When one door shuts...

I knew the second our eyes met that I was doomed.

The young woman glanced up from her iPhone 6, caught my eye, frowned slightly (ever so slightly) then kept glancing around, her eyes boring into the younger women gathered in the foyer around me. She had a kind of pleading, desperate look about her.

Trying not to frown in response (lest the crow's-feet scare her further) I wedged my lips into a bright smile, hid my old Samsung mobile phone in my handbag, and strode confidently across the room towards the leather sofa where she was now perched.

"Amber?" I called out as I narrowed in.

The website editor looked up at me and blinked a few times before it hit. "Christina?" she asked, dubiously. I nodded, extending one hand to shake hers. "Oh! Right. Sorry, I didn't see you there, please take a seat."

As she waved me into the chair beside her, I wondered whether I should save us both the time and simply turn around and walk away. Then I internally slapped myself for being so defeatist, sat down and attempted to redazzle her with my extensive resume.

I say 'redazzle' because Amber was already familiar with my work. We had met via email the month before and "awed" by my extensive writing experience (which includes editing national magazines, freelancing for 15 years, and running bureaus in London, NY and LA), she had given me four internet articles to write in just two weeks. I did them promptly, there were no complaints and that's when I let my guard down. I suggested we meet in person. I was coming to town and thought it would be lovely. But as soon as I saw the trendily dressed 20-something glance straight past me in the foyer of her office block I knew I had misstepped.

The woman was polite, she was responsive, she promised me more work. And then, after just ten minutes, she began to fiddle nervously with her iPhone and made her excuses. I thanked her for her time, returned home and proceeded not to hear from her. As I feared I wouldn't. 

Such is the life of an ageing female* journalist. 

Why am I so negative I hear you ask? 

You do the maths: 

Before meeting me in person = 4 freelance articles in 2 weeks

After meeting me in person = 0 freelance articles in 12 weeks (and counting)

"She was startled by my age," I told a friend who rolled her eyes in reply. "No, seriously, she seemed almost shocked to be chatting to a 40-something about writing for her hip new website. She was polite enough but she couldn't get rid of me fast enough and has not replied to a single email since I returned home. Not even a 'thanks anyway'. She's blocked me, dumped me. Thrown me on the scrap heap."

"Oh you're being pathetic," my friend scoffed. "Maybe she's just busy."

"For three months? I think not."

I don't blame Amber, not really. I was a young editor once. I probably dismissed older people, too, without even realising I was doing it. When I was 21, 30 seemed ancient, so to sit across from a 48-year-old must have felt prehistoric.

I wonder how 50-, 60- and 70-somethings do it, and I take off my hat to those who've survived and flourished in an industry that's hard enough no matter what your age. To them I must sound like a classic 'cry baby', and I apologise for that. I know I'm not old, not AT ALL, but in Amber's eyes I was well past my prime. It's all relative, isn't it?

Of course my defeatist attitude would not have helped. I understand that, too. Perhaps I had given up before I even sat down, but a decade of dwindling job offers and gradually quietening phones has done that to me. And I am not alone.

It IS harder to find work as you get older, especially in young industries like the internet and dying industries like journalism. But I don't hold it against Amber and I don't hold it against the industries because the very thing that has been killing off my traditional writing work, has enabled my new career as a fiction writer. And for that I am eternally grateful.

Thanks to the 'world wide web', I can self-publish my own books from home. I can reach out to my own audience (hello there!), promote my own work, and make a really lovely living without leaving my living room.

It has nothing to do with my age or my looks or how funky my phone is. I don't need the Ambers of the world to get ahead in the indie publishing world, and it's a liberating feeling.

So it's swings and roundabouts. When one door shuts... and all that.

I write this blog, not for a pity party but as a reminder to all that while age shouldn't matter, it probably does. But it must never hold us back. My short-lived career at the hip website may be over, but there's a silver lining: I now have more time to focus on my fiction, and you can guess who's getting slaughtered in my next crime novel (cue sinister laughter now).

The upshot of aging

Readers at Amazon and Apple and Nook don't seem to care what I look like or what I'm wearing or what mobile phone is in my daggy handbag. They just want great stories, and here's the kicker—the older I get, the better my stories become. That's the great thing about getting older: your writing matures right along with you.

