On the news today was the sad story of two women who were killed by an elephant while on a walking safari in Zambia. I’m sad for their families. Believe me, I know. In 1996 my cousin was killed by a hippo. She was on a makoro (canoe) in the Okavango Swamps in Botswana when the hippo charged, flipped the makoro and then went for my cousin. 
Please remember if you ever decide to take a safari, these wild places in Africa are just that…wild. And the animals there are wild. It’s not a petting zoo, as some people seem to think. Some years ago, in a game park in South Africa, a couple of Chinese tourists got out of their vehicle to take selfies with lions, despite being told to stay in their car at all times. They were mauled to death. In another instance, a German tourist got out of her vehicle in order to tend to a lion with an injured paw. She too died.
The ladies on safari in Zambia were confronted by a female elephant with a calf. It is in the nature of wild animals to protect their young (far better than we do as humans!). As a result, the female elephant charged and the two women died. What is sad for me is that the tour guide shot at and wounded the female elephant. For god’s sake, she was only protecting her young!
We were in a campervan in South West Africa (Namibia) when we came upon a herd of elephants. The Matriarch was not pleased. First she bellowed a warning, then knocked her front feet together. Then she faced us with her ears flapping – a sure sign we were in serious trouble. We’d sat in the van with the gear already in reverse. And we got out of there as fast as we could.
Elephants are known to have rolled vehicles. We had four children in the van with us. We knew not to argue.
If you decide to go on safari, please remember you are a guest. You are only visiting. Please respect the local inhabitants, our wonderful wild animals.
                                                                                                                                                                          

​I am a published author and a voracious reader. So, it is with great dismay I read that the National Library of New Zealand is in the process of culling another half million books from their shelves. These are all books on the history, culture and knowledge of the Western world. These books are recorded memories of our civilization that the Commissars of the National Library have seen fit to pulp. This has been going on for years. In 2020 alone there were 600,000 books removed. These books are our history, our ethics, our morality, our philosophy. They are the record of what made us and our civilization great.
The librarians say they are shifting their “focus” onto e-books and a narrower range of ‘approved’ titles. It’s due to lack of space, they say. But it isn’t about lack of space if the only books being removed are from some of the world’s most important thinkers, visionaries, philosophers and architects of Western Civilisation. This is about historical erasure.
And what is replacing these lost books? Approved books reinforcing state narrative, books on identity politics, racial idolatry, indoctrination disguised as education. The National Library claims it wants to prioritise New Zealand published books. So, they are destroying international and irreplaceable books to make room for the ‘new titles’ that will fit in with the present narrative. And they think it’s somehow alright?
This is culture control as practiced by communist states, this replacing of diverse knowledge with state-controlled information. We have returned to a time when inquiry is seen as protest and needs to be censored, where truth is revolutionary and where our libraries are being turned against us.
George Orwell warned us in 1984: “The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became truth.” 

A few years ago I attended a Book Fair near my home town. I had a stand with all my books on display and was thoroughly happy with the number of interested people who browsed. In the afternoon a lady came up to me, slightly nervous, but not as nervous as the man who stood some way behind her.
"My husband has written a book," she said. "He would like to get it published."
"That's marvelous," I gushed. "Would he like me to read it for comment?"
"Oh, no," she said. "He doesn't want anyone to read it."
"I beg your pardon?"
"No, he wants it published but he doesn't want anyone to read it."
Top marks if you can see the problem here.
The gentleman hadn't joined a writing group or had a beta-reader look through for errors like grammar, syntax, spelling, etc. Or even submitted it to a publishing house. But he wanted it published. 
Probably the first step to getting your story out there is to join a writing group of like-minded people, who want to learn how to write and want to share their stories. It is in such a group that you learn the technique of writing.  
Yes, you read that right. Writing has a technique that you can learn. Talent is another thing altogether, but you can learn to write just as you can learn to paint or play the piano.  What you do need is the desire to share your story, the persistence to keep going and the humility to accept there are always people who know more about it than you do.
A few years ago I was in a writing group when a man joined us. He had written thirty-six pages in a year of writing. (At that rate it would have taken him about 8 years to finish, but I didn't say so.) This particular gentleman came along, looked around (we were all in our sixties or seventies) probably assumed that he was there to show off his genius to a bunch of old biddies, and sat down. I'll give him that, he had talent. But he refused any comment or suggestion made that would have seen his work shine. He refused to learn.
Different from the gentleman who didn't want anyone to read his book, but neither would ever get published. 
We all have a story to tell, more than one perhaps.  Don't let your story languish under a bushel. Get moving, get writing and don't be afraid to show someone your work. And, for heaven's sake, be humble about it. 

Two old ladies sitting at a table
Neither young and neither able
But playing bridge needs no agility
Only a certain mental ability.
Said one to the other, "My friend,
We've been pals from beginning to end.
We've shared our homework and our toys
And even fought over pimply boys.

