Sweet Surrender (21 page)

When I'm not writing or gardening, or spending time with my grandchildren, or travelling around the world for work or to care for my sister, I spend time as a public speaker, which is a sideline I thoroughly enjoy.

It started back when I was first writing gardening books in the early 1980s. After the publication of my very first book I was approached by a local gardening club in the Mountains to be a guest speaker at their monthly meeting in the church hall. I was petrified at the thought. Although I had been a debater at school I had not stood up in front of an audience since that time.

For that first talk I made copious notes and in the end wrote a speech which I intended to read. I wasn't going to be caught out making any mistakes.

I surprised myself by not even glancing at my notes, let alone following my prepared lecture. I spoke off the cuff, made a few jokes and stimulated an easy question-and-answer session at the end. The hour flew, and the next time I was approached I did not have the same reservations.

Over the following fifteen years I cut my teeth as a public speaker, talking to gardeners in clubs all over Australia. I loved meeting people, and laughing about the eccentricities of keen gardeners. I loved the warm-hearted banter and exchanges that became an inevitable part of the public-speaking process.

More recently, I have talked to large groups each time a new book of mine has been published, and I have also set aside time to speak at events organised to raise funds for charity. It's extraordinary how a simple gathering – a morning tea or cocktail party with a guest speaker – can raise such large sums of money in just a few hours (although of course there's a lot work for the organisers in the lead-up to such an event).

Over the years, from my days as a gardening writer to my current role as the unofficial spokeswoman of middle-aged women yearning to run away from home, I have developed a great rapport with my readers and this always makes for a lively exchange of ideas and viewpoints. Keen readers love to meet authors and because I write in an honest way they really feel as though they know me, which is great. It means, of course, that it's no holds barred when it comes to question time and I sometimes reel at some of the questions I am asked on these occasions . . .

‘How did your husband react,' one well-dressed woman enquired, ‘when he realised you were having . . . an extra cup of coffee after dinner?'

Audience laughter. I knew what she was getting at.

‘I don't drink coffee,' I think I quickly retorted. Then went on to answer her question more earnestly.

‘Do you still see your lover?' asked another.

‘Yes. But it's different now.'

‘How did his wife feel?'

‘She didn't know, thank heavens.'

And so it goes.

Inevitably I am asked if there will be another book in the series. People must love to hear other people's stories. There is a thirst for books that take people on a journey through the life of another. There are so many people who lead fascinating lives and we just can't seem to get enough of them.

The feedback I get through my website confirms this. Almost every day I am sent an email – sometimes two or three – from readers wanting to talk about my books. Their letters bubble with enthusiasm and they always ask . . . what happened next?

 

 

 

 

 

I try to respond to most of the emails, although when I'm on the road it isn't always easy. However these messages encourage me enormously, and give me confidence to keep writing on subjects that are touchy for some people (especially male book reviewers).

In France, people now coming looking for my house. If I'm at home they sometimes knock on the door and say hello. I'm usually happy to see them, unless I'm in the middle of some domestic crisis, or right on deadline for a piece of writing. But it can be a little unsettling for me at times, because it's the last thing I expect when I'm in such a remote place as the tiny village of Frayssinet-le-Gelat. People leave notes for me at Jeannette and Sylvie's restaurant in Pomarede, and every time I return I am handed a small bundle of messages and cheerios, often written on
paper napkins. Once, I was photographed unloading groceries from the boot of my car and carrying them into the house. The couple who took the pictures didn't approach me at the time but later mailed me a copy of one. I have to confess I found that a bit creepy.

I look forward to my next tour when I can talk at literary and fundraising events about the issues I have raised in this latest book. Naturally, my readers are still probably thinking of me as a free spirit, and it will be interesting to see how they react to the latest chapter in my story. Will they think I have hung up my fishnet tights in favour of pastimes more sedate and saintly?

I certainly hope not!

Although writing is a solitary occupation, creating a finished book is a collaborative effort. During the writing of
Sweet Surrender
I was offered tremendous love and forbearance by my family, my friends and work colleagues. My husband supported my spending as much time as I could with my sister; my children and their families listened and laughed at my blunderings through mid-life. I am fortunate indeed that my agent Lyn Tranter has been such a staunch ally and that my compassionate publisher Tom Gilliatt no longer looks alarmed at
anything
I tell him. Sybil Nolan, as editor, found the storyline amid the confusion and was later capably backed up by Pan Macmillan senior editor Emma Rafferty and copy editor Ali Lavau. The typesetters, proofreader, cover designer, publishing assistants and publicists — a huge thank you to everyone involved.