Then the worry starts all over again. What will the reviews say? But most importantly, will people like it? Will it sell?
So it ends up being more like the pregnancy of an elephant!
The curse of the sequel had me really worried and the record was not good as far as I could see. The words, ‘Oh there’s a second book out, but it’s nowhere as good as the first!’ gave me nightmares. So the sooner I started this tour the better. I would soon know if I was about to join the ranks of writers of dud sequels or if the second book would be as popular as From Strength to Strength.
April was also time for Marlee’s six-monthly check-up after her cancer operation. Marlee had been diagnosed with cancer of the cervix in 1992. The cancer was discovered at a very early stage and the doctors were convinced that her operation had removed every trace, but a check-up every six months for the first three years was necessary, after which it could be yearly. Six months comes around very quickly and we’d no sooner get over the relief of an ‘all clear’ in one check-up than start worrying about the next appointment.
So Marlee flew me to Darwin. I had the nerve-racking wait for her check-up to deal with along with sequel jitters. Not to mention the thought of tours in two countries. I kissed her goodbye, told her to call me the moment she had the results, then gave her an extra hug—any excuse to delay my leaving. I brushed tears away as I assured her I was fighting fit and raring to go, when in truth I just wanted to go home with her, so daunting seemed the month’s challenges ahead of me.
When I arrived in Sydney I was whisked off to the ABC to meet all the finalists of the ABC Rural Woman of the Year as I was speaking at the awards presentation that night. I then rushed across town to a recording studio to record a radio fund appeal for the MS Society.
After a forty-five-minute turnaround at my hotel I arrived at the Rural Woman of the Year awards presentation. We had a great night and it was very satisfying to see those capable women who have contributed so much to the land and this country being acclaimed at long last.
I finally laid my weary head on the pillow at 1.30 a.m., having just completed a twenty-one-and-a-half-hour day. I drifted off to sleep hoping there wouldn’t be too many more days like it, but knowing in the back of my mind I was wrong—I had seen my book-tour itinerary.
The following morning I boarded a flight for Brisbane. By lunchtime I was sitting on the verandah at Susan’s house, looking at one of my favourite views, down that peaceful creek and out to sea. I rested and slept for two days, reorganised my suitcase, and was ready for the starter’s gun when I hugged Sue and Ralph goodbye on the 30th.
CHAPTER 4
May 1994
Each time I venture on a book tour I think this time will be easier. But this was my third tour and it wasn’t getting any easier. The tours were getting longer! This tour of New Zealand and Australia was twenty-five days.
People often ask me if I find the tours exhausting, and if so why do I do them. I look on the tours as a guide to how people feel about my books, and, I suppose, me. So the longer the tour the better, in my eyes, as I get to meet the people who read my books. It would be awful to go on tour and no-one wanted to meet you! So I never complain about the volume of work entailed, I just keep very fit, going into training a few months before. So far this has worked and I have lasted the distance!
The tour around New Zealand was no exception. In six days I travelled almost the full length of the North and South Islands, from Auckland to Dunedin and back, zigzagging in planes and cars, not to mention attending twenty-six public appearances. But this was just the baby tour compared to what was coming up! When I’m on tour I speak to Marlee daily—usually late at night or first thing in the morning. We mostly talk about the station operation and how my tour is progressing. During one of these conversations, towards the end of my New Zealand tour, Marlee gave me the good news that her check-up was clear and she now only needed yearly tests. I know how that news made me feel, so I can only just begin to imagine what it meant to Marlee. I flew out of Auckland, headed for Sydney, with a happy heart.
The Australian tour was the King Kong of book tours—nineteen days with a twenty-nine-page itinerary. There were twenty-seven phone interviews before I left Bullo and another fifteen on tour. Along with twenty literary lunches and dinners, twenty-six studio radio interviews, fifteen newspaper articles, seven bookshop signings and eight TV appearances, we had Mike Munro and a TV crew following us for a few days in Queensland.
I have all my itineraries filed away. I’m not sure why, perhaps as memories to treasure in my older years. I’ll probably look at them when I’m eighty and shake my head and say, ‘How did I do that?’ Although I won’t have to wait till I’m eighty: I ask that now!
Even though each tour is basically the same, each has its own special events. The first day in Queensland was full of appointments and finished with a small literary dinner for 150 guests. The itinerary listed a 7 p.m. start and a 9.30 finish. I thought this was a bit ambitious, but we were in the country, so I guessed early start, early finish.
One of my guardian angels, Jane—otherwise known as my publicist—was not arriving until the following day, so the local Pan Macmillan sales rep was my guide. Not that she could have changed events, they were very much out of our hands.
One small thing turned the entire evening upside down. The gas stove, on which the dinner was to be cooked, stopped working. So the 9.30 departure time found me just sitting down to dinner. My eight o’clock speech was struggling for a ten thirty slot by which time most of the men had moved into the bar and were very rowdy.
