Jane Tara's Pillow Book

Lady Jane Unleashed

2009-03-29T20:27:00.000-07:00

Check out my other blog for more regular updates. The link is on the right...

A muse... or amusement?

2009-03-18T22:57:00.000-07:00

My gorgeous and gifted friend Ulrike drew this picture of me at my birthday dinner. I love my tiara and the fairies flying around my head. She’s the one next to me with the funny look on her face and tins of fairy bomb in front of her. We actually look like that regularly, not just on my birthday.

Check out Ulrike’s other artwork on her blog:
http://edition-9.blogspot.com

Abaracadabara!

2009-03-16T03:46:00.000-07:00

Thanks thirties... and goodbye!

2009-03-09T23:38:00.000-07:00

My thirties began:

Holding my newborn son, Buster… He was two weeks old, yet his stare was ancient. He seemed to say, “Not how you expected to celebrate thirty, aye!”

Buster turned ten two weeks ago.

This pixie-like boy defined my thirties. He is my mirror, my teacher, my greatest worry, an infinite love, my sidekick. I often look at him and wonder how something so magnificent came from me.

Together we navigated my early thirties:

Five years of wandering through airports together, hands held tight. New countries, new adventures. Trudging through snow in New York to get him to school, running through forests in Europe, blessings in Japan. Our flat in Sydney, our beach house near Byron Bay, him in a kiddie seat on the back of my bike. The curve of his neck, the shape of his bottom, the freckle on his lip, the secret signals we have that silently declare our love to each other, our songs… He introduced me to Demeter within. Sometimes I struggle with her, usually I embrace her… occasionally I resent her deeply.

There were tours and plays, Buster sitting at the sidelines, his little legs swinging. I miss the theatre, the smell, the camaraderie, the late nights, the highs. Theatre was my first love. We broke up a few years ago. We’ll get back together soon.

I was halfway through my thirties when…

Vesuvius entered my life with a roar. Oh how I worship this child with his free spirit and curly mop, his fearsome temper and eccentric outlook. While Buster has lived a million times before and carries the weight of those lives around with him, Vesuvius is new here… He has no shackles, no cares… no real empathy for the human condition because for him it’s just a game. He is the most outrageous creature. I watch him and I’m in awe at his complete lust for life.

Twelve years of wandering the world came to a standstill when he was born. I returned home to live, although it took some time to call it home. I was more relaxed, less obsessed, willing to embrace free-range parenting, often through sheer selfishness, but mostly because it’s what he needs.

I spent all of my thirties writing. Obsessively.

Four years of my thirties were spent breastfeeding. 2 x 2.

Two years were spent as a stranger in my own country… wondering where I’d go next… and then:

I fell in love… with Sydney.
I separated from my husband, and discovered that he is the greatest man I’ve ever met. He treats me like gold, which teaches our sons to do the same. The bar is high for future lovers. So far, no one has come close.

My friendships have become more significant, more profound, more necessary. I love my motley crew of friends deeply… My family means more to me than ever. My family has expanded in the most unique ways. Finn was born… what a journey for us all, this child not of my blood, but of my soul.

My plays, awards, children’s books, published pieces, it all started to happen. Every spare second I had… I wrote. My first novel was published… finally!!!! I give gratitude for my amazing managers in LA, who encourage and guide me, and have opened doors that other people would kill for. I am fully aware of how blessed I am. Opportunities arise… I’m working on projects… a tipping point… ready to… go.

I am healthy. I am happy. It’s rare that I’m not. I’m positive, hopeful and grateful. I’m relentless in my quest for me. Focussed on my inner journey. I make no apologies for who I am. What other people think of me is not my business. I refuse to be chained, caged or suppressed by society or individuals… or myself. I embrace my wildness. I give free reign to my personal power. I am in an excellent place.

Thanks to my thirties.

I am now ready for my forties, and all the wonder the decade will hold.

The most beautiful harbour in the world.

2009-03-08T15:21:00.001-07:00

I want an endless summer

2009-03-05T17:45:00.000-08:00

I don’t want summer to end. Usually by March I’m ready for autumn, but this year I’m panicking as the cool nights creep in. Dread clutches and claws at me.

I don’t want the leaves to change colour, or the searing heat to end. I don’t want to pack away my flimsy dresses and replace them with boots and jackets. I want the heat, the smooth sweaty skin, the beach, the barbeques, the beer… the beautiful bronzed boys. In want to dance in next to nothing, twirl in summer rain. I want the fan on while I sleep. I want to duck spider webs when I leave the house. I want the grass to be dry and the wind to be hot and the sun to bite my skin…

I’m simply not ready for the cold. I hate that I have no control over the change of seasons… Autumn has arrived and winter will inevitably follow.

Autumn used to be my favourite season, but now that it's here…

I want an endless summer.

And I realize, my mood has nothing to do with the Wheel of Seasons… but the Wheel of Life… and my fear of turning forty.

A Surfing Christmas

2009-02-24T14:50:00.000-08:00

The lovely Meryl Harris has been interviewed on Jelli Beanz blogspot. Check out the interview AND while you're at it, buy her beautiful book, A Surfing Christmas.

http://www.jelli-beanz.blogspot.com
http://www.merylharris.blogspot.com/
www.blake.com.au

Facing 40!!!

2009-02-18T17:45:00.000-08:00

I am smack bang in the middle of massive change. Some of it’s of my own making… I’ve made some decisions recently to face my fears, which means a busy month doing things I’d rather not do. Like my stand-up comedy debut. Other changes are happening whether I like it or not. For example: my birthday on March 11. It’s roaring towards me… and of course I want it to, because I either reach my next birthday or I don’t… and “don’t” isn’t appealing. But it comes packaged with a four and an oh! OH! Oh fuck… I’m forty.

I figure there are three ways to greet forty. I can fight it tooth and nail, which is tempting, but let’s face it… it’ll win. I can lie back and accept it without a whimper… but that’s not my style at all. Or I can embrace the bitch and redefine my life.

I choose option number three.

I’m working on a project at the moment with the very amazing Nik Halik. (More details on that soon.) Nik gives good quote. One that recently had an impact on me was:

“You can’t do the same thing over and over again and expect a different outcome.”

Obvious… and yet how many of us are stuck in a routine… not only a day-to-day routine, but also a regular way of reacting to events and occurrences as they come up? If the way you dealt with something in the past didn’t bring positive change into your life, then why react the same way over and over again. I want different outcomes, so I’m doing things differently.

This week, I finally face my public speaking fears, first at ARRC in Melbourne… and then onstage doing stand-up. I’m not even scared. I’m actually relieved that I’m finally taking massive action. Different action…

But the quote that has had the most impact on me is one by Jung:

“Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on a child than the unlived life of the parent.”

It inspires me. I read it and have no choice but to step into courage and action. I can either be stuck in life, weighed down by my baggage, trapped by my inability to change… or I can choose to live, really live, not just for myself, but also for my children. I feel I’ve always been reasonably brave with my choices, and I’ve certainly lived an interesting and varied life… but recently I’ve settled for less than I deserve. I have embraced mediocre, when I should have magnificent.

I want my sons to live and love with courage and freedom… therefore I must too. I must be the example. For every fear I have, I’ll eventually have ten times the regrets if I don’t face it.

So… as I face… and embrace the big 4.0… I challenge myself to live and love with wild abandon. I dare myself to take risks, face my fears, regularly visit territories outside my comfort zone… and live… really live.

Masaru Emoto

2009-02-16T19:48:00.001-08:00

ARRC 09

2009-02-10T01:37:00.001-08:00

Not long to go until ARRC. I'm excited... despite my pathetic fear of public speaking. I’m dragging my PA with me… party assistant. She’ll be in charge of telling me how fabulous I was after each panel… and assuring me that I didn’t appear nervous at all. Also looking forward to meeting some of the other authors I’ve been in touch with. The whole event will be at the Jasper in Melbourne, one of my favourite hotels. If you’re around, come and check me out:

- Saturday at 11.00 am: The Aussie Voice
- Sunday at 2.00 pm: Romance with Attitude—Fun, humour and sass!

The rest of the time… I’ll be in the bar…

http://www.arrc09.com/2008/08/9.html

My French Life

2009-01-02T17:16:00.000-08:00

My mother gave me this beautiful book for Christmas. Dream, dream, dream...

True style

2008-11-23T22:37:00.001-08:00

This is my glorious four-year-old son, Vesuvius. (No, not his real name) I asked him to get dressed the other day and he came down in this outfit… His swimmers, goggles, arm tattoo and beanie.
ME: We’re not going swimming.
HIM: I know.
ME: So why are you wearing your swimmers?
HIM: I’m not.
ME: ………… okay…

And so off we went to Myers, to buy a birthday present for a friend. He received some looks, some stares… some laughs. It didn’t faze him. He was wearing what he wanted, and he wore it with confidence.

Got to admire that.

Jeff Rivera

2008-11-19T15:22:00.000-08:00

I recently had the opportunity to speak (via email… does anyone ever actually “speak” nowadays?) to Jeff Rivera, whose first novel Forever My Lady has just hit the shelves. Jeff is a writer worth keeping an eye on… and not just because he looks like a cover model. LOL. I know, I know, I’m so shallow, but Forever My Lady is a great read and, as you’ll see from the interview below, the cover model… oops, I mean writer, is also a nice guy. Do yourself a favor and check the book and the author out.

What does it feel like to see your book in bookstores after years of struggling?
I don't want to just say it's a dream come true because it's much more than that. To me it's a symbol that all those crazy books you read about visualizing and "The Secret" really do work. If you're willing to put in the effort, I believe anything is possible, corny as it may sound.

How did you celebrate its release?
Well, Forever My Lady has had many many incarnations so it's kind of like the excitement with the first child, and the second child your happy but in a different way and then a third and then a fourth and you love them all the same but you're like how in the world am I going to afford all these kids?! Haha!

What was your writing process like in writing Forever My Lady?
Well, I was working a job I hated in the morning then I'd force myself to sit down and crank out as much as I could. There were times when I was wondering if I was doing it right, quite frankly. I wanted to give up half way through the book but something kept me going. (Probably the thought of being stuck in that God awful job for the rest of my life)

One thing about your characters is that when you first meet them you don't necessarily like them, then you get to know them. Why did you do this?
I think that's the way real life is. Do you have any friends that you didn't like when you first met them? Then you get to know them. It was also a message to people misjudged my little brother when the first met him and didn't give him a chance, not a chance to really get to know him.

