the jill quill

Hope in a Pig's Ear.

2012-07-03T11:29:00.002-07:00

All too often, my husband is tending to the colourful growth of his garden when he notices a strange bit of expired flesh poking through the earth. It looks like and once was the ear of a pig. Though it is surprising it is nonetheless expected. Our dog believes in multiplying his wealth by burying all potentially great snacks in the garden. So far it has not resulted in a fine supply of bacon and roastable pork, but with his love, care and confidence, who are we to discourage him.

We continue to tend to the mundane and exciting chores of the home with all due care and abandon, always hoping for signs of refreshment and promise, but renaining content with reality.

Our dog, Dougal, continues to follow his lines of possibility with care and diligence. I hope his system of dreaming extends to the roast meal he longs for, and that science will not push her dreaded bars upon him.

never ashamed.........................119:6

2012-01-21T10:29:00.000-08:00

Shame is the cloak that regards the guilty, or the confused.
The tough and uninformed may feel no shame as they see no shadows, heed no voice and fear no rebuke.
Yet the tender and listening heart may be oversensitised to throwaway comments, and shiver.
The tender and listening sometimes need to hear the end of the story to lay shame to rest. The end is forgiving and full of promise.
The one with a promise in hand is strong and full of peace.
Peace does not live with shame.
Peace is the fruit of fellowship, of companionship, of the heart that lay open for instruction and forgiveness.
It will drown out disappointment, confusion and dread, rinse away tears and the despair that may appear with delay.
And the heart becomes light and free.
In truth it shall be free.

stuck up world

2012-01-15T07:12:00.000-08:00

It's a curious world for the author who either rubs against the contract by carrying the dream or tilts with her own place in the world. What rights do the dreamers have? All at once there is the option of self publishing or accepting the fine margins of the editor's market. I recently received a sweet rejection; my title didn't fit their market and they were only accepting two manuscripts for the year. So you think you can write? Absolutely, if you are free enough to part with the hand that feeds and trust your passion. Life could be better than that.
The manuscript itself seemed polished enough, according to appraisals. I will toss it back in the mail to other publishers, and move on. I put my ear to the sky for another book to work on. I have several in process, if writing is ever so sterile as to call it a process. I was once told to write the book that begs to be written, so I was asking. A story that was started about ten years ago piggy backed me as I listened, it pleaded and growled as I tried to look at the others. I've loved it and hated it over the years. It's made me laugh and cry, but was never quite right. I had hacked it and started over so many times that it almost felt redundant. But I still care about the main character.
I must make him live.
It's all in my hands.

ladders of staggers

2012-01-15T06:30:00.000-08:00

Trying to fall into the place of hope is precious and precarious all at once. Hope can be the strongest rail but breaks like plasticine if the supports waver. Where do you find substance for this strange bridge, that is as certain as last night's dream but as fragile as a cloud. When it beats for you, nothing will stop the pace and speed. When it falters nothing will scream so silently. It is decidedly unreal and certain.
This is the hope that rocks beneath the face of a writer, taunting, teasing and taming the hums of doubt.
Nothing can speak so softly.
Nothing can fill you with such dread.

Another trip with the travel partner of hope seems so terrifying. She will not let you stop, yet offers few words. She laughs and it is for you to determine the mockery or love in her voice. She can break your insecurities into feathers, or sing them into the bird that will finish the journey. Your heart alone decides the flight. You decide the volume and courage. You decide to put the fears to sleep and hear the pulse of hope over the crackling lightening and tears of history.

If this is your story, you choose the higher voice and refuse to look down.
If this is your story, you will soar.

Writer's Block

2011-12-17T06:51:00.000-08:00

Once I thought writer's block was a variety of Lego or a shady patch on the road. It's neither, I've decided. There are quiet zones in the most passionate writer where your creative outflow slows to a standstill, your main character won't speak to you and the music freezes to silence. It's not like sadness or doubt, so much as quietness, and that can be a good thing too.

Music needs space to allow the mind to wait and soak, even small notes beg attention and drag us away from contemplation. I thought my MC was sulking and had lost me, that writing was a task I wouldn't choose. But my MC waited as days passed and spoke in time. It was all about allowing colour to bend and break, until the plain white resurfaced as a rainbow.

I need to love the silence as much as the days that pound without space. I want to remember that life is made of seasons, mumbling days of droning will pour out their scrambled notes and force us to embrace the stillness with the same kindness we gave to the moments of beauty. And even to believe that the stillness is as beautiful, because it chose to make us wait. When we are no longer slaves to completeness, when the noise is a friend and the silence a backdrop for paused spaces, we are free to be paced by eternity.

