Katherine Graham's Blog, page 4

When the going gets tough

My husband and I, both self-employed, started this year knowing that we needed a miracle. He had lost one of his biggest clients at the end of 2017 and it was uncertain how he was going to make up the shortfall in income.

January came and we wondered how we would survive. February, March, April. Still there was not enough to replace the gaping hole left by the lost client. Sitting down to prepare our monthly budget became an exercise I dreaded. Where was the money going to come from? When you’ve got kids, a mortgage and grocery bill that keeps expanding (either because of rising food prices or having to buy more things, I’m not sure which), it’s difficult to trim your budget. We analysed our spending to see if there was anything we could eliminate and where we could cut back, we did.

We also looked at ways to boost our income. Were there new projects we could do to bring in more bacon? We started applying for jobs, while my husband tendered for more work. My boys developed an interest in how much things cost and I wondered how our situation was affecting them. I was grateful that whenever we went shopping, they didn’t push to get something they wanted. They simply accepted it when I said no.

It was unfortunate that the timing of our financial trial coincided with the arrival of Hope, our foster daughter. She came to us at the end of February and we are so enjoying the unique quality she adds to our family. There have been times, though, where I’ve lost it when she’s thrown food on the floor (because how can she think of wasting chicken when it’s cost us so much to give it to her?) But thankfully, we now have a foster-care grant for Hope (a small miracle) and I’ve reminded myself that all babies will at some stage throw their food on the floor – they’re not being ungrateful. It’s perfectly normal, age-appropriate behaviour.

And I’m mindful of the fact that there has been light along the way. Family members have been supportive and kind to us, friends have blessed us with money for dates and spoils. A friend helped me start a creative writing group for homeschooled children, which I am loving. It has been one of the highlights of my year so far. She thought she’d get her kids and their friends interested in creative writing (and I’m hoping it has), but what it’s done for me is to get me planning a series of middle-grade fiction books that combine sci-fi and fantasy. Plus I have an ideal focus group to test my ideas out on. They know kids’ literature far better than I do and are full of great suggestions and insights. I’ve already told them I might steal one or two of their ideas!

The other comfort is that my husband and I still love each other; we’re still working through this trial together. We’re still trusting God for breakthrough. I was encouraged chatting to someone at a baby shower recently who told me that just as the rains suddenly arrived in Cape Town and Day Zero was averted, our “suddenly” would come too. I’m still looking forward to that day.

But as I wait, I’m learning to be thankful. I’ve realised there are so many people around us who are going through trials of their own. Someone in church who’s lost his wife of 30 years. Someone whose husband was hurt in a freak accident. Someone who has just been diagnosed with cancer. These are all severe trials, much greater than my own. Perhaps the humility that I’m learning in this valley is making more sensitive to the needs of others and less likely to judge them in the future. And that’s something to be thankful for, too.

Motherhood or Dying to Self

I also think of giving birth to a child as a kind of death. I know that sounds melodramatic. I am prone to melodrama. But in my case certainly it’s been true. Each time I give birth, a part of me dies. The selfish part, probably. The part that doesn’t want to give up sleep and luxurious mornings in bed and the liberty to do anything I want at any time of the day. It is a painful, difficult process, this business of raising a tiny infant.

But there is an upside to death. It clarifies what you want out of life. Amazingly, after the birth of my second son, I was aware what my life purpose was. To write. Which, as a financial journalist, I had been doing up to that point, but it was always writing about what other people wanted me to write about, which is not quite the same. How best to invest. Tips for filing your tax return. Struggling with debt. And how many articles about saving for your retirement have I written? Too many. It was time to take action. It was time to write the stories I wanted to write.

So I did. I wrote about Alfonso the Tooth Mouse, the curious little brown mouse who comes in the night to exchange milk teeth with money, a story inspired by the notes my dad used to leave me when I was a child. I wrote about farting, seeing as I was surrounded by a family of farters. I wrote about a white pony in Lesotho who has magical powers which her owner Neo discovers one moonlit night. And from there, I just carried on and couldn’t stop.

