Lani Wendt Young's Blog, page 4

You're Invited!

Quick Newsflash - I'm giving a webinar presentation tonite as a guest of the intl womens organization, Gr8 Women. I've been invited to speak about my writing and publishing journey, my tips on how to 'Unleash the Creative Fire Within' and find the courage to follow our dreams. It's free. It starts at 6pm (Australia Brisbane Time), 9pm (NZ), 10pm (Samoa) and sorry, but I dont know what time that is in America. Or Siberia. Or Hong Kong.

If you're like me - clueless - and you dont know what a webinar is, dont worry. I only learned two nights ago myself. Basically, its a meeting online where one person talks and presents a slideshow of pictures from their computer and everybody else at the meeting listens in and sees the pictures on THEIR computers. Kinda like a jam session online. Or gossip session....ahem ahem...

All you need is internet connection, a computer. If you dont want to listen to your kids screaming in the background, you can also use earphones etc.  Click on this link and it will let you register free and then it will tell you what to do.

https://www4.gotomeeting.com/register/853537919

Im excited about the possibilities of webinars. Im thinking if i can master it, then i can do presentations to classes of students all over the world who are interested in Telesa and Pacific stories in general....Or offer online sessions for other Pacific writers on HOW to publish an ebook. Stuff like that...the mind boggles!

Let's Talk About Sex

Little Daughter is not so little anymore. She's ten years old and wanted to know, "When is puberty going to happen to me?...Why does it have to happen?...Do I have to use tampons cos they look nasty..." And other such curious questions.

I answered her the bestest way I could. Because I'm all about openness and honesty and good communication with my children.

And then she asked the million dollar question. The one that has most of us scrambling through the litany of crap fanciful stories/explanations we've ever heard. Like, storks that fly in your window with babies, cabbages that sprout chubby infants, fairies that sprinkle baby-making dust, and invisible baby delivery trucks that leave them on your doorstep or under a coconut tree. THAT question.

"So how do you make a baby anyway?"

This is not the first time that Little Daughter has asked me where babies come from. No. The first time she asked me how did a baby get into my big fat stomach - I told her "God put it there." (And then when the baby came out and she wanted to know, 'why is your stomach still fat?' - I told her, the baby forgot to take all her luggage with her when she moved out.) And that answer was enough for her.

Not anymore. Now she wanted to know what did getting a monthly period have to do with babies? And the specifics of baby-making and baby-growing.

I was not fussed. Or bothered. I've done this twice already you know. Talked to Big Son and Big Daughter about sex and babies and condoms and everything in between. So yeah, I was cool with this conversation.  I told Little Daughter about sperm and eggs. And (very vaguely), I told her how they get together and start growing a baby. And how it was a beautiful and blessed thing.

She still looked puzzled. "But if a man has sperm and a woman has eggs - how does the sperm get to the egg then?"

Little Daughter wanted specifics. So I gave them to her. A bit more detailed and specific than simply, "Sex is a beautiful, sacred thing. A gift from God." Just like the parenting textbooks tell me, I used correct terminology. Words like 'penis', 'vagina', 'uterus' blah blah blah.

What happened next?

Little Daughter burst into tears. Exclaimed in utter horror. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."

I tried to fix it. Talked about joy and happiness and tenderness and closeness and love and all that blah blah blah - but she wasnt convinced. Sex is still disgusting. Horrifying. And it didnt seem to help when I told her, "Its not horrible. That's how we helped to make you and you're a wonderful child and we love you so much."

Look of disgust. "Ewwwwwww, that's even worse. You and Dad do that?" More tears.

I think my daughter has been traumatized for life. I really screwed up this sex-talk.

What have I learned from this?
1. Every child is different. What works for one won't necessarily work for the other.
2. I should have just told Little Daughter that babies are made with sprinkles of fairy dust. Cabbages. And storks.

The Bone Bearer: A Piece.

A piece of the third book in the Telesa Trilogy: The Bone Bearer.  Coming in 2013.

