Simone Sinna's Blog, page 52

Shopping in New York

New York isn’t the fashion capital of the world. Let’s just get that straight from the start. Far too many international tourists in reeboks and jeans (and denim with denim). And American tourists confused that you can’t wear shorts in New York in December even if you can all year in Florida. But it may be the shopping capital of the world. What the hell, IS the shopping capital of the world.
It was looking bad (or good, depending on perspective) for a while. My 21 year old daughter milling around Century 21 looking like she’d rather be wearing the tutu I had to bribe her to stay in for the photo when she was three, rather than wear anything in this store. This is saying something. Like there are racks and racks of designer label. UK, USA, European. Okay, its true they don’t look great piled on the racks and true also that the really good stuff never makes it here because it gets bought on the first round. But still.
Things got worse when we meandered down 34th(having emerged empty handed from Macys… really??? It’s the biggest department store in the world!) and the only store she got excited about was one which had UGG boots. OMG. They are Australian and considered bogan. We CANNOT come all the way to New York to buy a product from home that we wouldn’t wear there. We did. Okay, not UGG UGG exactly, and it was very cold and we did need something in the snow I suppose.
But then Christmas was pending and I said I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CAN’T FIND ANYTHING TO WEAR IN ALL OF NEW YORK. NOONE IS GOING TO BE SYMPATHETIC.
This was probably the wrong thing to say. My son announced that their return tickets allowed two items of luggage (they had been allowed only one of the way) and my daughter’s eyes lit up. It was all down hill from there.
Did you know we have Victoria’s Secret in Sydney but not Melbourne? And about two hundred outlets in New York. As there are of Sephora (how did that woman convince me to buy that eyeliner??? I’m not 21 any more….). then there were the clothes. Suddenly everything fitted. Looked good and we couldn’t live without them. But given it was winter here they were also bulky. Like two pairs of full length boots (hell, one were the exact red of my favourite leather coat I got in Rome….), and the sale on the wool dress was amazing.
Now I just have to decide what’s going back to Aus with the kids and what I will need in the UK and France. It’s still cold there…and I am on carry on…

Can I Just Stay Indoors in New York?

This has been one of my more manic months, though a lot of it seems to have been in bed. Relax, this is not R-rated. It’s just that travelling from Melbourne to New York means going literally half way around the world. And in December? A world apart in seasons.
Add a few extra problems. Just let go of the umbilical cord to my baby. Book that is. Okay I have been publishing steadily and successfully with Siren Bookstrand who are great (and are bringing out Ballbreaker in January my most fun one - yes even light joke moments in between the hot sex and sheep. No sex with the sheep, not allowed and it’s set in Australia not New Zealand (bad joke)). But I have also been working on a psychological thriller for the last two years. Rewritten, redone, rewritten. My old agent doesn’t do psych-crime-thrillers (rejection one) and it is now with a publisher so preparing for rejection two. I revisited the pile of rejection slips from twenty years ago with my psych dramas (two of them, though one got to last phase at Random House) and well, they still say no. Gone yellow and faded. I consoled myself with the office walls covered in prints of the Siren covers, which cheered me up a bit.
But then we go to New York via The Rosie Project fan club sites. My husband’s book, not mine. Good news- I love book shops and it deserves it accolades. Bad news? In the middle of one of my husband’s stories about how he wrote a best seller (and a very funny one at that) my first rejection slip story comes up and someone in the audience puts her hand up and asks me (not my husband but he had identified me in the back row) did I regret not continuing to write? No, I haven’t really because I have a great paying job I am good at. But I am reminded of the due rejection slip while my husband is signing multiple copies for Christmas presents (sigh). You could all throw in a copy of the Stephanie Beauman trilogy or my Were-Devil series. It would certainly spike up Great Aunt Mary’s day and provide a topic of discussion for Boxing Day.
The other bad news is that between New York and Melbourne are some very cold places in December and that’s where we went. Is it really possible to live in minus thirty Celsius? The Coloradians seem to think so…
So here I now am in New York, in the same apartment block I lived in a few years ago. Outside the sky is blue and the sun is shining. It is also minus five. My daughter and her friend are trying to find something to do inside. I think they need to go to Minnesota. Seriously. They have underground passages there. Statue of Liberty from the ferry? You still have to get to the ferry and go outdoors for the photos. There’s always MET and MOMA but my daughter hasn’t quite got to that level of maturity yet. Would be skating on Central Park if someone followed her with a heater. To be fair she did enjoy the Natural History Museum.
Me? I’m indoors. First it was no sleep from jet lag and now it’s a cough. To say nothing of the night-works outside the bedroom window. I have a book to finish (hopefully so it’s acceptance is timed to balance the rejection of the psych thriller). But I go out for coffee and to eat at our favourites like Sushi Samba (outside of which I bumped into Gabriel Bryne…well he walked past me), found fab new Tapas bar in Chelsea (abccocina, pictured) went to Broadway to see First Date (lots of fun though how do you explain seeing stars out of Smash and Chuck? Really?). Kids returning with more coffee and well, ill, cold, doesn’t matter. New York rocks.

