​Last week I learned that my mid week prerecorded Radio Live interview, would go to air at 12:50 on Sunday. Instead of excitement, this news filled me with dread; I had spent days post-interview berating myself for a variety of errors and blunders I knew I had made. These included talking over Ryan my interviewer, correcting mistakes he made during the recording, but worst of all ‘gabbling’- my mother’s term to describe the speed of my talking, especially when I am nervous.  I convinced myself there was no way I was ever going to comfortably sit listening to this recording, especially knowing friends would listen to it.
 
My husband, Kotz, however, had other ideas.  “Oh honey, I’m sure it will be great!”  “I think you are exaggerating the problems!” and so on. He was up in the Kahurangi National Park with our Pilot Station visitors while I recorded that interview, so how did he know? 

​
​Sunday dawned and Kotz  unplugged his precious multi band radio from his workshop, carried it up onto our covered deck and set it up in a grandstand position on the centre table, carefully placing a semi circle of chairs to face it. The setup reminded me of my childhood days, waiting by the large radio set with my sister for our favourite program Life with Dexter to begin. ​

​Kotz then made drinks and called all to the deck to await the promised hour.  Everyone seemed to forget any interesting alternate activities for a beautiful sunny Nelson day, at least until the darned thing was over. Kotz checked and double-checked the radio frequency that I had dutifully copied down, then as our little group sat there, I held my breath awaiting my public humiliation.

​ 
But 12:50 came, then 12:50 went and still the announcer gave no indication of any forthcoming author interview.  My relief at this unexpected development   inspired some of my excuses: “Oh, it must’ve needed too much editing,”  “They probably decided I was gabbling too much!” 
I leapt from my seat leaving the others sitting there still staring at the radio, in the hopes of managing to conjure the elusive interview from the machine.  I tried hard to match their consternation but was actually jumping for internal joy. 

​It was not until I checked my inbox about 30 minutes later, that I discovered it was filled with messages like “Congratulations, great interview!”  “Loved it!’  “Brilliant!” and so on.
It appeared that the interview had been aired at the correct time, and that my fears of ruining it were unfounded.
 
There are further interviews scheduled, and my husband has decided to search these out himself,  believing I deliberately misled him with the frequency of the radio program.  I can honestly tell you gentle readers, I definitely did not.
 

Living for years in remote ‘bush’ Alaska leaves an indelible imprint on the mind. Sometime during the week either one of us is bound to set off reminiscing about the far worse/ better bush Alaskan experience that relates to our current daily life predicament. 
These memories emerge at unexpected times e.g. during a particularly large grocery shop, “Yeah it is a lot of stuff, babe, but lucky it’s not the annual grocery expedition in Anchorage,” or after suffering through a particularly humid day one may remark, “Oh for the cold chill of an Alaskan fall day.”
Even a domestic flight disruption does not seem half as bad when one of you can drum up the memory, “Better than being stuck in Bethel airport waiting for a seven-hour delayed flight and discovering the toilets are all bolted shut with ‘Not Working’ ‘Overflow’ signs plastered on the grimy doors!”

No doubt then, you could imagine us this week when two special friends flew in to stay here in Nelson NZ with us. These friends hail from our Pilot Station on the Yukon River, ‘Walking on Ice’ days!  Their visit is creating a succulent remembering fest that can last for hours.
It seems one person’s memory can jog another’s.
 “Remember when Jim hid in the cupboard and caught the pantry robber at the school?” General raucous laughter, then someone pipes up.
"Yeah and didn't that robber actually have a set of keys?" 
"Jim still laughs about that.. he reckoned he squatted in there for hours while he was waiting. He reckons he passed the time reading a book by torch light behind the flour bin!" 
Someone breaks into the laughter with yet another story.
 “How about that silly new teacher who never listened and built a lean to on the back side of the house. Even when we told her it would never work, she insisted and guess what?” We all await the denouement, smiles at the ready to hear of the folly of a cheechako teacher.  “You can guess! First snow, the door froze solid.  Couldn’t open it!  Couldn’t get in there… and her snow machine was in there!” Hoots of laughter and table thumping while we all enjoy the folly of the new comer, remembering when we had been one ourselves. “You know we had to get picks out to open that door! " LOL

Any of our neighbours who should venture outside during one of these post meal ‘remember when’ sessions over the coming week, may well hear the shouts of laughter and lively banter of four friends reminiscing about a Bush Alaskan experience few are privy to.
 

Harry, who features in the chapters, “A Moose-hunting Escapade, Bravery and Intensive Care” sent me his Thai address with an added a cautionary note. “The Thai postal system, like its US counterpart, is fairly dependable. Parcels usually arrive anywhere between 30 days and 30 months after being sent.” Twenty days after mailing, I wondered when or if his copies of the book would actually arrive.
 
Meanwhile Misty, my Dillingham photographer who took the wonderful cover pic wrote excitedly to say her copy of the book had arrived in Dillingham, Alaska.  I wrote and told Harry, “Well Harry, the books have reached Dillingham, Alaska.”
 
