range of topics, from the environment, to the history of Speculative Fiction in Australia, to the reasons behind the collapse of Boarders, and then go onto let you know the best way to escape from family BBQ’s in order to get some writing done. Even John Flanagan, who is notorious for claiming he just makes stuff up, can provide you with an eight page dossier on the discovery and usage of coffee in his world. And quite frankly, what Kate Forsyth doesn’t know about pee isn’t worth knowing. It is staggering the vast array of expertise these people have, you cannot help but be inspired to research and write just from listening to them for half an hour. They’re the human equivalent of art galleries and I love to soak them up and you will too.

Dream Building
This is their final, and I believe greatest gift. Speculative Fiction writers are dream builders, not dream killers. They understand that you have a story and that you would love for people to read it. They don’t treat the dream of being published like a dirty thing. Something that you should never dream of. That you should only write for the sake of writing and forsake all other dreams. I think it is because of the nature of Speculative Fiction, they often write about good triumphing, and that deep down people are good, that they tend to be more accepting of dreams and motivations. They tend to skip the thought that people only wanting to write to get published, they cast aside the notion that there are people out there who deeply despise writing and are only doing it to get rich and or famous. These people say, what’s your dream? Work hard, and go for it. Dreams can come true and if you work for it, yours can too. They are willing to encourage you to be the best you that you can be. They accept you, they embrace you, they encourage you to research and work hard, but they also encourage you to dream. And dreams are what fiction is made of.

Literary Refugees: the Speculative Fiction Haven

Recently I was at a writing course and one of my fellow students told a sad tale of how she loved writing and had chosen to do a Creative Writing degree only to find that her tutors were rejecting her work simply because it was Speculative Fiction and they preferred Literary Fiction. She was seriously losing her confidence and her passion. As a teacher I found this devastating that teachers, tutors, lecturers, professors could have such a negative effect on someone’s hopes and dreams. What was worse, the person who had traumatised this girl was actually an ex collegue of mine. The horror, the horror. I in part felt personally responsible, because it wasn’t just some random person demeaning the genre but someone I had quite enjoyed having cups of tea with. And so I decided that I could not sit idly by. I decided that in personally must take action. With this motivation I decided to start the Literary Refugee group on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/groups/556083947785347/) and I roped my friend Cassandra Page in with me. I had met her at A Touch of Magic by Kate Forsyth at the New South Wales Writers’ Centre. This group is to be a place where you can proudly declare that you want to write about wizards and or aliens. You can say you don’t just appreciate fairy tales but you love them, you can say magic happens, you can say the future is the best setting. Heck you can say and do whatever you like and I hope you find solace with like-minded people. Speculative Fiction writers, you are loved, you are adored, I am you. You have a home! I hope you join me.

So, here’s my pitch. Have you suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous literary bigotry? Have you, like Terry Pratchett discovered that stories of imagination tend to upset those without one? Are you fleeing literary persecution from dusty old academics (some in young bodies) who think Speculative Fiction is best left in a cupboard, locked up and unexplored? Then take refuge here, a place that appreciates and upholds Tolkien’s three gifts of escapism, consolation and recovery. Where you can proudly declare that you want to write about a magical talking horse, or a skink like alien that lives in a sulphur rich environment and be supported, encouraged and celebrated. As Tina Fey says, I don’t care if you don’t like me, I’ll start my own group, isolation is what created the X-Men… or something like that. It is time to get your Speculative Fiction on! Join Literary Refugees at https://www.facebook.com/groups/556083947785347/

For those wondering what course was I at, it was History, Mystery and Magic, run by Kate Forsyth at the Australian Writers’ Centre. She’s an unbelievable teacher as well as having published over 25 books. I personally recommend her courses to anyone.

Chloe Prime: Alien Space Vet

Chapter One: The Night Before the Day After

BANG!

Chloe Prime poked her head out above her blankets and eyed her wardrobe suspiciously. Had it just made a noise? She watched and waited for a few minutes. Nothing. Perhaps it had all just been in her imagination. A flight of fancy? She nestled back under her covers.

BANG!

Chloe quickly pulled her covers down again and glared at her wardrobe. Honestly, this was just getting ridiculous. She had to get a goodnight sleep for her first day at her new school tomorrow. This just would not do.

BANG!

Chloe vaulted out of bed and stood in front of her wardrobe in a fighting stance. Her hair reared out from her head in crazy curls, ready for action. Her legs were encased in a metallic exoskeleton, which made her look every bit like a miniature cyborg, with medusa hair, at the ready. If there was a monster in that wardrobe she was going to have at it.

‘I came here for a bedtime story and to kick butt,’ ten year old Chloe challenged her empty cupboard, ‘and I already finished my story.’

Whoosh!

Kent Prime came running into his daughter’s room closely followed by her mother. Chloe turned to see her father staring at her in shock.

‘Monsters, Dad,’ Chloe quickly informed her father. ‘In the cupboard. I’ve got them pinned.’

Kent Prime attempted to move further into Chloe’s room.

‘Get back!’ Chloe yelled. ‘It’s too dangerous! Save Mum.’

Chloe’s father laughed and closed the gap between them, scooping up his daughter.

‘There are no monsters here Little Miss Lady.’

‘Are you nervous about school tomorrow?’ Chloe’s mother asked.

‘What?’ Chloe snorted in surprise. ‘I’m excited about school. I just happen to have a rather serious monster problem to deal with.’

‘I’ll deal with any monsters,’ Chloe’s father said. ‘You just go to bed. Besides you know that they’re more scared of you than you are of them.’

‘But Dad, what if there are ghosts, or fairies… or I heard that sometimes little time travelling pirates come breaking down your…’ Chloe began.

‘No buts, no brownies, no bandits! You need your rest if you’re going to be on the school shuttle on time tomorrow morning,’ Kent Prime tutted his daughter. ‘Besides you know all our wardrobes are double coated with Kevlarized Graphene. Nothing is getting through.’

‘But what about bears? You know… sort of hiding in the cupboard rather than coming through it?’ Chloe was grasping at straws by this stage. She knew she would never win this argument, and she was getting quite tired anyway. Her mother kissed her goodnight.

‘Don’t you worry about any bears, Sweetie,’ Mum said, as she walked out of the room. ‘I’m sure you can just talk your way out of trouble without fighting.’

Chloe shrugged doubtfully but cuddled up to her teddy Sinbad and began dozing off with images of swashbuckling bears, whispering to fairy ghosts, in her head.

TAP TAP TAP

At this point Chloe leapt out of her bed and flung her cupboard open.

SQUEAK!

‘You! What are you doing in there? You know you’re not supposed to come inside.’

Squeak squeak squeak?

‘Oh alright. I’ll see if I can sneak into the kitchen and find you something but then you really must go outside.’

Squeak.

‘Yes, I know mice don’t really love cheese.’

Squeak squeak?

‘No you can’t come. Mum will freak if she sees a mouse in the kitchen.’

This is me

They say a picture tells a thousand words, so here I am. This is me.

Giovanic dreams

This is where I’ll be going in my sleep tonight. http://chloeprimealienspacevet.com/about-planet-giovanus/