If Forever My Lady was a film, who would star in it?
I would LOVE to have Samuel L. Jackson play the drill instructor and I have so many ideas for Louise. We could go the Nicole Kidman/Sharon Stone route or even the Kathy Bates route.

Who are a few of your own favorite authors?
I love Nicholas Sparks, what he writes, how he changes his literary voice and how smart of a business man he is. People don't realize that side of him. All the greats have a very smart keen business sense to them and that's to be admired as well.

What are you working on now?
Well, I'm committed this year to be even more prolific writing at least 10 pages a day. It ain't easy but it is fun!

Forever My Lady is available on your website?
Yes, www.JeffRivera.com, Amazon.com and wherever books are sold!

Ravenous Romance

2008-11-18T15:36:00.001-08:00

There’s a new erotic romance e-publisher launching on December 1st. Sign up for the newsletter and go in the draw for an iPod. Or enter the pre-launch TwittErotica Contest. Here are the guidelines:

Ravenous Romance™ TwittErotica Contest

Are u the Twitter Master? Can u get ur message out in 140 characters or less? If so, then prove it. We challenge u to put ur fingers to ur twit & send us ur hot, erotic short, but remember, short is the key... it has 2 fit in2 140 chrctrs...or less!

Submissions: Twitterotica@RavenousRomance.com

Ready, set...tweet!

www.ravenousromance.com

Blah, blah, blah...

2008-10-19T19:57:00.001-07:00

I haven’t had time to update lately. Life has been crazy busy, in lovely ways. I’m polishing my screenplay, The Dating Atlas and my next novel, Trouble Brewing. Both are nearly there… just a bit more dust and sparkle. More on all those projects later. But for now…

I love:
Spring, vintage dresses, my sons and their take on everything, stolen moments, Russell Brand, Coconut oil, the thought of Russell Brand covered in coconut oil, travelling light, vodka and lime, The Twilight Series, retro swimwear, Japanese mythology, Jason Mraz, life’s unlimited potential.

Stomach churning:
Space Chimps and Sarah Palin.

ARRC 2009

2008-09-14T23:29:00.000-07:00

It’s confirmed. Despite a ridiculous fear of public speaking, I have agreed to appear on the following panels at ARRC 2009.

Saturday Morning:
The Aussie Voice: Why the whole world loves our accent. With Paula Roe and Michelle Douglas.

Sunday Afternoon:
Romantic Comedy: Romance with attitude--fun, humour and sass, a winning combination. With Ally Blake, Liz Maverick and Susan Donovan.

Any suggestions for dealing with nerves are much appreciated. (Hypnotism, deep breathing and vodka are at the top of my list so far.)

Registrations for ARRC open tonight. See you there!

http://www.australianromancereaders.com.au

The Smug Bug

2008-09-06T19:26:00.000-07:00

I’ve been sick, really sick. Doctors will tell you I have a virus, which obviously narrows the diagnosis right down (I just love doctors…). But I know for a fact that I’ve been hit with The Smug Bug. The Smug Bug is a violent illness that only ever attacks those smug bastards who say things like:
“Oh you’re sick? I never get sick.”
“I can’t remember the last time I got sick.”
“I have a hot lemon juice every morning… and I’m never sick.”

Yeah, well, never was shorter than expected and I’ve spent the past five days flat on my back with the distinct smell of sulphur in the air as hell beckoned. As I slipped in and out of consciousness, I realized I’d been guilty of smugness all winter. As everyone around me dropped like flies, I regularly tut-tutted, “I have a shot of apple cider vinegar every day… I never get sick.”

I actually can’t remember the last time I was this sick. I find illness annoying. I look after myself (I have apple bloody cider vinegar shots!) and I’m way too busy to spend a week in bed unless George Clooney is involved (or some other elderly silverback). But I’ve been so sick that I… didn’t even write! (Gasp!) Believe me, if I can’t write, if I have no desire to write… or even think about writing, then I might as well be dead. I’ve just endured five long days without writing a word. This blog is my comeback. This blog is to me what Pulp Fiction was to John Travolta… nothing short of a miracle. I’m not out of the woods yet. I’m still barking more than Lassie when someone’s stuck down a well. But I’m here, at my computer… enough said.

I’m now going to take extra care to never get sick again. Obviously there are some high-risk areas in my life that must be dealt with. My kids for example. Children are like walking Petri dishes. They carry more germs than an abattoir floor. I’ve decided to install a Dettol shower at the entrance so the children can have a quick wash with disinfectant before they greet me each afternoon. Solved. Shaking hands is another danger zone, so no more of that. Everyone will think I’m Obsessive Compulsive, or rude, but at least I’ll be healthy. Tongue kissing strangers is also risky, but that only ever happens when I’m drunk, so I’ll just lay off the vodka for a while. (I’m so kidding… I haven’t kissed a stranger for at least two months. Just checking to see if you’re paying attention.) If I travel on public transport I’ll wear one of those fabby little masks the Japanese wear. (I miss Japan. The Japanese wear masks if they HAVE a cold, so they don’t pass it on to others. Respect.) Perhaps I’ll even carry a handgun and shoot anyone with a sniffle on sight. Better to be safe than sorry. I’m sure if I make these few small adjustments to my life, I’ll never have to suffer through the tortures of this type of illness again.

Finally, there’s one more thing I need to do. From now on, when someone mentions that they’ve been sick, I’ll nod sympathetically and keep my mouth shut. I won’t mention hot lemon juice, or apple cider vinegar, or my strong immune system. I won’t be smug. The evil arms of the Smug Bug stretch far and wide and I don’t want them ever embracing me again.

"We're" pregnant!

2008-08-11T03:41:00.000-07:00

I ran into an old friend recently and when I asked after his wife his face lit up and he announced, “We’re pregnant!”

Really? You’re both pregnant? Or one of you is currently pregnant, but you intend to take turns carrying the sprog over the next nine months? Because the way I see it, unless a guy experiences endless weeks of nausea and toilet bowl hugging, unless his nipples expand to the size of yarmulkes, unless he regularly faints, or has heartburn, or gestational diabetes, or carpal tunnel syndrome… unless his hair thins, and resprouts in unwanted areas, unless his body continually expands until the inevitable day he pushes something the size of a watermelon out of his nether regions… Unless that happens, then seriously, drop the “we” because you’re not pregnant. If you were, you’d be on Oprah.

I hate this “we” trend when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth. I’m yet to meet a man who has had an episiotomy. None of my male friends have experienced the delights of mastitis. I never once saw the father of my children expressing milk. As far as I’m concerned, apart from a small donation at the starting line… the whole pregnancy and birth experience was all mine. If I had a man who said things like, “we’re pregnant”… “we’d” have to kick his ass.

I read a celebrity interview recently where this dim-witted pinup boy proudly admitted that, “We went eighteen hours without an epidural.” Bless him, but unless his insides were turning to cement while a doctor regularly shoved a gloved hand up his arse… unless he sat on a bedpan, screaming blue murder, completely stripped of all dignity, while a dozen people he’d never met before walked in and out of the room… then I don’t really see how he was part of the experience.

I’d like to ban the use of “we” and return to the days when the more enlightened male admitted he didn’t have a clue, and instead said things like, “I really admire women” and “I don’t know how they do it” and “we men would never cope.”

And for those men who want to feel involved, go on full-time diaper duty once the baby is born, or be the one who always helps with homework… because as far as “we” can see… until then, there’s really nothing else you can do.

Bye Bye Starbucks!

2008-08-05T23:32:00.000-07:00

Starbucks is closing most of its stores in Australia because they’ve finally realized what we Aussies have known all along: the coffee is crap and we don’t drink crap coffee here. Starbucks Asia Pacific president John Culver admitted, "I think what we've seen is that Australia has a very sophisticated coffee culture."

While I feel for all the people who have lost their jobs (I’m sure there are other companies willing to exploit… I mean employ them) there is something quite exhilarating about seeing a multinational corporation being brought down like this. Starbucks has 15,012 stores in 44 countries. They’ve been relentless in their quest to convert the world to their brand. But Australians are coffee snobs. We have a world class café culture, and no need, desire or patience for mediocre coffee. It was simple disinterest that brought Starbucks down… Now, if only everyone would stop buying Big Macs.

Winter in Sydney!

2008-07-24T17:43:00.000-07:00

Because I’m an environmentally aware kinda girl, I recycle everything. Including the occasional blog. This was first posted a year ago, but is an appropriate post for today. I’m cold, I’m too busy to write anything else, and I’m still wearing MWU.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's freezing here in Sydney. Coldest day on record in three thousand years apparently. In fact, I've just turned the fridge off at the wall. Seriously. It's a waste of power and the house is an icebox anyway. I feel like a character from Doctor Zhivago. "Oh Yuri…Yuri… I'm so bloody cold."  

Sydneysiders aren't built for winter. We think we'll be okay. Woolly winter fashions are frog-marched into the stores. We unpack the doonas. We comment on how the cool night air is a welcome relief from the relentless summer heat. But there's a problem. Our homes aren't heated. We have a 'she'll be right mate' attitude towards sub-zero temperatures. Yes it's cold… but in a few weeks it'll be stinking hot again, so why bother wasting time going down to Bing Lee to buy a heater.   

I'm yearning for the winters I spent in New York and Europe. Sure, trudging through snow for months on end was tedious, but at least you could crank up the central heating and wear a t-shirt indoors. Yes, there was that time in New York when I had to reach through the back door with an egg flipper and dig us out of the snow… but oh… we had central heating!   

Sydneysiders don't do central heating. Most of us make do through the (three) long weeks of winter with some ridiculously inappropriate bar heater, or reverse cycle air conditioner. Naturally these don't work because we've all renovated our homes to be open and airy and oh so fabulous… in summer. Fabulous for a party, but winter is cruel.   

Why we don't admit defeat and order central heating en masse is beyond me. Do we all still honestly believe we have a touch of the wild colonial boy inside us? (That actually sounds rude now I've written it! "We wish!" I hear my girlfriends yell.) After all, Australia is a harsh country and you need to be tough to live here. Right? Problem is, Sydneysiders are all piss weak. Most can't deal with a crappy latte, let alone an icy wind blowing in from the west. We shiver and shake and moan and drink our way through the cold season. (Yes drink. Three glasses of pinot and you don't feel the cold… or so I'm told.) We go into hibernation mode. Ironic considering how bloody cold our homes are.   

