Are you an Australian or New Zealand writer with a fiction manuscript ready for submission.
Welcome to Walker Wednesday! UPDATE: Thank you to everyone who has submitted to the first
Walker Wednesday! We will be accepting manuscripts again on 7th of
December. Walker Books, the leading children’s books publisher in Australia and
New Zealand, is now accepting YA and middle-grade submissions from all
published and unpublished writers on the first Wednesday of each month (AEST). We are looking for YA/MG manuscripts with strong writing, engaging
characters and well-developed world-building. We are open to YA/MG of
all genres, but are particularly interested in submissions with diverse
characters and/or written by diverse authors. Submission Guidelines Please email a 1-page cover letter and the first 50 pages of your manuscript as a Word document to WalkerWednesdays@walkerbooks.com.au The subject line of your email should say “Walker Wednesdays Submission” and include the title of your manuscript. Your cover letter must include: • A few lines about yourself. Have you been published before? Why did you write this story? • A synopsis of the manuscript. • The word count of the full manuscript. • Your thoughts on the manuscript’s position in the market. What are some similar books or authors? If you follow the guidelines and your manuscript is successful, you
will be contacted within 3 weeks with a request for the full manuscript
for further consideration. Due to the large amount of submissions, we are unable to respond if
you have failed to follow the submission guidelines or if your
manuscript is unsuccessful.
Title of Jenny Morris's Break in the Weather used as ironic in my flash fiction piece. Just won a highly commended in the Out of the Asylum Writers Spilt Ink Competition - Prose section. Also a break personally going from poetry to prose.
A
Break in the Weather
He
sighed into the dismal drama of his life and battled on. There were days when
he had little strength, moving forward with stiffness. He had a new home with
squared windows and a robust roof. Yet he felt imprisoned after the entirety of
green, the forest and the open sky. Although he walked under the same clouds,
his garden had shrunk to an allotment size.
Sometimes he heard his dead wife’s laughter,
but knew that was an illusion. He saw the same faces in the convoy of early
morning walkers and only had the company of his shadow when circuiting the park.
A few dog owners drifted past, nodding, others crooned about Pippa or Bluey,
and most were less impassioned about the weather. When they were gone there was
nothing more to add. It would have been easier just to ring an empty bell.
At night he watched TV, its flashes of
colour and noise livening up the room. One evening he watched a program that
gave him an idea to visit his local tavern.
The main bar was dark and musty, mostly men
his age seated on stools. On his second Friday night visit, he was hoping to
chat to one regular who had previously spoken to him, but the man leaned on the
crook of his arm, crouched at the bar, his empty glass propping up the sadness
in his face.
Come
this Saturday, the bartender said. We
get a good crowd and usually a country music band. You'll have fun.
The night wasn’t what he expected, and it
brought a change to his face. A younger crowd greeted him. Handshakes and
shoulders touched like a bridge. In that crossing, he encountered the
simplicity of conversation over a round of beers. He noticed, above the hubbub
of music, laughter and voices, all the young men sported beards. They were
impressive, neat and tidy, colourful and not at all housing breakfast crumbs,
toothpaste or foreign bodies.
It's the rage now, said one fellow. Why not grow one and join the club?
He went along every Saturday night. Why
hadn't he thought of growing a beard before? In all his eighty years he had
lathered and shaved, rinsed and patted.
Overnight the hairs inched forward beginning
as little brown wisps. He looked like Benjamin Disraeli. When it had grown and
bushed out he resembled Sir John Forrest. After several months of growing it
long and unkempt, he was Gandalf.
The young men invited him to car trials,
quiz nights, beard contests, and to zero birthdays. Mostly, it was a thirtieth
or fortieth and the talk revolved around shapes, styles and colour. There was the
Johnny Depp, the David Beckham, the Santa Claus, the goatee, the short-boxed
and the stubble. Words like 'soul patch, terminal and mouche' suited his
sensibilities. The men told him about a city barber where he could have his
beard trimmed and coloured, but if he couldn't afford that, there was the beard
trimmer at K-Mart.
Each morning he splashed water on his face,
and gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror. He was not a bearded Anthony
Hopkins or George Clooney, but it was easy to see what had taken place. His old
look had gone in a different direction while his new existence stared back at
him with a neatly trimmed moustache and a bristling, Silverfox beard.
