Page Seventeen

It took a little longer than planned but I’m finally here to point you in the direction of the Events page. We’ve loaded a few photos from the Issue 8 launch and hope you enjoy them.

The launch was a wonderful afternoon where, once again, we filled Burrinja Cafe with contributors, friends and anyone else keen to hear some poetry and enough tastes of short stories that they couldn’t help but buy the book then rush home to find out what happened.

It’s always a delight to listen to the contributors read their own pieces, and I admit to feeling a tear press against my eyelid as one of the readers announced it was the very first time she’d had her name in print. A brand spanking new writer. One of our favourite kinds.

It’s always exciting too to announce the competition winners, and even though contributors receive their copy of the magazine on arrival, it came as a shock to Leah Swann to be awarded first prize in the short story competition, as she hadn’t thought to look up the results. I think this is a first, and it was lovely to share her joy as she realised. I must admit, when I first read her story Streetsweeper I had little cry.

As with any publication, there are a lot of people who worked hard to make sure Issue 8 is as fantastic as it is. So, one last time, I’d like to extend my heartfelt thanks to Vicki Thornton, Ashley Capes, Laurie Steed and Peter Farrar for their fabulous editorial decisions, Graham Nunn and Amanda le Bas de Plumetot for the fine selection of poems and stories from the annual competition and Amanda (again) and Marian Dalton for their exceptional proofreading.

Ocean Hearted, by Graham Nunn.

Another Lost Shark Publications.

I always enjoy a poetry collection that not only allows me to indulge in good poetry but takes me on a narrative journey. Graham Nunn’s Ocean Hearted is a collection that took me places, brought back memories of growing up by the seaside, and offered up visions I’ve yet to see. I was drawn into the collection from his opening poem ‘Grounded’.

In a crowded bar on Merthyr Street

he trembled like a sailor

having seen the slope of the world and its infinite

smallness, having returned

with the illusion he had not changed, but friends

had grown old and disappeared

into home and heartbreak.

All of us at one time or another, have returned, whether from a weekend away, a short holiday or an even longer absence. And once back, tried to be reabsorbed into our home/ town/ country. Nunn captures that stranger in a familiar land feeling without that nostalgic softness that often intrudes in others’ attempts.

Several of his poems, on one level look at landscape, particularly that of the river and sea. He uses the senses to capture the exactness that often is missed when a poet attempts to describe landscape. In several poems the landscape became more than a place, it became ‘place’ and therefore an integral part of the poem, such as this from ‘Riversongs’

It was good to wake this morning, knowing nothing except

there was a river, lacquered blue, streaked with light, shallow

over sand flats where flathead slouch and whiting shiver in schools

‘Good Friday, Brunswick Heads’ brought back memories I thought long forgotten.

And it stops my breath. It was a

morning incapable of cold, I never once thought of the rocks

pulling me into darkness and doing it now, I’m back there

staring at my wading boots, wondering,

the placement of them?

I recall rock fishing with my family as a child, and watching as my father was taken by a wave. Those seconds when everything froze – the sea, sky, land, all silent – then life returned. My mother screaming, us children not knowing whether to cry or not, and then my father swimming ashore –  abusing the loss of his fishing rod and the fish he swore he’d hooked just before the wave. Nunn in his poem has taken me back to that moment.

Other poems in the collection look at endings; of relationships, of life, of friendships, even the seasons.  His poem ‘Heyford Street’ offers a snapshot of the childhood home, once again without seeing through cloying nostalgic rose-tinted glasses.

Ash-grey asbestos roof tiles overlapped in patterns

reminiscent of a snake’s scales and downpipes

held emaciated fingers to the sagging eaves.

I like the honestly Nunn offers. He is a great observer and it’s the little details that he puts into a poem that resonate, gives it life and connects with the reader. I also enjoyed how he dealt with the simple domesticities of life, often setting them one minute by calm seaside breezes and next, storm-tossed skies.

From ‘Moored’:

At the window of this cheap motel

I turn to the dawn and spit.

The rain from yesterday falls bleakly

in the gap between our hearts.