Personally, I've discovered merino wool underwear (MWU). The benefits are two-fold. Firstly… MWU really does help me stay warm. Secondly… MWU is also an extremely effective contraceptive. It's unlikely that anyone has ever fallen pregnant wearing the tights I'm currently wearing. One look at me in these tights and even Shane Warne would run a mile (and let's face it, he'll shag anything). But that's fine with me. Right now, even George Clooney couldn't pry my MW knickers from me. Warm days are just around the corner. Until then, the tights are staying on.

World Youth Day… is Gay!

2008-07-13T03:12:00.000-07:00

The Catholic Church is appealing for donations of blankets and warm clothes for the pilgrims who have travelled from far and wide for World Youth Day. These loyal pilgrims have forked out for airfares, but obviously not jackets. So Sydneysiders have been asked to forget the inconvenience of WYD, forget about the new annoying laws that strip us of out basic right to free speech… forget that our taxes are paying for this hideous event and STILL provide more. All I can say is ARE THEY FUCKING KIDDING?????? Buy your own bloody blankets. And while you’re at it… go HOMO!

“The Pope is Wrong. Put a Condom On!”

Sex Study!

2008-06-22T21:03:00.000-07:00

I love studies about sex. I love the statistics, the little factoids… most of all I love the conclusions these “experts” come to. (How does one become an expert in sex?) Apparently, based on a study released recently, three-minute sex is good enough.
Really? My first thought here, is… were ANY women asked for their opinion? But I read a bit further, and it appears some were:

“Australian sex therapists commenting on the new research say most women were "not bothered" if it was over with fast.”

What does this tell me? They obviously surveyed a bunch of married women with young kids. Women too exhausted to shag, so the quicker it’s over the better. They surveyed women who have husbands that never take out the garbage, always leave their wet towels on the floor, and who think farting constantly is funny. If these men ever picked up the bloody vacuum cleaner, their wives would be interested in putting out, but it’s hard to get excited about a man who has never folded a basket of washing. Here are a few more gems from the article…

“The study, published today in the International Journal of Sexual Medicine, is designed help calm couples' unrealistic beliefs that healthy sex should last a long time.”

How kind. Delusional but kind.

“"In the fantasy model of male sexuality, men have large penises, rock-hard erections, and can sustain sexual activity all night long," Dr Corty wrote. "It appears that many men and women hold this fantasy.”

Ah…yes, we do… and for good reason.

“She said it was important not to obsess over the length of intercourse, with time often suspended during the act anyway. I mean really, who's counting?" the expert said.”

Who’s counting? Most women I know…

2012

2008-05-29T18:56:00.000-07:00

I’m researching 2012 theories at the moment, and have completely freaked myself out. Apparently on December 21st, 2012 at 11:11 am, the world as we know it will end. Right.

Now, I’m all for change. I’m not keen on routine, and have a fairly adaptable nature. I believe we do need a bit of a planetary shake-up. But what bothers me about the shake-up we supposedly have coming… is that it will be permanent. It’s not as though I can gather up my loved ones and see the apocalypse out in a tin hut 100 km inland, and then return to Sydney and order a strong flat white in a café that isn’t quite as full as it was before.

No, everything will change. Countries will sink, new lands will rise, and most of the world’s population will be wiped out. Massive tsunamis will obliterate the coast. Every single infrastructure that we have today will disappear and we will be flung into a world where nothing, not Britney, not Lindsey… not even Paris matters. The only thing we will care about is survival. Basically, the whole world will be Darfur.

My brain has been seared with these prophecies and now everywhere I look are reminders of what needs to be done before Armageddon. For instance… I need to stock up on Dr. Hauschka and Papaw ointment. I need to learn how to grow vegetables, and while I’m at it, teach my younger son that he should eat them. (Aint no alternatives where we’re going, kiddo!) I should learn how to play a musical instrument, because I have a feeling it will be impossible to recharge my iPod.

There will be loads to do leading up to the doomsday date. We’ll all have full medical and dental checks. I’ll do a first aid course… get the low-down on bandaging snakebites etc. I’ll need my legs waxed and my hair done. And I’d better order an extra pair of prescription glasses.

I’ve started making an internal shopping list. Right at the top is vodka, proper coffee and toilet paper. There are certain standards in life. When we all go to hell in a hand basket, I want to have something decent to read. After all… I’ll probably be reading the same book over and over again for years. The Harry Potter series? Perhaps. An encyclopaedia of World History? Would be a good reminder of where we stuffed up, so as we don’t do it again. The Bible? Fuck off. Take religion out of the equation and we wouldn’t be in half the mess we’re in.

Then there are all the things that will never happen. I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland… but is there any point if in four years it won’t exist? I hope my films get made before Armageddon. Shallow I know, but it will give me something to bore everyone senseless with around the campfire every night. I’ll never buy that castle. I’ll now have to invest in a cabin near Dubbo. And there’s no point studying digital photography if I’d be better off learning where to dig for water.

Should I send a mass email to all my friends scattered all over the world and warn them about this? I have a feeling that if I did, I’d then really pray for the end of the world, because I’d feel like such a tool if I were wrong.

My money is on waking up on December 22nd, 2012 and having a good giggle about these predictions. Mind you, I’ll still be 100 km inland. But I’ll fire up my laptop, plug into the net, and the world will still be a chaotic, yet beautiful mess. But it does make me pause and take stock of what’s really important, and how our values, and not the planet, need one hell of a shake-up.

Check these out! What fun!

2008-05-19T17:10:00.000-07:00

Create Fake Magazine Covers with your own picture at MagMyPic.com

Kangaroo Cull

2008-05-19T00:28:00.000-07:00

What a bunch of hypocrites we Australians are, asking that the Japanese stop slaughtering whales, while we sit back and allow the annual kangaroo cull to take place.

Go here and sign this petition. At least then we can continue to be outraged at Japan.

http://www.canberraroos.com/help.html

Bored...

2008-05-18T15:45:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine called me last week to say hi… because he was bored.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. What am I? The Boredom Exterminator? Was I meant to say something wildly entertaining so he wasn’t bored any more? Or feel offended? When he’s bored he thinks of me? There was a long silence, while I considered this and then I said, “You’re too intelligent to be bored!” …and hung up the phone.

I have an aversion to ‘boredom.’ I can’t quite understand how anyone can be bored, especially anyone blessed with a brain. (I know, not everyone is…) I’m not even sure I can remember what “bored” feels like. I haven’t been bored since I was a kid and I’d visit my grandparents in Taree, but even then, when I realized there was no escape, I always made the best of it. I’d disappear into the garden and spend the days pretending to be the kid from The Secret Garden (whose parents had died of dysentery… as punishment for dragging her to Taree) or Samantha from Bewitched. There was always something to do. Boredom was never a state I’d visit for long. Certainly not something I ever felt once I hit my teens (and discovered boys… oops, I mean… books… and homework). And now I doubt even Stanislavski could drag that emotion memory from me, it’s been so long.

My friend didn’t call for a couple of days. Then yesterday he called back.
“Still bored?”
“God no,” he laughed. “I’m so fucking busy using my brain, mate.” I could almost hear him wink. “I can’t remember what bored feels like. But I’ve got to admit… I am horny.”

Time...

2008-04-25T21:16:00.000-07:00

I was recently asked if I’m a fulltime writer. Oh yes, I slither out of bed just after the nanny has taken the kids to school. I make a brew, and I lock myself away in my study, where I write… all day, every day, no interruptions from telemarketers, or friends who figure that seeing as I’m at home… surely I’d like to meet them for lunch!

I wish. No, I’m a nighttime writer. I’m a childcare, sleep time writer. I write three days a week when my youngest son is at childcare, and I write when my sons are asleep. I’m a jujitsu/swimming/drums writer, fitting in whatever work I can while I wait for my kids to finish the above classes. While other mothers chat, or duck out for groceries, I sit in the corner and edit pages. I wait for my oldest son after school, staring into space as I ponder how to move forward with my plot (no doubt many mothers think I’ve lost the plot). I’m a single mother, with other work, who jams as much writing as possible into any minute I can. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard someone say, “Oh, I’d love to write a book, but I can’t find the time.”

Oh please… watch my eyes roll! Am I one of those blessed people who was born under a 24 hour clock while others got ripped off with only 15 hours a day. Or is it possible that everyone has enough time to write a book/learn that musical instrument/study French?

Do you watch TV? Turn it off. There, you have time. Do you ever find yourself waiting for your children during after school activities? That’s a couple of hours a week to work on your ideas. Do your kids sleep? TIME. I have one child who rarely sleeps and still I’ve written another novel and a screenplay this year.

Naturally there are certain things I’ll never find time for, despite knowing I should. I’ll never find time to volunteer for canteen shifts at my son’s school. I’ll never find time to clean up my iPhoto, or make proper albums for my kids, or write in my diary, or read A Course in Miracles, or clean out the car boot. But anything I’m truly passionate about, and anything I really want to achieve… well there’s always plenty of time for that!

The Seal Hunt!

2008-04-16T06:01:00.001-07:00

Embarrassing online videos

2008-04-16T02:45:00.000-07:00

A friend recently sent me a video that has been doing the rounds for a while. I’m not going to go into the details of it here, mainly because I don’t want to encourage anyone to search for it. While I’m more than happy to forward on genuinely funny clips, I do question where we should draw the line. This clip was, without a doubt, the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to the person in it. Anyone who took the time to watch her face would’ve seen someone so mortified that you wonder just how she’ll ever get over it. And not only will she have to relive the event in her memory for the rest of her life, she’ll also know that it was posted on the internet and hundreds of thousands of people watched it, laughed and forwarded it on to all their friends.

Are we so numb to watching things on film that we’ve lost the ability to judge what is and isn’t appropriate… to empathize? Do we need to have clips of real accidents, real pain, real horror and real mortification posted for everyone to see? Where’s the respect? God forbid the whole world was witness to my most embarrassing moment (which involved a peacock feather… and… oh god, I still can’t think about it!), or my most heartbreaking moment. Watching this girl was not entertainment. Choosing to post it online, or forward it on to friends is a complete violation of another human being. It’s easy to say that this is simply the world we live in, but it’s not. It’s the world we have created by agreeing to watch, and later pressing send.

I feel great compassion for this girl, and the others like her, who have had their worst moments posted on the internet for the amusement of others. Will I watch it again? No. Will I forward it on? No… I choose not to. And it would be a much nicer world if others chose not to as well.

Instead, try watching this. Clips like this are truly worthwhile.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqe3A-zQhzU&feature=related

Sleep? What's that?