When I finally got up to speak the noise was rolling out from the bar. One of the few remaining men in the room disappeared into the bar, and in a few seconds the rest of the men quietly returned to their seats and we got on with the night’s proceedings. I arrived back at the hotel at 12.30 and drifted off to sleep thinking, ‘Thank heavens Jane will arrive tomorrow,’ while drowsily assuring myself, ‘Bad start, good finish!’
The next day it was on to the Gold Coast and the Sheraton Mirage where we were met by Mike Munro and a crew from A Current Affair. They were going to follow me around for a few days to film a segment on life on the road with an author. As nervous as I was to have a TV camera trained on me most of my waking moments, I was grateful for such fantastic coverage.
The crew were a great group of guys, helpful and considerate. When four hundred women descended upon me at the Gold Coast literary luncheon, they were amazed at first, then once over the shock, pitched in and did anything they could to help. And Mike Munro was, well, what can I say? There are not many times in my life I have wished to be younger, but after a few days on the road with Mike, I wished I was thirty years younger, a lot slimmer, a lot prettier, a lot … Well, you get the picture, I don’t have to spell it out. What a charmer!
Mike did throw me one curve ball at the luncheon, however, not that he would know this, as his request seemed quite reasonable. Luckily, because of an embarrassing situation on my first tour, I was partly prepared. During question time at the first dinner of the first book tour, I was asked if I would recite the verse in the front of From Strength to Strength.
I suppose most people think that every word of a book is engraved in an author’s brain forever. Maybe this is the case with some authors, but with me, the moment I write something down it goes out of my mind, like a train dropping off passengers at a station.
When I wrote the verse at the beginning of From Strength to Strength, it was at the request of my editor. She wanted a verse of five or six lines that related to the story and could I fax it through in the hour, was the next request. The manuscript was ready to go to the printers, it was just waiting on the verse.
So I scribbled, crossed out and scribbled for an hour, came up with a verse I was satisfied with, then faxed it. I filed my copy with the rest of the manuscript and promptly forgot about it … until that moment! I stared out at the audience in horror nine months after I had hasti
ly written, faxed, filed and forgotten it!
So I just said, ‘I can’t remember how it starts, give me the first few words.’
I had no idea what I was going to do if that didn’t prompt my memory. There was a rustle through the audience as books were produced from bags around the room, and a chorus came to me. ‘Create a dream …’ Then silence, as they waited.
Luckily it all came back to me and I finished the verse convincing everyone I had written it. I learned my lesson, though, and so the verse beginning the second book was engraved on my brain as I started out on the tour.
Never did I dream Mike Munro would ask me to recite it on national television, but that’s the way it happened. We were sitting eating lunch when all the cameras zoomed in on me, making me more nervous than usual, and so the recital wasn’t word perfect. I rearranged a few words, but on the whole it wasn’t too bad.
An extremely good interview with Mike, a great sequence on the beach at sunrise and the literary luncheon all made for a very watchable A Current Affair program.
Staying at the Sheraton Mirage had me remembering a fortunate escape I had had from a disastrous resort business venture a few years earlier. I had received a phone call from a man representing a large company interested in building luxury resorts in the Kimberley area. They were looking with some interest at Bullo and wondered if the company’s director could come to the station and discuss some ideas with me. Always looking out for an opportunity to pay off Charlie’s debts, I said yes. The appointment was made for the middle of the following month and we got on with our busy life. A week before the appointment I had a note in my diary to call and see if everything was still as arranged. It was.
The day of the meeting arrived and Marlee and I spent the morning in the kitchen cooking a special meal. The arrangement was that the company director would arrive by private jet at 11.30. When no-one had arrived by 1.30 the stockmen pounced on the lunch with delight.
The next morning I was still fuming and decided I would definitely not do business with such people and would call and tell them why. The phone was answered with a very rude, ‘What!’
I was taken aback by the tone—this was one angry man—but perservered, reminding him of the failure to keep the appointment. I asked if there was a reason and took a deep breath and waited.
Well, I heard more four-letter words in the next minute than I knew existed then had the phone slammed down in my ear.
In amongst all the swearing, a sketchy story emerged. The company had gone to the wall and our VIP visitor had vanished. The man I spoke to had lost all the money he had invested and was worried he might lose even more.
That evening Marlee and I sat down to the evening news and the name of our mystery guest was soon revealed. We suddenly understood why his man in the Kimberley was so rude and how very lucky we were to have escaped the whole sordid mess.
Sitting under a large company sign was a receptionist telling the reporter she didn’t know how Mr Skase could be contacted or when he would be in the office. Yes, the company coming to lunch was Qintex and the VIP who didn’t turn up in the private jet, who knows!
Marlee and I just looked at each other for a while in silence and thanked our lucky stars we didn’t get mixed up in that mess.
Over the years I have had many occasions to silently repeat the thanks and it taught me a lesson: whenever a company calls to present a business idea, the first thing I do is check up on them. Charlie taught me this a long time ago and I had just forgotten.
I left the memories and the Mirage behind and headed for Brisbane and dinner with 550 people at the Sheraton, had breakfast with another three hundred Brisbanites and several radio, newspaper and TV appointments before departing to Armidale.
