Lisa Walker's Blog, page 13

'Liar Bird' takes flight

In stores 1st of January! Byron Bay launch January 14. Love to see you there. Please RSVP to the Writers Centre.

 

 

I hate yoga

I have been doing yoga for over ten years now. Theoretically, this should mean I am now as bendy as a pretzel and as spiritually enlightened as the Dalai Lama. But perhaps you need to do it more than once a week for that to happen.

                It's not like I was even a complete novice ten years ago. I'd done one or two classes back in the eighties, before it became the fashionable pursuit it is now. In those days you never worked up a sweat. It was all about lying around as the incense wafted over you.

            Back then, there was only one type of yoga, Hatha Yoga. Nowadays there is more variety than you know what to do with – Iyengar, Ashtanga, Bikram, Kundalini, Jivamukti? It's like choosing milk in the supermarket.

            But going to yoga classes is much better than watching yoga videos. Some of those are pretty hard core.

            Have you ever found yourself on your back, knees either side of your ears, looking up at a hole in the crutch of your tracksuit pants? Add a dressing gown cord around your ankles, a soccer ball between your thighs, a Tupperware container under your bum, a pillow under your shoulder blades and your head on a picnic blanket. All whilst being told to breathe deeply and enjoy the deep serenity these poses bring. No? Just me then.

            But I keep going back. Because it's good for me. Because I sleep better. Because yoga instructors look amazing and I want to look like them.

So I will relax, rid myself of negative thoughts, breathe in the silver, blow out the black and get myself some more down-face dog.

You have mastered the chair very quickly (overheard in Byron Bay)

We hear them every day, those wacky or strange slivers of conversations without a context. All we can do is imagine what came before and after. An afternoon eavesdropping in Byron Bay could provide enough fodder for about twenty books. I always have my pen and paper handy. Just the other day I enjoyed overhearing the following:

I don't want to be her sex toy anymore (one teenage boy to another). As you can imagine, my heart bled for this poor boy. Here he was, looking for someone to read books with, play backgammon, discuss philosophy and all she wanted was sex, sex, sex. That's the trouble with girls these days; they're only after one thing.

You have mastered the chair very quickly (hammock-chair salesman to potential customer who is attempting to sit in it): Since when did chairs have to be mastered before they could be used? Nice positive feedback though. And nothing like having a chair that only responds to one master to make you feel good about yourself.

Your mind just takes over! (said in amazement): Funny how it does that.

There's toxins everywhere (one sunbathing woman to another): Perhaps, but I'd be more worried about skin cancer myself.

If there's a kid he can relate to, I know they're a Steiner kid: I have nothing at all against Steiner, but this couldn't help but narrow the playmate field a bit.

We were meant to be together. If she had been free and I had been free, it definitely would have happened (very old man to slightly younger man): Now there is an epic love story just waiting to be told.

Does anyone else have a fabulous snippet of conversation to share?

The Anti-Domestic Goddess (dinner on the table in thirty minutes or less)

I quite admire Nigella Lawson. I love the way she swans around licking cream off her fingers and proffering her bosom with the profiteroles. If that was all it took to be a domestic goddess, I could probably manage it. Apart from the bosom part, Nigella has it all over me there.

Cooking is very sexy. Men who can cook are like men with guitars; it's hard to go past them. And if they can cook and play guitar, well… look out. I don't mind cookbooks either. They've always seemed a little like soft porn – all that sautéing and simmering, the basting and rolling. Who needs erotic fiction?

I come from a family of fantastic cooks. My mother has published several recipe books and my sister has picked up the baton, so, what happened to me? Sometimes I think that recipe book Four Ingredients may have been overdoing it. Left to myself, I would probably eat pasta with cheese on every night of the week.

My choice of recipes is governed by one thing and one thing only – time. Recipes have to be achievable in thirty minutes or less.  Spaghetti bol, lasagne, curry, fried rice, baked fish and chips, spinach pie, lemon chicken or frittata in half an hour? Impossible? No. Come around to my place any night of the week and I can prove it. But I think I could improve my performance. Dinner in Twenty Minutes is the recipe book I would buy in an instant.