It’s been five years since I started this creative writing journey. At first, it was a bit of a gamble, a question of “What if…?” I’ve been longlisted for two awards, which has given me some confidence that there is merit to my work. One of my books, The Lemon Tree, has been published by Penguin Random Struik. The rest I’ve chosen to self-publish. It hasn’t been an easy journey, especially when I get questions like “Are you still writing books?” which seem to have a sub-text of, “When will you get a real job?” But I love it. And I’m realising more and more that dreams are there for pursuing and that we regret more the things we don’t do in life than the things we do.

In February our family welcomed a new addition to our home: little Hope, the most contented and patient of my babes. She has fitted into our family in such a seamless way and the best part was that I missed all the hairy moments of having a tiny, helpless newborn baby who needs to be fed at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes I mourn the first seven months that we didn’t get to spend with her when she was at the baby home, but mostly I am thankful. And even though she’s in a beautiful routine, she is still another little life that I need to sacrifice for.

So here’s to dying to self. Here’s to motherhood and getting up in the night to feed your child. Here’s to pumpkin spat out on your clean top and changing pooey nappies. Here’s to the hundreds of ways we die to self every day so that our family may thrive and grow. And here’s to those little nudges that God gives, the clues to our destiny and identity, and the still, small voice that leads us, saying: “This is the way; walk in it.”

The Story Behind A Passionate Vision

A young Irma in her studio

“It always seems impossible until it’s done.” This quote by Nelson Mandela circled around in my head as I put the finishing touches to my children’s biography of Irma Stern. Stern, born over 100 years ago, was one of South Africa’s most famous artists and her unique Expressionist style has captured the imagination of the art-loving public, with her paintings today fetching millions.

This project, like many projects, started with an idea. Susan Keegan, director of The Vine School in Cape Town, wanted to expand the curriculum of Ambleside Schools in Southern Africa. There were many European and North American artists for children to study, but none from Africa. Because my two boys attend the Vine, it didn’t take long for Susan to join the dots. “I don’t have the time,” she told me one day, “but perhaps you do?” And so the small seed took root and I began to do research into the life of Stern.

Fortunately, there is tons of reading material on her life, but the book that influenced me most was Irma Stern: The Early Years by Karel Schoeman, published in 1994. Schoeman’s knowledge of German helped me get inside Irma’s head and heart as a teenager, gaining access to her thoughts. She was a prolific journal and letter writer, which is how we know so much about her inner life now.

Flowers and Fruit, 1937

Studying her life, I was struck by the difficulty she faced in embracing her artistic personality, with its characteristic ups and downs. She felt things so intensely, which helped her create as an artist, but in her love life, it did not guide her in choosing the right mate. She was an incredibly lonely and unfulfilled person. Only in her art did she find the deep satisfaction her soul yearned for.

The other lesson I gained through researching her life was her dogged determination. She knew she was an artist and she pursued this calling, despite the unfavourable reviews her first South African exhibitions in the 1920s garnered. “The cult of the ugly” was how one reviewer judged her art. But although she sold almost nothing for the first ten years of her career, she persevered and by the time she died in 1966, she had experienced a taste of the success that she worked so hard to achieve.

What lingers most when I think of Irma Stern’s art are the vivid colours she used, her passion and her uncanny ability to see beyond the surface details and to glimpse “the true soul of things”, as her friend Richard Feldman said. I love the wall of portraits in the Irma Stern Museum in Rosebank where a host of faces stares down at you and you see naked souls revealed.

Susan Keegan and I at the book launch

I’m fortunate to have had a great team who made this dream become a reality: Susan Keegan from the Vine School, Roz van Reenen, whose graphic design skill made the cover “pop”, Comfort Adeola from Salty Print who never complained about making changes, Laddy McKechnie of the National Library of SA, Mary van Blommestein and Christopher Peter from the UCT Irma Stern Museum and my editor and mentor, Elaine Ridge. Without you, this book would not have been possible. And my friend Juliet Lawrence, who saw the green cover I had proposed and said, “Yuck! No kid will ever look at that. Go with orange instead.”