My brother in Melbourne wrote, “Book arrived and looks fantastic. You are becoming legendary!”

Yesterday I received a message from Nassiruaq a friend in Chevak, Alaska, “Hi Emma, just received the book you sent, can't wait to read it!”
 
My sister in Christchurch emailed me the same day, “I checked the letterbox about 2 and have just checked again and the book is here - Yay!!”
 
Harry in Thailand just emailed.  “The books arrived today!!! Thank you so much. Of course I went right to the hunting mishap. Great read! Now I can start at the beginning and enjoy it.”

Forget TV appearances I feel just so good to know that my Alaskan memoir has been greeted with such enthusiasm and joy, near and far!

People are receiving copies of Dancing on the Tundra all over the world, and that  definitely makes me feel like a ‘world-wide author’!

 We received some sad news this week. Robert, our best man and my second cousin died after a long battle with cancer. His passing has left us talking about him all week, sharing some of our special memories. 
 
 In January 2001 it was hard for Gary to try and find a best man to stand at his side, especially here in his new country of NZ.  All the people he dearly wanted to come lived in the northern hemisphere where the depths of winter, difficulty in getting leave, the expense of traveling as well as fear of flying, were all valid reasons for friends and family to not be with him.
 
 Knowing the importance of my soon-to-be-husband’s support system on his big day - the sort of support that only another man friend could give, I came up with an idea.
‘How about Robert?’ I ventured one day. Robert lived in Wellington in the North Island where we'd spent some great time visiting him and his wife Lynne. Gary thought for a nanosecond.
‘Oh that’d be great!’ he agreed. ‘We get on really well. Do you think he’d do it?’
'Why don't you call and ask him.’
'He agreed!  Gary said excitedly after an immediate phone call, 'and Lynne was happy to be MC!'
'Great stuff!'  I replied, feeling pleased with my fiance's telephone skills and Robert and Lynne's kind hearts.

            ‘I don’t know what it was,’ Gary mused as he pulled his wedding suit out of the bag he has kept it in for the last 16 years, ‘but Robert and I had an instant rapport. We seemed to understand each other from the start.’
          ‘I know sweetheart,’ I agreed. ‘You two formed a close brotherhood from the moment you met. Remember when he whispered to you in the church that you had one last chance to make a dash for it?’ Gary smiled reminiscing.
            ‘Yeah, it was the perfect thing to say at the time. I was feeling too emotional when I saw you, and he broke the spell, made me chuckle and relax. He was always giving me good advice.’ Gary stopped and thought a moment.  ‘You know,’ he paused, ‘you know the last piece of advice he gave me last summer when he called in?’
             ‘No, what was that?’
             ‘Buy a Jeep Grand Cherokee,’ he advised me.  ‘Emma will love it and you can do everything you want in it.’
I stopped and stared at Gary. 
            ‘You never told me that before.’
            ‘Well I’ve just remembered it,' my husband answered before adding. ‘Honestly he did!’

I could imagine Robert’s sparkling eyes as Gary grinned at me. Those two were thick as thieves.

Arriving at the corner shop this week, I saw two women sitting outside at a small table, selling raffle tickets for the Nelson Hospice. One called out to me.
        “I’m reading your book!” she exclaimed. “Loving it, enjoying it as much as the first two!”
       “Oh!” I replied startled that my book was being discussed out loud in such a public place, and pleased I’d remembered to put lipstick on. “What part are you up to?”
I approached the table to buy a book of tickets, the least I could do. Shouldn’t there be a lull, I thought, like months passing before any opinions about this ‘just released book’ were bandied about. The woman looked momentarily flustered.
       “Um, oh…," she said, darting a look past me at Kotzman who was making a beeline for the car.  "I’ve just finished the Canadian road trip.”She looked suitably proud as she managed to pull the correct chapter from inside her distracted mind. 
 As I signed for the tickets, I realised how much the airing of our lives by memoir, affected not only me, but Kotzman also.

​The following day I admonished my husband, as he was about to leave the house and go get some petrol for the lawn mower.
        “Don’t go out wearing those shorts”, I called as the front door was about to close behind him.
        “Why?” he asked, turning and looking puzzled.
        “Because someone might recognise you.”
         “What does it matter honey?” he asked.

 Actually I wasn't sure.  It left me something to think about.

Well finally… we have lift off! The date of consequence for the last 6 months, the day in the far distant future suggested by my publicist back in October last year, the day that has haunted my thoughts and controlled my actions, that day  “after the holidays and before Easter and Mothers Day, March 1st, 2017”,  that day has now come… and thankfully gone!
 
By the beginning of last week, the week that contained the dreaded 1st March, I appeared to be the only person completely unexcited by this upcoming momentous launch. “Oh how EXCITING!” people exclaimed.
Exciting? I thought.  Exciting!  No Way!  What if no one turns up? I’ve never even been to Fairfield House, the place suggested by the bookstore. I’m not sure many of the people who came to my local launch at the Motueka Library for Nesting on the Nushagak, would even bother to make that trek into the centre of Nelson city on a hot mid week night at 5:30 pm. They would have to fight against traffic, tiredness and the prospect of parting with money, and not even able to have a glass of wine if they were driving.