What really intrigued me was how water, either represented by the river or the sea, was so much a part of his poetry.  Even the poems based on relationships, had an ebb and flow. Often as a reader I was floating with the current, allowing his words to wash over me, suddenly there would be a surge, poems such as ‘News on the phone’ and ‘Last tricks,’ a wave pulling me under and forcing me to the surface for breath.

Kevin Gillam states Nunn writes with a photographic eye and painter’s sensibility.  He does indeed do that, giving us all those details that give a poem depth, but for me there was also an honesty that added reality. I have read and re-read this collection, finding something new each time and I’m looking forward to the discovery of my next reading of Ocean Hearted.

I’ve just come off the back of being fiction editor for Issue 8 of page seventeen, having read a whole bunch of short stories. ‘You must be tired,’ people have said to me. ‘Here, have a pillow for you must be oh so exhausted.’

Well, yes and no.

I’m tired because of all the other jobs I do in addition to my role at page seventeen. Reading through submissions, however, was an absolute joy. Frustrating, yes. At times disheartening. But for the most part, there was a simple bliss in reading others’ words, visions, and stories as they searched for a wider audience.

 And what a range: I came across old ladies dying while hiking, time-obsessed mothers, writers who literally saved the world and a dog whisperer… and that was just in the first week. As time marched on, I read of masturbating mothers, pre-wedding jitters, a girl’s first period and some futuristic visions that would frighten George Orwell. All of these (excepting perhaps the sci-fi, which isn’t exactly page seventeen’s strong suit) had the potential to feature in the journal. What stopped them from making the shortlist, however, was an ailment more common than you might think.

I liked many of the stories I mentioned above, but they all needed a fleshing out of the themes, voices and characters within the story.

In Amanda Lohrey’s recent post on writing a short story (available here),  she suggests leaving a story for another month, or three, or six, before coming back to it, so as to ‘let it cook in the oven of your subconscious.’ While six months is a long time to let a story mature, I’d certainly advise at least a month, particularly between the first and second drafts. By doing this, you gain perspective on what is and isn’t working in the story. You sharpen the saw, and with said saw, slash away any characters that aren’t directly aiding the story. You change point-of-view if necessary, and you eliminate ‘that’, ‘however’, ‘to me’, ‘at me’, ‘inside of me’, and any other redundant phrases.

Some writers have told me they write perfect first drafts, so they don’t need to revise. These writers, quite frankly, are on crack. And they’re probably not getting published often.

Writing a great story is not easy. It will make you question your sanity. It will distract you when you’re trying to make love to a beautiful man or woman. But, it’s worth it, because you can always work on the story and then go make love to said beautiful man or woman.

I would have loved to have given feedback to each and every submission this year, but instead I’ll leave these three fragments as lessons learned on the short fiction highway:

1)      Never, ever, send your first draft to an editor. They can spot when a story hasn’t been developed.

2)      Join a writing group with writers that are at the same stage or slightly advanced from you. Sometimes you’re too close to the story to spot its most important flaws.

3)      Your story is done when you cannot do anything else to make it better. Challenge yourself before that point. Strive for excellence: change characters, add and delete scenes. Get an assessment from the VWC if you’re entering it for a big competition, and if not, then still get an assessment, or group feedback at the very least.

Editors don’t owe you the right to publication. You need to prove to them that you’re worth it. How much effort you put in is up to you, but if you don’t go the extra mile, then someone else will… and they’ll be the one getting published.

Thanks to all those who submitted their stories and congratulations to those writers selected. Thanks also to Peter Farrar and Vicki Thornton, my editorial committee for Issue 8. And finally, a special thanks to Tiggy Johnson, who does this every year while still working on her writing and raising three kids

Tiggy has helped foster the careers of any number of writers and poets over the years including myself, Ryan O’Neill, Vicki Thornton, Natasha Lester, Bronwyn Mehan, Nathan Curnow, Sean M Whelan, and Maxine Clarke. Their past contributor list reads like a who’s who of contemporary Australian writing, but at some point they were (and indeed, still are) just writers and poets, searching somewhere for an audience, a place to be published and respected.  And Tiggy has given us that, time and time again.

See you at the launch.