Now, here we are all wrinkled and old -
three hearts if I may be so bold -.
Each week we sit here playing this game,
But I'm darned if I can remember your name.

I'm in rather a nasty tizz,
So, please can you tell me what it is?"
The other looked startled and and sat for a bit
Looking as if she'd taken a hit
of something more than a glass of wine.

"My name?" she asked. "Just mine?"
She paused, looking this way and that,
Adjusted her scarf, resettled her hat.
Then she muttered, cheeks all aglow,
"My dear, how soon do you need to know?"

We female authors have a sacred duty to wipe out every vestige of sexism in writing. We need to go through not only our own work but we need to go further. We must set up a Sexist Writing Police Squad to monitor every writer, journalist, Hallmark card, et al, to make sure that sexist writing is eliminated forever.
Oh, yes, there has been some backward movement in that regard. I notice that actresses no longer exist. Nor do poetesses. They are all actors and poets now. As for a seamstress, there may be seamsters around. I just haven't come across any yet.
But getting back to the point, we owe it to every woman, er, sorry, wo-person, on the planet to change, massage, even person-ipulate words to strike at the very heart of male dominance. I'm all for changing chairman to chairperson (although I've always understood that the 'man' bit came from Latin, meaning hand. Thus, hand on the chair. But I may be wrong.) What about changing fisherman to fisher-person or seaman to sea-person
And what about man-eating tigers? Don't we wo-persons have the right to be eaten by tigers? Of course, we do. In fact, I de-person-d it.
All this word changing just doesn't go far enough,m in my humble opinion. What about cities, Person-chester, for example. Or countries, Ru-peson-ia and even book titles like The Third Person or Of Mice and Persons. And there are surnames - which can be tricky but we should give it a go. For example, the surname Williamson is anathema to wo-persons. It should be Wiliamson-ordaughter-whichever-the-case-may-be. From now on please address me as Harrison-or-daughter. Thank you.
Life has become tricky. We have a flock of men going around dressed in wo-person's clothes and demanding to be addresses as wo-persons. Whereas real wo-persons who dress in men's clothes and get testosterone injections and think they're men. Language is in turmoil and with my feminine demands I'm afraid it is about to become trickier.
 As a hu-person-being I'm completely convinced we can root out sexism from our language and I intend to start a hikoi and a protest and a demo right now. Well, tomorrow. The ways we can change the world are endless We just have to get to it! I'm making the banners as we speak. It's a noble cause and I urge you to join me in this crusade. With a bit of effort I'm sure se can person-age it.
Yeah, right.

If you use the word napkin for serviette, or hood for bonnet or trunk for boot of a car, or if you spell programme without the extra ‘me’ at the end or liter for litre, then you probably love Americanisms. Or at least you ignore the difference between American “dialect and “proper” English.
You can see where my preferences lie. I much favour the British variety, as do most New Zealanders, and find such words as aluminum for aluminium and neighbor for neighbour really stomach-clenching. But hey, whatever works for you…!
Americans have developed their own expressions that are characteristic of their more casual sort of lifestyle. It’s evolved over time and started when the first settlers arrived on its shore from their homeland, Britain. Some of their language still retains elements of old English, for example the word ‘gotten’ instead of ‘got’’. But most changes are directed more at ease and comfort than correctness.
Languages are a social construct and we English speakers can be irritated by Americanisms largely, I think, because we instinctively believe that English belongs to us and how dare Americans change things to suit themselves. But it does show how far apart the two nations have drifted.
Vocabulary is the most obvious – faucet, restroom (whatever happened to the good old toilet or lavatory?), normalcy, cookie.
And does the hair in the nape of your neck rise when you hear ‘he dove for the door’ or ‘I drug him out of the burning building’?
Yeah, me too.

YOU CAN’T BE PERFECT ALL THE TIME
Are you a perfectionist? Do you continually fiddle with the finished book, article, blog, paragraph, or sentence? Is that book still sitting on your computer because it isn’t perfect? Are you forever asking friends, family or strangers to read your work and then, worst of all, take notice of what they say?
Yeah, me too.

Our problem is that we often lack confidence in our ability to write a thoroughly good book, article, letter or whatever. We want to see the destination long before we’ve even begun the journey. We plan ahead, we may even mindmap the darn thing.

But, you know what? No good creation came from a tightly-held reins.

Now, get over the perfection, already! We all write crap and most of us write it every day and then the next day we delete it. That’s life, there’s even a little button called ‘delete’. But hold on!  Not so fast.
If we dig into what we’ve written we may just pick up a nugget that's pure gold.

Life is always in flux, the inspiration to write comes and goes like the ebbing tide. Ideas come and go. It’s day, it’s night. The tide’s in, the tide’s out. Perfection isn’t permanent and what seems crap today may be tomorrow’s best-ever. Always remember your present circumstance isn’t your final destination. The best is yet to come. And the best will not necessarily be perfect.
So, sit down and write, my friend, open the floodgates. Write as if no one is going to read it and put perfection into the bin where it belongs.