The book, A Passionate Vision: The Story of Irma Stern, was published in December 2017 by Ambleside Publishers and is available as an ebook and a paperback on Amazon. Copies of the book can also be bought for R150 from the Irma Stern Museum in Rosebank, Cape Town.

Lipstick Luxuries

An online survey representing a cross-sectional sample of SA society (i.e. my Facebook friends) revealed that wine, sushi, chocolate and coffee are their favourite ‘affordable luxury’ spoils. Francois Engelbrecht maintains that his cappuccino on the way to work keeps him sane. Ursula Mmushi says when she wants a small splurge, she gets her hair done, while Sisanda Dlakavu admits that perfume is her one weakness. ‘I like to smell nice,’ she says.

Clearly the so-called ‘lipstick indicator’, a phrase coined by Leonard Lauder, ex-chairman of Estee Lauder, is not only a theory, but an economic reality. ‘When an economy enters troubled waters, this does not spell bad news for all categories,’ says Audre Biciunaite of Euromonitor International. ‘Affordable luxury, for example, tends to perform well in a recessionary environment.’

Lipstick sales did brilliantly in the 1999/2000 worldwide recession and then dropped when economies later recovered. When the next recession hit in 2008, it wasn’t lipstick that performed well, though – it was nail varnish, although the same phenomenon was at work. As Lauder himself told TIME magazine, ‘We have long observed the concept of small luxuries, things that can get you through hard times… The biggest surge in movie attendance came during the 1930s during the Depression.’

SA economy in the doldrums

Given the current depressed conditions, consumers are more aware of what they’re spending their money on. ‘Everything from new car sales figures to the financial results of major retailers like Woolworths and Pick n Pay have all reported declines,’ states Robert Grace, head of strategy at M&C Saatchi Abel.

The average shopper’s frugality can be seen in the rise in house-brand product sales, with a recent Nielsen report showing that no-name brands now account for R10 out of every R50 spent at supermarket tills. Given that SA is ranked by Bloomberg as the second most stressed country in the world behind Nigeria, it’s understandable that consumers need a pick-me-up. ‘Brands that provide that instant feel-good factor or deliver an escape from the reality of crime and politics are doing well – and consumers are prepared to pay for the benefit,’ says Grace.

Colour me beautiful

A new dress or pair of shoes may not be on the cards for cash-strapped female consumers, but beauty products are. ‘Sales in cosmetics and accessories have been fairly flat over the past two years,’ says Sally Rothman, director of the GfK Consumer Panel. ‘However, the lipstick market is reaching more South Africans and showing continued growth.’

This is backed up by other beauty experts. ‘In South Africa, the prestige makeup category is showing retail growth of 10%, making it an attractive category,’ says Loren Dryer, general manager at Estee Lauder.

According to M.A.C., lipstick sales are booming. ‘Lips are definitely in, with current trends including gloss, ombre, nude, glitter, stained, matte and metallic,’ says M.A.C. senior artist Raine Tauber.

DIY, men’s grooming and beer

But it’s not only women who like to spoil themselves when times are grim – men do, too. ‘While the rest of the home-improvement market has seen a decrease in units sold, sealants and adhesives have continuously seen growth over the past couple of years,’ asserts Rothman. ‘There are probably multiple reasons behind this, but you can’t look past the fact that a bucket of paint costs around R310, with adhesives and sealants only costing R70 and R40 respectively.’

What else are men splurging on? Beer, it seems – especially good beer. ‘Premium beer is doing really well, even though mainstream beer isn’t,’ says an account director at a market research firm. ‘This is because people who used to have a repertoire spread across expensive categories, such as whisky and beer, are scaling down to beer as a cheaper option, but then premiumise within beer to give them the reward that they’re seeking.’ In other words, you may not be able to afford Johnnie Walker Black, but a Heineken or craft beer will do just as well, while still giving you something to brag about to your mates.

