Kris Bather, short story writer from The Wild Goose Literary e-Journal, has published his debut collection of short stories on Amazon. Check it out here: https://www.amazon.com.au/Beautiful-Nonsense
I was thinking about this post, in conjunction with channel surfing my way through free to air television over the past few weeks. There has been, especially in the British period dramas on offer across the ABC, a remarkable conservatism and longing for the past in a way that it never really existed. I suppose in a post Brexit world, this is what the viewing public is wanting, but what does it mean for the progress that society has made in the past 50 or so years?
I mention this because, apart from the entirely white washed casts, or else casts where people of colour are relegated back to being servants or slaves, these stories also have an impact on how we see women. Under the guise of ‘historical accuracy’ women in these shows often have very few moulds to fit within. These include: the bitch/harridan, usually depicted as thus because firstly she is over 40, and secondly because she has a mind of her own and will not submit to male correction. The good girl, who is kind, sympathetic, always on hand to sort out the problems of the men. She is the moderating influence to the authoritarian male role, but is clearly submissive to him. In The Halcyon, she is doubly under his authority, as both his junior manager and his daughter. The femme fatale, is obviously the embodiment of male sexual desires, with little to recommend her beyond the worth of her physicality. She is partnered with the Lush, an older woman whose worth according to men’s desires has been used up, and now seeks solace in alcohol and ‘embarrassing’ flirtation, with the men who used her up. Finally there is the femme fragile, the delicate creature who the men feel the need to protect at any cost. These are very old stereotypes, better suited to an age when women were relegated to playing old woman after the age of 35, and yet here they are in a 21st century production.
Why does this matter? You ask. Well it matters, because how we see women in film, on TV in books has an impact on how we negotiate our lives in the real world, and in turn how we as writers depict women. Once you corral women into a very narrow set of stereotypes, the possibilities for female action and agency are curtailed. Women thus depicted are forced to relate to each other only as their relation to men allows. Thus, competing for male approval through tearing each other apart becomes their sole function. This way of depicting women, as powerless and reinforcing old prejudices of women as hating other women for the scraps of approval they receive from men, was decried as restrictive in 1929 by Virginia Woolf. She proposes a remarkable notion of women in fiction being friends with no mediating man or rivalry to stand between them. Why is this idea still radical?
So as writers what should we consider when writing women, especially historical women?
Over the Weekend, I watched Shine a Light the Rolling Stones concert filmed by Martin Scorsese. Here were men in their 60’s with absolutely no monetary need to do so, performing a long and physically demanding concert, why? Because they must, because to not play and perform music would probably kill them quicker than all the drugs put together.
This made me then think of another thing I had read recently, an article in The Guardian written by a person who called herself a failed novelist, simply because she had failed to publish her two manuscripts. Now this brings us to the crux of this post, what does success look like to you as a writer? This is a very important thing for any writer to consider, because your motivations for writing will determine how you deal with success and the inevitable failure that comes in the writing world. Yes I did say failure, writing is all about failure, failure to fully articulate your intentions, failure to find a publication to take your work, failure of critics to understand your work, failure to sell, failure to repeat a success, failure to develop… So many types of failure. As a result, you need a good coping strategy otherwise you are likely to sound as bitter as the anonymous failed novelist. The flip side of this is success.
What about success, what does success look like to you? For many people I meet, success looks like a multimillion dollar selling book series, and a castle in Scotland, like a certain UK writer, whom I shan’t mention because we all know who I am talking about. If instant wealth and monetary success is the only bar you are using to measure your worth as a writer, it might be best to quit now, you’ll quit as soon as your manuscript fails to find a publisher anyway. Save yourself the frustration and tears, and go back to being a reader. Yes, that was harsh wasn’t it? I am not saying that this doesn’t happen, as patently it does, but as an unknown unpublished writer the odds of this happening are astronomical. The media publicises these people because they are so uncommon, not because they are typical of how most writers achieve success. The average yearly income for a working writer from their writing is about $12,000 in Australia, which is less than the dole. And those are the winners!
Again I ask: What does success look like to you? Knowing and having a realistic vision of success will help you to deal with failure better. For some people success is having their work read by strangers, for others it is leaving a coherent and detailed account of their family to their descendants. It might be publishing a blog, or an e-zine. Successful writing may need no audience at all, the cathartic aspect of writing having done its work. The point I am trying to make here is that only you can define success, it is no point me or anyone else setting the bar for you. Only you know how hungry you are and what will satisfy that hunger.