When I turned twelve years old, my mother took me to the edge of the ocean cliffs and told me the story of the shark and the turtle. How long ago, a woman and her child were driven from their village and threw themselves into the sea, to what they thought would be their deaths. Instead, they were turned into a shark and a turtle and found refuge among the creatures of the deep. I remember it was a brilliant blue and gold day, with the salt wind leaving its trace on my skin. It was high tide and the white surf on the distant reef looked like the lace on her Sunday hat. I listened to her tell me the story but I was impatient for her to be done so we could get on with the business of birthdays. I was hoping for a netball. And a proper hoop. So I could stop practicing with a curve of steel wire coiled around the tree outside our house and that dried up coconut for a ball.  So I could take a step closer to my dream of becoming a famous international netball player, relentless and fearless both on the court and off. Yes, I was hoping for good things on this most important of birthdays...Instead, my mother told me the story of the shark and the turtle. Then she knelt in the dirt on the edge of the windy cliffside and held my face in her hands.“You are like them. You are a shark. A turtle. An eel. A stingray. You are one of the ancient ones. I have seen it.” She kissed me. Smiled with sad eyes. “You are twelve years old. It is time for a girl to start the journey to being a woman. It is time for you to embrace your true nature.”And then my mother threw me off the cliff into the dark water below. The third book in the series continues Leila and Daniel's story to its epic conclusion. But it also introduces one or two new characters, explores the world and gifts of the Telesa in more depth, and takes us on a journey to several other Pacific places and cultures. I'm having a blast writing this one!

The Hermit Leaves the Cave to go on Television

We all know I'm a social recluse. With rather pitiful social skills. Which are sorely tested whenever I have to leave my cave and do stuff like an interview on the TVNZ Good Morning Show. So how did it all come about?

Blogging is a miraculous thing. And social networks can be far-reaching and super connecting things. A while back, a lovely woman called Nadine read my book 'Pacific Tsunami-Galu Afi.' She wrote a Goodreads review about it that brought tears to my eyes. I messaged her and thanked her profusely. We each noted the other was a blogger. We connected with each other's blogs. (Check out her insightful and funny 5InABus here.) She read about my Telesa Trilogy books on here. Unbeknownst to me, she used to work as a producer at TVNZ. She wrote to her friends there and told them about my books. She may even have given them the link to this blog. TVNZ got in touch with me about the possiblity of having me on their Good Morning Show around the anniversary of the 2009 tsunami. I sent them copies of my books to check out. They said, 'cool, lets do it.'

TVNZ sent me a list of 15 questions they "might" ask me. I didnt want to sound like the nervous nitwit that I am so I spent hours and hours composing possible answers to those and every other possible question they could ask me. (and then Mr Ron Cheeseman only asked me five of the fifteen questions and I was so nervous I couldn't shut up anyway...GET THIS WOMAN A MUZZLE!)

In the days before I  asked them 'umm..what do you think would be alright to wear?'  A super-cool TVNZ woman with a sense of humor replied, 'Just dont wear a gold spandex onesie and you'll be fine.'  I emailed back, 'Dammit, and I was getting extra glitter stuck on my bodysuit specially for the show.' It was comforting to know TVNZ people knew how to be funny and sarcastic.

So I got my hair done at the hairdresser ( which explains why I TOTALLY dont look like me at all in the video), put on my precious new MENA puletasi that I was saving to wear during the Australia book tour ( and now my five Australian readers have probably seen it and they will feel extra sorry for me that Im so poor i have to wear the same clothes everywhere I go.) And I drove myself to the city. An hour early in case I got lost. ( because we all know the statistical probability of THAT happening...)

At the TVNZ studio I got to sit in "The Green Room" where guests wait - but which is not colored green at all.  They had snacks and lovely comfortable sofas. (But sadly, no Diet Coke or donuts.) I met a nice young man ( who looked alot like Liam Hemsworth by the way...I exagerate you not)He was waiting there for his girlfriend who was one of the models doing the fashion segment.
He said, "Wow, you look great."
I said, "Ugh, I cant wait to take all my clothes off."
He looked surprised. I said, "I mean, I cant wait to get comfortable and relaxed."
He looked alarmed. I said, "I mean, its very nice of you to say so, but Im not used to wearing real clothes and this outfit is killing me." I cant recollect exactly, but I may then have babbled stuff along the lines of..."I'm sorry for sounding like an idiot, but its because I  have lots of children and never go anywhere and I'm nervous as heck about being on the show and did you know you look like Liam Hemsworth?!"
He exited the building very shortly after. Heaving a great sigh of relief to escape me, no doubt.

 Then a nice lady took me to get my makeup done. A semi-evil makeup woman got irritated with me when I made a yuck face at the hot pink blush she wanted to put on me. And she said the f-bomb when I freaked out about wearing mascara. It's safe to say that the makeup woman at TVNZ dislikes me intensely.

I met some more very nice people from the show who do fashion, cooking and crafts. Then I did my interview with Ron Cheeseman. Talking about the tsunami stories rips me up inside, even three years later and I nearly got lost in the emotions and cried. I was glad when the interview was over. All eight minutes of it.