But come they did… and by the time yours truly was ready to face the fans (figuratively and literally)… the room was full, food and drinks served, including non alcoholic punch, and the night proved a great success. Whew! I was reminded of a quote from a nonagenarian who said the one piece of advice she would give others to enjoy life was (ladies), “Brush your hair, put on your lipstick and GO!”
 
So now what? Well heaps to do as usual. I have had orders, emails and talk requests, so before the dust settles I want to first mail out some books to my special Yup’ik and Cup’ik friends. 
Cecilia, the skilled elder from Chevak, made me those mukluks that were displayed in the shop window. Her daughter who had seen the pic on the internet commented, “Hmm, I saw that and wondered if my mom made those… Hahaha, she'll surely be pleased to see this! ” Isn’t it a small world?

Since my return I have been working on Dancing on the Tundra in an attempt to get it ready for printing before the Holiday Season!
The slideshow below will give you some idea of the process I have been following...and where I am up to.
I have numbered the steps to help you follow the sequence.

Whoopee put on your mukluks, grab your dancing fans, let's get a drummer because I've FINISHED Dancing!  Well not exactly finished actually dancing, I'm off to do just that this weekend a musician friend is playing... what I meant is that the third and final book in my Alaskan memoirs has now been written!
So does that mean it will be on the shelves next week?  Well unfortunately, no... you see  now that the manuscript has been written, all 49 chapters of it, well now the REAL work begins. So get up lady and get organised.

So what is the real work? As I am a self published author rather than pass this completed manuscript over to the publishing house to "prepare Dancing on the Tundra  for publication please",  I now have to discuss the next steps of getting the book into your hands, with a variety of professionals. These professionals  will help me with the next phases of the process; editing, proof reading, designing, copy writing,promoting, printing, distributing, ebook publishing, contacting book stores, libraries and of course, you my  gentle listeners and readers know...

So how do I know who to contact? Well that is a book on its own.  Everyone it seems, has a different opinion, and an opinion of an opinion, so you need to find someone in the industry you implicitly trust... and go from there.  It is all trial and error and the more trials and errors I make, the stronger is my resolve to know I can find the exact right people.  In the meantime I am thinking of selling my car to pay for the next book publishing.... yes, seriously. Only problem is that we live in the countryside.... so mukluks on... and start walking... ? I'll look for any pot of gold as I go.

If you think I haven't been blogging much lately you are right.  You see I have set myself a daily goal of writing 500-words-a-day.

Now, you might think, writing 500-words-a-day sounds reasonable. Surely it would be easy to tap those out before morning coffee, or maybe even before getting dressed? If not, how about writing straight after breakfast, or maybe before shopping, or just before lunch, or maybe after choir? Evenings could be good? Well no, not according to my husband.
In truth, the 'other daily activities' seem to garner far more importance when the 'mantra' or should I really say 'chore' of 500-words-a-day surfaces. So why have such a daily requirement at all? 
 
You see, amazingly I have a fan base out there of interested readers wanting to know what happens after ‘Nesting on the Nushagak’. I am asked on a regular basis, "When is the next book out, Emma?" I do not want to disappoint my readers. I have discovered the third book of my 'now to be' and 'never originally planned' trilogy will never get written, unless I ‘get down’ to some consistency in my writing.

Thus my daily regimen. I have found that by setting myself a goal of a little daily writing, then slowly and surely the book magically appears, rather like a lizard from behind a rock.  First its face, then a front leg, an eye blink and a quick wriggle… and you have it!
 
However one of the disadvantages of writing a memoir is the fact that you are not only writing about your own life, but the lives of others. My Alaskan adventures were also shared not only by my husband, Kotzman, but also many native Alaskans who became respected friends. History is viewed differently though the eyes of those experiencing it. 
Living in bush Alaska and living with the local people has been a highlight of my life. I still miss it.  I do not want to write about bush Alaska in any way that appears I am being judgmental, condescending, or ignorant. So if I write 500-words-a-day about a particular incident, then I am faced with the dilemma of retelling that incident from a viewpoint, mine. But what about theirs, I think.  Should my writing also include their perspective? Maybe even a combination of both? 

This thinking takes time. Some incidents bring up strong feelings, that haunt me during the day and leave me at times writing far more than 500 words as I delve into the adventure and relive it. Often I am surprised to find myself at a full stop, and still in my little office in Tasman, not back in the sweeping wild snows of Chevak.
As well the benefit of my 500 words-a-day regimen means I am now actually reaching the end of this trilogy, and already beginning to wonder about my next writing project.

I am quietly hoping it will not be a memoir. Then maybe I could happily write any number of words a day.
(PS for the record,this has been about 500 words).