2008-04-15T01:05:00.000-07:00

NEWSFLASH!!! My son slept through the night last night!!!!! Not only that, but he’s slept through three nights in a row. Oh big deal, I can hear you say (reading minds is a gift of mine). Well yes, it is a big deal… because he’s nearly four. For four long years I have played musical beds (no, not like back in college) thanks to his restlessness. For the past two years it has been night terrors — screaming, terrifying sessions of him trying to beat off imaginary people. If that’s not bad enough… the night terrors are inevitably followed by nosebleeds. Some mornings I enter his room and it looks like he’s been sacrificing chickens all night long — blood everywhere. I have tried everything. At first I thought it was simply a stage, so I was patient. But after… oh… about a year, I thought… mmm… I don’t think this is a stage. I think it’s a problem. (Yes, it took a while to click but I’m exhausted!)

I took him to a pediatrician and after countless tests; including B6 and Iron levels (because he’s vegetarian) we discovered… there’s nothing wrong with him. She didn’t feel the night terrors and nosebleeds were connected… but she could be wrong.

Right.

Next we went to the nose doctor to check why he had nosebleeds, but 15 minutes and $260 later Mr. Nose Doctor informed me that there was nothing wrong… and nothing he could do.

“But what about all the nosebleeds?” I asked.
The nose doctor looked at me like I hadn’t been paying attention. “Like I said… there’s nothing wrong.”
“But his nose does bleed… a lot.”
“Ah… well… yes,” he said glancing at his watch… boy was he earning his money today! “Bring him back in a few months if it hasn’t stopped.”

Of course… so you can charge me another $260 and waste more of my time.

Next up: a psychologist where he was checked for major emotional traumas. When the psychologist asked what his favorite song was, my sweet little three-year-old sang his song of the moment: My Chemical Romance’s “Teenagers scare the living shit out of me.” The psychologist surmised that he appeared normal. Although she did admit he was an extremely intense child… but advised that that could be from the lack of sleep.

So I did what I should have done first. I took him to a healer. She connected with his spirit guide, altered some cell memories, fixed a chakra or two, prescribed a homeopathic remedy for the nosebleeds and night terrors, which she assured me, are connected, and had a conversation with his subconscious. Sounds weird? Perhaps, but it lasted nearly an hour and she only charged me $25, a complete bargain after the nose doctor.

And unlike the nose doctor, shrink and pediatrician, her voodoo worked. It has been a week and he hasn’t had a nosebleed. The nights immediately calmed, and three nights after the session with the healer… he slept through. And continues to do so…

Annual Seal Slaughter!

2008-03-26T01:36:00.000-07:00

275,000 baby harps seals are due to be slaughtered, starting this Friday. When I was 14-years-old, I collected nearly ten thousand signatures, and copped a lot of shit at school, to save baby harp seals. That was over twenty years ago and this abhorrent slaughter still takes place each year.

As Mahatma Gandhi said, "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated." Based on these wise words, we’d be hard pressed to find one great nation on earth.

Please visit PETA and the Humane Society and find out how you can help:

http://getactive.peta.org/campaign/seal_hunt_skins

www.hsus.org/protect_seals.html

Read about out Sea Shepherd’s campaign at:

http://www.seashepherd.org/

"The time will come when men such as I will look upon the murder of animals as they now look on the murder of men."
--Leonardo da Vinci

"For as long as men massacre animals, they will kill each other. Indeed, he who sows the seed of murder and pain cannot reap joy and love."
--Pythagoras

"Non-violence leads to the highest ethics, which is the goal of all evolution. Until we stop harming all other living beings, we are still savages."
--Thomas Edison

"I am in favor of animal rights as well as human rights. That is the way of a whole human being."
--Abraham Lincoln

"As long as there are slaughterhouses, there will be battlefields."
--Leo Tolstoy

Update!

2008-03-25T00:27:00.001-07:00

I’ve received quite a few emails and messages lately asking when my next book will be out. All I can say is soon… soon…

I actually hit the pause button on book two while I concentrated on a couple of screenplays. I recently finished a rewrite of Forecast (the screenplay), plus wrote another film called The Dating Atlas. Exciting things are happening with them both and I hope to have more news regarding these projects soon.

This week, I finally returned to my second novel, Trouble Brewing. I am, as of today, fifty thousand words into it. Trouble Brewing is set in London and tells the story of Rowie’s cousin, Calypso Shakespeare.

I really appreciate the support I’ve had from those of you who loved Forecast enough to write and ask about the next book. I promise you… it’s coming!

I’ll keep you updated. Until then, happy reading!

Jane

The Romance Reader Review!

2008-03-24T02:24:00.000-07:00

I discovered a wonderful review from The Romance Reader, posted only last week. Here are some of the best bits, with a link to the rest of this lovely review below.

"You may have to hunt for this one since the publishing date was November 2007, but it is worth the search. Forecast is a delightful spoof on weathermen, love and psychic phenomena."

"This book made me laugh. There is no greater compliment I can give to a book that is written in this tongue-in-cheek manner. The characters jump off the pages and the scenarios are unique. Yes, you have to suspend belief and accept that these people think they talk to dead people and see auras and have powers that most normal folks would laugh at. But they are believable. There are a few secondary story lines about Gwen, Lilia and Rowie’s best friend Angel. Angel is an Aussie who can only be described as a hoot.

Forecast is one of those books that I didn’t think I would like when I read the cover and kept putting off reading. Now that I have, I can only hope that I will go back to it when I need a chuckle. I also hope you can still find it. I would hate to think you missed out on the fun."
--Shirley Lyons

Read the whole review here:
http://www.theromancereader.com/tara-forecast.html

Romance Review

2008-03-16T22:43:00.000-07:00

I just discovered this review a couple of days ago, on the eve of my birthday. Helped sweeten the passing of time…

A Romance Review:

The Shakespeare women all have special gifts. Several of their ancestors met with untimely ends because of the family heritage, but nowadays it is looked on more as an eccentricity than a curse. For the residents of Manhattan’s West Village, Rowena Shakespeare’s ability to forecast the weather is a bright spot in their day. Shopkeepers, policemen and other neighbors gather in front of their family shop – Second Site – to hear her daily prediction.
Rowie loves the camaraderie of her neighborhood, but longs for more. Running the shop and dealing with her demanding grandmother and flighty mother is becoming more difficult every day. She just wishes she could do something different with her life.

When a TV producer approaches her to fill-in for hunky Drew Henderson while he recovers from an accident, Rowie is intrigued. How will people accept her gift? Will she be the odd-girl out or admired for her abilities? How does Drew feel about his replacement?

Author Jane Tara has penned a delightful story about a special young woman and the regular guy who falls for her in Forecast. Its tone is reminiscent of a screwball comedy (especially when Rowie gets to the TV station), but does not have any forced humor. The characters are very likeable and believable. It is the perfect escape read from the lingering winter.

Reviewed by Paula

http://www.aromancereview.com/reviews/index.php?app_state=show_event&bookid=13294

What's the big deal?

2008-03-07T19:23:00.000-08:00

Apparently the Nine Network breached broadcasting rules by screening ‘Holy Smoke’ in the middle of the day, a movie featuring sex scenes, nudity and swearing. The Australian Media and Communications Authority (ACMA) investigated a complaint about the program, and found QTQ failed to edit the film to make it suitable for daytime screening.

Suitable for daytime screening? How is it that Jerry Springer can make the cut, but a little Aussie film like Holy Smoke is deemed unsuitable? And who was it that complained? Seriously? Was it someone who was at home watching Dr Phil? That crap is way more offensive than a bit of sex could ever be. Would it be one of those “mummies” who allow their kids to blow the crap out of bad guys on their PS3 or their Nintendo, but won’t allow the mention of sex within a three-mile radius of them? Sex is bad, violence is good. That’s what people are teaching their kids.

In my house, sex is normal, natural and great. Violence is unacceptable. I wonder how messed up my sons will be, raised on such radical teachings!

Great email from a younger reader

2008-02-24T20:07:00.000-08:00

I received a wonderful message on Myspace from a 15-year-old reader this morning. She’d just finished FORECAST and wanted to tell me that she loved it, that it was the best book she’d ever read…and…this is cool…her teacher even had to stop her from reading it in class.

I can’t reply to her as her Myspace account is set to private and won’t take messages. This young woman is obviously very smart. Not only does she like my book, but also she’s not out there making friends with countless random strangers on the Internet.

Her message made my day. I love that she read my book in class. I love it when a book is so good that you simply can’t put it down. I recently stood in line at the post office reading Douglas Kennedy’s ‘the Pursuit of Happiness.’ Books like that are rare, but so special when you find them. As a teenager, I constantly had books tucked under the table at school, so to hear that someone is doing that with my book…well I’m thrilled, and it made my day!

The Burning Times Today

2008-02-17T15:51:00.000-08:00

This article makes me want to scream!!!!! Some idiot can’t get an erection therefore a woman will die!

http://hrw.org/english/docs/2008/02/14/saudia18051.htm

This is not uncommon. Witch hunts still claim thousands of lives every year. South Africa loves a good witch-hunt. As does Papua New Guinea, Kenya, Zimbabwe, Tanzania, Ghana, and Nigeria. In India up to 200 women are murdered annually, for supposedly practicing witchcraft.

The Burning Times continue.

Article published in Romantic Times.

2008-02-04T19:34:00.001-08:00

Psychic Predicts Prose
By Jane Tara

A powerful psychic predicted my novel, Forecast (Nov., Love Spell), years before I wrote it. She also predicted that I'd use her name in it, although I didn't know that until recently. That information came to me via a letter, a decade after she died.

I grew up in a small Australian town. My mother was a nurse at the local hospital and most afternoons, after school, I would head there and wait for her to finish her shift. Rowena, a clairvoyant, was a regular patient. She was bedridden, but her voice, her eyes and her stories were full of life. All the nurses would pop by and ask her questions, and now and then Rowena would buzz for a nurse and announce that the Angel of Death had arrived. She was never wrong about who was about to die.

My mother and Rowena were particularly close. Psychic phenomena never unnerved us like it does some people. My mother is psychic and I'm also quite intuitive. We often have dead relatives and friends drop by, and seeing someone's aura is as normal to me as seeing their arms and legs. We would regularly seek Rowena's guidance and later, when I moved overseas, I often phoned her to say hi.