The relief to be done with it was so huge that I felt like hugging everyone in sight. (which is an unusual feeling for me because Im allergic to body contact and hate hugging people.)

Back in the Green-Room-thats-not-Green, I bumped into actor Rena Owen and almost fell on the ground in awe. She was gracious and friendly and was nice enough to tell me that "I saw you on the Tagata Pasifika show and I really want to read your Telesa book." Of course I gave her my copy immediately, trying not to fall on the ground in awe that Rena Owen was actually going to hold a copy of my book in her hands and take it home with her. ( Hopefully not to throw it in the rubbish.)

And then my visit to TVNZ was over. I was feeling pretty exultant after that. I had done it. I had left the cave, spoken on television, met Rena Owen, and apart from freaking out the boy who looked like Liam Hemsworth - I hadnt made a complete fool of myself, yay! My exultation lasted the entire 45 minutes that it took me to sit in the carpark and try and map my way back to the motorway. I got a little bit lost but nothing too bad.

So there you have it, to all you other hermits out there? Take heart, it's possible to break out of the cave once in a while, interact with other humans and then still safely make it back unscathed.

A Night of Illicit Abandon - Walking on the Wild Side

A fit of fizzy flightiness overwhelmed me this weekend.  I was consumed by this insane desire to be like those people who bungy jump, sky dive and buy clothes that are NOT on sale. I felt like living dangerously and walking on the wild side.  Where did this strange feeling come from? Maybe it was because the week had been crazy busy - I Telesa chatted with  a Pacific Lit class at Auckland University on Monday, took kids to the dentist on Tuesday, wrote furiously on Wednesday, did an interview for the TVNZ Good Morning Show on Thursday, and gave a talk at a church women's conference on Friday. (Or maybe it was because I ingested way too much caffeine via Diet Coke overdosing to assist me with all my speech writing and interview-prepping...)

Either way, I said to the Hot Man, 'ooh, lets be spontaneous and exciting!' He looked wary. 'And do what?'

I said, let's run away from the children and live it up all night! Dancing on tables ( or around poles), jumping off the Sky Tower, ordering not one but TWO desserts....all crossed my mind.  I  found a super fabulous overnight special for a lovely hotel in the city situated in the midst of restaurants, night clubs and assorted wild times venues so that we could do exactly that - 'live it up all night'  (The mind boggles at all the possibilities in that phrase alone..live it up all night...)   I was ready to live dangerously.

But the sad fact is that a woman with five children can never really live dangerously without excruciating planning. And massive atonement for the overload of guilt one feels when one abandons said children. Soooooo before I ran away, I had to :
1. organize baby sitting
2. purchase extra groceries in case there was a famine while we were gone
3. Check that torches and radios had batteries, candles had matches, smoke alarms were working, all windows and doors had functioning locks, and every child remembered the emergency number and tsunami escape route   - in case there was a natural disaster, fire or influx of housebreakers while we were gone.
4. Remind Big Son and Big Daughter about paracetemol, asthma medications, treatment for spider bites, choking, accidental ingestion of too many cookies.
5. Rent DVDs and XBox games galore from the store so they wouldnt cry/be left bereft/sink into the depths of despair upon my departure.

I had a faint moment of panic when I remembered that we havent actually made a will yet and what if we both got killed in a motorway crash on the way to the hotel? Or what if the hotel got taken siege by terrorists and we were blown to bits because Bruce Willis couldnt save us? It was too late to get a will done by then so I had to let those dire thoughts go. Bad mother, bad mother - irresponsible enough to have so many children and NOT get a will done.

And finally, before we could run away for a night of illicit abandon, I insisted we take the children on an all-day fun outing. One that involved a trip to the local marine world and hours at the beach. Sand, sun, water, and fish'n'chips.Fun, fun, fun. Only then could I indulge in my fit of fizzy flightiness, chucking clothes in a bag and run away.

It was 5pm before we finally left. The hotel was lovely. We enjoyed being childless. (cue fireworks and glitter cannons here) We had a delicious dinner at a lovely restaurant. We finished eating. And then the Hot Man said, with forced joviality,  Right where shall we go dancing first?

Then the sad truth hit me. I was really really really tired from hanging out with those children all day and being kind and loving and patient and joyful for such a long time. I was kinda sunburnt from the beach. My feet hurt from walking around the marine place. I didnt want to go bungee jumping off the Sky Tower. Or dancing on tables or around poles. I couldnt even order two desserts because I was still full from fishnchips from Mission Bay. I didnt want to squeeze myself into my 'dancing on table and around poles' attire, I just wanted to veg out and space out in ginormously comfortable pyjamas. And did I mention that I  was tired?