I must admit to enjoying the role of acting editor while Tiggy has been away on her holiday. There has been the joy of selecting work, of discovering new voices and enjoying the strength of known names. There has been the sorrow of turning down work, the juggling with pages and word counts.  As well as working with our competition judges, Graham Nunn and Amanda le Bas de Plumetot, our poetry editor, Ashley Capes, and the selection committee of Laurie Steed and Peter Farrar.

They have all been brilliant to work with. None of them minded (or appeared to mind) the emails that began with …ooops I think we have a problem.

There will be a short time when the Page Seventeen post will not be manned. I’m about to take a small holiday but before too long Tiggy will be back, reins tightly in her hand, answering any queries or questions.

I sincerely hope that I have responded to everyone that submitted to Page Seventeen, if not I apologise.  The paperwork I freely admit was the one area I dreaded.

However after reading the quality of work that has been selected,  I think we are going to have a great Issue 8 and can’t wait to see the final product.

We would love to see you at the launch

Saurday 13th November, Burrinja Cafe, 350 Glenfern Rd, Upwey, 1 pm.

Vicki Thornton

Acting Editor

Melbourne’s poem has been chosen. Soon we shall have Adelaide’s  safely in the bag. And just to prove that we do get around, it will soon be Brisbane’s turn to have a poem  selected for Issue 8 at one of their spoken word events.

More information you demand?

Sunday August 1st, SpeedPoets @ InSpire Gallery Bar, 71 Vulture St West End, Brisbane, 2-5 pm.

Entry is a gold coin donation

Judge-  the one and only Graham Nunn

So get your writing shoes on- get out there  and have a go.

And don’t forget you can still make it to Hard Boiled poetry @ La Boheme, 36 Grote Street, Adelaide – this Thursday 29th July, 8.30 pm. Judge -  Amelia Walker. 

We’ve had a few questions regarding the choosing of the poems at these events…the guidelines are set according to the events open mic  ’rules’.

Some events have a 3 mt time limit, others have a 5 mt limit. Some events have a restricted number of open mic spaces- so first in, best dressed.

Be aware that the judges are looking not only for a poem that is a great performance piece, but one that works brilliantly on the page.

Best of luck

Vicki Thornton – Acting Editor

This year we are getting out and about, having fun selecting poetry at spoken word events for Issue 8.  We already have one  poem from Melbourne, chosen with love and care, and now it’s Adelaide’s turn.

Where you ask?

‘Hard Boiled’ open mike poetry @ La Boheme, 36 Grote Street, Adelaide.

This Thursday, July 29th 8.30 pm.

To be judged by Amelia Walker.

Come along for a great night of spoken word and who knows…your work  may appear in Page Seventeen.

Vicki Thornton – Acting Editor

Tiggy has begun her adventure and so I will be updating you on the happenings at Page Seventeen while she is away.  (I’m trying to avoid the cliche while the cat’s away the mice will play…but…)

Submissions have closed and this year we had more than 250 poems and 180 short stories for general submission. This is the most number of short story submissions we’ve ever had.

And now for the fun.

The editorial committee will begin reading. Our poetry editor, Ashley Capes, will be reading all poetry submissions, and the fiction will be read by myself, Peter Farrar and Laurie Steed (our fiction editor).

So I’m going to crank up the heating, make a coffee and immerse myself in some wonderful short stories.

Vicki Thornton -Acting Editor

It’s hard to believe submissions have closed and I’m off on my family road trip after one more big sleep. This will be my last post for a while, but Vicki Thornton, Acting Editor, will be taking over while I’m gone, so please make her feel welcome. It seems fitting to share Vicki’s thoughts on this short story before I go.

‘Nights’ by Suvi Mahonen was published in Page Seventeen, Issue 6. I was part of the editorial committee that year and when Tiggy asked if I would like to review a short story from a past issue I jumped at the chance to review this story. Published in 2008, and with all the words and stories and poems and novels I’ve read since, I still remember this story vividly.

Dani Harrison and her husband Mark are ready to start a family. They have bought a house, they are both young and in good health, a family seems the next step in their relationship. Mark, a nurse in the labour ward of a busy hospital, is more than eager for a child. Dani, an artist, is unsure how a child will fit into their life.