As far as male grooming goes, sales here are also trending up. ‘We have a wide range of male customers with varying needs, from a full “face beat” to a touch of concealer or neatened brows,’ says Tauber. ‘The biggest trends we’re seeing at the moment are skincare and beard care, with men favouring brow and essential oil products.’

Whatever your spoil of choice, there’s no denying the veracity of the lipstick indicator, as my Facebook survey revealed. One friend confided, ‘Even though my husband isn’t earning as much as he used to, we still eat butter. I can’t bring myself to buy margarine!’ Enough said.

This article originally appeared in the December 2017 issue of khuluma, kulula.com’s in-flight magazine.

Who’s a good dog, then?

When my friend Jane told me about Chris Brookin, whom she called ‘the human dog’, I was intrigued. An animal behaviourist with an alternative take on pooch training, Chris doesn’t believe in trying to teach an old dog new tricks – at least not in any conventional manner.

‘Don’t you mean the canine human?’ I asked.

‘No, I mean the human dog,’ she insisted. ‘He gives advice to people like, “Pee on the irrigation pipes so that your dog doesn’t chew them,”’ she said. ‘And he hunts rhino poachers for fun. The guy is crazy.’

Elize was milder in her appraisal, although my curiosity was growing by the minute. ‘When he came to our house, he said, “Throw this dog food away. It’s rubbish!”’ But when I asked her if Chris had helped her, she said he most definitely had. ‘Our dogs kept running out the gate and we live in a busy road. Chris came and threw an object that made a loud noise every time the dogs ran out and they stopped doing it straight away.’

So I attended one of Chris’s dog training sessions to see for myself and heard more tales of his unusual training methods. ‘I was a bit offended when he called my dog a rat,’ said Carol Green, owner of Bella Trix, a cross Labrador-Retriever. ‘But I didn’t like the soft hippy approach I’d seen at another training school. It was too treat-based. Everything your dog did right, you had to give him a treat. Chris is more alpha male. You as the owner are most important, not the dog.’

Chris Brookin with Bear and Mini

Chris called the motley group of dog owners and walkers in the park to attention. ‘Right, now we are going to teach our dogs to stay,’ he instructed. ‘When mommy wild dog needs to go hunting, she teaches her pups to stay behind in the den. If they move, she growls at them to go back. That’s what we’re going to do now.’

By leaving their dogs behind under a tree, the owners were able to step forward a few paces – 10m, 20m or even 30m away. Some dogs, like the Border Collie Dexter, waited obediently for their humans’ return. Others needed some cajoling. Chris had to intervene to help an exuberant young Labrador remain behind when his person walked away. Some dogs get attached, I guess.

There is universal praise among Chris’s followers of how his classes have helped them. ‘Every time I left the house, Fergus would set the alarm off,’ said Sphokazi Bangiso. ‘I asked Chris for advice and the problem disappeared almost straight away.’

Georgie’s human, Seamus Wishart, likes coming to the Wednesday morning classes because of the opportunity for social interaction – Georgie’s, that is. ‘Georgie is a bit anxious, so being around other dogs is good for him,’ Seamus said. ‘It teaches him to socialise well.’

Anne Stewart and the bank dogs, Bailey and Bentley

All the people I spoke to are happy their dogs can now be taken anywhere – to the park, restaurants, the beach – without creating havoc. Anne Stewart has a reputation among the group because of her beautifully behaved ‘bank’ dogs, Bailey and Bentley. ‘Once my bank card was swallowed by the ATM, so I had to go inside the shopping centre, even though dogs are not strictly allowed,’ she explained. ‘They lay down and stayed put for a whole hour while I sorted the problem out.’