They Write Both Sides of the Tasman...

Another weekend another writer's festival! Back on the road again as my husband's hand bag this time at the Nelson Art's Festival (North of the South Island of New Zealand) - quite an affair for a small place, lovingly arranged by a dedicated group each year. Two sisters, Jacquetta and Christine, seemed to have it all in hand; well us anyway.
The location was rather gorgeous- called Founder's Park it had quaint NZ houses transported there to form a village. Marti Freelander (an 84 year old dynamo) quickly sold out of her of her photography book, (and husband Graeme's The Rosie Project as well!), Emily Perkins had a packed room listening about her latest novel The Forrests; I haven't read it but she's clearly a favourite here. Met Matt Lawrey over lunch, cartoonist worth chasing if you have small children (he has a 5 and 7 year old boys to inspire him); just joined the local council and I wonder if they'll find themselves being drawn too...

What's even more amazing about this town is how well we have eaten; great food in Auckland at Kazuya (Japanese fusion) but here in local Nelson Mint last night was eeeexcellent (can't quite get the waitresses accent, but Graeme is originally a Kiwi so he's helping me practice); they don't have desserts, they have pudding. This doesn't help me delude myself about it being low calorie. Tonight at The Boat Shed, meant to be good and a view to boast about as well.
We go to Wellington tomorrow and I go home, but Graeme goes onto Tauranga for another writer's festival. I have to wait two weeks for the next fix in Hong Kong.

Writers- Beware What You Wish For (Or: If its 4am it must be an airport)