Once pregnant though, Dani looks eagerly forward to the new baby. The nursery is planned and prepared. However baby Patrick is stillborn, will never see the nursery his parents have lovingly decorated. In an emergency operation Dani is given an hysterectomy and returns home knowing she will never have children.

The couple struggle to come to terms with what has happened. With the grief of losing their baby but also knowing that there will no other children to comfort them. The final scene of Dani finally returning to her painting. A figure of an old woman, unable to smile, alone, and with ‘a faint line indents the base of her stolid fourth finger’; shows exactly what she can not voice.

This story is more powerful because of what is not told. Relayed in past and present segments, it is thick with a tense silence between the characters. Mahonen looks at these ordinary characters, how they struggle with the isolation of their own grief as well as that of a couple. This story is heavy with loss. The loss of a child but also the loss of a relationship.

It’s come along quickly. Tomorrow we are selecting a poem from the open mic section of Melbourne poetry event Stopping all Stations to go into issue 8.

It’s easy, all you have to do is bring along one of your poems and registerto read/perform it in the open mic section.

It’s all happeneing at the Station St cafe, 26 Station street, Nunawading, from 2pm, Saturday 19th June. If you’re on the train, it’s right across the road from Nunawading station (Belgrave/Lilydale lines). There’s a $5 fee for the event, which includes lucky door prizes (including books and book vouchers), and the pleasure of also hearing featured poet Catherine Bateson read her work. There are no additional requirements or payments for you to enter, except you might like to bring an extra copy of your poem to leave with the judge/s in case yours is selected. The winner will also receive a copy of the current issue, Issue 7.

If spoken word isn’t your thing, or you’re not in Melbourne, there’s still time to send us your submission. You have until June 30 to submit up to three written pieces and/or black and white images, and/or to enter either or both the Cover Competition or the Short Story and Poetry competition.

Also, keep your eye on our Facebook page. In the next few days, we’ll be announcing a little competition that will only be open until the end of June.

Vicki Thornton is the Acting Editor of page seventeen for Issue 8.  Last Days of Summer (Mockingbird) is her first collection of short stories. 

Thornton’s style is sparse, her stories brief. Brief enough to fill the smallest moments in a day. Those moments between the usual domestic chores and family pressures, but though the stories are brief they have a depth and subtlety that can linger for hours or days. Longer.

In ‘For a Moment’ we are introduced to Billie, as seen through the eyes of an innocent unnamed girl; as someone wise, someone worth seeking out, someone to sit beside quietly and listen to. We also see Billie through the unforgiving eyes of the girl’s mother, as a homeless person, someone to distrust, someone to avoid. It’s all a matter of perspective. Billie might seem to be someone worthy of pity; she is poor, old and homeless, but she is also independent; free. She rejects the entanglements of the material world, chooses for herself how she will live and how she will die.

In ‘Aerodynamics of Love’, the writer experiments with structure as she dissects and deconstructs a relationship with perfect detachment. The structure itself gives added meaning to the story. Each word is necessary. Believable. There is no need for embellishment.

‘Cicada Song’ reads like a list. This is a story of summer holidays by the beach, a story of childhood. The memories are specific yet there is much for the reader to relate to. These are happy memories tinged with sadness and loss. In childhood, feelings—happy, sad— are equal and depend on each other for context. In adulthood, memories are often the same.

In ‘The Sweetness of Musk’ we are plunged into Jake’s world; a small rural town gripped by drought, where everything is either dead or dying. Jake is a child not yet tall enough to see over the lolly counter; naive to the world beyond the boundaries of his town and the future that awaits him, yet in some ways he is old beyond his years and all too aware of what it means to be mortal.

The characters who inhabit these stories are broken; bowed by circumstance, steeped in sorrow. Thornton lays bare their secret lives, exposes what is usually kept hidden from public view. It is human nature to hide parts of ourselves; to wear a mask. Thornton’s characters are people caught at their most vulnerable, with their faces naked and their private lives on show.

You probably won’t laugh while reading these stories, but you may feel uncomfortable, and you will think. Through her choice of topic, Thornton’s collection explores what it is to be human – the doubt, the struggle, the simple joys, the pain.