2017 Emerging Writers’ and Illustrators’ Mentorship Program supported by Copyright Agency Cultural Fund
The
Australian Society of Authors (ASA) Emerging Writers’ and Illustrators’
Mentorship Program provides the winners of these award mentorships with
the opportunity to develop their early draft manuscript to a
publishable standard through 13 free mentorships with professional
mentors. Applications are assessed on literary and artistic merit and
developmental potential.
Entries will be accepted in the seven
genres of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, graphic novels, young adult
literature, children’s writing and picture book illustration.
The
2017 program will support 12 mentorships from any eligible genre, funded
by the Copyright Agency’s Cultural Fund, plus one additional mentorship
– the Edel Wignell Mentorship – for children’s writers. This mentorship
is funded by the income from the acclaimed children’s author, Edel
Wignell.
Successful applicants will work closely with a mentor
selected from the ASA Mentors’ list for 25 hours over one year, with an
additional two-hour consultation available following completion of the
mentorship. A further five highly commended applicants will receive a
two-hour phone consultation with a mentor they have selected from the
ASA Mentors’ list.
Writing What You Know
This is an autobiographical event that occurred back in the fifties when my family went camping every school holidays. The exercise that I am currently teaching is that this anecdote of being "nearly" caught in flood waters will be turned into fiction/ art!
Our Victorian Trip
When I was seven, my family was on a camping trip to Melbourne. We had left the calm August shores of Broken Bay with the sun spreading its warmth over the foothills. Heading south along the Hume Highway, we had camped at several places like Bowral and in Goulburn. Dad was a little pressured to get to Melbourne as we only had two weeks in the school holidays. This was the longest trip the family had ever taken.
Along the highway and heading to Wagga Wagga, storm clouds moulded a dark and foreboding sky. My father, an experienced country driver, kept up a great speed in our station-wagon. My older brother and I were pigeoned in the back seat, beside my baby brother harnessed to his. We played eye-spy until all we could see in front of us was "R" for rain. A deluge battered the vehicle. We rocked as lightning flashed its craggy yellow line on the passenger's side window. My mother's side. We needed petrol. We all needed to pee. And so we headed to a roadhouse restaurant. My father kept up the humour about the worst storm he had ever rowed in, and blamed the school holidays for the usual crappy weather. But by the time we arrived his mirth had turned to one of concern. We watched as four cars were pulled by the swirling waters, and continued to watch in amazement as they travelled down the river, then sank. We were ordered to stay inside the car as the Murrumbidgee River's edges had collapsed on the other side. I remember holding in my stomach, as if my own water was about to burst its banks. My older brother Robert wanted a pie and sauce and Dennis (the baby) cried snot over his own hunger. I can still remember the image of all the people behind the plate glass licking their ice-cream cones and looking out at us in our station-wagon, a parking lot that was full of cars, yet ours was the only one that had people in it.
Dad yelled. "Hold on tight." I'll never forget his grit, and that determined look on his face, when he did a quick handbrake turn and we headed across the highway, ploughing through field after field of harvested wheat or barley. I really can't remember which, but Dad planted his foot that day and headed to high ground. He steered us away from a raging river, a greatly reported flood that now lies archived as one of the worst to hit the south west of New South Wales in forty years.
In hindsight, the farm trip was the highlight of the school holidays. We sailed past astounded cows, horses, fir trees and yelping dog until we finally came to an abrupt stop outside a loading shed. The farmer was very kind and gave us some fresh milk. We also go to use the farm's toilet and the family allowed us to bed down for the night in their hay barn. We huddled together that night, safe and dry and you could hear Dad telling us over and over, 'You might take the wrong road out of town, but you always come to a right stop.'
I'm new to voting for the Greens in this Federal Election (2nd July, 2016). I was once a Labor supporter, but since they have changed their policy on Asylum Seekers I decided to stop my support for them. I am against domestic violence, animal cruelty, against cruelty of any kind and to my mind Australia's handling of desperate refugees on Manus Island and in turning back the boats is appallingly inhumane. (Where are they? it's all hush, hush. Where are they living, under the sea? Are they floating on some nether world for the rest of their lives?Have they reached the Kingdom's doors? The government's policy of "safe borders" is a policy of xenophobic hate. Australia is a large continent and could support more immigration, and it should lend a hand to those escaping oppression, rape, murder, war crimes, pillage, loss of home and country, indeed loss of value and worth. There are old sayings my grandmother taught me and I apply it here, as if I was in the same position as them. She said, Helen, 'Always remember to treat your fellow human beings as you would like to be treated' and added concerning those less fortunate than me, 'There but for the grace of God, go I.'
