debradaleyauthor

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New writing

A piece that I wrote about my brother appears in the anthology Ko Aotearoa Tātou/We Are New Zealand, published by Otago University Press. It’s called ‘What Happened, Mike?’ #DebraDaley #MikeDaley #homelessness #writing

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The writer as witness

In a review in the NZ Listener, Nicholas Reid said of the anthology Ko Aotearoa Tātou, “...the following deserve special notice. Debra Daley’s ‘What Happened, Mike?’ is a stunning account of the life of a homeless man...” and Kelly Gardiner said in the NZ Herald, “Some pieces of writing are stronger than others...Debra Daley’s memoir ‘What Happened, Mike?’ is an ethereal elegy for a lost brother...” 

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Mapping

I write with maps always. To see where characters are going and how long it takes to reach a destination and what the topography is.

Todays’ word count: 513. Yesterday it was more like 300. 

I have written 95,000 words of new novel in the past year. In addition to income-earning work.

Physical effort to counter hours of sitting on my arse at my desk: A 50-minute yoga vinyasa practice. A 30-minute walk.

Garden is temporarily abandoned.

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Daily routine

The jars on the window sill are my sourdough starter. I bake two big loaves of bread once a week. 

May everybody be happy.

May everything move in the right direction.

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The ideas don’t just come by reading

“The family used to complain that I would sit in a chair vacantly thinking. I found it very necessary to do. The ideas don’t just come by reading. You have to go away, lie down, sit down, walk about, and let things turn over in your mind. And what I find particularly enjoyable is a problem I’m trying to solve in my own mind. Is there something I can connect together? And I find it’s only by long periods of doing nothing but think that suddenly facts start coming into your mind...” Molecular biologist Anthony Trewavas quoted in Jeremy Narby’s Intelligence in Nature.

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Benjamin West. Joseph Banks, 1773. Usher Art Gallery, Lincoln. Sir Joseph Banks in a Māori cloak with Pacific trophies.

Click on The History Girls title to read my post about the day - 2 November 1769 - that the Royal Navy research ship, the Endeavour, anchored in the Bay of Plenty and how intriguing I found it to think that 18th century names like James Cook, Joseph Banks and Daniel Solander, had loitered however briefly in proximity to my home in the South Pacific, before being chased off by warriors from Otumoetai pa.

A sketch by Herman Spöring of the Endeavour chased off the Bay of Plenty coast, 2 November 1769. The Māori crew performed a haka and pelted the ship with stones.

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Click on the title above to read some thoughts on hair and hairdressers in historic Japan that I posted on the History Girls site. I wanted to acknowledge the existence of these 18th-century hairdressers, because I always admire a person from the lower social classes who manages to survive financially without a safety net. A handful of freelance women began to carve out a livelihood as hairdressers in the 1760s, first in Osaka, and then in Kyoto and Edo. Their first clients were courtesans of the floating world, but gradually they began to tend to the wives and daughters of merchants and artisans as well. By the mid-19th century, more than 1,400 female hairdressers were in business in Edo alone. They were so successful that the phrase kamiyui no teishu ­– ‘the hairdresser's husband’ – became a common saying to describe a man who lived off a woman’s income. That these hairdressers’ earnings could match those of tradesmen remains a feat to be saluted, especially in the oppressive lower-class world of 19th-century Japan. 

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Spring Landscape (Nichi-getsu-sansui-byōbu), detail of a screen painting showing flowering cherry trees and rows of pines. Late 16th century. Colours on paper. Kongō-ji, Kauchi, Ōsaka Prefecture.

Last year I was writing on a brutal schedule and I missed spring completely. September is such a beautiful month. The light has changed and the soil feels warmer. I am in no hurry.

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Spring flowers from the garden. The packets I ordered from Setha’s Seeds arrived a couple of days ago. I have just sown trays of blue lupins, phacelia and giant cerise zinnias. I’m building a trellis for the Blue Shackamaxon beans. I intend to try and grow the Amish rockmelons on a trellis, too. On the writing front, I am gestating a ghost story. I’m keeping it to myself until I’m happy with the coalescence.

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I sowed the tomatoes this morning. San Marzano, St Pierre, Thessaloniki, Black Krim, Brandywine. These are Green Zebras from last year. The pot is by Warren Tippett. He gave it to me some time in the late 80s.

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Over the weekend

I dug a new bed for the tomatoes and transplanted all of the berries to a dedicated berry garden so that it will be easier to net the bushes en masse this summer, before the birds arrive anticipating a feast. The strawberries are already well protected under a net tunnel. I dug potash and lime around the plum trees and blood and bone around the apricots. It's nearly time to transplant the onion seedlings (Italian red onions). I've chitted 10kgs of seedling potatoes (Cliff Kidney, Maris Anchor, Summer Delight) and started planting them into containers. I broadcast wildflower seeds around the fruit trees. I sowed sweet peas and cosmos. But I didn't get to the tomatoes. By the end of the week, I hope to have them all sown into trays which I will keep in my study until after the last frost. Huge amounts of sowing to do over the next three weeks.

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It’s platitudinous, but true

Time passes.

Life happens.

Distance separates.

Children grow up.

Hobbies become less interesting.

Love waxes and wanes.

Hearts break.

Jobs come and go.

Parents die.

Colleagues forget favours.

Careers end.

[Anon.]

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Pages from my 1998 notebook. 

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Thanks, Madwoman in the Attic

I was delighted to find this lovely review of my book on Lisa Doyle’s books blog Madwoman in the Attic at lisareadsbooks.blogspot.ie 

Wednesday, June 29, 2016 The Revelations of Carey Ravine by Debra Daley

Following last year's stunning Turning the Stones, The Revelations of Carey Ravine returns to Georgian England this time to the bustling city of London where Carey and her beloved husband Nash aim to make their mark and some money among the high society. Everything in the couple's home is rented, so that they can appear wealthy while their debts are mounting. Nash is convinced that every new scheme will be the one to lift them out of their middle class origins and into the noveau riche nobility. Carey meanwhile is translating French erotica and dreams of greater literary endeavour. When Carey is visited by an old friend of Nash's from his time in India she is intrigued, her father disappeared many years before in India and while Nash dismisses any connection to her father out of hand Carey begins an investigation of her own which reveals corruption and scandal at the highest level which will have devastating consequences for her own life. This is a wonderful novel with an utterly brilliant and believable cast of characters and deft and skillful plotting. I was hooked on Carey's story and on Carey herself so utterly of her time and yet in many ways so thoroughly modern. Debra Daley is a real hidden gem in historical fiction who deserves greater attention. If you are a fan of Laurie Graham, Katherine Clements or enjoyed Janet Ellis's The Butcher's Hook then this book is for you.

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Georgian Theatre Royal (built 1788), Richmond, North Yorks.

[debradaleyauthor]

I am always thinking about you

In my mind I’ve signed a contract with readers that says I’m not allowed to shortchange them. If I set up something in the narrative, I have to pay it off. If I write a scene that wasn’t my best, I have to bin it and write a better one. I always feel conscious that someone reading a book I have written is expending time that belongs to them. It’s my job to make it worth their while.  

Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth My goal in life is to do my best to be optimistic. Like most people, I’ve had soul-crushing rejections and days of total overwhelm, but in my life, as well as in my writing, I am always trying to turn dark feelings towards the light.

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Deep in the autumn woods, there grows a mysterious plant.