But mostest of all? I missed my children. And my house. And my own bed. And my own shower. And my own living room. And my own fridge.

I said, shamefaced. 'Actually, I want to go home. I miss the kids.'

And the Hot Man said, shamefaced. 'Yeah, me too.'

Conclusion?  We must be really old.  Or just really boring.

I am resolved - next time I am possessed by a fizzy fit of flightiness, I wont exhaust myself first by taking the children out on an all-day excursion of happiness. No. I will be heartless, cold and cruel, just walk out that door and slam it so loud that I will drown out the YOU CRAPPY LOSER MOTHER! sirens blaring in my head . And then nobody will be able to hold me back from the dance tables and I will order not one, not two, but THREE desserts, because I know how to live dangerously, dammit !  We used to know how to be exciting and fun people, honestly!
(Is that edge of desperation in my voice convincing you yet?!)

How Many Books have You Sold?

It's coming up on a year since I started this publishing journey and I figured it was time to take stock. I have been immensely grateful for many other authors who have generously shared their publishing experiences online, including their sales numbers and tips about what worked for them...and what didn't. Without their transparency, I would not have had the courage to leap into this journey myself. Without the benefit of their shared wisdom, I would have made way more mistakes than I have! Valuable resources for anyone considering self-publishing, I am indebted and inspired by the experiences of:
JKonrath
Amanda Hocking
Catherine Ryan Howard
Kristen Lamb
Liz Reinhardt
Jillian Dodd
And more.

When authors have shared their sales numbers, it has been motivating because it showed me that yes, it IS possible to take a book that agents and publishers said NO to, and earn money from it. One of my favorite thoughts from Konrath, goes along the lines of - "Any writer who can put food on the table from their writing - is a success. Regardless whether that meal is steak and champagne OR macaroni and cheese..." (or in our case, rice and tuna)

A recent survey showed that the overwhelming majority of self-published authors, earn less than $500 a year from their books and only a few earn a full-time income from their writing.  Self-publishing is not for the faint hearted. Or the lazy. Or those in search of a quick buck. It requires creativity in one's approach to promotion and marketing and relies heavily on teamwork. I have been blessed to have the support of many other professionals in their fields, ranging from photography to writing/blogging to sports to fashion and blessed with the support of fantastic readers. With everyone's help, the Telesa Trilogy has been able to find readers worldwide.

Am I selling zillions of books and living on Easy Street? No. But I'm happy to be living my dream-job, writing full-time. And that meal of rice and tuna, bought with money from a book that thirty lit agents said no to? Believe me, it tastes a lot like steak and champagne!

Joining the ranks of other authors who step up and share their numbers, here's mine. For everyone and anyone who contributed to these stats by supporting the Telesa Trilogy books - thank you. Faafetai lava.

Books Sold Since October 2011

Electronic Books Online
1. Telesa:The Covenant Keeper                                           - 3,885
2. When Water Burns  (released Jun 2012)                          - 2,160
3. Afakasi Woman (released Mar 2012)                               -    406

Print Books                                                                            - 5434

Total Books Given away Free               37,071                           
Electronic books   - 36,851
Print books            -      220

                                                          Total Books Sold:      11, 885

Writing Upate - Daniel's Talking to Us...

 Random writing update - I'm excited. Because after almost two months of no writing - the flow is back. The characters are coming alive again, the other world I live in is waking up and stories are taking shape. I'm working on three different projects right now.
1. Book three in the Telesa Trilogy, The Bone Bearer which is a huge, epic kinda tale with all sorts of threads running through it. That one is not going to be ready for awhile because its the blow-out book where I'm having a blast not holding back. I feel like I get a bit more braver with every book, put a bit more of what I'm really thinking in each one, so this next one is going to be a book that you either HATE or LOVE. And I'm not going to worry too much either way, but just let it out.

2. My adult contemporary romance - a 'chick-lit' story set in Samoa...I love to read semi-twisted, funny, sarcastic, comic romance and so Im buzzed to write one with a Pacific feel to it. And this one aint for kids...