If you write, and cannot imagine your life without writing, then you are a writer. Money doesn’t make you a writer, just as several rejected manuscripts doesn’t invalidate you as a writer. So again I will as you: What does success look like to you? Because your answer will make all the difference as you strive to achieve it.
What I’m really thinking: The failed novelist, by Anonymous, The Guardian, accessed 18/4/17 https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2017/apr/01/what-im-really-thinking-the-failed-novelist
Much like Mark Twain, poetry can claim that: The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Poetry is not and really never has been a dying art. She does often suffer a serious life threatening wounding at the hands of curriculums and careless teachers, which demand that she be dissected line by line, word by word, performing vivisections trying to find out how she works. However, poetry is far more resilient than that, and for those who repent and do penance for their crimes against her she has much to offer.
Before we proceed, let it first be stated that there never has been a “Golden age” of poetry when all the citizenry walked about with verse in their pockets and poetry sold like Harry Potter novels. Poetry has always been and ever will be a Coy Mistress. The Funeral laments have been sung over her grave by many a scholar who has mistaken her Spring Offensive for the real thing and begun The Burial of the Dead, only to find that Lady Lazarus like she rises And Death shall have no dominion, though The Sheep went on Being Dead.
A few years ago, I decided that I had served my penance for my sins against poetry and began to read her again. Not only is poetry not dead, she is in rude good health, like the aunt who drinks and smokes and yet somehow lives to 102. The natural habitat of poetry, unlike the novel, is not the book. Poetry was born in the mouths of bards millennia ago. Where people sat about a hearth or a campfire rendered inactive by night, there poetry could be found providing the entertainment. With the advent of writing, she found her way into sacred texts and scrolls of immense worth. She secreted herself within letters. She made her way into manuscripts, illuminating velum as strongly as the pigments the monks, nuns and scribes used to decorate her pages. The gentlemen named Gutenberg allowed her to multiply quicker than ever before, as she found not only books in which she could travel, but also the much more flattering and figure hugging pamphlets. When her great rival the novel came on the scene, she found herself liberated from long form narrative and began to experiment with different forms and styles. Increased literacy meant that she now found herself mouthed from magazines and journals, as well as the most stylish of salons. She has can be found in the boudoir, the bush and the battlefield. She is the voice of the tyrant and of the slave, the victor and the vanquished. She can spark a revolution or tell the innermost secrets of the human heart. She is a mercurial creature, who will find a home where ever two words can be rubbed together and the spark nurtured.
Poetry as a popular form suffers from the demands it places on the reader, it requires high levels of literacy, far higher than that required for novels. It also requires time and a willingness to be emotionally exposed. Poetry as the lecture reminds us is about excitement and emotion. (Hecq 2009) However as T.S. Eliot reminds us, “The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all. And emotions which he has never experienced will serve his turn as well as those familiar to him..........Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality.” (Eliot, pg 10, 1932) Poetry is not a place to vent personal emotion, but a place for people to share in emotions that they do not have the language to express for themselves. It is a powerfully cathartic art form. This is something that can be seen at performance poetry events. I belong to a performance poetry group and write and perform with them at their monthly meetings. There is something special in standing up and reading a poem to an audience, of making them laugh or of reducing a pub to an awed silence on the strength of a few well chosen words. Performance poetry breaks down the literacy barriers to poetry it also changes it’s character. Sylvia Plath’s Daddy is a different experience on the page than when it is read and the final lines can be performed with the devastating anger and defiance of a human voice as the crescendo of the drumming almost jolly rhythm of the poem. This is an experience that many performance poets will describe, the immediacy and the physical nature of performance makes it a far more vital experience than that of merely reading a poem silently in a quiet room. (Rosen 2014)
The plethora of online and print journals which publish poetry, attests to the health of poetry. Poetry is not a dying art, just because she does not make her home in the easily marketed and commercialised captivity of the book does not mean that she is not happily living outside the bounds of captivity in her natural habitat.
Eliot, T.S., 1932, Selected essays 1917 – 1932, Harcourt, Brace and Company, New York.