The last time I saw Rowena I was 23 and on a trip home to Australia. I think she knew we'd never cross paths again -- not on this plane anyway -- because she used the meeting to change the course of my life. I'd always been interested in the occult, yet I'd never truly considered "Spirit." I was unconvinced by organized religion. My religion teacher at school told me that ghosts didn't exist; yet I saw them regularly. Was I crazy or was she wrong? I didn't realize then that I could have both. I felt I had to choose between my ghosts and her God, so I chose what I knew.

Rowena had a deep faith in God. Here was a woman who could remember her past lives, who left her body each morning to communicate with her dead husband on the astral planes, telling me about her religious beliefs.

"You might not understand me now, but you will. You're going on a journey ... you will discover Spirit and magic and God and how they are all one ... and then, when it all comes together for you, you'll write about it."

"Write?"

"Stories ... novels."

"About God?"

"Not exactly, but your characters will be in close contact with Spirit. Like me."

"It sounds awfully serious, Rowena."

"It won't be," she chuckled. "That's the point. But for now, you need to travel, study ... and find your voice."

I wasn't convinced. "I don't think you're right about this one." "I'm always right." She handed me an envelope. "Open this later."

"Later today?"

"No ... later. You'll know when."

Though curious, I tucked the envelope away in my mother's house and returned overseas.

Rowena's talk about God and magic being connected confused me. Could the two go hand in hand? It was a question that began to haunt me and set me on a lifelong path of spiritual investigation. It's one I still walk, although more surely nowadays.

Rowena died while I was living in Austria. My mother was with her and later told me how normal her passing was. I was surprised. Rowie had such a powerful connection to the other side that I'd expected it to really throw out the banners to welcome her home. I should've known better. She'd once teased me, "Stop expecting mystical marching bands. Spirit is subtle."

By this time, I'd forgotten about the envelope. But I was writing. My spiritual search led me all around the world, to many teachers, and finally to a place where I trusted myself. Throughout it all, I wrote and wrote. My stories were about witches, mystics and psychics -- eccentrics to some, but to me they were everyday people with strong spiritual beliefs and practices. It was coming together now.

I was living in New York when I wrote Forecast. I named my protagonist after my friend. My fictional Rowie is tiny with red hair. The real Rowie was much older, much larger, with long silver hair. But they share the same heart, and I feel it's a small way of honoring the woman who had such a profound impact on my spiritual life.

It has been a long road to publication. I returned to live in Australia and was recently unpacking some boxes when I found Rowena's letter, some 10 years after her death. It took me a moment to realize what it was. And then nerves set in -- what on earth was in there? It was time to open it.

I was right wasn't I?

How's the book? Did I get a mention?

God bless, dear.

Always.

R x

I laughed until I cried. Right? She was always right.

The Summer of Discontent

2008-02-03T19:32:00.000-08:00

I’m back, and won’t bore you with details as to why I’ve been away so long, except to briefly say that holidays north, cyclones, floods, vomiting kids and sporadic Internet access equals one thing: hell!

So I’ll name January as “The Summer of Discontent” and officially start 2008 from today, February 4th.

Here are two reviews that came in while I was away.

MYSHELF
In this debut novel, Rowie Shakespeare, a beautiful redheaded psychic (from a long line of beautiful redheaded psychics), gets hired to deliver weather forecasts at a high-ranked New York television station. Her abilities include flawlessly predicting the weather, reading palms, and seeing into the future during a kiss. Although her first gift got her the job and her second gift helps save lives, her ability to see a man’s romantic future after one kiss has doomed her love life to failure. That is, until she kisses her one true love and feels... nothing.
Unfortunately for Rowie, she experiences that ultimate kiss with Drew Henderson, the station’s playboy meteorologist whom she is temporarily replacing, after he suffers an accident while covering a hurricane in Florida. Despite their mutual attraction, they have a professional rivalry which is fueled on by a conniving producer at the station who is also in love with Drew. In a strange twist, the author gives us a peek inside the thoughts of the two lovers and inside the mind of Jess Walker, the producer who gives Rowie a job only to snatch it away from her when she witnesses the budding romance between the two rivals.
A strange assortment of other colorful characters inhabit this world. There are Rowie’s eccentric grandmother and mother who run a New Age shop called Second Site that sells books, crystals, tarot cards, tools of the occult, and readings. There are Rowie’s new co-workers at the station, who all share mixed emotions about the quirky young woman with no broadcast experience or meteorological training who takes over the weather spot. Then there are the lost souls who enter Second Site looking for answers to some of the strangest questions.
Forecast provides an entertaining look at the collision between science and metaphysics. While no one but Rowie can accurately predict the weather, most readers will be able to predict the happy outcome of this fun contemporary paranormal romance.

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UNREAD
Rowena Shakespeare starts her day off every morning by forecasting the weather for her neighbors. And she is always 100% right. She is descended from a long line of Shakespeare women, beginning with a great aunt of the Bard. For centuries clairvoyance has been a consistent trademark born in those women. Rowie’s gift also includes seeing a man’s future with just one kiss, and of all those futures she’s divined so far, not one has included her. She’s still waiting for that one man she won’t be able to read when she kisses him. That man is her soulmate.
Laid up in a Florida hospital, Drew Henderson is nursing a broken leg he sustained while covering a hurricane in the Sunshine state, which means his job as weatherman in Manhattan will go to a stand-in while he heals. Although he did approve the charming and beautiful woman the station wants as his temporary replacement, he can’t believe his eyes as he watches her on television. After all his hard work to get where he is, they’re using a psychic, a gimmick, and turning him and his position into a laughingstock.
After her initial flubs and mishaps on the air, Rowie eventually is comfortable in front of the camera and the audience loves her. When it comes time for her to bow out at Drew’s return, she gets the shock of her life when they hit it off and Drew’s kiss leaves her psychic senses absolutely blank. She’s found the one man meant for her, and all is right with their world until a jealous coworker’s machinations tear Drew and Rowie apart.
I enjoyed the premise of Forecast and all the fun that went along with it. So much happens in this story, that although I liked the stories revolving around the secondary characters, especially Rowie’s mother and grandmother, I think there was a little too much time spent with them.
I wanted more time with the main characters. I loved Drew and Rowie’s scenes together, romantic and teasing, just like a relationship should be. Everything came together and the twists kept me guessing and kept everything lighthearted when it very easily could have become maudlin. I predict a winner for Ms. Tara with this delightful book.
--Reviewed by Sandy

Heartstrings Reviews.

2007-12-17T04:42:00.000-08:00

Never without an umbrella when it rains, twenty-eight-year-old Rowie Shakespeare is something of a phenomenon in her New York neighborhood. With a last name like Shakespeare and a family history of exceptionally gifted women, Rowie's weather-predicting talents and other psychic abilities are typical quirks -- er, gifts. Her mother, Lilia, and grandmother, Gwendolyn, are also blessed with the infamous Shakespearean foresight.
Going mainstream with her gift as the gimmicky "psychic weather girl" for broadcaster USBC is an unexpected development, though, and Rowie's grandmother is quite put out that Rowie would even consider taking the job. New York's favorite weatherman, Drew Henderson, also has his doubts about the gorgeous, flame-haired woman USBC has found to temporarily replace him following his tussle with a hurricane (admittedly, not the highlight of his meteorological career), but his attraction to Rowie is unpredictably -- and distractingly -- fierce in nature.
Good thing his leg is in traction and he's stuck in a Florida hospital bed, otherwise he'd be out making a bloody fool of himself. A fact for which Rowie is equally grateful, because with just one kiss her infatuation with Drew Henderson could end in a flash -- of unwanted insight, that is. So for her heart’s sake, it's best if she keeps her distance. Of course, when the winds of change (and destiny) are blowing, all you can really do is hold onto your hat and hope that your heart can weather the storm.

If Jane Tara’s whimsical debut, Forecast, is any indication of where this debut author will be going, it is up, up, up -- to the very top of a reader’s auto-buy list. The only prerequisite is a love of all things New Age and/or bewitching. Handsome Henderson, as Drew is nicknamed, is a stubborn, hot-headed jerk upon occasion, but overall, Tara’s hero is a likeable kind of guy, especially once you get over the proverbial hump and Rowie and Drew’s relationship shoots off some sizeable sparks. Forecast is a sweet, amusing little love fest, really, because everyone from Rowie’s grandmother to her two best friends fall in love, and the plot is a wonderfully weird medley of cosmically-destined events.
While it is mostly fun, fabulous fluff, Jane Tara’s paranormal romance also has darker, weightier issues to balance out the plot, and Rowie and Drew’s relationship isn’t without complications (some of which are blatantly manipulative, but hey, you can’t have everything in a romance). Looking for a sweetly witchy read that will tickle your funny bone and your heart? Then give Jane Tara’s Forecast a shot to see if it will give you a case of the giggles or simply chase your blues away. (Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all of that.) Tara’s characterizations are certainly a weirdly charismatic bunch, and I have the niggling suspicion that we haven’t seen the last of the Shakespeare clan -- there is a cousin in London, after all...Gotta love the promise of funnier, sweeter, and even less predictable books to come.

Reviewed by Cheryl Jeffries

www.heartstringsreviews.com/books/tarareview-f.html

Me no ho, ho, ho!

2007-12-10T15:32:00.000-08:00

Santa won’t be calling me a ho anymore, because according to Weststaff, Australia’s main recruitment agency for Santas, that’s what Mr. Claus has been inferring all these years. I’m sure Weststaff is right. Santa has been insulting women and scaring little children for years. I personally haven’t noticed, so thank heavens for the wise people at Weststaff. Without them, I would once again be at the mercy of a porker in a red suit who gets off on calling me an American prostitute…and has since I was a child!!!

I’ve written a list of other things that Santa should change. Please Weststaff, I beg of you…make these changes as well, before the next generation of children are completely traumatized.

1. Santa should not wear red. Red is the color of sexuality. It’s also the color of blood, and therefore quite violent. In future, Santa should wear a nice calming color, such a turquoise.
2. Santa should ditch the beard. What is he trying to hide? Santa should shave daily, unless it’s Movember, when a moustache is acceptable.
3. Santa should refrain from saying Merry Christmas, because it’s offensive to Jews, Muslims, Pagans and anyone not called Mary.
4. It should be against the law for children to sit on Santa’s lap. Sitting on a stranger’s lap is quite pervy. (Unless it’s at a Christmas party after twelve vodkas, then it’s perfectly acceptable.)
5. Santa shouldn’t be allowed to give candy to children. Children could be frightened and think Santa is going to drag them into a car (or sleigh).
6. Another reason Santa should refrain from handing out sweets is because it’s wrong to encourage childhood obesity.
7. Santa should liberate his reindeers to a PETA approved location and change his form of transportation to a hybrid.
8. Santa should use workers of all sizes at his workshop. Not only is the sole use of elves a form of exploitation, but it also discriminates against normal sized people and giants.
9. Santa should never use a hoe when gardening. He should stick to a rake.
10. Santa should refrain from entering a house via a chimney. The chimney is symbolic of the female uterus and therefore forced entry into a chimney is offensive to women.