So thanks for all your support over the years, dear readers, and happy reading everyone, no matter how old you are.

xo Christina
*NB: I don't know whether this is a phenomenon exclusive to women, I sincerely doubt it, but I'd love to hear from men on that score. In fact, I'd love to hear from ALL of you - men and women, old and young. Just drop a comment below and let me know if you've ever experienced ageism at work or in life.

WTF (Why The Fuss?)

I swear to God, I'm still trying to get my head around some readers' adversity to cursing and profanity in my books, and for that reason, I'm embellishing on an older post I wrote some years ago explaining why there appear to be 'so many' swear words in my novels. 

I hope this goes part of the way to explaining why I drop the odd f-bomb and why I refuse to take it out, but if it still gets under your skin, feel free to get in touch and let me know (colourful language most welcome!)


xo Christina

Every now and then I get an irate reader outraged by the profanity in my books, demanding to know why I need to swear so much and refusing to read anymore of my work until I desist. 

And I don't blame them. 


There are a lot of swear words in my stories, I admit that. And while the vast majority of my book reviewers/fans seem to have no issue with it (one committed reader confessed she never even noticed until I pointed this out!), I do feel compelled to explain myself to those of you who are upset, distressed or shocked. 

It's not premeditated, I promise!


Like the aforementioned fan, I never even realised there was much profanity in my stories until an Australian expatriate now living in Canada got in touch to say she'd forgotten how much Aussies swear until she read my first novel Killer Twist, and it made her feel quite homesick! Obviously it makes some of you just feel sick, and for that I apologise. 


I never set out to intentionally upset, distress or shock anyone when I write. I am in fact just trying to compose stories that are both entertaining and realistic. Just as characters and plot lines develop and unfold as I write, foul language appears out of nowhere (well, usually from the mouths of 'baddies', although not always). It seems to be a natural, fluid process, one I can not control. Sometimes, when I read back through the copy and the bad language feels overdone or jarring, I remove it, just as I remove cliches and descriptions that don't work. But I have to confess, most of the time I barely notice it.


And the reason...


Aussies swear a (bloody) lot!

It's a truth universally acknowledged that your average Australian cusses like a trooper. It's just a fact. Listen in on any conversation on any Aussie street, in any Aussie pub or office block, and you'll hear a colourful variety of words. 'Bloody' is the common one, but they get a lot, lot worse than that. We recently had a court case here where a teenager got off for using the 'F-word' at a policeman. The judge was forced to concede that it's now so common, it can't be construed as offensive. It's everyday language whether we like it or not. And my stories are everyday Australian stories (albeit with a little murder and mayhem in the mix). I need my Aussie characters to not just be colourful, but to sound like, well, everyday Aussie characters. My editor Maria at Glossy magazine (Killer Twist, Last Writes, Dying Words) is the perfect example. She is modelled on two real-life editors I used to work with who swore a hell of a lot more than she does. A hell of a lot. I have, in fact, toned her down for the books.


Murder is okay but swearing is not? Huh?

I find it really strange that the same people who take umbrage at swear words seem to have no issue with people getting murdered in my books. Slicing someone's throat or leaving them in a dank basement to be devoured by rats is okay, but cussing is not? I'll never understand that one. Sorry, guys but these are murder mysteries, not fairytales or children's books. I think you have to expect a bit of grit when you pick one up. 


To censor or not to censor?


Hate to break it to you, but I won't take the profanity out any time soon. There really isn't that much, and to do so would be bordering on censorship. It feels contrived. It wouldn't be real. It wouldn't be honest. And it would be swapping credibility for sales. Once you start doing that, you might as well just give up and ask your readers to write it for you with all the reality taken out.

I have, however, considered publishing two versions of each book—one for the Americans who seem to be the main people who take offence, and one for everyone else. And I'm happy to do that if anyone feels strongly about it (please send me an email or leave a comment here). But I do think the real story needs to be available in one format with the real street language included for those who want, well, reality.

What do you think? Please let me know, I'd love to continue the conversation. In the meantime, happy (slightly wicked) reading everyone.

xo Christina