COLORING YOUR WORLD FROM THE RAINBOW NAITION

 

How exciting to meet all you wonderful readers from across the globe. I write from, but not necessarily about, the Rainbow Nation, located at the southern part of the African continent. Please indulge me a brief history lesson before I continue with my blog.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu first coined the term Rainbow Nation in 1993 to describe a post-apartheid South Africa. And what an amazing description of the beautiful people of South Africa with their diverse cultures and eleven official languages! No more ebony and ivory – the dividing of Black and White – but a nation filled with hope for a bright future, finally at peace with itself and the world. The rainbow, a symbol of the calm after the storm, epitomizes the past South Africans leave behind and the future we all strive for.

Although I’m English speaking and know only two of our eleven languages, there have been times in my writing when I desperately wished I could pen certain things in Afrikaans, for it is a language rich in unique cultural expressions. Translation unfortunately does these sayings no justice. It is only those who understand the language who can grasp and enjoy the meaning of those tiny quips. But sadly, Afrikaans is a dying language in this new South Africa of ours.

As a South African writer having never set foot on American soil, putting my first novel and sequel (set in the USA) to paper was totally foreign. It has been a fascinating three year journey writing American with a South African brain. I’ve had to think American to write it, taking care in my stories to ensure groceries are placed in the trunk, not the boot; that cars stop at a red traffic light, not a red robot. Let’s not even mention trying to keep local colloquialisms and British spelling out of the writing equation. Thank heavens for word processors that have almost every language option available under my African sun, including American English (which I’ve chosen for this blog).

My current writing project is based in this wonderful land I’ve called home for the past . . . well, let’s just say for quite a number of years. It’s a story that is dear to my heart and close to home. It has been enjoyable to write of familiar things and use local sayings that foreign readers will hopefully manage to find in their dictionaries.

Having lived in Ireland for a number of months, I’d still like to write a novel that takes place in that fascinating country. I’m also toying with a story idea set in India.

Fortunately, writers can visit any country they desire from the comfort of cyberspace, although there is definitely nothing to beat the travel bug – it can bite me any time.

The world is a writer’s oyster, for in the stories we tell, we have the power to choose whether our pot of gold lies somewhere in the emerald fields of Ireland guarded by tiny men wearing green suits and funny hats, or whether it’s to be found at the end of a rainbow nation where the streets are rumored to be paved with gold. After all, writers Neill Blomkamp and Terri Tatchell, with the help of Producer Peter Jackson, found theirs right in my backyard in a place called “District 9*.”


*http://www.district9movie.com
*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/District_9

A CASE OF THE BLUES

I have a case of the blues. I’d started out so well with my plans to post a blog once a week, but, like most great ideas and resolutions, this one probably lasted about as long. As I pondered my blues baggage, I was prompted to finish this story that I’d started far too long ago.

The story began as “Last week I went to purchase . . . .”, but realizing six weeks have passed since that beginning, I now rephrase and start again.

Seven weeks ago, I went to purchase a smaller version of the red case I’d recently bought for the Florida Christian Writers Conference. Immediately, I found the perfect match―same shade, same fabric and, quite obviously, the same brand. A miniature clone!

I was so excited, visualizing my laptop as it rested comfortably in its scarlet bed, nestled amongst conference notes, one-sheets and business cards. This was great―my writing tool would now have wheels! Shirl had advised taking this route to avoid carrying oneself to death with a normal laptop bag. I would be able to literally drag my work along.

My excitement quickly vanished, however, when I lifted the elegant tag that hung loosely on its scarlet spine. I knew the price had to be printed somewhere on that branded cardboard label. I gasped―nearly R700―almost the price I’d paid for its bigger sister. I just couldn’t see myself paying that much for so small a piece of luggage.

Disappointed, my thoughts shifted to the small blue carryon that had come free with the airline ticket on my surprise birthday trip to Switzerland some twelve years ago (see my blog GIRL WITH THE RED CASE SHEDDING EXCESS BAGGAGE). I knew I’d have to use this old bag instead. Fortunately, Blue (as I’ll now fondly refer to my new travelling companion) hasn’t travelled much and I’ve looked after her well.