3. Daniel's Story. I don't have a title for this one yet. Initially, it was just going to be a novella where we 'see' key scenes from the first book through Daniel's eyes and get to hear his voice. But, as usual, Daniel has hijacked the plan and the book is more of his life story, including his early years, as well as his telling of books one and two. Big Son is making fun of my efforts to get inside Daniel's 'voice' and telling me that no REAL boy talks like that. I had to remind him that, hello, Daniel is NOT real and that's the reason why readers are so crazy about him... So yeah, this book is for diehard Daniel fans...and Big Son is not one of them! This book will release soon. As in, hopefully, this year. I would like to serialize its release as an e-book so you dont have to wait too long for it.
 "Daniel": Photography by Jordan Kwan, Model Ezra Taylor. On location in Samoa
 Because I'm excited to be getting my writing groove back, I'm sharing a piece of the Daniel book here...
                                                   Daniel's Story: a piece
I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Every night it's the same thing. I wake up some time after midnight. Restless. Gotta get out of the house. I try working out on the old weights at the back of the workshop. The one my grandfather made for me. Work out for an hour. Hoping to tire myself out so I can go back to sleep. No luck. Get in the truck and go for a drive. And every time, I end up here. At the pool at the back of Faatoia village. The one where the boys would all head to after school back in the day while I went to work at the steel fabrication shop. It never used to bug me. Seeing as how the water was never my thing. There's some things I keep to myself. Like the fact that for most of my life, I've had a problem with the ocean, with rivers... I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a phobia. But yeah, me and the water? We don’t connect.

So if water is not my thing – then why am I here again? Its two in the morning and I'm walking through the bush, slapping at mosquitoes, grateful for the full moon  so I don’t trip over and end up face first in the dirt. I can hear the waterfall before I get there. It gives me that uneasy feeling. I don’t like it. But I still want it. Ah, what the hell, let’s get this over with.  The sooner I get wet, the sooner I can go home and go to sleep.

That’s how it was supposed to work anyway. That’s how it played out every other night I end up here. But tonight is different. Because tonight I break out of the tangled trees and stop short. Because there’s someone else here.

 It’s a girl. She’s standing  in the black water with her back to me. She’s tall, with long thick hair to her waist. But that’s not enough to hide the fact that she’s not wearing much. A black bikini thing. Which is a little unusual for Samoa.  I’m caught off guard, so I just stand there for a minute and stare. She looks oddly familiar but I don’t know why.   I’m sure I don’t know any girls who go swimming in the middle of the night.  And while I stare at her, she raises her hands up to the sky and throws her head back. Moonlight ripples on bare, wet skin.  Lines, curves, drenched in liquid silver.The night suddenly gets very hot for me, very fast. Like a rush of music that hits you with emotion. A raw, ragged Eminem song...

You must be a sorceress, cause you just did the impossible, gained my trust...You take my breath away, you're a supernova...I'm spacebound.

Right away, I feel like a creepy stalker. And that makes me mad. This is my 2am hangout. What’s this girl doing here?

I move closer. “What are you doing here?”  I didn’t mean it to sound as harsh as it did.

The girl is startled. She jumps, slips and falls. Goes under. Splashes wildly.  The water isn’t very deep so I wait for her to get back up. She doesn’t. She keeps flailing all over the place. I feel bad now. She’s probably freaked out big-time. I am a creepy stalker. And now she’s going to drown in a foot of water because of me.

I go quick to the pool, grab her arm.  It makes things worse. She pushes at my hand. Yells. “Get off me! I said get off. I know kung fu – I mean karate. And I have a weapon. I do. Get away!”

What the hell? She blindly hits out at me and falls over again. Goes under. She’s like a drowning puppy now. Wildly kicking and hitting out at everything and nothing. Now I’m getting worried.  Maybe she can’t swim. Maybe she’s scared of the water. Which makes no sense then that she would be out here all by herself. Half-naked. I’m trying to ignore the part of my brain that just said that.  Do something Daniel.

I reach down and grab her firm enough that she can’t shake me loose. Her skin is hot to the touch. Hot enough that I almost let her go. That's weird. I ignore the burn and drag her over to the side of the pool. Put her down on the ground. She turns over immediately, trying to get all that hair out of her face, wiping at her eyes, coughing and spluttering.  I look at her and in that moment, I realize, hey, I know you!  It’s Leila. Very wet. Very flustered. And very half-naked.  Stop saying that. Stop noticing that.

In that moment I’m happy it’s her and not some total stranger, which would be really awkward. Get honest.  Okay, I’m just glad because it’s her. She’s here. Right now. With me. I don’t know how or why, but here she is.  And I haven’t drowned her. So yeah, I’m happy. I'm not sure why though, because the girl has been nothing but a mega-bitch to me from day one. Still, I laugh.

“So which is it? Karate or kung-fu? Either way, I’m reeeally scared.”