I have been writing since I was eight, almost published 15 years ago then published with Siren two years ago (anniversary coming up!). I am about to submit a mainstream novel (again after 15 years) after two years of hard work rewriting and editing. I like all authors (well a majority) want to be published and read. We want our readers to like our books and maybe learn, laugh or cry, maybe all three. But a majority of writers aren’t published (I have now been to sooooo many writer’s workshops where everyone is on their first novel; its either intimidating or you want to cry, sometimes both) and even those that are, in Australia at least, a 2000 print run is considered very good (well beyond anything I have got to with Siren). And this is with a big publisher and their publicity team behind you.
At the many writer’s festivals I have been too this year (courtesy of my husband being an invited speaker)  it has been fascinating to watch and learn from a range of wonderful authors with a varied success behind them; I met Michael Robotham at a time Watching Youwas about to hit the mainstream Aussie best seller list, and Jo-Jo Moyes just before Me Before You hit the NY Times best seller list. Heady, exciting moments, in these cases, for authors who were well established. They had worked hard writing and re-writing, their publishers had worked hard too. But beyond the writing and re-writing and editing, what else do these authors do?
Writers Festivals is one obvious answer- I’m feeling a veteran and only just started this year (except going to Melbourne Festival in past to see some Crime writers). They have been doing it a good deal longer. From the outside (from within the Green room) there is it seems to be a mix of responses from writers; cliques of the “literary” ones that keep to themselves, some who keep to themselves if for no other reason than they are nervous (Jared Diamond was one of these to my surprise, given he is well established, and intellectual, but it may be because he gets some negatives for his ideas- never think that this doesn’t have an effect. Always be constructive with your feedback!). Then there are the up and comers (and some who are just extroverts) who have lots of fun and support each other. A few narcissists stand aside but as they are swamped by their adoring audience they may not care (I suspect they are constantly checking their Amazon rating compared to the others at the festivals).
Then there is the book tours. Most authors do six weeks maximum. I have toured myself for work seminars and hypotheticals I have run; touring is, let me say, overrated (yeah, yeah, I’d take it if I was offered). Hotel rooms, constant need to be polite to strangers (some of whom are very strange), away from family, friends and familiarity. It all gets wearing. But add in a compact tour with jet lag…
My husband’s book launched in the USA last week. It’s his first. Sold into forty territories it has got great reviews (eg Washington Post last week) but unlike Dan Brown his name is unfamiliar and people don’t just automatically pick it up (as I did for instance when I saw Elizabeth George’s latest in a book shop on the weekend). Because he’s Australian they get him for two weeks (okay we are going back together in December) and the six week tour is packed into two. With the worst time differences possible, and me here and him there, it’s hard to catch each other. Particularly as he is in one to three airports every day. For the last two days there have been texts from him at 4am his time. He only had 12 hours before his first talk (at  Lobster truck in New York…go figure!) he is still jet lagged. I imagine he is running on adrenaline and his talks (competing for attendees at small towns across the USA with anything from a baseball game to a rodeo) will be fun and informative. But when I do speak to him, let me say that isn’t how he is with me! I am reminded of my son aged 15; you know, at the grunting stage.
Would I want the chance to do the same? You bet, but I have been sobered a little. Even for “successful” authors the glam bit is light on. You enjoy every bit you can because it may never come again…live the dream, and even if it’s at a lesser level than overseas launches, maybe that one person who reads your book that it makes a difference for, is all that is needed. Some of the emails to my husband have given him just that. So I’ll wish for this, and if any of the rest comes…well I’ll take pseudoephedrine, a coffee machine and stilnox. And pray I end up in the right place at the right time and talk about the right thing! PS See photo. You do get to hug random people but in this case a good friend! I wonder if they gave him a free lobster roll....?

Brisbane Writer's Festival 2013

Having now ‘done’ most of the East coast writer’s festivals this year (plus two in Perth) I’m feeling a bit like a groupie. And I’m loving it. But it interesting to get the different ‘feel’ for the festivals and try and tease out just what it is I have liked about some more than others.
Like Byron Bay, Brisbane had it all going for it in the weather stakes, particularly as Melbourne temperatures were taking a dive as I headed north. Warm days to dash out into between sessions (essential as the aircon was heading me to Antarctica) and balmy nights to sit and rink and eat at in roadside cafes. I was staying in South Brisbane near the Library which was a new thriving area to be explored, so no points lost here either.
As I do more of these events I’m recognising more and more people so that helps the ambiance too, but the bwf organisers were especially welcoming (even if some of the volunteers were a little geographically challenged), enough to make up for the draconian library staff who all but frogmarched us out of rooms with overhead announcements suggesting we’d be there for the night and in loads of trouble five minutes before the workshops finished. Had to laugh…felt like I was back in high school.
What I loved about this event was that unlike some mainstream writer’s festivals, this one embraced crime and …shock horror…romance, with welcome arms and not the just the ‘literary’ types. Sara Wendall who I had met at the Aussie Romance Writers festival in Perth was on her way home and was a fabulous fun edition. For me, an erotic romance suspense writer who reads and wants to crack the crime thriller market, I paid up for two crime workshops, entered the Sisters of Crime (Perth chapter, I belong in Melbourne) writing competition (one para, based on their crime scene…okay I have to brag, I won!!! –under my crime writing name that is), and went to one crime panel, a book versus film session (the book is better, but this is a writers festival!) a debate and the wind up two minute times twenty writer/ performers. LOVED it all!
First workshop was with Adrian McKinty, recent Victorian by way of Belfast birth, UK and USA (sadly damaging his Irish accent). He didn’t quite manage to condense his ten week writing course into three hours, probably because, well, he’s Irish and tried to (and may have succeeded) in talking the leg off the chair. Move to Scotland and Stuart MacBride and Research into Crime took less than a minute (go talk to a cop) but luckily he followed this up with a ton of information (including doing an autopsy…). Terry Hayes (I am Pilgrim which I have just started to rread and love…as well as Mad Max and a ton films)  must have some Irish blood because he put McKinty to shame but Eddie Campbell and Graeme Simsion(The Rosie Project) and Melina Marchetta (Looking for Alibrandi) managed to make it a diverse and fascinating session. Likewise with Angela Savage, Stuart MacBride (was a nactor at some stage and it showed) and Adrian McKinty- loads of laughs.
The finale was brilliant, a mix of poets, writers and performers with witty observations, a sketch or twenty and an invitation to grope your neighbour (Ghostboy…that’s his name…) and finally we are sent on our way. My next one is country Clunes in Vic…it has a lot to follow!