Do you have a favourite quick meal?

Down the plughole

It being November, there are now only eight weeks to go until Liar Bird hits the shelves. In celebration, I thought I would share a short extract.

Chapter One: Down the Plughole

If it wasn't for the long-footed potoroo, I might never have heard of Beechville. But I suppose I can't entirely lay the blame at the potoroo's door – Warren Corbett must also take his share.

There have been many influential figures in my life, people who have opened doors at the right time, given words of advice, turned me on a path I might not have taken. Of all of these, Warren Corbett looms largest.

Wazza, as he's widely known in PR circles, was my first boss. More than that, he was my mentor. Do what it takes, girl, but don't let them catch you, was his favourite saying. Second was, When in doubt, deny, deny, deny.

He's old school, Wazza. PR Ethics hadn't been invented when he made his first million. It was my luck – some would say karma – that I ended up at Winning Edge Public Relations still wet from my communications degree. That was when the learning really started.

Wazza taught me everything I knew – how to set up 'grassroots' front groups which look and act just like the real thing; how to infiltrate real groups if need be and, most importantly, how not to let your conscience stand in the way of your career. He said it was important to look ethical; actually being ethical was optional and probably unwise.

He was the learned master and I the eager student. I sucked up his wisdom as thirstily as any magician's apprentice. Good old Wazza, he's still there, doing his thing. God knows there's no shortage of clients ready to fork out for his golden touch.

Out of all the graduates who applied to his company; fifty or so, he picked me. Why?

"I trust my instincts, Cassandra." He'd leant over his massive glass table, a whiff of cinnamon aftershave drifting towards me from his shiny cheeks. "In this game, you have to. And you… I can sense something. You're smart, but they're all smart. You look good, but they all look good. You've got something different though." He'd placed his hand-rolled cigar in an ashtray and pointed his immaculately groomed, gold-ringed, finger at my chest. "You are hungry."

He was right.

He told me later – only half joking – that he'd been worried I'd leap over the desk and sink my teeth into his jugular if he'd knocked me back. I'd laughed politely, showing just a hint of fang to keep him on his toes.

To be continued…

Is there anyone who doesn't love to see a PR girl take a dive?

Secret Women's Business (Book Groups)

For three years now, my book group has convened once a month. A highlight of our gatherings has been the habit of our leader, Trish, to dress according to the titles chosen – when the mood takes her.

The first year, we had a member with a very dry taste in books. She never actually came to book group, but she chose two earnest tomes, which the rest of us dutifully attempted to wade through. Our Woman in Kabul wasn't too bad (Trish wore a burqa) but only one of us made it through In Siberia. All I can now recall is that horse meat is widely eaten there. I'm still waiting for an opportunity to use that morsel in a cocktail party conversation.

Kate Holden's memoir of working as a prostitute led to discussion regarding prostitution in our own coastal town. Who knew that the working girls plied the Coast Road at tradie knock off time? Not me. We also spent some time considering whether girls from private schools were more likely to become drug addicted prostitutes. I don't remember coming to a resolution on that one.

Last week, our book was I Heard the Owl Call My Name, by Margaret Craven. This moving reflection on life, set in an American Indian village, inspired a smoking ceremony. With sage smoke up our nostrils, we reflected on the value of the simple life and the desirability of living each day as if it might be your last.

Now that's a conversation you don't have every Tuesday night.

Kittens with portal guns sing Justin Bieber

The internet is a strange place. Middle-aged women become overnight singing sensations, million dollar book deals appear at the whim of the collective consciousness, and quirky people discover that their quirkiness becomes star quality. Are we laughing with them, or at them? Does it matter when they're getting thousands of hits per day?

It would appear to be a marketer's dream. Just find out what is trending and sell it, right? In an effort to capitalise on the search engine power of Justin Bieber's name  and draw attention to his Youtube channel, my son recently did a take-off of Baby. Within hours, Bieber's 'people' had ordered him to shut it down.

I'm not sure what it says about our collective consciousness that kittens and Justin Bieber are perennial favourites on YouTube. Other topics like portal guns and the iPhone 4 are trending flash in the pans. When I last looked, the top YouTube topics were cats, kids, pets and babies.