After the training, I chatted to Chris, who somehow seemed less intimidating up close. ‘Some people may not like my firm approach, but it works,’ he said. ‘I have a five-year waiting period for adult dogs to join my classes.’

The problem Chris has with positive reinforcement is that it rewards the wrong kind of behaviour. ‘Fluffy jumps up when guests arrive, so what do you do? You give Fluffy a treat to stop her from doing it again.’ This, according to him, is all wrong.

‘What you need to be doing is setting healthy boundaries for your dog. They need to listen to you and do what you say. I think a lot of the time owners become too clingy to their animals and they’re not able to learn correct behaviour.’

I guessed there might be some military training in Chris’s background from the way he swaggers around the field issuing commands – it turns out I’m right. ‘I’m originally from Manchester (that explains the accent) although I spent a long time in Durban ’n all,’ he joked. ‘I did a two-year stint in the SA Navy and graduated top of my class from the dog unit, so even though I’d always dreamt of becoming a game ranger, I turned to training dogs instead.’

Sphokazi Bangiso and Fergus

When I asked him how his approach differs from other dog behaviourists, he chuckled. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ He took a stick and threw it to his own dogs. They pounced on it, desperate to chew it. ‘You see, that stick meant nothing to them before I touched it,’ he said. ‘Now that I’ve touched it, they both want it.’

I was about to leave when I spotted Mini, the rescue dog, urinating on my bag. Oh great! ‘Never leave your bag on the ground,’ Chris chided me. ‘If a dog sees your bag, there are three things he’ll do to it: sleep on it, eat it or pee on it. When he pees, he’s just marking his territory.’

I made a mental note and gingerly picked my bag up. One last question before Ieaving: ‘If you could be any animal, what would you be?’

Chris took a long time before answering. ‘My girlfriend’s dog,’ he said with a wry smile.

Chris Brookin holds dog training classes every Wednesday and Saturday from 9am till 11.15am in Cumberland Avenue, Constantia. If you need help with your pooch, call him on 021 761 5236 or 082 664 5383.

This article originally appeared in the khuluma magazine in September 2017.

What Feeds Your Soul?

Two weeks ago I was desperately trying to bash out an article. I was determined to finish it in time for the deadline that Friday. I hammered away at it – really pushing, straining, even though my focus had long gone. The words swam all over the screen and eventually, with a sigh, I had to admit defeat. It wasn’t going to come that day. Humbly, I asked the editor for an extension and he gave it to me.

I let the article rest over the weekend – catching up with family and friends, reading, relaxing – and then when Monday came, the article came effortlessly. It was like a flower opening in spring. I was so grateful that I hadn’t forced myself to finish on Friday, but rather allowed it to flourish in its own time. (The article, coincidentally, was about adding playfulness to office spaces for the khuluma magazine – watch out for it in the the December issue.)

There are many other instances where I feel that rest and nourishing your soul enable you to work better. As a writer, I’m reminded of the need to keep my own soul healthy so that I can give more freely when I write. It’s a bit like compost – it breaks down and releases nutrients into the soil that helps plants to grow and thrive. If I’m not taking care of myself (physically, spiritually and mentally), then whatever I produce is going to lack vitality.

So what is it that feeds your soul? For me, it’s reading well-crafted books, connecting heart-to-heart with those who matter to me most and spending time in God’s creation. (A good movie and baking sessions also invigorate me.) Utter bliss is waking up late with nothing on the agenda – just a free day to do whatever takes my fancy.

I think there’s a reason that God gave us a sabbath day to rest. He did it so we could reconnect with him after a busy week, but he also did it for us, to allow us to recondition our souls and soak up some relaxation before the week rolls round again. It’s important to take a break for our own sanity and those around us – and our work will be all the better if we do.

How about you – what feeds your soul? Gardening, photography, surfing? I’d love for you to leave a comment below.