Or, alternatively, the uptight idiots at Weststaff can get a life and let Santa carry on calling me a ho. And all will be right in the world again.

Romance Reviews Today!

2007-11-26T16:07:00.000-08:00

Rowie Shakespeare is just your average, every day New Yorker, or at least she would like to be. However, red hair and green eyes aren’t the only things that run in the Shakespeare women -- so does magic. In Rowie’s case, she has an uncanny ability to predict the weather, and unlike most meteorologists, she is never wrong. She also knows with a single kiss the destiny of the person she’s kissing. Unfortunately, it’s hard to develop a relationship with a man when you know you’re not in his future. Rowie lives with her mother and grandmother in the family home and works in the family business, a metaphysical shop named Second Site. It’s a family tradition that each generation of Shakespeare women takes over running the family business, but Lilia, Rowie’s mother, is more often found with her head in the clouds than dealing with business, and so Gwendolyn, Rowie’s grandmother, still owns and runs the business with Rowie’s help. Rowie’s loves her mother and grandmother, but she wants a life of her own.

Jess Walker is one of the producers for the local news channel, and when she gets a call that her star weatherman, Drew Henderson, has been injured while covering a hurricane in Florida, she’s devastated. First, who will she get to replace him, and second, how can she win him back if he’s not even in town? Jess happened to see Rowie at the Second Site. and curiosity about the crowd gathered forced her to stop and see what was going on. When she learned that Rowie predicted the weather every morning, and that she has never been wrong, Jess dismissed it as hocus-pocus. But later in the day when the rain Rowie predicted arrives, Jess realizes she may have a temporary solution to Drew’s absence – a psychic weather person.

Rowie is thrilled at the opportunity Jess offers and jumps at the chance to go out on her own. But first Drew Henderson has to approve his temporary replacement, so it’s off to Florida for a face-to-face meeting with the hottest weatherman on the air.

Will Rowie be able to use her psychic gifts to deliver the weather in the Big Apple, and what will she do when Drew recovers and wants his job back? And what about Gwendolyn, Lilia, and Second Site? If Rowie makes it big, who will take over after Gwendolyn is gone?

FORECAST is a contemporary romance with a dash of magic, and a heaping helping of fun. The above is just the tip of the iceberg and in no way introduces the cast of well developed quirky characters that are a part of Rowie’s life. Her grandmother, Gwendolyn, is a stern matriarch who loves her family, puts Post-it notes on her possessions as to who will get what when she dies, and still carries on conversations with her dead husband -- and he talks back. Lilia is like a fey creature planted smack in the middle of New York and just doesn’t fit -- she seems to float through life, but underneath her beautiful, flighty exterior is a woman strong enough to stand on her own and protect those she loves. Rowie is a delightful blend of pragmatism and magic. She longs for her own life and love, but is beginning to despair of having either. In addition to the three Shakespeare women who are larger than life, the secondary characters add charm and entertainment to the story. From Angel, Rowie’s outspoken, promiscuous and thoroughly loveable best friend to Petey, a man looking for love and reminds me a bit of Icabod Crane in his demeanor. J But let’s not forget Drew, the sexiest weatherman on television. He’s charming, flirtatious and a bit leery of trusting his heart to a woman, though he’s no match for Rowie. There are at least a half dozen other characters worthy of mention, but to list them and why they are so memorable would spoil a bit of the fun of meeting them yourself.

From the first page to the last, author Jana Tara proves that she knows how to deliver up a lively, fresh story and fill it with characters who come vividly to life. Romance, magic, and loads of fun fill the pages of FORECAST, and readers are in for a delightful read. I highly recommend this charming book.

Terrie Figueroa
http://www.romrevtoday.com/2007%20Reviews/Contemporary%20Romance%20Reviews/forecast_11-20-07.htm

Dorchester Special Feature

2007-11-26T16:00:00.000-08:00

I wrote this as a special feature on the Dorchester website:
http://www.dorchesterpub.com/Dorch/SpecialFeatures.cfm?Special_ID=2369

It's difficult to pinpoint the inspiration behind Forecast. There was never a moment or event that led to that light bulb going off, which is what normally happens to me. Instead, a family of psychics simply strolled into my head and wouldn't leave. It wasn't a matter of telling their story, but deciding which part of their story to tell. While I eventually stuck to modern day events, my characters and their ancestors mapped out a myriad of tales for me, dating back to the 1500's.

It has been a long road to publication, one that began years before I met my characters. I grew up in a small Australian beach town, where the inability to tan was virtually illegal. All good Aussie kids were meant to be sporty little sun-worshippers. But I was (and still am) a pale skinned, freckle-faced bookworm, who would while away the summer days in shady spots, reading and writing love stories and fairy tales. It was during this time that I developed a lifelong love of romance and magic. As an adult, I've written everything from plays to children's books, but I've never been happier than when I recently returned to my romance roots.

The day I started writing Forecast, I knew it would be published. I believe I was given a sign. I, like the Shakespeare women in my book, believe in signs.

I've always adored bees. They are an ancient symbol of good fortune and happiness. They remind us to embrace our creativity, and enjoy the moment. I love that it's aerodynamically impossible for the bumblebee to actually fly; yet it does anyway. The bumblebee has so much belief in itself that it performs miracles every time it flutters its wings. We can learn from that.

I clearly remember the first page I wrote, because within minutes of starting there was the most almighty roar. I thought a plane was headed for my house. I rushed over to the window and saw a swarm of bees coming towards me. I quickly shut the window and, for the next two hours, watched the bees hit the glass. Eventually they continued on their way. I returned to my writing, and immersed myself in the second page…followed by the third. I decided to flap my wings and fly, even though the laws of nature were probably against me.

The Shakespeare women came to me fully formed and quite forceful in the direction they wished to take. While I enjoyed immersing myself in their colorful world, the subject matter certainly wasn't alien to me. I grew up surrounded by highly intuitive women and spent part of my childhood in a delightfully haunted house. It was in this house that I saw my first ghost. Yes, that's right, not only was I a freckle-faced bookworm, but I was also "a bit odd." At least to others. It was all completely normal to me. Which is why, when I wrote about the Shakespeare women and their gifts, I didn't want them to be too outlandish. Unconventional perhaps, but still normal. Their gifts aren't superpowers. They don't save the world with them. Their psychic abilities and eccentricities are more routine than that.

As the book hits the shelves, I feel like I'm saying goodbye to some old friends. It's their journey now. I hope you enjoy reading Forecast as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Reiki Digest

2007-11-21T15:12:00.000-08:00

I recently had a very surprising review…from the Reiki Digest (see below). FORECAST was added to the Digest’s Fall Review of Books because a Reiki Master makes an appearance. I was thrilled, because I’m a Reiki Master, so it was a nice acknowledgement. I don’t teach Reiki anymore, but it certainly plays a big part in my life. I’ve since written an article for the Reiki Digest about Reiki in my life. Read it here:

http://reikidigest.blogspot.com

The Review:

“I don't usually read romance novels, but this one was recommended by a reader and Reiki Dojo regular who got an advance copy from a friend. "It has a Reiki practitioner in it," she told me, "A Reiki practitioner who's on Oprah. So I thought you'd be interested." She was right. Although Reiki plays a relatively small role in Forecast, the book weaves together (comically at times) many so-called "New Age" practices and beliefs in the archetypal tale of girl gets boy, girl loses boy, girl gets boy back again. An amusing reminder that the phrase "New Age" was coined back in the 1980s to market books. Whether you're into "New Age" or sick of the term, it's an enjoyable light read. The "romance" scenes themselves are few and almost perfunctory, as Tara focuses instead on the attraction between the characters.”

Two more reviews!

2007-11-16T20:00:00.000-08:00

1. Reader to Reader
Forecast is a fun contemporary romance with a psychic influence. Rowie finds Drew, the man who her gifts can’t read, and knows they belong together. As stubborn as they are, it may take a miracle to keep them on the right path. Ms. Tara does a beautiful job on her debut novel. It’s well-detailed, realistic, and the paranormal aspect adds to an already delightful romance. A great book to curl up with.

Full review at
http://www.newandusedbooks.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=this_review&ID=7645

2. Huntress Reviews
Quirky humor highlights this breezy, easy to read story that gives you a Shakespeare who is not over anyone's head. Small town life is captured well by Ms. Tara's prose, and though very imaginative, her plot does have the quality of not being so out there that you can't conceive of it as plausible.

http://www.huntressreviews.com/modern.htm

Contest winner.

2007-11-16T19:59:00.000-08:00

The 'Win a Psychic Reading' contest has been drawn, and the winner is Gina Marie Cadorette.

Thanks to everyone who entered.

Another lovely review…

2007-11-01T02:28:00.000-07:00

“This is a great debut (there've been several of those in the last month or so, luckily for romance readers!), filled with interesting characters with family issues many of us have also faced, and with just the right amount of humor. Ms. Tara is off to a great start, and I'm looking forward to seeing what she comes up with next. This one's earned four of Cupid's five arrows.”

Click here to read the whole review:

http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art53752.asp

Forecast is on the shelves!!!!!

2007-10-31T04:21:00.001-07:00

It’s official. My book is out and I’m celebrating! Veuve Clicquot is my friend…although I’m seriously thinking of having a vodka nightcap right now…Mmmm. Decisions, decisions. In fact, the past few days have been all about decisions. I had to decide what fabulous outfit to wear for the photo of me popping open my first bottle of bubbly (I decided on a vintage 70’s dress). And then I had to decide when to actually start celebrating the release of Forecast. The official release date was Tuesday October 30 in the US. Which is Wednesday the 31st here in Australia. I wasn’t sure if I should celebrate on my Tues…or Tues in the US, which is my Wednesday. And then I got my books on Monday, Australian time, which threw me into a real spin. Was that the moment to celebrate? Thankfully most of my friends are raging alcoholics, so they made the decision for me. Celebrate immediately, and for as long as possible. As one darling friend pointed out—this might be my only moment of glory in life, so I should make the most of it. So I started celebrating on Monday and two days later the corks are still poopin…obviously, because I just wrote pooping instead of popping.