Rosen, M, 2014, Performance poetry: the word of the moment, The Guardian, viewed 19th July 2014, http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/may/09/performance-poetry-turner-prize-judges-spoken-word
The theoretical approach that is dominant in my writing is feminism; because I believe that being a woman who writes is a political and feminist act in itself. Because I write from a female perspective, as that is my world view, this has an impact on all the characters I write, both male and female and on the types of stories I choose. One comment I received regularly from male readers while I was writing my Anzac story was “How are you going to write the battle scenes?” because from a male perspective this was the most important part of the story. However, from a female perspective I felt that the heart of the story dwelt not in men killing one another, but in the way, the war warped and influenced the relationships of those caught up in it.
However, as I am a woman writing, I don’t choose feminism as a framework. What I choose, is to write within a postmodern framework as this allows me the space to place my female experience of the world against the dominant male experience of the world. Without a postmodernist approach to history, showing how knowledge is power and how history is shaped by those with power against ‘other’ voices, be they female, indigenous, homosexual, or working class, it would be impossible for these voices to find an outlet within the dominant narrative of history. “If, as Foucault declares, a claim to knowledge really is nothing but an attempt to overpower others, then retelling history serves the purpose of gaining power for some repressed group.” (All About World View, n.d)
Of course, revisionist history can only go so far. History, no matter which theoretical approach is applied to it, must be evidence based. The facetious arguments at the end of the All About article are ridiculous, even though arguments of this kind are often thrown at Postmodernist histories. For some people the idea that there are “histories” rather than “history” is confronting. The idea that not everyone agrees with your own account of the past can be difficult for individuals and especially institutions to accept. One only need look at social media message boards for articles which challenge dominant narratives, to see how contentious this issue can become. As Marilyn Lake discovered when she challenged the mythology of Anzac. (Lake & Reynolds, 2010, p. 1)
This is also an area I am working on in my fiction writing, that of stripping the mythic from Anzac and reminding readers that for every ‘hero’ there was a shattered family and a shattered life left behind in Australia. This makes my writing contentious, true, but a postmodern approach gives me licence to examine history from a different angle, something which I have always enjoyed doing. It is not so much that I expect to replace one history with another, as to augment our understanding of events which are important to us as a people.
Lake, M., & Reynolds, H, 2010, What's Wrong with ANZAC? The Militarisation of Australian History,Unversity of New South Wales, Sydney.
Postmodern History, All about world view, viewed 3rd February 2014, http://www.allaboutworldview.org/postmodern-history.htm#sthash.7jccKFPi.dpuf
Fictocriticism allows writers, both nonfiction and fiction writers to engage with material in unorthodox ways. In fictocriticism, the meaning is as much part of the form as it is the content. Form and content become interlinked, making text more than static symbol on a page. This manipulation of the reader/viewer is best seen in digital works which as Hazel Smith discusses allow the text to become a dynamic space for meaning and transformation in its own right rather than just being a carrier of meaning. (Smith 2004) The examples of hypertext and manipulated voice allow meaning to be conveyed through a variety of media beyond that of the static text on the page. This was something which I found quite useful when I wrote a Hypertext story and imbedded music, allowing the wolf to sing. Not only did my wolf sing, but also the use of the Counter-Tenor voice (High androgynous male voice) challenged notions of masculinity and heroism. (Muller 2013)
The ability to shortcut meaning and critical discussion within a fictional text, makes Fictocriticism an exciting genre to work in. If the writer is not bound by the purely subjective/objective constraints which divide fiction from nonfiction, then the writer is as Hazel Smith found in her work The Erotics of Gossip free to critically engage with an audience in a playful and yet thought provoking manner (Smith 2009). Anna Gibbs, in her stream of consciousness poetic discourse, which flows from explanation into an almost hallucinogenic example of fictocritical writing, and Majena Mafe’s manifesto, are both works which defy easy classification. As Gibbs says, “It is not translation or transposition: it says something which can’t be said in any other way.” (Gibbs, 1997) Although not easily understandable, fictocriticism offers the writer a new way to look at the world.