Merely days after this disappointing shopping excursion, I had to suddenly haul little Blue out of her resting place high up in the garage rafters. An hour after bringing Blue back down to earth, I had her dusted off, packed and ready to travel. We were going to Cape Town.

Life has many twists and turns, and when I penned my short story, The Prodigal’s Mother (posted on my website), I had no idea how radically my little prodigal’s life would change. Just a few weeks after his crazy idea to run off to Canada to follow his dreams, here he and I were, flying off to Cape Town at the drop of a hat, for his interview with the top visual effects company in South Africa. And within twenty-four hours, we had booked airline tickets, flown to Cape Town from Johannesburg, viewed some rental properties, and Kyle had had his interview. Another day later, he had landed his new job and I had found him a new home. I hadn’t seen this coming when he’d quit his job a month earlier.

Five days after returning from Cape Town, I had my prodigal packed up and ready to fly the coop. As father and son set off in Kyle’s tiny black and white Ford Ka, laden to the hilt, to take the 1400km journey to Cape Town, I was grateful to be joining them by air the following evening.

Once again it was a whirlwind weekend of packing and unpacking as we settled Kyle into his gorgeous garden flat with the most amazing view of Table Mountain’s eastern side.

I guess by now you’re wondering what all this has to do with attending a writer’s conference and a case of the blues. It’s all about travel and learning from this journey called life.

Firstly, I discovered that Blue would be a great cabin asset for the long haul to America.

Secondly, I realized that Blue didn’t like to be dragged along and that she suffered from speed wobble spells. I now know that if I do decide to cart her off to America, I’ll have to find some way for her to hitch a ride with the sleek red model I’d recently purchased.

But most of all, I learnt to deal with my case of the blues as I opened my hands and allowed my youngest son to spread his wings and fly. We all have dreams that we must follow―an American Writer’s Conference is one of mine.

GIRL WITH THE RED CASE SHEDDING EXCESS BAGGAGE

About twelve years ago, my hubby gave me an incentive to shed some excess kilos. A couple of months passed after his promise of a surprise. After shedding ten plus shed kilos, I was presented with a brand new burgundy suitcase and an airline ticket to Switzerland to visit two friends for three weeks. Noel had spent months secretly planning this huge birthday surprise.

The suitcase was enormous and I determined to fill it. I’ve since learnt to travel far lighter, although it’s taken several trips of carrying myself to death and suffering from excess baggage panic attacks, to learn this lesson.

But alas, time and time again, those lost kilos somehow seem to find their way home and all too often they bring a few additional friends.

As I plan for the Florida Christian Writers Conference in March 2010, I’ve once again embarked on a programme to shed some excess baggage. A monthly one week fast of fruit and vegetables, water and black, sugarless rooibos tea (that’s a famous South African herbal tea) has already started to bear some fruit, if you’ll pardon the pun. Many clothes that not too long ago sat perhaps a little too snugly, once again fit comfortably.

This shedding programme reminded me of my first novel which I completed a few months ago. It took eight months to write―another eight months edit. Like my burgundy suitcase, this first piece of literary work was far too large, and resulted in my packing an additional 50,000 words more than I should have. You see, I’ve subsequently discovered that the ideal length for a novel is between 80,000 to 100,000 words―120,000 tops―and I realised that 168,000 words would just lead to rejection letter after rejection letter. It was a long and hard exercise, but oh so worthwhile. I learnt so much during those months in which my manuscript went on diet.

This reminds me of the saying: “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.” (And no, even though I’m from Africa and have a few kilos to shed, I’m thankfully no elephant―just to clarify that point!) So I have to ask, how does an author trim down her work? “One word at a time.”

Before Shirl and I leave for Florida next year, I hope to complete the sequel to my novel. But I’m a little concerned this novel will suffer a fate completely the opposite to its predecessor. Just over half way through writing, with plots and subplots jotted down, I’m praying I won’t run short of words and have to pump up this piece of fiction. I’m quite certain that it’s far easier for an overweight person to lose weight, than it is for an anorexic to gain weight. Hopefully the same is not true to get to the right (or write) literary size.