Check out this link to an article I wrote for Dorchester, while I get some aspirin ready for the morning.

http://www.dorchesterpub.com/Dorch/SpecialFeatures.cfm?Special_ID=2369

Genevieve`s Gift

2007-10-26T19:36:00.000-07:00

My friend, the lovely Rosemary Serluca-Foster, has written a children’s picture book- Genevieve`s Gift: A Child`s Joyful Tale of Connecting with her Intuitive Heart.

This unique and beautifully illustrated picture book for ages 4-up, celebrates the power and joy that comes from connecting with intuition, through the fun antics of a feisty little girl named Genevieve.

Searching for the perfect gift for her best friend Maya`s birthday is proving to be quite a challenge for Genevieve. It has to be super special, just like their friendship, but no idea seems right. That is, until she learns to connect with and listen to her intuitive heart, and discovers the gifts of courage, inspiration, and an unexpected, creative solution.

This is a universal and timeless story, perfect for parents and teachers wanting to help children tap into their own inner knowledge to follow their passion, and make their dreams come true.

"Genevieve`s Gift teaches children to trust themselves.

Rosemary also runs workshops for children in the USA. I wish I could send my own children to these wonderful classes.

Instead, they will have the book.

Please visit www.genevievesgift.com and click on the order page to review your purchasing options, and learn about other programs. Or buy straight from Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/1419673211/?tag=wwwgenevieves-20

It really is a beautiful gift for children.

Harriet Klausner review!

2007-10-22T04:21:00.001-07:00

This is an amusing New Age romance with whimsical fantasy elements to enhance the tale. In many ways FORECAST is an updated version of Bell, Book, and Candle, but has a freshness of its own due to the weather predicting "rivalry" between the psychic and the scientist. Jane Tara provides a charming entertaining tale of love amidst TV meteorology ratings that this reviewer predicts will gain the author many appreciative fans.

--Harriet Klausner

Read the whole review here:

http://genregoroundreviews.blogspot.com/2007/10/forecast-jane-tara.html

4 1/2 stars from Romantic Times!!!

2007-09-30T05:44:00.000-07:00

Romantic Times Book Reviews gave Forecast a wonderful 41/2 stars.

"A breezy, lighthearted romance by an author who knows her New Age and alternative philosophies, this one will put a smile on your face. Tara makes the paranormal normal and the happily-ever-afters seem like destiny. Wonderful characters and a well-crafted story arc make this a recipe for a beautiful weekend."

Check out the November issue. I have an article in there as well.

PSYCHIC PREDICTOR
Author Jane Tara shows us how a psychic Forecasted her debut novel years before she ever considered becoming a writer.

Two New Reviews!

2007-09-20T23:21:00.000-07:00

Two more reviews…both lovely! Excerpts below, with links to the full reviews.

“I really liked FORECAST. The secondary characters add appeal to the novel. Suspense, romance and a few ghosts add up to an enthralling story. Do not miss it! I highly recommend FORECAST.”

--Dottie Jones, RomanceDesigns.com

http://www.contemporaryromancewriters.com/review.cfm?reviewID=7277

“Forecast is a feel good story where you want the two would be lovers together. The ending is sweet and exactly as it should be. True romantics will not be disappointed in this book.”

--Once Upon A Romance

http://www.onceuponaromance.net/ForecastReview.htm

It's official...I'm weird!

2007-09-12T18:26:00.000-07:00

A year ago my son changed schools, and we've never quite settled in. I say "we"…but really I mean me. He's fine. He has friends, and an ever-changing roster of girlfriends…but I'm yet to meet any of the mothers in his class. Initially I gave it my best shot, but month-by-month I had to accept that these women had no intention of befriending me (oh yes, boo hoo!) I wasn't sure why…perhaps they were busy. And then a couple of days ago my son came home from school and I discovered why:

My Son: Little Jo Blow (not his real name…although it would suit him) said his mother doesn't want him coming over here to visit me.
Me: Why not?
My Son: She thinks you're weird.
Me: (Long pause) Well she's right…but it's so much better than being dull.

Now I'm not quite sure why this uptight cow thinks I'm weird. I introduced myself once, and tried to chat to her another couple of times. She's never been over to my house, so hasn't seen my extensive Witchcraft library. I rarely wear any of my one-off vintage clothing pieces when I do the school run, so she's only ever seen me in jeans and sneakers. It's unlikely she's ever seen me drunk (unlike the mothers at my son's last school who were usually drunk with me). She's never met any of my friends (if she thinks I'm weird…?) I've never discussed my religious/political beliefs with her…or chatted about any of my past lives. And I drive my mother's old Toyota Camry, which is about as dull as anything on four wheels can get. (It's a good, safe family car) So what I want to know is...how the hell did this women sum me up so well? Talk about perceptive!

Next time I see her I'm thinking of thanking her. Due to her incredibly accurate observation, I had the opportunity to speak to my son about mediocrity and small-mindedness, and how, when given the choice, one should always walk the weirder path. He, bless him, whole-heartedly agreed.

Win a psychic reading!

2007-09-12T18:25:00.000-07:00

Win a psychic reading!!!

Check out my new website and, while you're there, the competition page. I'm giving away a psychic reading to celebrate the release of Forecast.

www.janetara.com

You've got to be in it to win it!

My son can't run...

2007-08-13T17:39:00.000-07:00

My 8-year-old son attended his school sports carnival last week. Afterwards, when I picked him up, our conversation went something like this:
Me: Hey sweetie, how’d you go?
Him: I came last.
Me: Thank god!
Him: What?
Me: Finally, aye? Everyone is crap at something…and we’ve finally found what you’re crap at. So let’s forget about running and concentrate on what you’re good at.
Him: (grinning) Good idea, Mum.

I watched a few minutes of Australian Idol the other night (a few minutes was enough) and realized that more parents should point out their kids’ inadequacies.
I’m not saying I’m a beacon of good parenting, but I think I’ve just done my son a massive favor. Positive reinforcement is important, but so is the occasional reality check. Half these kids wouldn’t be making a twat of themselves on national television if their parents had ever mentioned “tone deaf.”
“Darling, feel free to sing in the shower, but don’t ever do it in public. You sound like a dog that’s just been hit by a bus…BUT wowzer, can you bake well!”
Child services should keep an eye on Australian Idol and later make a few house calls.

As for my son, he knows what he’s good at…a lot! But I’ve also made sure he’ll never waste his life dreaming about winning gold in the 400m at the Olympics. Now…I wonder if he can sing!!!

Review number two!

2007-08-08T04:22:00.000-07:00

Had another review come through today from Crystal Reviews. It’s a lovely review, and I’m thrilled! Put me in a good mood all day. I didn’t even mind (too much) when my three year old drew on my bed sheets, using my Napoleon Perdis lipstick.

“Forecast is a lovely read! The characters are funny, strange in an enchanting way, and exciting enough that you want to keep reading and see how it all evolves. In between the romance are surprising scenes about the female Shakespeare's experiences with mermaid energy, Selkie lovers, their dead relatives, exquisite fairies and more. It's all presented, however, without the usual "weird" style and high drama and all the more effective in Jane Tara's charming presentation.

I foresee that anyone who enjoys an unpredictable, romantic story is going to love this novel!”
Reviewed by Viviane Crystal on August 7, 2007

Want to read the rest? Go to:
http://www.crystalreviews.com/authors/t/tara.htm

Forecast review!

2007-08-01T19:47:00.000-07:00

First review for Forecast. Was surprised at how quickly this was returned. Forecast was given 4 ½ (outta 5…not 10, or 20 or anything…☺). It will soon be posted on:
www.theromancereadersconnection.com

"This novel is both funny and heart wrenching. Rowie is an adorable character, with enough feistiness and pragmatism to offset the flakiness usually associated with psychics or witches. Drew is definitely human, with many flaws but also wonderful traits. The world of psychics and family love was explored and challenged, with an intriguing and wonderful ending. It was enjoyable and exciting to read their story!"

Rating: 4 1/2

I'm on Amazon!

2007-07-25T19:48:00.000-07:00

Forecast is on Amazon. Check it out! And while you’re there…if you like the look of it…and can find it in your heart to contribute towards my son’s upcoming dental work…why don’t you order a copy??????

It would make me, and one rather expensive paediatric dentist, very happy.

http://www.amazon.com/Forecast-Jane-Tara/dp/0505527448/ref=sr_1_1/104-4713837-5651111?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1185417643&sr=1-1

Oh my broken heart!!!

2007-07-18T19:00:00.000-07:00

I was walking along with my 8-year-old son the other day and went to take his hand…and…with a cool and very male shrug of the shoulders…he totally dissed me. He did not want to hold my hand in public! I was devastated. I get that he’s growing up and has an image to project and protect BUT it was only a couple of weeks ago that he was more than happy to hold my hand. So, what I’d like to know is…where was that invisible line that we crossed and why wasn’t I warned about it? Surely I should’ve received a letter or an email or something:

Dear Madam,

It is with great regret that I inform you that from next Monday Son-Number-One will no longer want to hold your hand, kiss you or even have eye contact whilst in public. You should also be informed that he will find it extremely embarrassing if you sing and jig around dancing whilst driving the car. What if someone he knows sees you?

Kind regards,

Mr. Bearer of Maternal Reality Checks.

My 3-year-old has never held my hand. Holding hands isn’t conducive to disappearing, which he likes to do regularly. The store detectives at three separate department stores know him by name. At least he still thinks I’m hilarious. Unfortunately now, with Son-Number-One’s defection, I know that this too is fleeting.

I'm so cold!!!!!!!!

2007-07-16T18:02:00.000-07:00

It’s freezing here in Sydney. Coldest day recorded in three thousand years apparently. In fact, I’ve just turned the fridge off at the wall. Seriously. It’s just a waste of power and the house is an icebox anyway. I feel like a character from Doctor Zhivago. “Oh Yuri…Yuri…I’m so bloody cold.”

Sydneysiders aren’t built for winter. We think we’ll be okay. Woolly winter fashions are frog-marched into the stores. We unpack the doonas. We comment on how the cool night air is a welcome relief from the relentless summer heat. But there’s a problem. Our homes aren’t heated. We have a ‘she’ll be right mate’ attitude towards sub-zero temperatures. Yes it’s cold…but in a few weeks it’ll be stinking hot again, so why bother wasting time going down to Bing Lee.