I thought I might call my next book Cute Kittens and Fluffy Rabbits do Funny Things. At least it will rank well on Google.

Cuddle Party when you're down.

You've got to love Byron Bay. It's not enough to have Reiki, past-life therapy, tarot, dream therapy, ten types of yoga, hypnotherapy and meditation. Now, there's cuddle party. A cuddle party is 'a heart-based modality unique and stand-alone from any other conscious therapeutic and adult services.' As far as I can work out, you turn up and have a group cuddle with a bunch of strangers.

I try to imagine the type of person who might turn up to a cuddle party. Fail abysmally. Clearly, I am not a very adventurous person. Other people out there must be thinking; Cuddle party? That sounds like a great way to spend Saturday night.

Cuddling strangers seems a strange thing to do to me – to turn up at a pre-arranged time, pay money, be facilitated to have a cuddle. For me, cuddles are a more spontaneous thing. But perhaps a facilitated cuddle is no stranger than group laughs or group eating. Maybe if you're feeling a bit down, it's a great thing to do.

Unless no-one wants to cuddle you. It's hard to imagine how much of a loser you'd feel not being able to get a cuddle at a cuddle party. Worse than not being able to find your kundalini at the kundalini dance workshop, or bond with your crystal at the crystal workshop.

Does anyone else rate an epic fail in new age sensitivity?

Surrealism – it's the vibe

I've had a bit of a thing about surrealists ever since I visited Salvador Dali's house in Spain, a long, long time ago. The floppy clocks, the faceless women, the strange titles. Debris of an Automobile Giving Birth to a Blind Horse Biting a Telephone is a personal favourite.

I was young when I visited Dali's house and less bothered by the fact that I had no idea what it was all about. However, visiting the surrealists in Brisbane recently I found myself rather perplexed, less able to just enjoy the spectacle.

Why was there a table with the head of a wolf, why a woman's face with eyes that are breasts and a crutch for a mouth, why was a coffin reclining on a chaise longue? Damn it, I wanted to know.

Luckily for me, the exhibition had special plaques for children. These also worked well for this baffled adult. 'If you have to ask what a work is about, you have missed the point of surrealism,' said one plaque. Looks like I had it right all those years ago. It's the vibe.

It's been said that if you can understand a surrealist poem, you must be reading something else. Take these examples…

I love benevolent seal

Long distance swimmer.

And

Say goodbye to the windows.

Trees blossom in the fall.

Like the paintings they do seem strangely meaningful even if you don't know what the meaning is. John Lennon said that surrealism was just the way he saw his life.

Imagine. 

New York, London, Paris, Brisbane… why you need go no further.

There is a scene in Zigzag Street, by Nick Earls, where the hapless protagonist, Rick Derrington, is reading a book in a cafe when he is asked out by a sixteen year-old-girl. Later, he talks to his friend, Veny Armanno, about it and Veny assures him that this happens to him all the time.

I am meeting Veny at Cafe le Net in Indooroopilly Shoppingtown. 'Near the cinemas' he says in his email. He is already there when I arrive, reading a book, and, well, if I was sixteen and my life was a romantic comedy I'd totally be tempted to ask him out.

Veny is the author of many fine novels such as Volcano (Sicilian lust and revenge) and The Dirty Beat (sexy, dirty rock band). Oh yes, and he was once voted one of Who Magazine's 25 most beautiful people in the world… If life was a romantic comedy, I would probably spill coffee on him. But that doesn't happen.

Brisbane, I have just realised, is a very exciting literary landscape. Not only do I have a literary coffee in Indooroopilly Shoppingtown (of all places), but later that night I drive past Sizzler in Toowong. This Sizzler was the setting for a romantic moment in Joel and Cat Set the Story Straight. My son, who is currently reading it, is very excited.

I can understand the attraction of those Harry Potter tours. There is something nice about visiting the scene of a book you have enjoyed. Do you have any favourite literary landscapes?

I have been reading Mark Dapin's blog. After 92 posts, he has 92 subscribers. After 3 posts, I have 3 subscribers. Spooky or what? If you subscribe now, I just might beat his record!