ROMANCE WRITERS AUSTRALIA 2013 FREEMENATLE WA CONFERENCE

 I didn’t ever think I would revisit territory as a virgin, particularly amongst some of the sweetest, youngest prettiest things in white, in Regency England, in rural Australia, in cities of Australia and probably just about everywhere else. But virgin I was at this conference. Though I have been publishing erotica for nearly two years, my publisher is in Texas and I haven’t managed to get to one of theirs…so I went to the Aussie one instead (we’re both RWA though I noted on the tweets we were using RWAus).
I have done a number of writers conference as my husband’s handbag (maybe manager would sound better?) or as an interested participant prior to him being a Writer (note use of upper case). But this conference was quite different. The others were largely (I loved the feel of Byron, but to some degree true of it too) balls on the table in the green room. You go to speak or hear famous people. Full stop. Whereas this conference was for writers and writers in progress, about helping, supporting, encouraging and well…enjoying. Any conference that starts with a seven book give away has got something going for it. Supported by Harlequin and Destiny and a few others there were books everywhere…guess I shouldn’t be too surprised I only sold three of my own.
It started off with the Elizabeth Jolley inaugural academic conference – a bunch of academics thought the RWA being in town was too good an opportunity to miss – and it was wonderful to hear some bright young (and not so young; loved Helen Merrick and Imelda Whelehan) scary things with loads of ideas and passion. I started my talk by assuring everyone all the initials after my name had nothing to do with literature criticism…but I held my own on the biological front! (I am a health professional in my other life).
Then into a Nautical cocktail party (see Friday Fashion Blog on www.simonesinna.com ) with loads of champagne and a weekend packed with tips, workshops (too short) and chances to chat and eat. Saturday night? More champagne and OMG more desserts than I have ever seen. To add to the chocolate fountain and chocolate giveaways. Yep, Baci was a sponsor!
I have to confess by end of Saturday I wanted to dive into my thriller and never remerge to see a smiling virgin on a cover ever again. But all was well. I finished the day (after an action session with Jaye Ford as I was reading her Beyond Fear- great!) on psychopaths. Very satisfying…

Byron Bay Day Two: Sculptures, Laughs and a bit of a US takeover

My favourite, the Jill Poulson sculpture
Jill Eddington, Inga Simpson, Christie Thompson & Graeme SimsionFor reasons that completely escape me (lack of technical nous on my part being  major suspect) the photos have uploaded here while my blog is on my other blog site: http://www.simonesinna.com/?page_id=6
Today's review: highlights of John Elder Robison and not just pyrotechnics with Kiss (his own job once upon a time) but also some excitement with his son and law enforcement in the USA ...and the CIA was there too! Also some good Aussies (and an ex-Aussie maybe? Not sure what MJHyland calls herself!)