I’m yearning for the winters I spent in New York and Europe. Sure, trudging through snow for months on end was tedious, but at least you could crank up the central heating and wear a t-shirt indoors. Yes, there was that time in New York when I had to reach through the back door with an egg flipper and dig us out of the snow…but oh…we had central heating!

Sydneysiders don’t do central heating. Most of us make do through the (three) long weeks of winter with some ridiculously inappropriate bar heater, or reverse cycle air conditioner. Naturally these don’t work because we’ve all renovated our homes to be open and airy and oh so fabulous…in summer. Fabulous for a party, but winter is cruel.

Why we don’t admit defeat and order central heating en masse is beyond me. Do we all still honestly believe we have a touch of the wild colonial boy inside us? (That actually sounds rude now I’ve written it! “We wish!” I hear my girlfriends yell.) After all, Australia is a harsh country and you need to be tough to live here. Right? Problem is, Sydneysiders are all piss weak. Most can’t deal with a crappy latte, let alone an icy wind blowing in from the west. We shiver and shake and moan and drink our way through the cold season (Yes drink. Three glasses of pinot and you don’t feel the cold…or so I’m told) We go into hibernation mode. Ironic considering how bloody cold our homes are.

Personally, I’ve discovered merino wool underwear (MWU). The benefits are two-fold. Firstly…MWU really does help me stay warm. Secondly…MWU is also an extremely effective contraceptive. It’s unlikely that anyone has ever fallen pregnant wearing the tights I’m currently wearing. One look at me in these tights and even Shane Warne would run a mile (and let’s face it, he’ll shag anything). But that’s fine with me. Right now, even George Clooney couldn’t pry my MW knickers from me. Warm days are just around the corner. Until then, the tights are staying on.

Airlines hate me!

2007-07-03T23:14:00.000-07:00

Airlines hate me. I know this because they try to poison me on a regular basis. To say I feel victimized is an understatement. I'm the perfect traveler. I've never experienced air-rage. I've never been difficult or high maintenance. I rarely buzz for a flight attendant and always dispose of my rubbish. I've never even taken a nail file onboard. My crime, my only crime is...I'm vegetarian.
I have been traveling regularly for 15 years now and just my luck, on every flight, I get the same chef. This guy is so bad that he has been hired and fired from virtually every airline on the planet, but not before I'm once again subjected to his culinary delights. I am certain that he has never met a vegetarian in his life. Or perhaps he has and the vegetarian ran off with his wife or ran over his mother (accidentally of course). Whatever his reasons, it's clear that this chef is a hard-core carnivore (he probably doesn't even kill the cow first) and resents having to stoop to animal-free fare.
This chef outdid himself on a recent flight OS. Thanks to an excess of frequent flyer points, I was flying business class. I haven't flown BC since BC (before children) so I had high (30,000 ft high) expectations. Surely the meal would be better than in cattle class—an ironic term considering the subject matter of this piece.
But no! The entree was a well thought out lettuce leaf topped with a cherry tomato. The stewardess slipped me an entree from the meat eaters menu...cauliflower soup. The main course was an old bath sponge that someone with a heavy flu had sneezed on...or at least that's what it looked and tasted like. One mouthful was enough to affect my digestive system for the following four days.
Finally they wheeled the desert trolley out. One by one they distributed the pastries. My mouth began to water. But when I looked up from wiping my slobbering chops on my 100%cotton serviette, I realized the trolley had passed me by. I frantically buzzed the flight attendant. She looked at me with pity.
"I'm sorry but your meal doesn't come with the cake," she apologized as she placed before me a plate of frozen kiwi fruit.
"Don't vegetarians eat pastry?" Perhaps I'd been doing it wrong.
"Yes…but maybe your meal is vegan." She reasoned.
"Then how do you explain this?" I said pointing to the snot-covered sponge. We both looked at the sponge then at each other, silently praying it was egg.
"Do you mind if I write this up in my report?" She asked. "This is ridiculous."
How right she is.
Time and time again I have watched as non-vegetarian breakfasts of croissants and yoghurt have been handed out only to find myself facing the delicious prospect of a cucumber bread roll accompanied by 3 grapes.
More often than not the carnivores (sorry to break it to you) end up eating vegetarian fare, especially on the Asian airlines. But even then I am still punished and subjected to broccoli that has seen better days.
I now fear the moment when the flight attendant accosts me with, "Did you order the special meal?"
"No, I ordered a vegetarian meal. There's nothing special about it. It doesn't sing or dance. It won't give me superpowers or bend spoons (actually that's not true in the case of airline food). It is simply a meal created from food without a face. If it has it's own cartoon show then leave it out. Other than that, the sky's the limit. And unfortunately, in this case, the sky really is the limit.
My advice to the airlines is hire a Hare Krishna. Invest in a Linda McCartney cookbook. Please study up on vegetarian food. My sons need more than a piece of pineapple to survive a 22 hour long-haul and I'm sick of my cabin baggage weighing 300 kilo's due to the pre-prepared meals I carry onboard. Or, if you can't manage something edible, start specifying this on the discounted veggie tickets...
NB: Vegetarians BYO food. It is company policy to ensure that any meal we provide for you will be completely unpalatable. If you do insist on consuming the food provided, please accept, free of charge, two more sick bags for your convenience.
In the meantime, I'll carry a hairdryer onboard to help thaw my kiwi fruit. Perhaps they eat better in first class.

I forgot to pick my son up from school.

2007-07-02T20:32:00.001-07:00

I forgot to pick my son up from school the other day. There I was, tapping away at the computer, visiting an alternative universe inside my brain, when I looked at the clock and saw 3:15. I stared at it for a moment, amazed at how time can fly when you're having fun—and then freaked because I was meant to pick my 8-year-old up at 3:00.
This is not a first for me. I'm always forgetting things that most mothers seem to easily remember. I forget days at school like cake day, dress up day, sports carnivals and school concerts. It was only this year, with my son in third class, that I discovered Mufti day, but still I thought it had something to do with religious studies and sent him to school in uniform anyway. I even forget to feed my kids on a regular basis…especially lunch on weekends, which seems to be a tricky meal to remember. This year I was counting down the days to my son's eighth birthday on Feb 27th. It was he who reminded me that his birthday actually falls on the 25th.
I'm not asking for people to understand, or even put up with my parental incompetence. But I would like to know why no one—not one single person—warned me about how organized one needs to be once they have school aged children. Oh yes, my friends gave me the baby speeches: the lack of sleep spiels; the bodily functions lectures, the lowdown on mastitis and colic. I knew about my hormones, their foreskins and the fact that sex would most likely become a thing of the past (for me, not them. Hopefully it's a thing of the future for my sons). But not one single person who is supposedly a friend ever sat me down and said, "Jane, be warned…you'll have to struggle with homework every night for years."
Because if they had, I might have had my tubes tied. I hated homework the first time round. It's beyond cruel that I'm expected to battle with it again at my age, when I should be spending my evenings sipping Pinot and watching Anton Eanus.
I'm aware of how badly I'm failing him at times. Last Easter we pulled up at school and all the children were in Easter Parade clothes, carrying eggs. I saw the look on his face. He saw the look on mine. He, bless him, spoke first.
"It's okay Mum. I can wear my uniform."
I put the car in drive and took off. "Shit, shit, shit!"
"It's okay Mum. I'm sure Jack has some eggs I can have. His Mum always sends extra."
"Well she would…she has a bloody nanny!"
I drove like a maniac…tears streaming down my face. I would never win mother of the year now (but Jack's mother might).
We raced home, grabbed some casual, Easter-looking clothes…stopped at a petrol station on the way back to school, bought three of the most over-priced chocolate rabbits in history, and made it back to school only thirty minutes late.
I have a lot to live up to as a mother (and obviously I'm failing to.) My mum had it down pat. She not only worked shift work as a nurse but also managed to remember EVERYTHING. I never heard her complain about the fact that she did all my homework. She baked (I've lived in my current home for a year and never turned the oven on—I kid you not), she would look at the latest fashions and then make them for all my friends and I (How quaint the early eighties were—do people still sew?), she even did canteen. I will never do canteen. Even though it might catapult me into the mother's honors list, I absolutely refuse to spend my day selling sausage rolls to children. There must be another way?
So yes, I forgot to pick my son up from school. I raced into the principle's office the other day, apologizing profusely for being late. I covered my son in kisses and then dragged him out the door. He looked up at me, his precious face so forgiving—again—and said, "It's okay…you can't help it if you're not a normal mum."
Hopefully one day he'll appreciate that.

Spam--the writer's friend.

2007-07-02T20:22:00.000-07:00

On the whole, my characters choose their own names…whether I like it or not. In Forecast, the character of Georgette was very determined. I tried a few other monikers: Katherine, Alice…Maggie. But no, Georgette it was. Honestly…talk about strong willed.
Baily, Bunny, Fraser, Jem, Sondra, Kate…Drum (yes…Drum!). These are some of the characters from my plays. And yes they all have surnames as well…and yes, yes, yes they certainly push their own agenda, no matter how detailed my original treatment may be.
But then there are the minor…or even minor-minor (double minor) characters. When it comes to naming these guys, I stare around at my bookshelves, searching for inspiration. I’ll give you an example right now.
Scan bookshelves…Nancy Mitford…Nancy…Oxford Dictionary…Dictionary? Nancy Dictionary? Nope…Nancy Oxford…done!
When that doesn’t work, I flick through a baby-naming book. I close my eyes and concentrate on my character, I flip through some pages…and wherever my finger lands…that’s the name. Unless I don’t like it and then I’ll try again.
But I’ve recently discovered another excellent tool for writers…with a plethora of original monikers. It’s free, easily accessible and constantly being updated. It’s called…yahoo junk mail!
Ah yes, I know spam is meant to be the bane of our existence…and it is, but I also try to be a glass half full kinda gal. I like to turn lemons into lemonade.
This morning, my glass of lemonade included a Collins Baxter, Elsie Sexton, Molly Quintana, Sarah K Macmillan, Felix Richter and a Douglas Merrideen. Pure genius! It would take me hours…wasted hours of precious writing time to make these up.
“Felix Richter stared at himself in the mirror and decided then and there it was time to shave off his beloved moustache…”
“Sarah K Macmillan glanced at her watch. He was late again…and this time he would be sorry…”
“Molly Quintana swallowed three Advil and wondered what on earth ever possessed her to have seven children…”
Love it!!!!! Any other unique character naming techniques out there?