Tag Archives: Rod Scoullar

2016 Australia Day Book Giveaway

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I’m delighted to be part of the Book’d Out Australia Day Book Giveaway Blog Hop celebrating Australian writers and stories. I’m giving away a copy of my latest novel Turtle Reef, and a copy of Jilted by the fabulous Rachael Johns. The giveaway is only open to Australian residents. Stop by the other blogs on the tour to win more great prizes.

My Australia Day blog post is about a little Australian native orchid, that connects my memories of a lost brother with my upcoming novel, Journey’s End.

GEDSC DIGITAL CAMERAThere is little more poignant in life, than helping to pack up the house of a loved one who has died too young. This has been my sad task recently, since the untimely death of my brother, Rod Scoullar. He was a learned man, a man who loved Australia’s fauna and flora – a naturalist of the first order. His study was a gold-mine of nature books, stored on impressive floor-to-ceiling shelves that covered an entire wall. It was here that I found the holy grail for Aussie orchid lovers – Australian Indigenous Orchids Vol 1 & 2 by A W Dockrill. These are hard to find volumes, and sell on-line Ravine orchid 4.ashxfor up to $200 a set. But aside from being the definitive treatises on native orchids, they also provided me with a wonderful link to my new book, Journey’s End, which will be out in late May.

Journey’s End is concerned in part with a woman’s journey through grief. I’m deep in the edits at the moment. Little did I know when I was writing this book that it would take such a personal turn. It’s set in the wild, mountainous, subtropical rainforests of the Great Eastern Escarpment, and the rare Ravine Orchid (Sarchochilus fitzgeraldii) plays a significant role in the story. So I looked it up in my brother’s books, and found a glorious, full-colour plate of this beautiful and delicate flower.

Ravine orchid 4The Ravine Orchid is found in wet, humid rainforests of the Great Dividing Range, where waterfalls cascade from the tablelands. It is lithophytic, which means its roots cling to rocks or creep into humus-filled crevices. Old colonies form mats many meters wide, and relish the constant play of cool air through the deep, damp ravines. Plants also occasionally grow on the moss-covered buttresses of ancient trees. The fragile flowers appear in October and November, and are up to forty millimeters wide. Colours vary from pure white, white with a red heart, to a rare all-crimson form. They are borne on graceful, pendulous stems which may measure more than a meter long. Quite a sight, when draped in full bloom on the rocks above a mountain stream.

Ravine orchid 3I was fortunate enough to buy a tiny specimen from the Tinonee Orchid Nursery when on a research trip for the book last year, pictured right. According to the wonderful Ray Clement, it should do well in the climate of the southern Victorian ranges where I live. So far so good. One day it may flower, and I’ll think of my brother, and his passion for Australia’s marvellous native plants.

To go into the prize draw leave a comment on this blog post. Don’t forget to check out the other blogs at Book’d Out to be in the running for more great prizes!! (Entries will close at midnight on Wednesday January 27th)

In Memoriam

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RodMy big brother passed away without warning over Christmas. I’ve been paralysed, unable to write since. So my dear friend Sydney has written this wise, beautiful post for me. It’s about Rod. Thank you Sydney. Somehow by your gracious act, I’ve been set free to write again. I just needed a little help 🙂 xx

In Memoriam by Sydney Smith

Jenny’s brother Rod died in late December, suddenly and out of the blue, and since his going, I cling to a small yet persistent belief that he isn’t really dead. It’s involuntary. In my mind I “know” he’s gone. But that knowledge lives on the surface of my consciousness. In my heart, he lingers gently yet persistently.

I went to his funeral thinking that would put a full stop on this feeling that Rod isn’t really dead. A friend picked me up from the train station, and as we drove to the church, I told her how, three days after Rod’s death, my computer hid my Start menu, that every time I minimised a document or a browser, it vanished from view, and I didn’t know how to get any of it back. ‘Ghost in the machine,’ I said. Normally, I would call Rod for help and he would sort out my problem. He did that for lots of people. That’s how to get to know computers in a deep-down way, by fixing them when they get sick. I said to my friend, ‘Rod’s telling me I can’t live without him.’

