Kate Grenville
Kate Grenville
Kate Grenvilleis an Australian author. She has published nine novels, a collection of short stories, and four books about the writing process...
NationalityAustralian
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth14 October 1950
CountryAustralia
foreign image lives move national nearly ourselves outside
Australia lives with a strange contradiction - our national image of ourselves is one of the Outback, and yet nearly all us live in big cities. Move outside the coastal fringe, and Australia can feel like a foreign country.
absolutely enter slightly sort
Each language has its own take on the world. That's why a translation can never be absolutely exact, and therefore, when you enter another language and speak with its speakers, you become a slightly different person; you learn a different sort of world.
book needs way
Ebooks have many advantages - publishers don't have to make guesses about how many books to print, books need never go "out of print", and hard-to-find books can be easily available. So far, the only limitation seems to be finding a way for the writer to be paid.
book thinking quality
I don't think the physical object of a book has any sacred quality, so in principle I think ebooks are great - just another way for stories and story-tellers to connect.
book order paper
A big book is a hard thing to manage - I find the computer makes it easier to keep it in order, and to keep the old drafts (which I sometimes go back to) without drowning in paper.
thinking magazines shapes
I think we all waste a lot of time measuring ourselves up against impossible standards in lots of ways. We need to learn a few things, one of which being that physical beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, including a lot that the women's magazines have never even thought of.
writing want fiction
I love writing fiction - you can take just what you want from a place, and leave the rest.
tyrants ideas perfection
The idea of perfection can be a tyrant you should overthrow, to gain your freedom.
grief joy skins
Everything in his life had come down to the sensation of her fingers against his. The person he was, the history he carried within himself, every joy and grief he had ever experienced, slipped way like an irrelevant garment. He was nothing but skin, speaking to another skin, and between the skins there was no need to find any words.