Byron Bay ...sunshine and laughing with famous (and not so famous) writers

Byron Bay Writer’s Festival 2013
Lenny, Marele, Kerrie and Michael

Mary-Lou, Lisa, Graeme & Susanna
What could be better than escaping a Melbourne Winter (raining and 11 degrees I am told) to go to Byron Bay in the North of NSW, far enough north for tropical plants, noisy birds, warmth and if you are lucky sunshine. Last year, the Festival, out in Marquees in the paddocks, was a washout, but this year (my first) luck has prevailed and I am hot in boots and the Rome Rosie Launch leather trench-coat.
This is my third Aussie festival as a hand bag, fourth if you count one I actually attended just to listen. So far it is my far the friendliest and warmest (and I’m not talking just weather). Cocktails last night overlooking the ocean as the preview helped…
So today? I started with A Murder of Writers… probably the only collection noun suitable for crime fiction writers and though Kerry Greenwood’s books have some amusing moments, the other panellists Marele Day and Lenny Bartulin write a little more seriously albeit noir, and the chair, Michael Robotham, does psych crime thrillers, so I wasn’t expecting to be laughing. But they were hilarious and the audience warmed to them and helped them be even funnier. All four were quipping off each other (including poor Lenny with a mere four books to Kerry’s 61) and committing true crimes: Michael (he and his wife incidentally are most charming, we’re staying in the same hotel) apparently nearly burnt down Gundagai as a six year old, and Marele suggested perhaps Lenny (who as a child had urinated in public) could have been used to put it out…Kerry, a bright incisive mind threw in some true stories of her time s  lawyer and the stage was set!
On a more serious note I heard Hannah Kent talking about her passion for Iceland (20 hours darkness in January…mmm), and back to amusing, have an endearing picture in my head of Peter Carey (an Aussie icon) playing football as a gawky kid with his glasses taped on (including between his eyes). Kerry O’Brien managed to get a few laughs with Simon Crean; given the state of the Labour party laughing is perhaps the only option.
Finally intimacy with Mary-Lou Stevens (host), Graeme Simsion, Lisa Walker and Susanna Freymark. Three very different novels; a light love near Byron Bay about a would be surfer scared of water (Lisa), a fictionalised memoir about dealing with a broken heart with sex (not a book you want to be in though Susanna assured everyone her character comes off the worst) and of Course the eccentric Don Tilman looking for love in The Rosie Project. Loads of fun….now I’m back to editing mine and hope this has inspired me!
 

Tips for Surviving as a First Time Sub...

Tips for Surviving for First Night as a Sub at High Tower (see Icebreaker, details below for High Tower info!)
 