The funeral went along as these thing usually do. Rod’s friends and family stood to speak about his life, his achievements, his effect on them. The minister invited people to come up to the lectern and add their piece about Rod. I wanted to say something but didn’t know what that should be. These people had told anecdotes of Rod that captured aspects of his mischievous, independent spirit, his charm and his talents. I wanted to say something else, but what, I didn’t know.

As I travelled home after the funeral, I was aware that it had not done what I hoped it would do. I still didn’t “know” Rod had died. As I write this blog, ten days after the funeral, I still don’t “know” it.

Death is a strange thing. No matter how often it happens, it remains a foreigner in our midst. It speaks a language we each have to learn. The spark that once animated a body is wrenched free, and what is left is familiar and at the same time shatteringly inadequate.

This “not knowing” Rod is dead is a kind of haunting. It’s an awareness of a space that used to be filled by a flesh and blood person, and which is now filled with the fact of absence and an ongoing, elusive presence. Rod is hovering in this room where I work at my computer. The air tingles with the voice that is about to speak. The air shifts with his movement. From the corner of my eye I almost see his beige and oatmeal plumage. This haunting isn’t oppressive. It simply is, gentle and lingering.

Rod 2Death isn’t a single, decisive event. The body loses its life, and we are led to believe that this is the end. But it isn’t. There is no end, no finality. There is a gentle shifting into another kind of perception, where each of us in the intimacy of grief meet him again.

 

 

Sunday Sermon

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Sunday Sermon 1I’m not religiously inclined, not at all, which is probably a bit of a disappointment for my brother Rod, who is the Uniting Church minister for beautiful Phillip Island in Victoria. He has his own manse and everything, with a pretty church right in the backyard. He is also an aspiring author of young adult fantasy. I may be no church-goer, but I’m a great admirer of witty and/or unusual perspectives on ordinary things. So when Rod told me about a recent sermon he gave, (yes he actually gave this sermon!) I just had to share part of it. What writer could resist this editorial take on an excerpt from the Gospel of Mark! 🙂

Mark 1:9-15 ‘In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan.  And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.  And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’ And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.  He was in the wilderness for forty days, and he was tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him. Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God …’

“In fewer than 150 words Mark covers Jesus baptism, the temptations and the beginning of his ministry.  The baptism gets the most coverage, about 65 words – telling us about the descent of the Spirit.

I can imagine what Mark’s editor would have said.

‘Now Mark, it is important to jump into the action, especially with a fast-moving narrative like yours, but really, you have to bring your readers with you. Show not tell – not even much telling here. You’ve done all right with John – camel’s hair, wild locusts – that’s good, we get a sense of someone unique, fanatical even, calling for change – you could do more, still, it’s ok. But with Jesus, your main character – ‘In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptised by John in the Jordan.’ I mean, really. It’s lame.

What was he doing in Nazareth?  Why did he go to John – I mean if he was as special is you imply in the rest of the story?   Take us into the event – we have to be there. Was it hot? Were there crowds? Was the water muddy? What about a conversation, with someone in the crowd, or John?  And that voice and vision – it gives a whole new meaning to ‘omniscient narrator’. Who heard it, who saw it?  Describe the reaction of the crowd: amazement, fear. Bit of work there I think.

Now, the next part.  Wilderness is good.  From the deserts the prophets come.  Grounding himself in God, people will get that. But, honestly, forty days blah, blah, blah – ‘and he was tempted by Satan.’  And he was tempted by Satan!  My God, is that all you can say.  Ultimate battle between good and evil – that’s what you’re writing about– ‘and he was tempted by Satan’. How was he tempted?  What was it like for him?  Did he nearly give in?  That’s good, he almost fails – try that.  We have to be there, we have to feel for ourselves what he was going through, the struggle, the turmoil.  Lot of work there, but done right it could set up the whole story.  Oh and get rid of the angels – we could all vanquish Satan if we had angels. The next bit, again it’s good that you don’t hit the reader over the head by explaining every little detail but perhaps a bit more wouldn’t hurt.  I know you’re concerned about the word count.  Honestly there’s nothing to worry about. Anyway have a think about what I’m suggesting.  I’ll see you again in a couple of weeks … Ah, Matthew, come in.’ ”

Thanks Rod.  ‘ … and get rid of the angels.’ I love it!  

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