Nanowrimo

2011-10-30T08:44:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again! The season for every passionate writer to up tools, duck heads and pound the keys for thirty days. This year I am planning to write a sequal to last years venture. The star will be Ashlin's twin, Ava.
Already many writers, authors and wannanbes have logged in, found a few friends and started plotting, and scheming. I have character dossiers, timelines and research started; everything except the actual writing. The first line is nestled warmly on the tips of my fingers, ready to pounce and run.
Feel free to add me in if you want to journey with me.
So, fast forward past Halloween and jump into November for an essential world of storytelling and networking,
see you there :)

writer's block

2011-08-29T19:31:00.000-07:00

I had never thought that my headspace would be paralyzed or shut down, especially by a virus. We are shifting out of the homeplace of influenza and so homesick. Writing has been more than a refuge, it's a heartland and island that is known only to my dreams and designs.

Like a thief, a fog landed and stole my sense of certainty.
I was so certain I would always run on inspiration.
Shadows have no preference or manners. It's easy to assume they set the tone and may never shift.
The shadows own and predict nothing.
Possibly, the enforced rest encourages reflection and re-evaluation that can delight rather than devour.

But the real world that stares at your complacency reminds you of the person that once was active and productive. The darkness can serve to remind you of sunnier days, and the memory of sunlight.
God doesn't stop His plans and purposes because of your perceptions, there will be a way out.
It's only about time, about patience and remembering the distance between a visiting feeling and those that you choose to embrace and offer a home.

Jupiter Spinning away

2011-07-30T09:57:00.000-07:00

At last Jupiter is spinning over my head and Ashlin is finding her way into the hearts of earthlings.It seems as if some time soon I am going to have to come out of my cave and promote it, it's not as there is anything out there that Jupiter hasn't seen. People have faces and opinions but that's okay. Each face and opinion is to be welcomed. Each person comes with stories and storms...and that is where the story began. Stories and storms can't be locked up, though they can hide in times of war, until there is peace, until there is a word of reassurance, that wants a day out, that needs a place to speak.

Caves are brilliant places for creating new worlds, but apparently you are not supposed to live there. I love reading the story of 'The Priest's Grotto', and climbing into a world of expectation and silence. Eventually reality bite and the light must fall again. I'm polishing my next work; 50,00 in and my YA speculative fiction is finding wings.I've been happily head down editing. It's the strange way of the introvert, isolating, enjoying the untapped worlds of dreams, geographies and problems, until breath is breathed into them and invisible trolls become the carriers of messages and mysteries. I could leave my world to grow its own legs and introduce itself to schools and people, but I'm hearing voices in the wind and on the web reminding me that what you breathe to life, you also owe exposure. I love thoughts dreams and pathways but the offer nothing if not unveiled. Jupiter has never chosen to be enshrouded by darkness. I owe it to her to bring her to light and sparks, as Jupiter only feels safe with storms.

My Amazon Author page

2011-06-05T02:11:00.000-07:00

I'm a wife of one, mother of three teens, emergency nurse, writer of non-fiction (health and parenting) and love writing young adult speculative fiction.
I live at the base of a magnificent mountain range in Victoria, Australia where we have many beautiful parrots, lyrebirds, koalas, platypus and lush forests.
I love birdcalls, owls, spiders, but mostly the sound of my children, talking, singing and playing music.
I believe in possibility, a magnificent Creator and enjoy all aspects of His work.

Thirteen year old Ashlin Piggot has the world watching her, as lumps, bumps, spots and limbs are sprouting out of previously safe places. In spite of her parent's assurances that she is 'normal', her brother happily uses every creative option to highlight Ashlin's changes. However she has a plan to escape this turmoil, and it all begins in Jupiter.

From the Author

My Spinning Jupiter is intended to ease the transition into adolescence. There are many books about pimples, periods, mood changes and peer acceptance, but they are usually non-fiction.

This book contains the facts within fiction, embracing the discomfort of uninvited change with humour and handles. Life seasons can be explained within question and answer form, but sometimes it's easier to walk with someone else. Ashlin finds the rush of changes scary and out of her control, but softened by company, conversation and a few laughs.

Your Shelf

2011-06-05T02:03:00.000-07:00

The eagle and the flea

2011-06-03T16:54:00.000-07:00

once upon a time something landed in a brain, a soul, a destination without maps, and it niggled and bit and baited. so the host became hostage, and picked and poked and combed to no avail. sometimes you don't invite visitors, sometimes they don't knock or tell you their name or intentions.

sometime many years later, the irritation flies away, peace returns and the little invader becomes a vision of possibility that you can't reach. it was always a dream, a call, a destiny but when it was a feeling, it bugged you. the delay disturbed you. but as you saw it flying out of sight, carrying your hope to faraway places, you realize, you were right all along. you shouldn't have let it bug you. you could have embraced it and nurtured it as a germ of your desire and plan.

my spinning jupiter...

