Writing A Book: The Stories Of Your Lives

I want to tell you a story. It's a good one. I hope it will inspire you. You'll see the point of it very soon.

Last Friday morning, on a crowded Eurostar train from London to Paris, as the landscape morphed from Kent fields to Normandy farmlets, I heard the most incredible life story. It was the story of the woman sitting next to me. Well, the story of her father, really.

And what a story it was.

Her father, now 92, had just begun working in the Diplomatic Corps in London. He was only 19. One night, at a summer reception, he met a beautiful young French girl. She was just 15. Unperturbed by the age difference, they spoke of their dreams, their hopes and ambitions, and their lives in London. It turned out they lived just streets apart.  The love, he said, was instantaneous. "I couldn't imagine my life without her," he explained. The date was June 2, 1939. The Second World War was just around the corner.

When France declared war on Germany three months later, the French Girl's parents sent a telegram requesting that she come home. They needed her, they said. So she said a tearful goodbye to The Diplomat, wiped her eyes, and courageously took a train back to Cherbourg.

For the next four years, The Diplomat worked in the war offices, wondering if he'd ever see her again. Eventually, he met an English girl, and – not knowing if the war would ever end – married her. It was a quiet affair. His heart, you see, was still in Cherbourg. The French Girl, meanwhile, had started witnessing atrocities that a teenager should never see. By then, the Germans had brought in the Mongolians to do their dirty work and the deaths were horrendous. After she'd witnessed an infant being crucified, she decided to join the French Resistance. She was only 19. Her uncle was already in the Resistance, and high up by that point in time, and when he heard that her name was on a German 'hit list', he smuggled her out of the country. She was sent to London, where she was given a safe house. It was two streets away from The Diplomat. Unbeknown to them both, they lived just metres apart.

For the next 10 years, she worked, settled down, married an Englishman, had four children (The Diplomat also had four), and tried to forget the war. And a young dashing Englishman she'd met at the age of 15. But she couldn't. Haunted by her memories of love and loss, she told her husband everything. He simply said that he loved her all the more.

Fast forward 40 years. In an ironic twist, the French Woman's husband had also become a diplomat, and had decided to attend a conference in Geneva. By chance, he saw The Diplomat's name on the seating chart. He decided to say hello. "Why don't you visit us one day?" he said generously. "My wife would really love to see you again." The two couples met for dinner.  The conversation was warm, polite, quietly sentimental, dignified. They decided to stay in touch. A letter here and there.

Both couples grew old, as people do. The French Woman's husband passed away. So she moved back to France, to the town of her birth. But still she kept in touch with her first love. The letters continued for the next 20 years.

Two decades later, The Diplomat's wife died also. He waited for a respectable length of time. And then he bought a ring, and took the first train to Cherboug.

The Diplomat and the French Woman were married under a lemon tree in her garden, on a bright sunny day in June. The year was 2005. He was 85 years old. She was 81. It had been 66 years since they'd last kissed.

They haven't stopped kissing since.

I'm telling you this story because this month, November, is NaNoWriMo Month. It's that time of year when would-be writers are challenged to begin writing a book. A book of 50,000 words. To be written in a month. It's a tough challenge, but thousands attempt it. It's a fantastic way to begin writing, with a deadline looming in front of you. The pressure usually forces the words to come.

Everybody has a story inside them. Everybody has a narrative of their own to tell. Perhaps you can begin writing yours down?

Go on. You've got a month to do it.

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Is This Week The End of Print Media?

I don't talk about my family much because, well, they're mortified that I'm not only a journalist but also a writer and a memoirist. (However, they're relieved I have a different name; this allows them to pretend, when asked, that they're not related.)  

But I want to mention my brother this week (although I'll refrain from naming names), because he's caught in the Fairfax crossfire over the battle to save print media in Australia, and I'd like to defend him, before he and his media colleagues are set upon and lynched with tightly rolled-up newspapers directed at places newspapers should never be directed at. (And trust me, the press – and much of the public – are baying for blood like vampiric Twilight characters who haven't had a suck for a century.)

I'd also like to talk about the business that he's in, which is perhaps not the best one to be in at the moment.

It's the business of print media.

My brother, you see, is part of the senior management team at Fairfax Media. This legendary Australian media company owns The Sydney Morning Herald, The Age, The Canberra Times, the Financial Review and a stable of other great news outlets. I don't tell many people this, just as he doesn't tell many people I'm a journalist. Probably best. Never wise to associate with "the great unwashed", as a colleague once dubbed us in the editorial department.