Adopting Hope

I feel daunted even writing this post. What do I know about adopting? What do I know about trans-racial adoption? Not a whole lot. Not yet, anyway. And yet that is the path that we have decided on as a family, a path which will not be the easiest to navigate, a path that will have lots of hurdles to overcome.

Sure, just having another biological child would have been an easier route. That was our first choice. After our second-born son, we waited a while for the dust to settle. Our boys are only two years apart and it took me years to adjust to the busyness of having two active little tykes in our home. Then, at the age of 38, we felt the time was right to give it another go. We were keen for our third, preferably a girl.

But after two years of trying to conceive, my husband and I both realised, for me somewhat painfully, that we had missed the window of fertility that was open in our early 30s. Now, both aged 40, having a natural child wouldn’t be so easy. Fertility treatment? IVF? We spoke about it, but both of us felt it wasn’t for us. It seemed like an expensive gamble and we didn’t think that it was the right choice for us.

Awaiting our bundle of joy

Adoption seemed like the next logical step, although I’m not sure if “logical” is the correct word. It was more of an emotional decision, a step of faith. We knew God wanted us to have a third and adoption is part of his plan, after all. Did he not demonstrate his love for us for adopting us into his spiritual family? “Adoption is my Plan A for your family,” he said, “not my Plan B.” I began to glimpse the beauty of adoption, but from afar.

In my heart, I still yearned for a daughter who looked like me, a little girl with golden hair. In South Africa, adopting a white child is not really a realistic prospect. It took me many months to let go of the little girl I was holding onto inside and embrace the beautiful African princess who was waiting for me.

And even now, after attending a two-day training course through the adoption agency and an Arise workshop and after many conversations with adoptive families, I still don’t feel prepared. I still wonder if we really will be able to do it. Can we give her unconditional love? Yes. A secure home? Yes. Friends, a church and a school of many different culture groups? Yes. Her own culture, her mother tongue, her sense of identity in the world? That’s the hard part. That, and knowing that your tummy mummy has given you up for adoption, a vague sense of disconnect, a search for true belonging.

Photo credit: Nina Claasen

At least I’m going into this with my eyes open, I suppose. The Arise workshop (a fantastic organisation, by the way) on “Being a Conspicuous Adoptive Family” was enlightening. As parents, we have the dual role of shielding our children from the harsh glare of the world (where race does matter, even though to us it may not) and preparing them to face it on their own one day when they become adults.

In the workshop, clips were shown from a Pact Adoption Alliance video in which pre-teen and teenage adoptees were asked what it felt like to be black or bi-racial and have white parents. Their responses varied. Some seemed quite comfortable in their skin, but others voiced concern about straddling two worlds – the worlds of black and white – and not feeling comfortable in either.

Knowing that my daughter, whom we’ve named Hope, is going to have to face all these questions of identity and race is hard. She will be subject to the scrutiny of the outside world in a way her older brothers were not, just by virtue of the colour of her skin. That doesn’t seem fair. I wish we could live in a safe bubble where these things didn’t matter, where you wouldn’t have to wonder how you’re going to answer the guy in the shopping queue who asks you, “Is that your real daughter?” or “Are you going to keep her?” But the reality, I suppose, is that will have to navigate these bumps in the road, these uncomfortable questions, so that Hope can embark on her quest to find her true identity in life, her place in the world.

Among the young people interviewed in the video was a 12-year-old boy named Caleb. What he said encouraged me: “When you grow up, it still might be hard, but you know that there are other people in the world that share the same experience … It’s good and bad, you know. You have bad thoughts, you get mad sometimes, but there are good thoughts like, ‘I could have a life that isn’t as good as this one.’”

Dearest Hope, wherever you are, we are waiting for you and longing for you. We can’t wait to meet you. No matter what the world says or thinks, you will be ours and we will be yours. We love you. xxx

Dealing with disappointment

Sorry – you didn’t make it. Your story wasn’t chosen. It wasn’t even one of the top contenders. Sure, it had merit, it was well written (according to the judges), but it lacked that certain spark that separated it from the others. In fact, it only made it through to the second round of voting, round four being the finalists.

