Judi Dench's memoir

'So you got your memoir published?' said one of my writing students when she saw Judi Dench's memoir 'And Furthermore' on the desk. The book was upside down and my student could have been forgiven for mistaking me for the woman with short bleached hair, pale complexion and Botox-free wrinkles on the cover. But I am twice Judi's height, twelve years younger and am not a star. I had to laugh. It was ironic that even someone else saw a connection between us.
Because there are some. That was why I had to read her memoir. The main connection is that I saw her first major performance at the Old Vic, London in 1957, as Ophelia, with John Neville as Hamlet. And again in 1960 as Juliet with John Stride as Romeo. It's fabulous to read her account of the performances and the inside dope on her fellow actors, to read about her passion for the stage which echoes my passion as a stage-struck youngster. I never went on to become a professional actor, but those early experiences of Shakespeare and the theatre have been major influences in my life.
One of her anecdotes echoes my own experience. She was playing Lady Bracknell in 'The Importance of Being Earnest' at the National Theatre, London, when she suddenly skipped half a page - a vital one with the first reference to the infamous handbag - and suffered a miserable Christmas because of it. A few years ago I did the same thing in an amateur production of Wilde's play at Como House in Melbourne where, as Lady B, I asked Miss Prism 'Where is that baby? and then forgot to elaborate the story about the perambulator and the three-volume manuscript, and left poor Miss Prism in the lurch, before I realised I was the one who had forgotten my lines. I haven't done any acting since.
Unlike the formidable Miss Dench. She got over her mistake, has a gruelling work schedule and plans to stay on the stage until she drops dead, like her hero John Gielgud. As I procrastinate and doubt myself as a writer, I can still look to Judi to inspire me to keep on keeping on.

Back home in Oz

OK, so I made it home and now have three piles of books on my bedroom floor waiting for a space on the shelves. One of my favourites is a first edition of Frieda Lawrence's Not I, But the Wind, the story of her life with DH Lawrence, which I picked up in Hay-on-Wye. I didn't explore DH Lawrence country in the end, but did find myself walking in Jane Austen's footsteps on several occasions in Dorset and Hampshire. I visited her house in Chawton and stood in awe at her writing desk, a tiny three-legged round table, where she sat after breakfast by the window. It put me to shame. It was here she wrote her best work.
On the Dorset coast, I walked along Cheshil Beach and relived the memorable story by Ian McEwan. It was only three months since I had lain in bed listening to the audiobook that McEwan recorded of On Cheshil Beach and here I was! Such an unexpected pleasure, and such a clear example of how landscapes can be immortalised in fiction or poetry. And them, in the same day, I am in Lyme Regis, the seaside resort of kings, where Jane Austen set Persuasion and where The French Lieutenant’s Woman was filmed. The author John Fowles was curator of the local museum, now flourishing and full of fossils from the local Jurassic coast, as well a displays about local writers. Among the fossil display I found a 'Cabinet of Curiosities', an absurd fantastical contraption made by my old friends Forkbeard Fantasy, a Brit theatre group I haven't seen for 25 years. So hello, guys, from me in Oz!
Yes I am back here and feeling guilty about contemplating a bigger desk to accommodate my writing needs. Think miniature, think Jane Austen.

On the road

It's been a long time between posts and now I'm snatching a few moments of Wifi access in an English B&B to pin down a fragment of life on the road, coming across writers and books in France, Scotland and England. In Paris I bought two books at the Village Voice bookshop by Mavis Gallant, who has lived in France most of her long life. I discovered her short stories recently in Australia and find her a great inspiration.
In Scotland, I caught the edge of the Edinburgh bookfest and saw Margaret Drabble talk at St Andrews, Scotland, about her new book A Writer's Britain and was caught up in her involvement with the relationship of writers to their landscape. She described coming up to St Andrews by train and the writers' locales that she travelled through. I am driving the other way, south, passing through writers' haunts and picking up books as I go. The Minster Gate bookshop in York yielded four bargains - and I never got further than the bookshelf on the stairs up to the literary section! There is still Hay-on-Wye with its thirty-plus bookshops to visit.
Now I'm in Nottinghamshire, home of DH Lawrence, where the young men speak like Paul Morel. Another shrine to worship at, as well as the great cathedral at Lincoln.

possums in the library

I have a contender for my library of books. Yes, I know I have too many to read in my lifetime, but that's no excuse for possums trying to take over the bookshelves. Three times in the past week I have woken to the scrabbling of little paws and twice to the crashing of glass - first a lamp, and then a vase. When confronted by a woman in pyjamas, the creature has calmly looked up from the bookshelf into my face and turned tail. Each time I have managed to coax her out the way she came in, through the window. Is she looking for a place to nest? Or are possums taking over the world? It seems possible in our corner of Melbourne. In that case, is she selecting suitably civilising authors: Proust, Austen or Orwell? She is still scratching at the window now it is closed.
Does any one else have possums in their library?

Performance stories

Storytelling is an author's backbone, and keeping the backbone strong is healthy for all of us writers. Twelve Australian authors were put to the challenge of telling their family stories at this weekend's launch of The Wheeler Centre for Books, Writing and Ideas in A Gala Night of Storytelling at Melbourne Town Hall. They came on to the stage, one at a time, to address the huge audience, with varying degrees of success. Some read their stories, some told them off the cuff, others performed them as comedy or song. Some struggled with the mike in this echoey auditorium. Not all writers are great readers or speakers, as we know from writers' festivals, but here was a chance to make their stories shine.

All but two of the authors stayed behind the lectern. The two who didn't were performers before they became authors. Comedian Judith Lucy used a hand-held mike for her performance. Singer Paul Kelly brought the evening to a spine-tingling close with a story sung a capella. Several others were memorable. John Safran entertained us with a Jewish story that blended humour and pathos. Shane Maloney gave us a change of mood with his dry humour and fine sense of timing. Alex Miller kept his contribution short: a powerful vignette, a lively depiction of his father, complete with Scottish brogue. Cate Kennedy, our consummate short story writer, was intimate and spontaneous, if a little rambling, as she told a story that had a perfect narrative arc and a tight ending.

The remaining writers were David Malouf, Alexis Wright, John Marsden, Chole Hooper, Christos Tsiolkas and Tara June Winch. An author who was notable for his absence was Arnold Zable, one of Melbourne's fine storytellers.

What lessons can be learned from this night of storytelling? What do we need to remember when we tell our stories aloud? What do our listeners want? As a listener, this is what I want from a storyteller: honesty, humour, a satisfying story told with rhythm, pace and variety and a voice that is a pleasure to listen to. Just as a writer redrafts and edits and makes sure the written word is ready for the world, so a storyteller can craft and practise a piece, or improve the art of impromptu storytelling aloud before stepping in front of an audience. Get familiar with the mike, get to know your voice and how best you can use it, and try stepping out from behind the lectern to connect with your audience.

I for one, relish this return to hearing our stories told aloud, and hope this night of storytelling will be the first of many such nights where authors can gain confidence in the spoken word. Poetry has its own performance scene. Prose can follow suit.

What do you think?