My brother has been with The Age for more than a decade, but this would no doubt be his most challenging week. If I thought I was having a dismal week, mine is nothing compared to the doom and gloom taking place down in the Docklands. Even Darren Percival doing a rendition of Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive couldn't brighten that lot up.

If you haven't yet heard yesterday's big news, The Age and The Sydney Morning Herald, Australia's two biggest broadsheet newspapers, are going through the biggest crisis in the company's, and indeed Australia's print history. Basically, in 13 words or less, Fairfax has had to dramatically restructure, or cut the losses and close up shop*. (Oh sorry, that's 14 words. Where's that sub-editor gone?)

(* This is not Fairfax's opinion, but mine and indeed many others. Even Rachael Leahcar could see the company has been long overdue for an editorial nip and tuck.)

Yesterday, Fairfax announced it was taking radical steps to stop the company's profits from leaking like melted chocolate out of a self-saucing pudding. (See Epicure recipe, above, for illustration.)

The company announced it was going to slash 1900 jobs, close printing plants and downsize the papers' formats in order to prepare for heaving the whole lot online. It was one of the biggest restructures in Australia's media history. 

The one thing that surprised me about all this was: Why has it taken so long?

Newspapers and magazines have seen the writing on the wall back page for years. The Internet didn't just poke its head up yesterday. The New York Times, The LA Times, and the London Times have all struggled with falling readership and revenue for almost a decade. Even US Vogue is stumbling on its Louboutins.

Obviously Fairfax was trying to do the right thing, not only by its staff but by the Australian public, raised on a diet of Leunig and news.* (*The Age is repeatedly bagged as being written by "latte-sucking leftists from Fitzroy", but that's untrue. Leunig might be a Fitz boy but a lot of the columnists live happily in right-wing lives over in middle-class Malvern. They barely go north of the river without their passports.)

Now I know this blog is usually about entertaining things – 'lite' journalism for you time-short Internet flickers – but just this once, if you'll indulge me, I want to revert to my journalist's role and focus on something deeper: The Future of Print Media.

Or should I say, The End?

It's gonna be painful, but we need to do it.

THE END OF PRINT AS WE KNOW IT

Once upon a time, there were newspapers and magazines. Good ones. Vogue. Vanity Fair. The New York Times. The London Times. Then people started to say: What about the trees? Isn't this a waste of paper? So someone came up with an e-reader. And the trees breathed a sigh of relief. (Someone else – I think it was Rupert Murdoch? – said: "What about all those cheques?" But that's a bedtime story for another time.)

After a period of visual adjustment (those backlit screens were brighter than Piccadilly) the world turned to their e-readers. And the exclaims could be heard from here to Fleet Street. E-readers were light, bright, multi-functional, and (if desperate) you could use them for self-defence on the train late at night, unlike a tattered copy of the back section of the Fin Review.

There was just one problem. Sentimentality. People might have been reading iPads but they still had emotional ties to paper. They liked the tactile nature of it. It felt traditional. Reassuring. Trustworthy. They liked the past time of reading the weekend editions over a coffee after a walk around The Tan, or the Bondi-to-Bronte track. They liked that you could screw up the cafe's copy and stain it with coffee so the next person couldn't read the share prices. They even liked it that you could slip the sports / style section into your bag when nobody was looking.

Nobody knew what to do. So magazine and newspaper proprietors kept printing.

But as more and more people betrayed print by decamping to e-formats faster than a disillusioned Confederate, advertisers started taking note. Money fell away. And concerned magazine and newspaper proprietors started cutting back on their Chateau Lafittes.

The ironic thing was, the content hadn't changed. It had just morphed into a different form. It was like arguing which tastes better: Coffee in a mug, or coffee in a paper cup? What's the point of the debate?

If we're going to progress into the future, we have to embrace technology, or we're all just flailing around in the past. I know some of you will vehemently disagree here, and that's fine. I resisted for the longest time, too. I know how you feel.

Here's the good news. We have had centuries of great journalism. And that will continue. Just in a different medium. Those naysayers ringing the doom bell and announcing that "this is the end" might get on a commuter train one day and count all the workers with an iPad or an e-reader, browsing the sites. It's not the end of media. It's just the end of print. Even parts of the vintage issues of Vogue (above) are still available online.

Now The Death of Print will not happen by 5pm this evening. Newspapers will not go quietly into the night. There will be shouting. Anger. Tears. Print workers are not like ladies from the CWA. And quite a few of us sentimentalists will feel the loss, too (There's nothing like pulling up the lino of a place and discovering an old newspaper from the 1950s underneath.)