News like this can crush you. Especially if you’re a writer, sensitive to criticism. The temptation is just to dissolve in a puddle of tears and throw in the towel. Find something safer to do, like peeling onions or washing dishes. Something that you know you can’t fail at.

Chris Hay, flickr.com

Writing is different from other professions (accounting, for instance) in that you put so much of yourself into your work. When rejection comes – as it so often does – it stings like crazy. It does make you want to give up. You think of all the other jobs you could be doing – safer, better paid – and try to remind yourself why you’re writing in the first place.

If you’re fortunate, you can fall back on those around you who love you and find a trustworthy shoulder to cry on. And maybe take some time out to gain some much-needed perspective. Is there something you could be doing differently that would result in a better outcome the next time you try? Absorbing criticism and working on your faults is hard, painful even, but necessary if you’re to improve at your craft.

This past month has been one setback after the other. Quite honestly, I feel punch drunk. One thing it has taught me is to examine my motives. Why am I really doing what I’m doing? I thought of Bach, my favourite composer, who did not hunger after fame or riches, but wrote at the top of every sheet of music, “Soli Deo Gloria”. Something my husband said to me rang true, too: “Sometimes God allows us to hit rock bottom to make us realise that He’s the rock at the bottom.”

Once you’ve found the strength to go on, you pick up your writing rucksack and get back to work, a little heavy-footed at first until you gradually improve your pace. And then it comes – confirmation through affirmation, those rays of encouragement that brighten your soul. A letter from a reader saying how much she and her daughter enjoyed your book. A letter from a project coordinator saying how much she likes the way your children’s biography is shaping up. Words like that are like wind to my sails. And then I’m really soaring again, ready to tackle anything.

I suppose what’s comforting to know is that everyone has to deal with disappointment, even those people who look they have everything together. Everyone has to overcome the secret storms of life, those storms that outsiders may be aware of. The one consolation is that when you emerge from the dark clouds and the tumultuous sea, you usually find the air is clearer, brighter – and the will to persevere stronger than ever. Martin Luther King Jr put it so well when he said, “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

Dealing with Disappointment

Sorry – you didn’t make it. Your story wasn’t chosen. It wasn’t even one of the top contenders. Sure, it had merit, it was well written (according to the judges), but it lacked that certain spark that separated it from the others. In fact, it only made it through to the second round of voting, round four being the finalists.

News like this can crush you. Especially if you’re a writer, sensitive to criticism. The temptation is just to dissolve in a puddle of tears and throw in the towel. Find something safer to do, like peeling onions or washing dishes. Something that you know you can’t fail at.

Writing is different from other professions (accounting, for instance) in that you put so much of yourself into your work. When rejection comes – as it so often does – it stings like crazy. It does make you want to give up. You think of all the other jobs you could be doing – safer, better paid – and try to remind yourself why you’re writing in the first place.

If you’re fortunate, you can fall back on those around you who love you and find a trustworthy shoulder to cry on. And maybe take some time out to gain some much-needed perspective. Is there something you could be doing differently that would result in a better outcome the next time you try? Absorbing criticism and working on your faults is hard, painful even, but necessary if you’re to improve at your craft.

This past month has been one setback after the other. Quite honestly, I feel punch drunk. One thing it has taught me is to examine my motives. Why am I really doing what I’m doing? I thought of Bach, my favourite composer, who did not hunger after fame or riches, but wrote at the top of every sheet of music, “Soli Deo Gloria”. Something my husband said to me rang true, too: “Sometimes God allows us to hit rock bottom to make us realise that He’s the rock at the bottom.”

Once you’ve found the strength to go on, you pick up your writing rucksack and get back to work, a little heavy-footed at first until you gradually improve your pace. And then it comes – confirmation through affirmation, those rays of encouragement that brighten your soul. A letter from a reader saying how much she and her daughter enjoyed your book. A letter from a project coordinator saying how much she likes the way your children’s biography is shaping up. Words like that are like wind to my sails. And then I’m really soaring again, ready to tackle anything.