CHECKLIST FOR SUCCESS

You want to be a successful writer. You would like to have dollar signs coming out of your ears. Here are a few tips on how to achieve that:

1. Treat your writing as your profession. Make sure the family know, those are your working hours and no one is to intrude on them. If the house has caught fire or someone has broken a bone then they may knock on your door. Otherwise, be firm. Your writing has moved from being a hobby to a profession. You are going to write every day, you are not going to write when you “feel” like it. You wouldn’t do that if you had a boss and went into an office every day.
   
2. Decide on how many words a day you are going to write. Aim for 1,000 words. It’s not impossible, its only three pages. Think of it long-term. With 1,000 words a day you can churn out a book in three months, three or maybe four books a year. Thing is, if you have set your goal at 1,000 then you write 1,000, not 900, not 950. Sit there until the magic 1,000 is done. And it will be magic!
   
3. Don’t diversify. General advice is to stick to one genre and, preferably in that genre, to a subject that will turn into a series. For example, you are going to write thrillers and, more specifically, paranormal thrillers. With one subject area your readers will know what to expect when they see your name on the book cover. (And this is where I have fallen very short. I’ve written bios, novels, a gift book, an instruction manual. It’s time I took my own advice and had a major subject area in which I can specialise.)
   
4. The well needs to be filled so make sure you take a break. Just as if you were going into the office every day you need to have time off to cool down and re-source. That means spending time at the beach, or walking in the wetlands, or even having coffee with friends at the local café. (I was offered a day at the races. I didn’t go. Darn! That could have been a source of a new book.)
   
5. Spend some time in the week doing your marketing and promotion (and that’s another blog waiting to be written).
   
6. There are some necessary tools you are going to need in your “office space”. First is Roget’s Thesaurus. A dictionary; I have a two-set Oxford I wouldn’t be without. Elements of Style by Strunk and White and I have a copy of Write Edit Print: Style Manual for Aotearoa New Zealand. Poetry books galore and a couple of shelves of how-to write books.
   

You are now set to be the best and most professional writer you can be. Good luck.

Thank heavens for those who mangle the English language. The likes of the Reverend William Archibald Spooner and Richard Sheridan’s Mrs Malaprop bring to the language a sparkle and a sense of humour that, if it doesn’t drive you to distraction, invigorates and amuses.
Over the years, I have created a couple of characters whose personalities are molded by their, shall we say, unique approach to the English language.

In my book The Indigo Kid, Stella Goodstar runs the Sixty-Nine Club, a porn-slash-spiritual store (she didn’t know which end to cater for, so she combines the two). Stella has decided to dispense with posters in her store as someone has promised to ‘paint a nice Muriel on the wall’ for her. And discussing a charismatic evangelist: “That Peter Shepherd...A real fox in the penthouse, that one.”
In Rusty and Slasher and the Circus from Hell the priest, Father Shamus Appelbaum, follows in the splendid footsteps of Rev Spooner by urging his congregation to ‘hollow their fart’. Slasher is not averse to mangling the language either. “Maybe that’s because wriggle mortis had set in.” Slasher gave a theatrical shudder. “Now I know why they call them stiffs. He was like a cardboard box with legs.”
Creating such characters is fun. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? This writing lark. Having fun. Creating characters you like, that are maybe a little spark of your own inner, hidden, self. Characters you wouldn’t mind having a cuppa with. (And, yes, I do like Nana Naills – she is naughty and not-so-nice and she needs adult diapers before going on a heist.)

Comparisons are odorous, I know. I will never write a spy novel, like John le Carré, about a Soviet agent who defecated to the West. I will never write a classic like Lame is Rob by Victor Hugo or Don Coyote by Servants. I may never win the Pullet Surprise with my novels but, boy, I’ve had fun.


(With apologies and humble acknowledgements to Des McHale who wrote A Decapitated Coffee, Please)

I don't do cockroaches very well. They scuttle. They glare. I may be a gazillion times bigger than them but they're not frightened. They just wave their antennae at me, lift their claws into a Mohammad Ali position and stand their ground. Is it because they know something?
Yes they do. They know that when we humans are no longer on this planet they'll be in charge. Except I have news for them. Don't they read science fiction? Don't they know that after we've nuked the planet and they are marching around military style, there will be a score of us coming out of the caves and ready to take them on. We won't have totalled ourselves and we'll still be squashing those little bastards underfoot.
Except, I'm not like that. I have a soft spot for anything uglier and smaller than me. When I see a cockroach, I find a tissue, clean of course, and wrap it up. You have to be quick about this or else they crab away faster than you can catch them.,
 
Wrapped up neatly in a tissue package I throw them out the window.  They float away on my tissue parachute.
 
I hope they remember who saved them.