But let's embrace the possibilities. Let's celebrate the flexibility of e-readers, iPads, and the whole magical Internet, with its easy links, its search engines, and its "press here" technology. Newspapers may be beautiful, but they're like a lover we can't quite leave. Perhaps it's time to finally cut the ties?

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NY's BookExpo (And Books To Buy In 2012)

Last week, I took a break from photographing New York for a new book and instead went and looked at other people's books. Lots and lots of them. I went along to the great, gargantuan, carnivalesque event known as BookExpo America (BEA), the publishing industry's big trade show.

There were 1200 exhibitors in the cavernous space, most of them publishers, and more famous authors than you could shake an e-reader at.

I walked past a gentlemen and thought: That looks like Tom Wolfe. It was. (Image via The Selby)

Ian McEwan and Michael Connelly were signing books, as was Robert Goolrick, one of my favourite new authors. I asked if they had credit card facilities to buy a copy. "Oh, the books here are free!" said the publicist. "Just stand in line." I did. I also nabbed a new James Patterson book, Zoo, that isn't out until September. (That was free, too.) I read it on the flight home. It was pacier than the 747. Barbara Kingsolver gave a talk about something. So too did Stephen Colbert, Zadie Smith, Daniel Handler (Lemony Snickert) and dozens of others. I missed them. I was stuck somewhere in the throng, being offered showbags of new books and wondering if I should buy another suitcase to cart them all home in? No wonder people love it.

There was lots of talk about First Lady Michelle Obama's new garden book American Grown. Michelle wasn't there. But I did see her hubby hot-footing it down Madison Avenue in a cavalcade. Perhaps he was off to buy a copy?

Three publishers featured my books among their displays. When I went to thank them, two didn't believe I was who I said I was. At that moment, shaking my head at the surreal scene of seeing my books on show at this extraordinary place, I didn't even believe who I was! I chatted to the editorial head of a huge French publishing house. "Oh, I've seen your Design in Black and White book!" she said kindly. Then we spoke about possible future projects. I was so humbled. I felt as though I'd landed a private audience with the Pope.

The biggest buzz of the show? The Fifty Shades of Grey series, which is published by a tiny Melbourne publisher and has sold more than 10 million copies. Taking a rest from the page-turning madness, I sat next to a Texas woman who reviews books for a living. She said erotic books will be big in the next few years. I think I might have to start writing erotica soon...

Here are some of the most beautiful new books shown at the show. All are being released later this year.

DIANE KEATON : HOUSE

Diane Keaton's memoir, Then Again, was a runaway bestseller. She's now on a roll, with two more books due out soon. House is the first. A beautifully designed project, it's Keaton's portrayal of the way we live now "in rusticated, reimagined, or repurposed spaces across the country". Keaton is an architecture and design lover, as many of you who have seen her homes will know (even the interiors in her films are slavishly copied), and this book taps into her passion for engaging spaces. Certain to be as stylish as its author. Published in Sept. (Rizzoli) (Image of DK via Elle Decor)

ROMAN AND WILLIAMS : THINGS WE MADE

I love Roman and Williams. Their loft library (above) is perhaps my favourite space in the world. So I will be waiting like a child at Christmas for their first monograph Things We Made. The talents behind the Ace Hotel, The Standard Hotel, the Royalton's lobby, and the homes of Kate Hudson, Gwyneth Paltrow and Ben Stiller, the duo is arguably the hottest design firm in NY right now. Even Facebook asked them to design the company's food hall. I can't wait to see The Things They've Made. Published in Oct. (Rizzoli)

LA PERLA : LINGERIE AND SEDUCTION

La Perla is more than just a lingerie brand. It has all the drama of a Federico Fellini film! This new book, Lingerie and Seduction, focuses on La Perla's celebrated and drop-dead (or drop-into-bed) designs. Striking, sumptuous, sophisticated and oh-so-sexy. And the book isn't bad too... Published in Oct. (Rizzoli)

PARIS BY HOLLYWOOD

The cover of this caught my eye but it's the concept that I love. So original too.  It's a nostalgic volume examining Hollywood's fascination with the City of Light (and cinema). There are seminal films such as An American In Paris, Sabrina and even Woody Allen's studies, plus interviews with Martin Scorsese, Julie Delpy and Leslie Caron. Definitely one to put on the Christmas wish list! Published in Sept. (Flammarion)

KELLY WEARSTLER : CHROMATIC RHAPSODY

I think Kelly Wearstler should take a little break for work for a while. Her insane levels of productivity are making the rest of us look bad! Her latest book, Chromatic Rhapsody, shows off her distinctive 'mod baroque' projects, revealing the decadence and the attention to detail that has made her so famous (apart from her Playboy shoot!) It also follows the designer as she goes about her (very stylish) day. If you've ever wondered what it's like to be Ms Wearstler, buy this book. A fun, behind-the-scenes look at an intriguing design icon. Published in Oct. (Rizzoli)

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Truly Beautiful Book Covers...