Country towns are always go, go, go on a book tour and this one was no exception. By the time I kicked off my shoes in the hotel room I’d survived a seventeen-hour day. At least my doubts about this book not being as well received as the first book were beginning to fade.
The following day we flew to Sydney for a literary luncheon for 710 people. The demand was such my publishers had been asked if I could squeeze in an extra dinner to accommodate all the people turned away from the lunch. So a dinner was arranged for two nights later.
But first there was Friday the 13th to get through! It was Charlie’s lucky day, he always told me, never giving a reason why. At the beginning of each year, he always put a special mark on any Friday the 13th on the calendar, then tried his hardest to arrange big deals on any of those dates. Not that it helped any of the deals he managed to schedule!
This Friday the 13th was very special because I was flying to Palm Beach for a literary lunch in a De Havilland Beaver, the same as our dear old Bertha. The fifteen-minute flight was crowded with memories, with the added thrill of taking off from Rose Bay and landing in Pittwater.
Flying in a dear old Beaver after seventeen years was such a thrill. They have such a distinctive sound and I can recognise the sound of the radial engine anywhere. I heard it so often in the pre-dawn between 1974 and 1980. Particularly in the winter months, Charlie would take off in the dark, when the air was extremely cold so he could lift the maximum payload. Of course Charlie’s idea of the maximum payload was twice the legal load allowed for the plane! Cold air enables an engine to lift more load because the air has more density. An engine develops less power in hot air and at high altitudes where there is less oxygen.
The sound of Bertha labouring to get Charlie and his load airborne is forever etched in my mind. I would stand in the kitchen listening, and repeat over and over in my mind, ‘Come on, girl, you can do it!’
By the time she passed the homestead, still on the ground after three quarters of a mile, the chant would be an urgent, ‘Come on, girl! Come on!’ The sound of the big engine would blast into the homestead with a furious, ‘Whaaaaa’ as she tried so hard to do the job.
With a normal load, Bertha would lift off level with the homestead, but it was very rare she lifted off with such a load! Instead, she would roar to the end of the airstrip and struggle into the air when she ran out of runway. Barely fifty feet above the ground, she would just maintain air speed and flying low over the salt flats until disappearing from sight, still trying to obtain some height.
One time Charlie loaded her with so much meat he had to fly all the way to Port Keats—up the Victoria River, then along the coastline—over water because Bertha had no power left to climb and could only go straight ahead. Charlie’s only comments were that he had a bit of trouble with a few small hills and tall trees on the approach to the Port Keats airstrip, and that the stall button wouldn’t stop beeping and annoyed him.
It seemed fitting to be flying in such a plane on Friday the 13th, circling over the house where Charlie died, then landing in Pittwater where he lived onboard his boat, moored right near where the plane lands. If Charlie wasn’t pulling the strings to control the events of that day, I just don’t know. It felt like he’d written the itinerary!
It was back to Sydney and more work and by the time I ticked off my last appointment it was another seventeen-hour day, but a truly memorable one.
After travelling through as many country towns as possible in three days it was on to Melbourne and multiple radio, television and newspaper interviews.
I am forever surprised at the wide scope of questions I am asked. There is one question, however, I get regularly: ‘And where do you live now?’
I don’t know why it is assumed that now I am a so-called celebrity I would naturally have moved to the city. After being asked this question for the fourth or fifth time, I was a bit tired of replying, ‘On the station,’ and varied the answer to ‘In a 747 jet’.
Seeing I had just told the young reporter I had been travelling for much of the last ten months and had spent little time at home, I assumed he would get the joke. But like a lot of new reporters he just concentrated on headlines.
His eyebrows shot up in amazement. ‘You have your own
747? You live in a plane?’
I quickly explained it was a joke, as I could already see the next day’s headlines!
I think the main reason I am able to get through these gruelling tours is because of my ability to sleep anywhere. I can board a plane and be asleep before it leaves the ground. On one flight from Melbourne to Hobart I fell asleep while the plane was delayed on the tarmac before take-off. I opened my eyes as we were taxiing and turned to Jane and said, ‘That was a quick flight.’
She shook her head in amazement and said, ‘We haven’t left Melbourne yet.’
I considered this a bonus and went back to sleep.
Cars are no different. When we drove to Frankston—a lengthy drive out of Melbourne—I fell asleep almost immediately, sleeping until the car went over a speed hump as we approached our destination at the Country Club. I turned to Jane and said, ‘Gee, that was a rough landing!’
She looked at me with concern until I got my bearings and realised we were in a car, not a plane.
Victoria and Tasmania went along nicely with enjoyable dinners, luncheons, store signings and meeting people in the thousands. As I was travelling from east to west around the country, Bryce Courtenay was going from west to east with his latest book. We crossed paths on a television show on which they advertised every household item you could think of.
The woman hosting the show was amazing. She displayed and disposed of the products so quickly, anything unbreakable was thrown over her shoulders as the camera zoomed in on the next item held in her other hand. People were crawling around on the floor behind the chairs removing packets so they didn’t pile up above chair level.
The Strength of Our Dreams Page 5