On my island, we have yet to go to lockdown, even though we were the first state within Australia to close our borders. We still have freedoms that I’m sure my friends in the UK and USA crave and our Covid-19 figures are light by comparison. But every day, more become ill and the rules strengthen. We adjust as best we can.
Over summer, I was caught in a beach rip and despite that I’m a good swimmer and know all the rules, when I felt the strength and speed of it, panic poured over me like the waves that were part of said rip. Simply, I thought I might drown.
I draw a comparison with the way the world is being dragged along in the Covid-19 rip tide. We all know we should adjust, keep calm and go with the flow, but it’s hard, isn’t it? The constant state of flux, the bad news.
Golly, I certainly didn’t think I’d have any plants to talk about but because of the C-Virus, and our island declaring a State of Emergency and shutting its borders, I’ve spent a lot of time in the garden, doing the autumn cutback.
It’s been wonderful, I’ve found:
As the world begins to lockdown, the garden couldn’t honestly be a better place to spend one’s time, could it?
I’m currently reading a very direct treatise on anachronism in historical fiction writing called, aptly, Medieval Underpants and Other Blunders, by Susanne Alleyn.
Hopefully most hist.fict writers are aware of anachronism and the shock it gives readers, and also the loss of trust in the writer’s research and editing.
As a reader, I’m reasonably forgiving but when I’m enjoying Roman, Dark Age or Medieval fiction, goosebumps jump over my arms and I shudder when I come up against ‘Okay’ or modern swear words and aphorisms that when checked, date from a far later timeframe.
Reading back over early posts written sometime between 2010 and 2014, I was struck by the way I used to be able to write about writing, about writers AND also write books. All at the same time.
These days, I can barely keep one ball in the air, let alone three and I wondered what the difference might be. What has happened since 2014 that makes me so much less of an acrobat?
Once upon a different place in time, the town of Triabunna lived and breathed an industry that clear-felled our native forests. The highways would thrum from before dawn till dusk with semi-trailers and B-doubles bringing their loads of huge specimens to be processed into woodchips and shipped to Japan and the island became split apart by those who supported the industry and those who wanted are more sustainable future. Aggression ran high in many towns across the state. In fact, the creation of the world’s first environmental political party began in Tasmania at this time and the Greens were born.
Japanese ships would arrive and pump their bilge into our bays and from them, we acquired unwanted marine pests like sea stars, weed and a voracious sea urchin. And yet the government paid no attention because the woodchips floated Tasmania.
But then a hole exploded in the market and places like Brazil began to market trees far more cheaply to the pulp industry and Tasmania’s market collapsed.