Sandy Cull is one of my favourite book designers. I first noticed this Melbourne-based freelancer when she designed Carla Coulson's gorgeous book Italian Joy, which was, literally and aesthetically, a book of sheer joy. Since then, I've started noticing that some of my favourite book covers are Sandy Cull ones. I thought I'd share a few of them with you here, along with some other beautiful covers I've noticed recently. (Yes, the top image does seem to be a real cover. Witty, isn't it?)

While we're chatting about books, designs and covers, I would like to wish everyone who has a book up for an award in either the Australian Book Industry Awards (ABIAs, also known as the ‘Academy Awards’ for books), or the Annual Book Design Awards, all the very best of luck. Winners in both competitions are being announced this week as part of the Sydney Writer's Festival. The ABIAs are being announced at a gala dinner at the Ivy Room in Sydney on Friday May 18, and the Book Design Awards at the Powerhouse Museum on Thursday May 17. My little book Paris: A Guide To The City's Creative Heart, is nominated for 'Illustrated Book of the Year 2012' in both competitions, which is a very great honour indeed. I'm very touched to be considered, but all the congratulations must go to the hard-working editors at Plum and the designer Michelle Mackintosh. My photos were only a very small part of the overall design.

So here, in tribute to the talented book designers out there, including Michelle Mackintosh and Sandy Cull, are some of the prettiest book covers floating around in the market at the moment. If, as they say, you can tell a book by its cover, then these look like being beautiful reads, indeed.

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Best Illustrated Book in Australia Nominees

I'm often told by my lovely publishers that I'm not as enthusiastic about self-publicity as I should be. This is because I've always thought that authors should not have to speak for books. If books are beautiful enough, they should speak for themselves. Authors are really the behind-the-scenes people; the wizards pulling the curtains for the Land of Oz that is literature.

In saying that, it's easy to understand that people like to get to know the names behind the titles. I confess to following the blog of Justine Picardie, who seems to be as much of a lovely person as she is a great writer. And if Hemingway were alive and he had time to pen one, between fishing in Key West, punching out bestsellers and bedding beautiful women, I'd been following him too! I've also been slightly awed when I've had the good fortune to meet writers such as Jan Morris, Frederick Forsyth, Jeffrey Archer, AA Gill, Herbert Ypma, and Bill Bryson. (I interviewed the latter in his South Kensington flat: when I arrived at the open front door he was derriere-up, cleaning the bath. I've always liked an multi-tasking author!) Another writer friend told me she was similarly open-mouthed when she met J.D. Salinger. (Her mother neglected to tell her she'd been having a weekly luncheon with his wife for 20 years.) For the most part, authors adore meeting other authors – especially if The Other Author is stupendously famous and rolling in royalty cheques. (That's when we ask what their secret is.) Authors also adore seeing good books achieve success, even when those books belong to publishing houses that may be their competitors. The publishing world is not a hockey game. It is actually rather civilised. Why is why I've always liked it. (And hated those who play dirty within it.)

The Australian Book Industry Awards (ABIA) are the Oscars of publishing in Australia. It's where
a panel of long-time booksellers and publishers judge and nominate their favourite books each year. I always take a peek at what's nominated, because it's always intriguing to see which books are pricking up people's ears. It's also intriguing to see which books are in the Best Illustrated Book category, as these books are often the most beautifully designed.

This year, it was a huge surprise to receive an email from my former publisher, Mary Small of Pan Macmillan/Plum letting me know that my book Paris: A Guide to the City's Creative Heart has been nominated. It's the first big industry award I've ever been nominated for, after 6 years and 18 books, so I was both touched and thrilled to hear the news. In fact, just as when my friend met J.D. Salinger, I was quite speechless with shock! The winners are announced at the Sydney Writer's Festival next week, when we're in New York. But I don't mind if I don't win. It's just lovely to be considered...

Here are some of the other nominees – and a link to the full PDF here. And here are some of the pages from Paris: A Guide to the City's Creative Heart. Oh – and if, like me, you love illustrated coffee-table books, then I'd like to let you know that I'm working on a gorgeous New York book this month, and then a beautiful new Paris book in June. Will give more details here in coming weeks.

Best of luck to all those nominated for the ABIA Awards! I'm really thrilled for all those authors.

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