Quite patiently, Ben Watts cut apart and stitched together scenes from 53 films (find a complete list here) showing characters suffering through writer’s block. Adaptation, Barton Fink, Shakespeare in Love, The Royal Tenenbaums, and, yes, Throw Momma From the Train–they’re among the films featured in the 4-minute supercut above. If you give the clip a little time, you’ll see that the supercut has an arc to it. It tells a tale, and has an ending that Hollywood would love.
Hachette Australia Manuscript Development Program, delivered by QWC
Queensland Writers Centre (QWC) and Hachette Australia are proud to announce their 9th national program for fiction and non-fiction writers in 2016.
WHAT IS THE PROGRAM?
Launched in 2008, the Hachette Manuscript Development program
continues to provide a vital professional and creative development
opportunity for emerging Australian writers. Shortlisted writers, and
their manuscripts, are invited to participate in a fourday retreat
program, during which they receive feedback and workshopping
opportunities with Hachette Australia publishers, editors and authors,
undertake specialised training designed to support establishing a
writing career, and take part in networking events with industry
leaders.
In 2016, up to 10 emerging fiction and non-fiction writers will work
with editors from Hachette Australia to develop high-quality
manuscripts. The program will run for four days in Brisbane, Queensland.
Participants will each have an individual consultation with editors
from Hachette Australia to receive feedback on their manuscript. During
the four days, participants will also meet other publishing industry
professionals such as literary agents, booksellers and established
authors, and work on their manuscripts. The program will run Friday 4–Monday 7 November 2016. DEADLINE EXTENDED – Applications now close 5.00pm, Monday 16 May 2016
The Impress Prize for New Writers 2016
This year’s prize is now open for entries. The deadline is 01/07/16.
The prize was created to discover and publish new writing talent.
Entries to the prize are assessed by the Impress team each year and a
shortlist produced from which a panel chooses the winner. The panel is
comprised of representatives from the publishing industry and the
writing community.
The winner of the prize is offered a publishing contract with Impress
books with the aim of publishing the book in the year following the
award. The Impress team also looks at all entries, whether on the
shortlist or not, with a view to publication by Impress Books. Numerous
entries from previous years have gone on to be published by Impress
Books and other publishers and many authors who have entered the prize
have also gone on to be represented by agents.
It is our firm belief that the prize is not just about the winner but
should encourage emerging authors to write and to provide them with a
focus and forum for their talent.
To find out more about the prize, follow us on Twitter using @ImpressPrize and @ImpressBooks1.
The 2016 Leapfrog Fiction Contest is now open
for entries, and will run through May 1.
Click one of the
links above to read about past winners.
Read an interview
with this year's finalist judge, Sara Pritchard,
here.
Read an interview with
Leapfrog's Lisa Graziano in Ploughshares' Indie Spotlight. Click
here.
"NaNoWriMo winners welcome! If you finished your novel this past
November during National Novel Writing Month, we encourage you
to polish it up and submit it to our contest, regardless of
whether you have any prior publications. We'd love to read your
work!"
Now in its ninth year, the Award is an internationally renowned
literary prize presented by Aesthetica Magazine. It is a fantastic
opportunity for established and aspiring writers and poets to showcase
their work to an international audience. Previous entrants have achieved
further publication and wider recognition in the literary world.
Prizes
£500 prize money for the Poetry winner
£500 prize money for the Short Fiction winner
Publication in the Aesthetica Creative Writing Anthology
A selection of books from Vintage and Bloodaxe Books
Bath Flash Fiction Award is an international rolling flash fiction
competition. Each award runs for 4 months. Judging takes place quickly
with a top prize of £1000, £300 second, and £100 third. At the close of
each competition, the next competition begins. Our last winner was announced within a week of the Award closing, and running three Awards per year means our total annual prize fund is £4200.
All entrants will be considered for print publication in our
forthcoming Bath Flash Fiction Award Anthology, due out the end of 2016.
The current Award closes Midnight UTC February 14th 2016.
Summary
£1000 prize for the winner, £300 second and £100 third. Two commendations.
£7.50 for one entry (until Midnight UTC 13th December 2015, £9 thereafter).
£12 for two entries (until Midnight UTC 13th December 2015, £15 thereafter).
£18 for three entries (effectively £6 each, price held throughout competition).
Free entry can be earned via our weekly micro competition Ad Hoc Fiction.
The Bath Flash Fiction Award team creates a longlist and a shortlist.