She glares up at me. Angry face. Angry eyes. The usual Leila. But the impact is kinda reduced because of her outfit. Or lack of it.  Dammit, it’s not even a real swimsuit. She’d been swimming in her underwear and that stuff aint made for getting wet. I try not to let my eyes linger on how the material is clinging to her . But it's hard. In more ways than one.  Quick, think of something else. Say something. Do something. Humor. I seize on it with relief - before she can accuse me of being a psycho stalker who can’t take his eyes off her chest, blatantly outlined in thin, wet cotton.

 I look down at her hostile self and shake my head,

“And so this weapon of yours? Just where exactly  would you be concealing that?”

But as usual with this girl, my joke misfires. Instead of laughing with me, she scrambles to her feet, grabbing at a towel that lies near by. Once tightly wrapped in it, she hits me with a rush of rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Creeping around in the dark, sneaking up on people like that and then scaring them? And how dare you put your hands on me.” She searches wildly for words. “You – you- you horrible creep!”

It cuts to hear her accuse me of what I’d kinda been thinking of. Guilt makes me snap. Again. “Excuse me? Oh I get it, we’re going for a three count – racist, sexist and now I’m potential rapist. Is there nothing you won’t accuse me of?”

Have you had a chance to share a quick book review of the Telesa Trilogy on Amazon? I'm promising that when your Amazon reviews for Telesa:The Covenant Keeper reach 200 reviews, I will release one, two, three chapters of the Daniel book. Cos I love the love that you all have shown for the Telesa books. You make this writing journey a joy to be on, THANK YOU!

Why Writers Need a Cave

Where books are getting written & too many Doritos are getting consumed.The other day a massive truck delivered a (rather hideous) orange and green box to my yard. My very own, brand new, writing office. A portable rental unit. "Surprise!" said the Hot Man. I can neither confirm nor deny whether I jumped up and down, screamed, did a celebratory dance of excitement on the front lawn with lots of uncool, unrehearsed moves. But the day got even better. We then went to Warehouse, made the most of their office equipment sale and returned with my very own, brand new desk, shelving, filing cabinets and other assorted super-cool writer gear. I then spent the next few hours setting up my office with the enthusiastic assistance of the Fab5.  Bella kept bringing me stuff she thought would add to the writing ambience...a broken necklace to hang on my shelf, her teddy bear, a Dora coloring book 'for when you get bored', a bag of half-eaten chips 'for when you get hungry'... She also kept making emphatic suggestions, "Dada, you need to get a fountain that sticks in the wall and Mama can turn it on and Diet Coke comes out!" ( This child knows me well.) And, "Dada, where is the toilet? Make Mama a toilet so she dont have to walk up the stairs inside the house to go pee. Cos the toilet is so far away she might have a accident." (Umm, thank you for that helpful thought...I'm sure I can make it to the bathroom just fine...) Indeed the child's helpfulness was generally driving me nuts and I was just begging for her to please GO AWAY and leave me in my nice new office by MYSELF! This new (ugly orange box) cave marks a very significant milestone in my writing journey. I am now a bona fide, full-time, professional writer. Writing is not a hobby. Or a guilty pleasure. It is a real job that helps earn money to support my family. I am no longer stealing minutes and hours here and there from housework, childcare and scoping out random pics of SBW. I am not sleepless, writing words in a sleeping house on the quiet side of midnight because now - I go inside my office at 9am and finish work at 5pm. And then I shut the office door and leave my writing behind. The evenings and the weekends now belong with the Fab5 and the Hot Man.
In the past twelve months, I have published three books, gone to book launches in three different countries, signed hundreds of books for awesome readers at fabulous book signing events, been a guest speaker at conferences, workshops, schools and libraries all over the place, stumbled through lots of media interviews, and generally felt like a madwoman trying not to fall off a treadmill that's going at Usain Bolt speed. It's been a breathless, frantic twelve months with many highs - most of them because of YOU the fabulous readers and enthusiastic supporters.  But it has also been a breathless, frantic twelve months with many lows. Because my marriage and my children have borne the brunt of most of the crazy schedule that I keep. And they have paid the price for most of the exhausting days and sleepless nights. The Hot Man and I came very, very close to calling it quits on this wild ride called marriage. Some things had to change. My writing cave is more than just a box with beautiful office furniture. It represents a move in my life towards better balance, organization and structure. It makes a clear separation between work and family. It was the bestest surprise present the Hot Man could have given me because, as he asked for more time and attention to be given to family - he at the same time - said, Your writing, your work is important to me, to us. I believe in your dreams and I support them.  I love my work. Writing is my passion. And I have so many stories waiting to be written, so many characters that are waiting to find their place in a book. And now, I can live in my writing world for eight hours, five days a week. Write the next book in the Telesa Trilogy. And know that my family are okay with it.  Now, if I could just get one of those automatic Child-Freeze ray zap guns so Bella would stop knocking on the door every five minutes....   