2011-05-23T21:54:00.000-07:00

I'm slowly finding my way into the world of publishing and social networking. I've never been a photographer or artist so this miniclip took 12 attempts, but I hope it gives a few cues about Ashlin's shock drop into reality.my spinning jupiter...
I'd been eavesdropping on preteens and realized how many girls are annoyed by their body morphing against their will.
Usually it's parents who dent your day, but when the body starts to trip into adulthood and the mind is still dreaming, hoping for another world, it hurts.
Most of the books available about puberty seemed to be non-fiction; simple science or question and answer style. I thought it might be fun to turn the mind bending into a friendship with the cosmos, a mouse spider, monarch butterfly, annoying brother and a non-boyfriend.
I also wanted to add history, so Ashlin's grandmother and 97 year old great grandmother move in to add details and offer support.
Blending sex education with fiction and humour needs a fine balance of reality checks and decency....so though all the worst fears eventuate, and it really does seem as if the entire world can see through her, I've tried to keep Ashlin's dignity intact, as the beauty breaks out.

dear sir or madam, won't you read my book...

2011-05-16T18:40:00.000-07:00

At last, 'My Spinning Jupiter' is on sale.
I'm sorry I took so long to write about it but life suddenly became like a dodgem car ride....I love writing but know little about the publishing world. I loved the editing, but found myself running into endless standstills as I tried to understand the literary galaxy.
People have been so kind about my first intrepid venture, loved my me, but leaving me with new doubts, hopes and fears.
It is currently available on Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/My-Spinning-Jupiter-Life-under/dp/1456595075/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1305589731&
and apparently soon hitting Kindle, major bookshops, schools and libraries.
I've been challenged not to embrace the timidity that stalks every introvert, so I'm trying hard to shine, smile and be brave. I even wrote my own review on Goodreads (maybe you're not meant to do that :)
I've mentioned this in previous posts, but after many years of trying to find a shelf to sit on, the big push was Nanowrimo. Resolving to complete an unedited, new work over 50,000 words within 30 days pushed me to actually complete something...then I was a winner, and offered so many options my own little head was spinning.
A previous Nano winner 'Water for Elephants' has made a mighty splash into the big book jungle, so I'm hoping that my effort may follow.
'My Spinning Jupiter' is targeted at 10-15 year old girls, as a comical intro into the uninvited world of puberty, but seems to be enjoyed as much by adults who have memories of those confusing days, or are currently bemused and befuddled by their own pubescent offspring.
The main characters are Ashlin; the all suffering wannabe entomologist who is shattered by the permanence of a fixed gender, and her twin Ava who is loving the girl up phase. Their stirring 17 year old brother, who loves to soften the sharp turns, and add a bit of humour. Their Grandmother and 97 year old Great Grandmother move in to help the girls with this magnificent transition, and give history lessons on tampons. And small but significant, Mr Hokey, Ashlin's pet mouse spider, who was also hoping not to have to do the girl thing., and the monarch butterfly who encourages Ashlin to take the leap from childhood to the grandiose world of Jupiter.
I hope you consider having a glance, and maybe buying a copy :)

Jupiter and Jill are alright tonight.

2011-03-11T16:02:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning I received notification from the publishers. At last they are happy with all the cover details, sizing, bleeding etc and have posted proof copies to me.
Excited was not the word, I was stunned. I'd hit a point where I thought I'd be re-editing forever.
But my little books are up in a plane heading for home.
Okay this is not world history, many books have been written and published but I have waded through the longing for ten years, and it's history for me.
Added to this was the news that Jupiter was having a fresh week where she was about to be visible to the naked eye for a few nights. So back and forth we went checking for the designated spot above the crescent moon.
I saw something orange, but as none of us are familiar with star gazing, it was uncertain that we had seen her.
As my husband said, if I hadn't seen Jupiter, Jupiter must have seen me.
This morning I checked the planet news again and discovered that the orange thing I saw at 1 O'Clock above the crescent moon was indeed Jupiter.

Time for a Happy Dance...

star gazing and imploding dreams

2011-03-05T03:41:00.000-08:00

The final touches are falling into place for my first fiction publication, after ten years of studying, dreaming, and chasing the stars. Somehow, the galaxies have decided to dance to my song.