Only eight months to go, but I’m confident by the time I board the plane, my red suitcase, two manuscripts and I will be just the right size for the US market.

THE GIRL WITH THE RED CASE WONDERS ABOUT WHAT MESSAGE WE WILL LEAVE BEHIND

With all the preparations for 2010, Gauteng roads have become a nightmare. Not only is there construction on the Gautrain rail system wherever you look, but every inch of the highway between Pretoria and Johannesburg is either getting an additional lane, a new off-ramp, or a resurface. Hence, I’ve taken to reading bumper stickers on my tiresome morning commute to work.

Earlier this week I read two stickers (on the same bumper) that disturbed me immensely, viz. “Christianity has pagan DNA,” and “Born again … and again … and again … and again.” I came to the swift conclusion that the joyless man behind the wheel was either one extremely confused Christian, or an embittered human being with a grudge against Christianity. I quickly settled for the latter, for Jesus Christ is the foundation of the Christian faith and there is certainly no trace of pagan DNA in the Son of God―only heavenly, godly genetics. The other reason for my conclusion: rebirth is a once in a lifetime happening, not something that occurs multiple times within a Christian’s life.

I couldn’t help noticing, however, that most passing vehicles had no stickers or advertising plastered on their rears. It struck me that the majority of people are like these message-less modes of transport. They traverse through life with no story to tell; nothing to offer those that pass them by. No one will notice their coming or their going. They leave nothing for the world.

I challenge you reader: what message are you leaving behind to those you bump into every day? When people look back as you pass them by, will they somehow have been affected by their interaction with you?

Shirl and I have our own frantic preparations for 2010, with construction happening on novels, devotions, one-sheets, business cards, research, etc. (the non-stop list of preparation work for the Florida Christian Writers Conference goes on).

Stuck in traffic and considering this sticky rear end issue, I pondered about what impressions Shirl and I would leave behind on the American writing community? Once the hype of the conference is over and we’ve returned home to South Africa, will we be remembered as talented writers with a future in the published world? Or will the kindred spirits we meet during that week get to know us as writers who want to glorify God with the talents He’s gifted us with―whether published or unpublished? Hopefully both!

There’s one thing I do know we’ll be known for, however. . . the girls with the red cases.

GIRL WITH THE RED CASE

Several months ago, I set my heart on securing a sponsorship to a Christian Writers Conference in the USA. Certain that God would answer my prayers, imagine my surprise when the email came informing me that I hadn’t been selected.
Although I didn’t allow myself to get discouraged, I promptly put any ideas of attending an American Christian Writers Conference on the backburner.
Twelve weeks later I received an email from the moderator of the online writers group I belong to. Shirl said: “So . . . you still praying about attending a Christian Writers Conference in America? If not, why not?”

Shirl went on to inform me that she’d received an out-of-the-blue offer from a multi-published writer and speaker the previous evening, offering to pay all her travelling and tutorial expenses if she wanted to attend one of two conferences. She told me that prior to this incredible offer she had prayed furiously for a month or two but had actually stopped praying―much like me.

I was so excited for her.

Her email continued: “So get back on your knees girl! I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ALONE!!!”
Of the two conferences her benefactor offered, the first was way too soon―a mere three weeks away. Her obvious choice therefore was to attend the Florida Christian Writers Conference in March 2010.
Later that evening I shared Shirl’s good fortune with my husband. Without a second thought, Noel responded, “Why don’t you go with her? You can use my bonus.”

Just three months earlier, I had felt my dream of attending a conference slip away, never for a minute thinking that God would provide in a totally different way. And, not only did He provide the funding, but He provided a travel buddy for me―someone I could plan with, share with, and get excited with.
When God closes one door, it truly means that He has something far better in store for us. Had I been successful in my first sponsorship bid, I would have had to do it all alone. Daunting! But God knew that three months later Shirl would be offered a sponsorship. He also knew she’d be praying for someone to go with her.

Not only did He answer my prayers on 16th May this year, He answered more than one of Shirl’s too.

Now we have so much to pray about in preparation for the conference. Together we’re experiencing so many answers to those prayers, but more on that later from the girl with the red case . . .