A new way to look at the world is exactly what Michael Taussig does in his anthropological work, challenging the orthodox approach to anthropology. Looking both at how the language of ethnography creates as much as it records a culture, and at how storytelling can reconcile both the contradictions of a culture and create an understanding of deeply disturbing and seemingly self-defeating cultural practices. (Eakin, 2001)
Ultimately, fictocriticism is not a genre which will ever be easy to define nor will it depose the traditional modes of storytelling and academic writing. As a genre which seeks critical engagement with a reader it is one which enables us to engage in playful and unique ways with material which might otherwise go unchallenged. It is certainly a form of writing with which I will be continuing to investigate and experiment.
Eakin, E, 2001, Anthropology’s Alternative Radical, Crab Rutgers, viewed 6th August 2014, http://crab.rutgers.edu/~goertzel/fictocriticism.htm.
Gibbs, A, 1997, Bodies Of Words: Feminism And Fictocriticism – Explanation And Demonstration, Text, viewed 6th August 2014, http://www.textjournal.com.au/oct97/gibbs.htm
Mafe, M, 2009, Grappled Steps In The Method-Making Of Writing ... (A Maryfesto), Outskirts, viewed 6th August 2014, http://www.outskirts.arts.uwa.edu.au/volumes/volume-20/mafe
Muller, N, 2013, Sophie and the wolf – A Hypertext story, viewed 9th August 2014, http://sophieandthewolf.weebly.com/
Smith, H, 2009, “The Erotics of Gossip: Fictocriticism, Performativity, Technology”, Continuum: Journal of Media and Cultural Studies, vol. 19, no.3, pp. 403-412, viewed 6th August 2014, http://ezproxy.lib.swin.edu.au/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=lfh&AN=46723056&site=ehost-live&scope=site
Smith, H, 2004, Cursors And Crystal Balls: Digital Technologies And The Future Of Writing, Text, viewed 6th August 2014, http://www.textjournal.com.au/oct04/smith.htm
There is no universal definition of what a short story is. The short story in Australia has had many changes of focus and theme since Henry Lawson began writing in the 1890’s. The fact that short stories have such rapid changes of theme and focus across the century makes them seem a more responsive genre of writing than the novel. As Michael Bryson notes, many people see short stories as a training ground for the main event, the novel.
As a novelist myself, this view of the short story cannot be further from my experience of writing. The short story is not a seedling novel, any more than a poem is a novel embryo. Short stories require immense discipline to write, the restricted palate and size constraints of the short story provoke a different style of thinking to that required for the novel. The novel is an expansive genre one which can contain multiple plot lines and many characters. Novels are also more likely to be character driven as the expanded space allows for significant development of the character rather than the short stories epiphany. Thus on the surface the two forms would appear to have little in common.
However, as Gerald Prince discusses in his attempt to define the short story, the short story “must be “literary”; offered for “display”; intended or taken to be beautiful, pleasing, aesthetically affecting.” (Prince 1993) The vagueness of this definition can easily be also applied to the literary novel, another genre of writing without a solid definition, unlike its sisters, crime writing, historical fiction, romance fiction etc. As literary fiction is the genre in which I am writing, the problems of definition are mine also. What is a literary work? When in either long or short form, this is a difficult question to answer. For me as a novelist it means that I classify my work as a Histographic Metafiction, after the postmodernist definition advanced by Linda Hutcheon, a process which denies closure, and disrupts ideas of grand narrative and certainty. (Clark, 1993) The contemporary short story interested in the disruption of identity, of the limits of language and the possibility of existing outside language and signification, outside the ‘I’ is a challenge to the society as a whole and an example of extreme individualisation where every marker of selfhood is thrown off. This is a difficult idea to sustain for a novelist, though writers like Beckett, Kafka and Calvino have managed to write works along such themes. The novelist with their expanded canvas is less likely to engage with this close disruption of identity, rather as I choose to do, the novelist will look to disrupt dominant social narratives, as Jeanette Winterson does in her novel, Boating for Beginners or more seriously in Jessica Anderson’s The Commandant.
From a purely structural point of view, all narrative fiction uses the same or similar devices and techniques to tell the story. What interests me, is the looseness of the definitions and how I can exploit this looseness to my own end, aiming to produce work that is, beautiful, aesthetically pleasing and also disruptive.
Anderson, J, 2012, The Commandant, 1st edn, Text, Melbourne.