You Must KILL Her.

A long time ago, my great-aunt used to shake her shaky fist and tell me, "You must KILL her. You must fight and work hard and next time you must KILL her. She is nothing. She is from a family of pigs. She must not beat you again." Why? Because I had placed second in class instead of first, and some other girl had gotten better marks than me in school examinations.  My great-aunt wasnt the only one driving us kids on the road to perfection. If we came first in three subjects at school, our parents wanted to know why we didn't top the other two as well? If we didnt win at sports then our family never came back to watch us again. And we all knew that activities like music, painting, art, and etc were not REAL subjects at school...they were not suitable academic pursuits on the road to becoming doctors, lawyers, Nobel-Prize winning scientists or shockingly intelligent Professors. No, music and drawing and dancing  and even sports were for those other people who weren't smart enough to be doctors, lawyers, Nobel Prize winning scientists and so forth.

It was rather tiring to be perfectionists and academic over-achievers all the time...

I resolved long ago to do things a little differently with my Fab5. I decided I was going be that ever-supportive and encouraging parent who would be happy with you even if you weren't the bestest, most brightest lightbulb on the planet. I wasn't going to only emphasize acadamics. I would let my kids know that art and music and dancing and hell yeah, even sports were worthy of their time and effort.

So how am I doing? I cheer them on at every game - even when they're complete losers. I tell them 'the most important thing is having fun! Trying new activities...making new friends...and just trying your best!' (Said with the most cheerful of voices and the most smiley of faces.) Back in the day, I would drive Big Son to every soccer game and baseball practise - just so I could watch him be a spare. And clap loudly when he missed the ball. Time and time again. I encourage these children to always try new sports, new activities...and then I profess my love for them even when they are absolutely dreadful artists, dancers, readers, mathematicians, or  geographers. Its not easy to find that balance though. Because I still want them to be motivated and have goals and direction and not waste their potential and talents...I mean its all very well to LOVE them but heck, I want them to get educated and get  good jobs - and support their parents like any other self-respecting Samoan child...

Sometimes I slip up and regress to my Perfectionist Parent Persona. Like the time that Big Son DIDN'T get top marks for English. "What in hell were you doing all year?! What do you mean you dont know? Whatever gave you the idea that SECOND in English was an acceptable achievement for MY son?! Hello?! I'm an English teacher and a writer of books in English. I spend thousands on books for you kids to read. I read Keats and Wordsworth to you when you were in the uterus, dammnit! I would put earphones on my gigantic stomach so you could listen to Mozart and grow genius brain cells in there... If you're not kicking butt at school then you're obviously not trying hard enough and I will not have an English language loser for a son damnit!" Yes, Big Son's father had to step in and remind me that we are NOT psycho perfectionist parents.

Which is why I am so befuddled by my Big Daughter. Who is absolutely bereft. Because ( drum roll please, dramatic pause) "I'M FAILING JUGGLING IN P.E"

Huh? Excuse me? Yes, you heard me right. The fourteen year old is having an emotional breakdown because she is not excelling at the juggling unit in her Physical Education class at school. I said, nicely - "It's alright. As long as you're trying, as long as you're having fun, thats what matters!" (Said with the most cheerful of faces and the most smiley of faces.)

She snarled. "No, its not alright. I want to be the best at EVERYTHING I do. I don't want to fail at anything.I've been practising and practising and Im still not mastering it."

I said, still nicely. "We can't excel at everything. What we can do is treasure every experience and learn from it."

She disagreed. "No, what matters is to be the best. All the time. I want to have a perfect report card. My friend Elizabeth is going to get better grades then me."

I gave up being nice and cheerful. I gave it to her straight. "Listen here, nobody gives a stuff about juggling. Are you planning on joining a circus when you grow up? Is that your life goal? Hell no. It better not be. We're not working our butts off so you can study juggling. We didn't move here to New Zealand so you could spend hours practising throwing balls in the air, you hear me? Is juggling going to get you a scholarship to university? Is it going to make you a better doctor or lawyer? Are you going to win a Nobel Prize with bloody useless JUGGLING?! Stop wasting your time on such stupid things." And then I got carried away "Go study the subjects that matter. And study really hard so you can KILL that girl Elizabeth, you hear me?!"

