When the expert tells you you can't possibly write that..

...you rebel.

'Love' he said, 'did not feature in medieval marriages. It was all about contracts and allegiences.'

Um. Well, not in my story. I said. And, I say. I believe that love has always been there and that men and women have loved each other and made sacrifices for love all through the ages. This is gonna happen in my saga, you can be sure.

But, I also have learned that love isn't always about what one feels but also about one does. And my characters do things to show their love.

So, this is quite a vague post but I am walking gently through the paths of love which do not necessarily run smooth. (to mangle Shakespeare).

Pleased with what I've achieved these past few days but not as much as I wanted. Back to school tomorrow and I now have only one month to rewrite the what I've written. It's got some great stuff in it - promise.

and some surprises. heh heh heh

First draft pretty much finished; now the work begins...

I have finished the sh**ty first draft but now I have a lot of research reading ahead of me. The two books I'm focusing on at present are The Western Medical Tradition 800 bc to ad 1800 and Medieval and early Renaissance Medicine by Nancy Siraisi.

Yesterday, I had the privilege of spending an hour with Dr Takashi Shogimen, Senior Lecturer in Medieval History, University of Otago who gave me invaluable information about the time and answered some of my strange questions. He also lent me a book called Medieval Maps


I also have pages of photocopied notes on William the Conqueror, medieval marriage and death, and the Vikings. I confess to not enjoying reading history despite it being my minor at university.

Sigh.

School starts back on Monday and one of my publishers is revamping my two grammar books so the pressure is on. Both these books and Bloodlines have the same deadline of 1st of March.


Still, until I find out what Rachel knew about medicine, I can't fix up this SFD and make it a decent second draft.

Nothing to do with the books but part of my life

Today, I saw my foster mother buried. As I write this, my heart is filled with a swirling mixture of good memories, pain for the loss and pride because I knew her. This sort of post may seem at first not part of the purpose of the blog but this is the eulogy I was privileged to give:

George Orwell said there were a number of reasons why writers write. Apart from fame and making money (which is always good) one was immortality which he called ‘sheer egoism’. Cos once it’s in print it is forever. Writer use, often, what they see around them. I ‘immortalized’ Ailsa firstly in Runaway. She was Mrs C. I won’t tell you who The Major was. [at this point I nodded to my darling foster father Martin].

Why? At the beginning of 1982, Ailsa and Matin became my foster parents and, though I only stayed nine months, that title and its significance has stayed with me always.

For my entire adult life, Ailsaisms, as I call them, come to me on an almost daily basis. You see, Ailsa and Martin are to blame for me becoming a dedicated tea addict.

However, despite huge effort on her part to teach me to make and drink a proper cup of tea, I have never been able to make anything other than what Ailsa called “piss water!”’ In fact, I often hear her deep chested chuckle each time I make my tea. One time, I wanted to please her with a cuppa in bed. ‘What is this?’ she said. ‘Did you wave the tea bag over the cup?’

I used to cut her hair and once asked her what it meant to be in love. She told me she thought it was commitment and companionship. ‘Martin in my mate,’ she said. And, over the years, I have watched them and endeavoured to follow their example in my own life and marriage.

She always told me how shy she was as if that was a weakness. I told her a few years ago that one of the greatest things about her was her sharp observation skills. Whenever Ailsa spoke, truth, wisdom and, sometimes wickedly funny jokes, where on her tongue.

Over the years, I have made infrequent visits: once with my new husband; another with my children. We have always tried for catch ups when in Christchurch. I am sad that there were not more catch up times.

Thank you, Ailsa, for the hugely significant input you and Martin had in my life. I was changed because of you.

I love you and look forward to seeing you again.

Book signing and author egos in Whangarei

As I predicted, Whangarei has well and truelly 'grown up'. The weather here is beautiful, the shops are humming, the singers and other buskers in the outside mall (oh I do remember the controversy in the 70s when the council made the decision to close off Bank street!) bring the place such a festive atmosphere.

With my friend Lynn, we trawled the bookshops. She had always wanted to be there when someone said 'The Tania Roxborogh? How wonderful!'. I was more cynical especially because, when I first began writing and I went into a chain store offering to sign copies of the book, the manager said 'No, thanks. We can't send them back if you mark them.' Charming.

Actually, just a few months ago, I went into the same store and the one of the old hands was very keen for me to sign Banquo's Son only to have the new manager scurry over and say 'Only two. Only two. Otherwise, we can't send them back.' Charming (again!). Did the women not take note of the best seller lists?

Anyway, I digress. First store: Storytime. I mentioned to Lynn that I knew the manager but thought she probably wouldn't remember me.

I didn't spot her but I went shyly up to the counter and said: Um, my name is Tania Roxborogh and you've got one of my books here. Would you like me to sign it?'

Very happy response, we collected Banquo's Son and, when we got back to the counter, the manager was there and she did remember me and it turned out most of the staff had read and loved Banquo's Son and were thrilled to hear I was a good way through the sequel. Of course, these people know their books and I left with The Graveyard Book under my arm (we later came back and I bought another: Grace by Morris Gleitzman.)

Next stop, Paper Plus. Chris, the manager was very warm and delighted and said the book was selling really well. I signed all the copies they had (about six, I think).

Next Whitcoulls. Even better, the manager had also read and loved the book and when I told them I used to live in Whangarei and went to school here, they asked me to write down these details so that they could go along side the displays (at both ends of the shop). I signed ALL their copies too. Lovely, positive place.

But, the highlight was going into The Second Hand Bookshop. Not only was their collection extensive, but I managed to get an extra copy of Maxine Altero's Ribbon's Of Grace.

I went up to the counter and chattered to the owners and mentioned to the wife that I knew Maxine and that I was a writer myself. We talked some more and then she asked 'And might we know your name?'

'You might,' I answered. 'I'm Tania Roxborogh.'

I could not have written better what happened next. Her face lit up, she gasped, a huge smile on her face and grabbed her hands to her chest. 'Oh. Oh, how wonderful. Oh my, Fat like me and Banquo's Son are so popular.'

'Thank you,' I said.

'No, Thank you' she said. 'How wonderful to meet you.'

The rest is a blur but she said lots of nice things about my writing. Wonderful wonderful stuff for this author to hear. I looked around to ensure Lynn had experienced this exchange but her nose was buried in Arthur Conon Doyle down the back of the shop. Typical. She was most unimpressed to have missed it.

So, by the time we got back to Ngunguru, I was suitibly uplifted and ploughed through the afternoon's writing, turning in over 2000 words of some pretty decent stuff.


This photo is almost what greets me in the morning. Stunning!

Thanks Whangarei, for the warm and very warm welcome.