Bryson, M, 2009, Short story theory, The New Can Lit, viewed 4th June 2014, http://thenewcanlit.blogspot.com.au/2009/08/short-story-theory.html
Clark, M.M, 1993, After epiphany: American stories in the postmodern age – The Short Story: Theory and practice, Style, Vol. 27 Issue 3.
Prince, G, 1993, the long and the short of it – The short story theory and practice, Style, Vol. 27 Issue 3.
Winterson, J, 1999, Boating for Beginners, 29th edn, Vintage, London.
This week we are looking at methodologies and how we as writers, do what we do. It is interesting how reluctant writers are to explain what they do, preferring the 19th century Romantic vision of the solitary genius. I put it down to the fact that there is little genuine respect for writing in society which is now predominantly literate. In contrast to music and visual arts, which have definite methods of production, but also highly specialised languages, writing looks egalitarian. It is almost as if we fear that if we, as writers, let our secrets out ‘they’ will all be doing it and we will lose our status as artists, which in the minds of the general populous we are only holding onto by our fingernails anyway. As a result, we often fear to examine our methodologies even for personal growth, something which writing for a higher degree is now challenging.
Writing is probably the most idiosyncratic of all the arts, because of the lack of unified or unified method, and is generally considered unteachable, but as I tell my writing students’, talent is unteachable, technique on the other hand...
So for what it is worth, here is my method for writing a novel, as I don’t write anything else really.
Boyd N, 2009, A creative writing research methodology: new direction, strange loops and tornadoes. Margins and mainstreams: Refereed Conference papers of the 14th Annual AAWP Conference, AAWP viewed 1st April 2013, http://aawp.org.au/files/Boyd.pdf
Janesick V, 1998, Journal writing as a Qualitive research technique: History, issues and reflections, Annual meeting of the American educational research association San Diego, viewed 1st April 2013, https://ilearn.swin.edu.au/bbcswebdav/pid-3406337-dt-content-rid-309576_4/institution/lilydale_postgraduate_writing/LPW706/modules/6/documents/mod5journalwritingreading2.pdf
This week, continuing our focus on ethics and writing, we look at ideas of informed consent when dealing with oral or personal histories.
The ethical considerations of the local historian are no more specific than the ethical considerations of any researcher. However, the fact that local histories are often written by amateur writers whose ignorance of what could best be described as professional standards, does mean that people participating in this type of research may be more vulnerable to misinterpretation and thus less likely to co operate in subsequent projects if they have had a bad experience. In this instance the local historian like any researcher, must obtain informed consent, which means allowing the owner of the story have some say in how it is used.
Another consideration is the fact that local history is a Eurocentric version of a region. “Indeed, the local history genre itself is part of the Eurocentric view of knowledge ... which underpins European expansionism.” (Arnold, 2010) This does not mean that a European version of history is ‘wrong’, but in terms of ethical considerations, it means that no single history can be viewed as the single authoritive version. This was a consideration which became very vocal in my town early in 2013 as a local academic Paddy Kavenagh and a representative from the Blue Mountains, Oberon and Lithgow Tourist board, argued first in letters to the Editor in the local paper and then in a public debate, about the interpretation of the bicentenary of the first European crossing of the Blue Mountains. While the Tourism board ‘celebrated’ in a parochial fashion the settler/convict white history, there was great concern that this was both making the local people look like yokels, and ignoring the Aboriginal heritage of the area. Local history cannot be singular, even if as a historian you do not have the scope to discuss other aspects of an area in depth. This would require careful writing, using inclusive language and if not directly addressing certain aspects of an area, at least not omitting them altogether, as Dorothy Williams discusses, when considering the cultural sensitivities involved in whether or not to include tales of indigenous warfare. (Williams, 2013)
Williams also discusses the importance of balancing the competing narratives of interviewees and the reputations of living descendants. The stories we tell of our ancestors, has a bearing on how we see ourselves. To have those narrative challenged can be confronting to living descendants and a writer does have to balance the needs of one person’s ‘truth’ with another. Personal history is very much about perception. How we perceived our experience differs between individuals and even the same individual at different ages. Williams suggests that it is the place of the historian to try to show a balanced view of controversial issues or figures. (Williams, 2013) This would seem the most ethical approach, as it does not force the historian to white wash their account.