' My Spinning Jupiter' is about a thirteen year old girl who doesn't want to grow up. She didn't want to stay female but it all landed on her without consent. How can you spend your years trekking the darkest parts of Africa and the Amazon for new spiders and butterflies, if your body is dissolving into a Chemist's bank account?
Her comfort comes from a Monarch butterfly, a Mouse Spider, and an astronomer.
Jupiter is her solace of identity with bold orange presence, volcanoes, the big red spot, and a special place in history.
So, the book should be available in a few days or weeks.

In three days, Jupiter will become visible to the naked eye around Australia, accompanied by a crescent moon.
No telescope or binoculars needed, just the ability to stand still, focussed and forget to measure the distance.
And be careful not to stumble on the stones while you're staring at the handiwork.

the perfect website

2011-03-02T01:11:00.000-08:00

My beautiful Golden Orb who has protected and fed from my pear tree grubs for months seemed to be in trouble. Over the last week, I'd noticed her web was damaged each morning.
I had dreadful images of gluttonous mynah birds swooping and gulping my friend. This seemed inappropriate in a season, when locusts are in such plague proportions that windscreens are being smothered. Drivers are having to pull off the road to remove the happy campers.
So why should these birds target my sentinel. Let them have locusts for their breakfast.
However, his perfect sturdy web reappeared each evening.

I was explaining my concern to my husband.
He saw things differently.
Each morning he would be finding the path to his car, and walk straight into the web.
He didn't mean it.
He just forgot that our spider would keep rebuilding, and so skillfully.
What a patient spider she is, and the pear tree's health is safe.

Perfect advice = perfect results...6

2011-03-01T02:38:00.000-08:00

You don’t need to turn on the TV

for gossip, gobbling and grandiose gibberish.

You only need to walk out the door to hear the chatter of the bitter and negative.

If words could just fall to the ground and mulch up to benefit growth, it would be a calmer world. Caustic words burn, cutting conversation take root in our head-space, dulling dreams, and splitting our resolve, and we wither.

So we find ourselves in the company of some angry, some perplexed, some hurting people who throw their weathered mind space over ours, like foam extinguishing the flames of our hopes and dreams.

Where's the breath to reignite the embers?

Do we have choice to fly higher than the ground zero bleeding?

Would that choice to listen to hope that empowers and colours our peace meet us at each turn we face?

Sure. There is reason for hope in promises; hope that offsets regret. I will live without regret, and find the power that flies in promise.

the Wandering Millionaire.. 5

2011-02-28T03:12:00.000-08:00

Any moment you can wake up in prison or prosperity, in a dream or on steady ground. You me and the Lord of Commons have some structures set in place, and others we choose.
Do you want to be famous? You can sacrifice everything that may seem valuable and find your most potent gift, chase it to the cliff and jump. Or, lay down your life, pour it into your children

to grow a new generation of balanced beautiful people.
What matters? Conversation, connecting values or evading the voice within for the sake of a possible profile that live up a mountain, alone.
Is there a compass that spins your heart toward popularity, power, or people?
How cool to have such sensitive awareness to the plan that would benefit both yourself and the world about you.
Music, pastels, guidance, solicitude, and a sunny countenance are beautiful gifts in a world that seems to be all about running solo.
It starts in the centre, the midlands, the place within your most hidden and honest room.
I love birdcalls, leaf-fall, owls, bears, lions, spiders, peacocks and hippopotami, and my dog.
I can clothe myself in the mountains, untangle in the ocean. I may have more deeper, richer friends than any Politician, and still miss the target.
Clarity.
The shine that allows us to hear our own beat, touch the pulse that will lead us home, and settle us in a moment where we wont need friends, fun, voice or the pinnacle.
It's so close to our peace, choose not to miss it.

Clear but not always bright...4

2011-02-25T01:29:00.000-08:00

" When you set out on a journey and night covers the road, you don't conclude the road has vanished. And how else could we discover the stars? "
There is a path set for us but it's not always visible, obvious or cozy. Paradoxes and loss of clarity trickle restlessness into our heart and veils our vision. The possibility of having lost the road leaves us with the threat of being stranded, without signs or a navigator.
But each of us do have our own path, and it remains beautiful in fine and inclement weather, if we have owned the path, if we have listened not only with our eyes but also with our feet. Feel the pebbles, recognize the trail and keep the directions close to your heart.As you walk, tread with beautiful feet, that speak that sing to those who follow.
There is nobody who will be forgotten, only those who choose to forget.
It's okay to rest at the roadside when weary. It's brilliant to stop on the bridges and listen to the babbling creeks and rivers. Even better, take a break and play Pooh-sticks for a while, tease the time.
Unwise words, feeble trust and deliberate turns off the road turn the bright into blight, and the quester into a question.
Leave your curiosity in your pocket for the day when a new path is offered, until then trust the breath that brought the darkness and remember the reason you asked for directions.