I suppose what’s comforting to know is that everyone has to deal with disappointment, even those people who look they have everything together. Everyone has to overcome the secret storms of life, those storms that outsiders may be aware of. The one consolation is that when you emerge from the dark clouds and the tumultuous sea, you usually find the air is clearer, brighter – and the will to persevere stronger than ever. Martin Luther King Jr put it so well when he said, “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

When inspiration strikes

We’ve all had it. That “aha!” moment when an idea hits you in the face, dazzling you with white light. And you write it down and you stuff it in a mental compartment and you think, “Now that would make a good story.” And how many of us just leave it there, throbbing away in its locked box, a story waiting to be told?

I’ve had lots of moments of inspiration and it is wonderful. The thrill of it, the excitement, the possibilities. But I also know only too well the truth of what Thomas Edison said, “Success is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration.” Labouring for that story, mixing your creative juice with the initial idea and striving to complete it, that’s the real test of whether you have what it takes to bring inspiration to life.

This was certainly the case with my latest book, Lifeline for Lee. In January 2016 I was on Fish Hoek Beach, enjoying a day out with my family. School was about to begin and my husband and I thought we’d go for one last trip to the beach (Fish Hoek is perfect for kids because of the proximity of three of their favourite things – the sea, a great play area and ICE-CREAM!)

While we were sitting gazing at the surf, I happened to notice a lifeguard. She was tall, blonde-haired, bronzed and beautiful. And I don’t know why, but just looking at her in her red bathing costume perched at the top of her watch tower, I thought, That would make a great story. A teenage girl who’s a life guard. I gathered up the courage to go and talk to her (her name was Jennifer) and discovered that she went to Fish Hoek High. Aha! I thought. More ideas were swirling around inside me, like atoms stimulated under pressure. I thought of all the friends my fictional lifeguard had – surfers, lifeguards, besties at school – and suddenly the story began to take shape in my mind, although it was still fragile, still somewhat nebulous.

I’m a great planner (I get it from my mom, I guess), so when my husband and I went away for our anniversary in April that year, I began to plot and scheme. What would the lifeguard’s name be? I decided on Lee, a strong, short name. Also it worked well with my title, Lifeline for Lee. What would the story arc look like? What would be the inciting event that turned Lee’s life upside down?

And so it began – the story started to sprout arms and legs. And just when I thought I’d thrown enough at Lee to sink her – a boy who drowns on her watch, her life falling apart, her studies suffering – my husband suggested a climax which staggered me, a culmination of all the anguish Lee’s experiencing. It seemed cruel to make your protagonist go through so much and yet, at the same time, it seemed fitting.

So I accepted his suggestion and worked out my character sketches and chapter briefs. Then I interviewed Jennifer, visited the township Masiphumelele, Fish Hoek High School and some other local hang-outs like Cape To Cuba (pictured left) and sat down to begin the long, arduous marathon of writing every day until the story was done. Even though it was a slog, I loved every minute of it. I loved immersing myself in Lee’s story. There is an incredible adrenaline rush you get from doing the thing you enjoy the most. As the character of Eric Liddell said in Chariots of Fire, “When I run, I feel the pleasure of God.” It’s the same with me and writing.

So now the cover has been designed, the formatting done and book has been published. You’d think that was the end of it, right? Oh no. There’s still the job of marketing it, connecting the book with the right audience who will pass on the word to others. I’m toying with the idea of a hard copy too, for those who prefer to turn physical pages rather than Kindle ones. People have already started to ask about the sequel.

So, if I’m honest with myself, I’d say the process of delivering books never really ends. It’s like housework – you finish doing the laundry, but then you still need to hang it up. What I do know, though, is how exhilirating it is seeing the fruit of your labour as a finished product – and remembering that little spark of inspiration that started it all.