1.      So you’re all dressed up? Taken hours to look just right, suitable level of cleavage and perfected the look of innocence (it’s your first night, this isn’t hard. Just try not to look terrified!). Maybe a new G-String matching the see-through bra? Just in case both the very hot two men you fancy help you overcome your fear. You’re doing well…just do remember High Towers is in a remote street in a small town…and there’s snow−lots of it. Wear a coat girl! Your hot men will appreciate an erect nipple but not if it’s frozen solid…
2.      I know you want to talk to your girlfriends about this. Maybe you’re so nervous you’d like to take one with you. Believe me, there is time for talking with them afterwards. This is your night, you look hot and the two hottest men in the room are going to make you forget your girlfriend’s names! Temporarily that is. Sashay your way into the room, drop the coat, channel your favourite hot female movie star, and the night is yours!
3.      ‘Do you whip or get whipped?” is not recommended as an opening line. Have a glass of champagne instead. If this is your first time, unless you’re a really good actress, the rather delicious club owner is going to probably pick it, and have you looked after…he might just bring in reinforcements and take you to the cellar.
4.      If you’re invited to the cellar−go! Take the two hottest men−Steve and Connell come to mind−close your eyes and let them take care of you. Imagine the gentle caress of feathers on your upper thighs, one man’s hot lips over yours, the others man’s mouth opening your other lips, gentle but insistent. The more you can imagine this in advance, the more pleasure will take over your whole being. The night will be one never forgotten.
5.      These men are not just hot. They are fit, athletic skiers. They have loads of energy, and didn’t get to be Olympic qualifiers by not persisting. Have a good night’s sleep, take an energy drink and don’t plan anything for the next day. Come to think of it, maybe for the next two days. You and they may want to linger over breakfast.
6.      Give in. Let go of all the tasks and responsibilities. Here in High Tower’s cellar your two hot men will be responsible for you. But remember, if you don’t do as they say, they will enjoy disciplining you. But then you might enjoy that too! Remember they’ve done this before. Whatever you have imagined they have perfected.
7.      So you’ve never been tied up? Blindfolded? You don’t know what those ropes are for? Don’t panic. Your two very hot men do. And they’ll use them for your pleasure. This will be a night like no other…
Icebreaker
 Sienna Martin has been training as a private investigator and needs a job, so when her friend Elle has a task in the snowfields, all expenses paid by DJ, the resort owner, what’s not to like? Checking out Steve Prescott and his new nightclub might even be fun. Trouble is, she has to pretend to be Elle, and when Connell Crane, the hot resort manager, thinks he knows things about the real Elle that she doesn’t, things rapidly start to go wrong.
Steve and Connell seemed to be working together, or is Connell about to do a double-cross? Attracted to them both, Sienna is torn. A twenty-five-year-old mysterious death ties them and DJ together, but just how? And when a murder attempt brings the real Elle running, and Sienna gets herself tied up in Steve’s basement just about anything might happen…
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 37,781 words
available from http://www.bookstrand.com/simone-sinna July 11th Texas time!

Health professionals make bad patients...

It was elective surgery. I had to go in the night before, and stay the night after. Easy. I wasn't sick per se. Just needed a small procedure, I'd be in a bit of pain, home and up and around. Right?

Well things started to go awry from the moment my husband dropped me and fled. I watched in bemusement and it wasn't until some hours later (marking exam papers) that I suddenly realised he was having some PTSD. Read the Age Short Story Comp second prize (Three Encounters with the Physical) if you want to know why. Trouble was he had the credit card. You are meant to pay up front at private hospitals.

They were nice about this. Happens all the time. Next hurdle- no single rooms. I'm put in with three other women, one with relatives next to me aged 92. I quickly hid myself away to "give them peace" to which they loudly (and accurately) said "more like for you". I had by pulling my curtains separted their dearly beloved from the source of natural light. Oh dear.

That night I felt like I was on a plane: lots of sniffing and snorting, nurses talking loudly and my legs in DVT stockings. Before long I had the sleep mask and ear plugs too. And the blessed sleeping tabs courtesy of late arriving anaethestist.

No brekkie of course and dinner previous night had been average. To theatre. Every orderly there seemed to know me, have worked with my dad, treated my sister (stint of mania brings the best out on everyone - not) or have a back story to tell. At least no one paused overly long when they saw who was operating on me (early this week Current Affair did an expose on a neurosurgeon and I waited in horror to see...no, it's ok, was't my guy). This is no laughing matter. As a student we joked about Lucky ....(fill in name) who was lucky because he was the only person who couldn't operate on himself. A registar delivered by ambulance after a crash found he was on duty and called a taxi and took it (broken leg and all) to the next hospital.... I had however done my homework.

So next day, yes I was right about the pain. No probs. Endone is great stuff...well for pain. Three days later (at home) I was convinced the surgeon had nicked th nerve to my bowel and i'd need a colostomy. Fortunately this problem was cured by ceasing the endone (sigh).

But was it all worth it? two weeks later still in a kneel chair, unable to swim (because of risk of wound infection) and ...praying.

Moral of the story? Live hard and die young? (The surgeon did suggest that we were alll meant to be on all fours and everyone over a certain age has an MRI that makes them look a hundred). No? Well maybe entertain the idea of imaginary friends when needed? Ok...it's probably life wasn't meant to be easy and a bit of back problem and getting old is better than the alternative...