Finally, the ethics of authorial integrity are important to consider. Is it ethical to allow oneself to be used by interested partied to tell the history as they see it? (Arnold, 2010) Personally I think this is a question which each writer needs to debate for themselves. Do you as a writer feel comfortable placing your name on work which you have lost control of or lost confidence in? Are there some cases where you would feel more comfortable negotiating to ghost for an interested party? Beyond the ethical considerations of representation of others, I think that it is also important to consider the ethics of how your name is being used, as your name as a published writer is your public reputation.
Arnold, J, 2010, Writing Local History, Blackboard Course Materials, Swinburne University of Technology, Lilydale.
Williams, D, 2013, Writing Local History, Writing History LPW602, Swinburne University of Technology, Victoria.
Sorry I’ve not posted for a couple of weeks I was working on a long essay and ended up all written out before I got to the blog each day.
I’ll start here because this subject touches upon my own work most closely. Truth, as historians understand it, is about verifiable facts. It is about recreating the past as it was. (Nelson, 2007) Fiction, however, has a very different focus it is about entertainment, and truths of perception and emotion, not historical ‘fact’. This means that a writer of historical fiction is in effect trying to balance between two worlds, the world of history and the world of fiction. The conflict comes when one of these forces is out of balance, if the “Historical” characters do not fit into the historical setting or are anachronistic to it, the claims to the work being ‘historical’ cannot any longer be made. When a slavish adherence to the facts of history serves to subsume the narrative and the fictional qualities of the work, it cannot be called fiction.
One of the other big factors to consider, which Helen Demidenko/Darville failed to consider, was while attitudes and actions of the past which are abhorrent to us now, may have been widely held in the past, it is important to find a way of keeping them within their context. I read “The hand that signed the paper.” It really was a horribly anti-Semitic book, because the attitudes of those who worked for the SS were not contained within the characters, but were allowed to roam across the whole book influencing how the reader saw all the characters. As a reader, reading this book was a very uncomfortable experience.
One of the irritating things which happen in historical fiction is where real people become so conflated with their fictional double that the ‘real’ individual fades from view. I think of Mozart in Amadeus, who resembles his fictional double only in that he was blonde, wrote music and died young. The real man was complex and multi layered what most people think of him now is a giggling idiot, who for some reason wrote divine music.
Fiction marketed as fact
This is an interesting area; often the writing of these hoax books is as Ron Hansen says truly abysmal. Their value is in their ‘truth’. When that ‘truth’ is exposed as false, it can only make readers question all similar stories. This as mentioned in the lecture, is an extremely bad thing. Often the thing that made these hoaxes so compelling is that they are about serious issues and vulnerable people, whose ability to speak for themselves is further compromised. It is a bit like, the boy who cried wolf, eventually people stop listening and important stories stop being heard.
This is an area, which though I am not writing in a mode which requires the use of living participants, is quite interesting in terms of perceived ownership. A story is owned by the teller, whether that teller is an oral story teller or a literary story teller. So when someone comes to appropriate anothers story, there will inevitably be a tension between them. I think that as writers it is easy to forget that we are very sophisticated story tellers; our words have years of polishing and the bolstering of literary theory to distance us from the stories we tell. However, for other people, the spoken words of their stories are them, they are their stories, and they are their experience. These are not stories crafted with an ideal reader in mind, but something one person is giving to another. So I think ethically a writer has an obligation to the owner of the story to keep them informed of how their story is to be used, and to use it sensitively.
Forman, M,(Director) 2001, Amadeus: Director's cut, (DVD) Warner Bros entertainment
Hansen, R, 2007, The ethics of fiction writing, SCU 1st viewed 2 May 2013 http://www.scu.edu/ethics/publications/submitted/fiction.html
Schulman, M, 2006, Fiction and the ethics of writing, SCU 1st viewed 2 May 2013 http://www.scu.edu/ethics/publications/submitted/ron-hansen.html
Carey, J, 2008 Whose story is it, anyway? Ethics and interpretive authority in biographical creative nonfiction, TEXT, 1st viewed 2 May 2013 http://www.textjournal.com.au/oct08/carey.html
Nelson, C ,2007, Faking it: History and Creative Writing, TEXT, 1st viewed 9 April 2013
I am Natalie Muller, I have been an author for 15 years and a reader for over thirty. I have branched out into manuscript assessment and publishing over the past few years.