My Great-Aunt would be proud.

What Makes Good Romance?

What makes good romance? We all have different answers because what counts as 'romantic' is different for different people. I write YA fantasy romance and that can be fun. Especially when it comes to figuring out what will set spines tingling. Hearts racing. Spark a smile on even the most unwilling of faces. I'm no expert, but here's some things I've found to be true about romance...reflecting on some of the most romantic things that I've seen in my long (non) illustrious life?

* Romance = Spontaneity. The unexpected. Flowers help too. I was a high school senior walking down the road in Washington D.C with a friend when we noticed a car following us. Driven by a strange boy. A cute strange boy. A smiling cute strange boy. Hoping he wasnt a killer scoping out potential victims, we hurried back to school. He caught us there, hopped out of the car, told me I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen and gave me a dozen red roses. *Cue mass swooning, giggling, fluttering hearts from all my school friends.* I never saw that boy again. Never got his name either. Maybe he drove around all day giving roses to random chicks all over D.C. Who knows? Either way, Im really old now and remembering that still makes me smile.

* Romance = Thoughtfulness. Poetry. Music.  When I was fourteen, a boy would write me notes. Written inside intricately folded origama ninja stars. Many times, they contained poetry or song lyrics. I loved those and saved them for years afterwards. (Even though that boy went on to be the very first to ever break my heart.)  And can I just say that in a world of instant messaging and texting - a boy who can take the time to WRITE a note on a piece of paper? Like Daniel does in the first book? A rare treasure. Grab that boy and tie him up. (ok, did that sound a little Fifty Shades to you? or was that just me....)

* Romance = Originality and creativity. Picnics. And blindfolds.  Dating in Varsity years usually consisted of lots of dancing in sweaty, crowded nightclubs. Which is why it was extra memorable when a young man went to all the trouble of preparing a packed picnic lunch AND blindfolding me while he took me to the picnic destination in the middle of nature reserve park. Reason for the blindfold there and back? (No, nothing Fifty Shades about it...I KNOW that's what you were thinking!)  Because, "this way, it will always be a special place that you can only find again, with me. Because it will always live in your memory as a special place that we shared together." No, I didnt marry that boy. He never asked me. But I've never stopped wondering - where in heck IS that nature reserve park anyway?!

*Romance = Food. Sorry, but this is me. And MY list. So of course, food plays a central role in everything. The boy who baked me a chocolate cake gets an honorable mention. As does the bestest dinner menu on a date. Ice cream dates. Dessert outings. All made for very sweet romance. And the moment when the Hot Man cooked us a steak dinner to perfection, could very well have been the moment I decided we should be together forever.

So yeah, romance is lots of things. My definition of romance though, has changed as I have gotten older. Wiser. (And more tireder.) All the flowers in the world can never equal the feeling when you get to sleep for six hours straight because the love of your life has taken the premature baby for not one but TWO night time feeds and changed disgusting diapers. Even though the man has exams the next day. You wake up to find him soothing that baby, singing to him softly in the gentle moonlight. That's romance.

All the poetry of Shakespeare and Keats can't surpass the compassion, kindness and love evident when - you've been cut to pieces for a c-section delivery, you're bloated with two hundred pounds worth of toxaemia, utterly miserable - and he bathes you, helps you dress, brushes your hair, dries your tears and whispers, "You're the most beautiful woman in the world." That's romance.

When he shows up at your workplace with a surprise gift - a desktop fan for your sweltering teacher's cubicle. Because he was LISTENING when you complained endlessly about how miserably hot you were at work. When he brings you Diet Coke, champagne glasses AND ice in a mini-cooler as well? That's romance.

When he goes to the Twilight movies with you, even though he hates them. When he agrees that you two will only spend ten dollars each other for Christmas gifts, so you buy him a pair of cheap shoes - and he gets that leather suite living room set that he saw you sighing over and has it delivered when you're not home and then blindfolds you before you walk in the house. That's romance.

When he forgives you of the worstest things. When he sees the nastiest sides of you. When he endures the saddest times with you. And loves you even more because of them.

When he gives up the most divisive vices.  Sees his weaknesses and strives to overcome them because he wants to love better. When he cheers you on  to pursue your dreams even if he doesn't quite understand them.

That's romance.

Which is why, my Fantasy Romance series is dedicated to the Hot Man. Always and forever.

What's the most romantic experience YOU have had? Please share...and inspire us because I think everyone could use more romance, more love in their lives!