building fences with no offence 3

2011-02-08T19:59:00.000-08:00

Every time I speak to connect, to unveil, to exchange my moments with those of another's, I run the risk of bringing pain, revealing other wounds that had been guarded. As much as it would be great to assume that I could be all harmonious and helpful, I can't. Even with those close to me, I never really understand the reasons for their heart sounds.
I will hurt people.
All the time, with no intention. Maybe a memory wanted to stay buckled down in a dark room, and a simple comment of mine pressed the sensor.
But I can desire to be somebody who doesn't harm. I can try to settle and soothe the damage I have caused,
if I have other eyes that see the pain, ears that hear the crying voices before I reject and run.
If I sit close enough to a heart that feels and remembers the past of all I reach out to. If I remember to listen before I interrupt.

Storytelling that feeds the heart. 2

2011-02-07T00:41:00.000-08:00

All day we listen to others tell the plans, griefs, and happiness of their day. Unless you disappear to a place where you are alone, you will hear the reflections of somebody's day. And even in that quiet place, you may not hear another's tale but you will still be the audience to your own dreams, fears, frustrations and disappointments.

Some days it just doesn't seem as if you are capable of anything useful; and others will underline this, pushing your hopes away from the stepping stones you were looking for.
But there is a way to find yourself reflected as a beautiful contribution to the planet.
There is a safe place at the knee of a storyteller who will do you no harm, and bring you back to your feet.
There is a hearth that gives warmth, change and healing.
The only requirement is that you seek out the storyteller, and sit still long enough to listen.

Rules of the road, 1

2011-02-05T23:49:00.000-08:00

Most people will arrive a place on their path, where there are no obvious directions. Once you've outgrown the need for parents, the only restraints are rules that you choose. The local and federal rules give advice, but they don't spend each day reminding you to pick up socks and do the dishes.
You decide whether you want to follow fashion, peers, and trends. You can choose to be an eternal luddite. Nobody can judge you on that.
Your heart spills dreams over your daily needs, but who can determine what really fills the happy factor?
Is it the option of pursuing blamelessness?
Are you safer yielding to advice that doesn't appeal to you?
Is there a place where rules and relationship merge, and therefore build a home for the heart?

first signs of daylight!

2011-02-05T18:35:00.000-08:00

I thought that the difficult part was dreaming up a story and sorting it into a manuscript. Apparently not; the fun part comes with the detail of cover designs, and technical stuff I hadn't heard of.
After re-reading the edits and problems with my cover tragically bleeding, I then had to learn a new language. Publishers possibly become bored with having to explain baby steps to novices, but my head is doing somersaults trying to understand dimensions and jargon.
But, here we go...

you didn't go unnoticed.

2011-01-27T15:58:00.000-08:00

Yesterday in the supermarket, somewhere between the Ginger beer and the Pretzels, a young man stopped me and said
'You are the nurse who saved my life.'
I had to work the old brain to remember the moment, it was a blink on a busy night for me and the end of a bad day for him.
`I'm surprised you recognized me out of my scrubs,' I answered.
`I'll never forget you,' he answered.
I started thinking of all the people who had saved my sanity whilst doing their day to day work, who I never properly thanked.

Our Kinder teacher. What a difficult season; letting go of your babies, helping them learn organisation, social skills and introducing them to life in the system. My kids had the best experience in Kinder, thanks to sensitive, mature, unflappable women who built bridges where there wasn't a path.
I can't imagine how exhausted they were after a day, a week, but I'll never forget their names and faces, nor will my children.

and a spider in a pear tree

2011-01-16T08:42:00.000-08:00

Spiders receive too much bad press, few people see the gentle protective side of their intentions. My bundle of sticks that became a flourishing pear tree full of polished leaves and blossom , had begun to wither. Upon closer inspection I noticed slimey black grubs eating the leaves. I carefully removed the affected leaves and waited. No sprays, no powders, just waited and wondered if anybody would care to help this purple thumbed gardener. I didn't know what the predator was.
Yesterday I noticed a sudden emergence of new bright leaves, and not one grimey bug to be seen. Just for the fun of it, I blew on the leaves....and a spider dropped down briefly on a thread and quickly ran back to his perch. He was well camoflaged, so I couldn't quite be sure that he was there. So I blew on him again, and down came the silk thread, waved and then returned to his citadel.
The tree is recovering well, thanks to my sentry.
Next time you see a spider, don't scream or swat, consider his courageous role in protecting you from insects that attack and deliberately harm and destroy.

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