The company of women

By the beginning of June I was feeling a bit sad and sorry for myself.

We’d made the big move from TI to Cairns and everyone was happy, especially Seffwen who is positive and chatty.  She is enthusiastic at school and wears a grin most of the time, except when she is trying to kill Kibbim.  Kibbim is happy being with his dad and is as cheeky and disobedient as ever, often teasing Seffwen.

     Tony loves being the house husband.  He keeps the house as clean as a whistle and bakes a loaf of bread daily.  Often I come home from working at school to the smell of a curry or mince stew simmering for dinner as the aroma of ginger and garlic swirl around the house.  Sometimes, just sometimes I think it’s worth me working and him staying at home because everyone is so happy, but I don’t tell him this because I don’t want to be in Cairns. 

     I have not warmed to life in the big smoke.  I have shelter and food and everyone’s healthy so I can’t really complain … even to myself.

     I had been trying to work out why I am out of sorts down here and I think it has to do with writing and unfulfilled ambition and not ‘having a career’ like some of my friends who are accomplished lawyers, teachers, doctors and so on.

     I’d put so much work into writing, been published and almost finished the sequel which may or may not amount to anything.  As a supply teacher I am not even using my writing skills.  

     And worse, life is so busy I don't have time to talk with my friends.  On TI there was Sam, Eileen, Nicola and Detta. They always had comforting words, even if they were, 'Oh, Cate, don't be so ridiculous' and 'God, what are you thinking?'  At the end of an optic fibre line there is Maree, Elia, Pam, but chats are limited to, 'I am driving' or 'it's little lunch, I can't talk.'  Cathy, Jenny, Rebecca and Karen are in Cairns, but we are all too busy with work and children or both to meet.  Woe was me.  Woe, woe, woe.

      It was at that time I realised a safe and predictable job in the Commonwealth public service would have been a better choice back in 1994.  I’d know what I was earning, what I was doing and where I was living or I would apply for a transfer to a city of my choice.  I’d even have made the effort to apply for Seffy to attend one of the high schools next year.  But I didn’t know where we’ll be living. I didn’t even know what I’ll be doing.

     Enter Michelle, Lynn, Jenn, Colleen, Emma and Jo and their bookclub that meets each month at the Kewarra Beach Resort. 

     I met Michelle in 1994 not long after I had arrived on TI the second time when Michelle was working with a mutual friend as a social worker.  We’ve met a couple of times in the last decade, but we’ve still got our mutual friend.

     Fast forward 20 years and Michelle heard I’d written My Island Homicide. She suggested it be read by her book club and I come along to talk about writing a book.

     I felt like a fraud.  Sure I’d written a book, but it wasn’t a best seller and I still needed a day job.  Would a book club really want to hear from a pseudo author?  Moan, moan. 

     By the time the night rolled around, I wanted to pull out, but that wouldn't have been right.  Then I realised I needed the company of like minded women, a good yarn, lots of laughs and a hot cup of tea.  A half a bottle of red might have hit the mark, but this wasn’t TI.  One can’t walk from Kewarra Beach to Smithfield at half past ten at night.

     So I went along and was asked some serious questions about writing a book.

     As I answered each one, thoughtfully without self-deprecating comments which I am prone to do because a pseudo-author isn’t a real job and can’t talk with any authority, my mood shifted.  There was something about being with these women that was inspiring and enjoyable.  I realised Shit man, I’ve written a book and it was bloody hard work, but I could write it only because I didn’t have a 20 year career with the Commonwealth public service and those 20 years have been full of amazing adventures.

     Everyone enjoyed the book which is just what I wanted for readers.

     One woman commented that she was really worried about reading the book because she didn’t want to tell me on the night she loved it if she didn’t.

     ‘But I really enjoyed it,’ she said and she got through it in a couple of days because she couldn’t put it down.

     I was stoked.  Such simple words with profound effect.

     They were happy.  I was happy. 

Signing a book for Valeria who couldn't make it with Lynn (left) and Jenn.

     We talked about books and writing for a while then we just talked and talked and talked about anything and everything.

     I came away feeling bloody fantastic with a renewed interest in finishing the sequel and a steely determination to suck up my woes (which weren’t really woes after all) and get on with life on the mainland … with a smile. 

     And an invitation to join the book club and read the next book, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal.  I know it’s kosher to support other authors by buying their books, but I’ve ordered Lamb from the Smithfield library.

     How wonderful that a group of women around a table, with some drinks (including my cup of tea) plus a few hours to spare could have had such a positive impact on my mood. Not to mention the gift of a massive bunch of flowers.  Thank you, girls.