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June 06, 2006
THE SKY POPPED AND MANNA STARTED FALLING
The Josephine Ulrick Prize for Literature 2006 is awarded for my story Advent. I receive the news last week. When I hear, I say something silly like: That story so deserves it.
Next week, I'm off to Queensland. An Awards dinner. My adrenals are still working overtime. I am shiny and new and excited.
The day before I find out:
I have gone to bed early, listening to the sound of the second shift in the backyard, the wind rattling tomato cans, the trolley wheels metal on concrete--the rubber is worn down. I don't know that tomorrow will be the day that manna will start to fall. I am thinking of Kim and her nomination for the Pushcart, about how the writers I've known for so long are returning home from their reading in New York.
My partner has been working all day turning the garage into a coolroom. He wants a rest before starting on second shift (cakes) but my son says no. The no is vehement and I feel the resentment, the vibes between the two of them. I don't write very well in rough waters. I think about strategy and how to help everything turn out harmoniously. If the stress does not get managed, it spills over into the next day and my next writing period. What I am really doing is protecting my writing space.
When the manna starts to fall:
Natasha is washing my hair. The water is going in my ears but I forgive her because she has been my hairdresser for years and she is now my friend. "Have you got a shampoo without all the bad stuff?" I am asking when the pocket of my doona jacket starts to make noises. It will be my partner. We are on the 3 network and we ring each other all the time for free (this is not an advertisement).
"Don't worry," I say to Natasha. The ringing stops. Then it starts again. And again. We don't worry. Natasha wrings my hair and wraps me in a towel. Her phone makes a text-coming-in sound. She tells me that my partner wants me to ring and that it is good news. So I call and say, "What?" He gives me the runaround, teasing. "Come on," I say. "Why would Griffith Uni ring you," he says, "it's a clue."
When Nigel at Griffiths University breaks the news to me, I start running around the salon with water dripping down my neck, swearing, apologizing, and promising to stop saying the f word when I recover.
Of course, I have to celebrate. Immediately. And it won't be much fun without my partner. So I check the waters without exerting undue pressure, or trying not to, because I don't want him to drive tired. He says, he is up to coming back into town (he went to bed at midnight and has been up since four, baking, delivering). I take the tram into Carlton (where we have decided to meet) andI proceed to buy books, guilt-free, for once.
I buy Martini by Frank Moorhouse. I had been meaning to get the book at an author signing, at the Sleepers Launch, but it hadn't worked out, and I am going to meet him. I marvel at the fact that he has picked my work blind two years in a row (I was runner-up last year). I look at Peter Carey's new novel Theft---reading the article in this article online, I realize that it is set in Bellingen--I've heard tales from my partner about a first experiment with living in a commune and I am curious about how Carey will use the setting in the novel.
We got to Tiamo 2 and Hal orders wine and pasta. I decide to stick to my vow to avoid alcohol while writing my second novel. I feel virtuous and holy in the aftermath of my win. I can see my life roll out in front of me like red carpet--who needs drink. But Hal tires easily. I am happy to drive home. There are all my Zoetrope friends to tell.
Week and a half later, I am aware of the precessional effect of winning this prize. Validation for the risks I take in my choice of writing style and structure. All of it will be important, I feel, in the crafting of this second novel where every paragraph seems to take as much out of me (today) as having a tooth pulled.
I decide to stay on a couple of weeks in Queensland, with a friend, and do a two week stint on my novel, uninterrupted. Testing out a theory that I am a lot more prolific when I am warm.
More at the end of next week... about the Awards and all the buzz.
Posted by girija at June 6, 2006 08:33 PM