Our shortlist judge, Tania Hershman, chooses the winning, the second, the third, and two commended fictions.
The Announcement
The winner is announced shortly after the competition closes.
The winning, second, third and two commended fictions are published on our News and Winners pages, along with a short author bio.
About Us
We aim to encourage
writers to develop their skills by creating pieces of 300 words or less
in an atmosphere of awarded competition. We also intend to promote flash fiction and bring the genre to a wider audience. By way of meeting this commitment, we also run the very successful Ad Hoc Fiction project, an entirely free initiative aimed at promoting reading and writing of the very short form.
Bath Flash Fiction Award is both self-supporting and not-for-profit.
We pride ourselves in our ability to continually develop new ways to
promote emerging flash fiction writers and flash fiction in general. If
you would like to talk to us further, we tweet @BathFlashAward, or you can contact us here.
A celebration and exploration of the world of wetlands
2nd February each year is World Wetlands Day. On this date in 1971, countries from all over the world came together in the Iranian city of Ramsar on the Caspian Sea, to sign the Convention on Wetlands, vowing to protect and enhance the wetlands that fell within their borders.
Our Judge
Sarah Day’s most recent book is Tempo (Puncher &
Wattmann, 2013); it was shortlisted for the Prime Minister’s Literary
Awards and won the University of Melbourne Wesley Michelle Wright Prize.
Awards for previous books include the Judith Wright Calanthe Queensland
Premier’s Award, the Judith Wright ACT, the Wesley Michelle Wright
Prize and the Anne Elder Award. She lives in Hobart where she teaches
year 12 Creative Writing. Her poems have been widely anthologized in
Australia and overseas. Her poems have been set to music in Australia
and Britain.
I've been invited to conduct a poetry workshop by the Westcoast Community Centre in March. My workshop is titled; From Image to Metaphor. Michael Ondaatje once wrote an image of grasshoppers as
“dolphins of drought”. Check out the details on the Westcoast Community Centre's Programme page - under Brain Challenges.
It was perhaps the first time he felt this freezing sensation. Age had run into his iron bones and most days he couldn’t get out of bed. Not that anyone would notice, living alone all these years and he’d left retirement too late. It was only the fishing in Satara Bay that had kept him going, his beach cottage central to everything, and his blue-aproned chums. He couldn’t bear that terrible noise again in his head; a bell was ringing pulled by a string. He didn’t want this to happen tonight. Not tonight at the Grand Master’s presentation. How many years had it been? Seven, he recollected, seven slow years waiting for the position of Vice-Grand Master. All eyes would turn on him. Stan the Man, they jokingly called him. But when it came to his carpentry skills, they almost bowed in gratitude. He dressed in his Masonic regalia, closed his case after a quick check on the contents. It was only 6 o’clock, so he thought he’d take a leisurely detour to the Esplanade Hotel, have one or two pints for Dutch courage. The terrible noise started again, more than one bell. He was still cold. Winter that silent oppressor. He sat in the beer garden looking out to sea. He couldn’t make out the demarcation line of the horizon with a rising mist coming in, the edges of sky and ocean near the Heads melding into one landscape. He hummed an old Irish tune. When he finished his second pint he started walking towards the shops, past the diggers’ hall, the housie-housie shed and finally turned into the front yard of the Masonic Lodge. ‘Nice evening, Stan,’ said an old friend, slowly ascending the steps with a wooden cane. ‘How’s the back?’ asked Stan. ‘Oh, you know,’ he replied, knocking out one of his legs to keep moving, ‘can’t complain.’ The ceremony began at 8 o’clock with a three-course meal. After two new Apprentices had been initiated into the Kingdom, it was time for the presentation. This time, Stan could hear an orchestra of bells where there was none. He managed to be bold and so stood behind the microphone, a little wobbly at first. It was his duty to swear allegiance to the brotherhood; to wear the colours of Vice-Grand Master with pride. A growing tiredness overcame him, and giving his excuses he left the Masonic hall alone. A thick fog covered the sleeping town, and at almost midnight, intervals of rain began spotting the pavement and the blue of his coat. He hurried home. When he arrived on the landing of his front door, he sensed someone was there in the shadows. There were no street lights and something made him look behind. Silhouettes and shapes in the gloomy night, then a heavy army of three men dominated his bent frame. He moved his arms out to stop them, but their wild punches struck. He could not fight them off. In some distant terrain, Stan the Man knew that all the bells had stopped.
