An Aussie writer stumbles around Sweden, part 2

A story of literary highs and culinary lows

I received some hair-raisingly good news in the past week – my crime novel manuscript ‘Welfare Queens’ has been longlisted for the 2024 Richell Prize!

Run by Hachette Australia and the Emerging Writers’ Festival, the prize received almost 1,200 entries this year. Holy heck. Not only is that a hefty number, it’s much bigger than last year’s already sizeable 700 entries. Twenty-one people have been longlisted. In roughly a month’s time, the judging team will whittle this down to a shortlist, and a month later, will announce the winner. Did I mention the winner receives $10,000 and a 12-month mentorship with Hachette? Seriously good. Anyway, I’m in with a shot and it’s a huge honour to be within hollering distance of it, even if I don’t advance further.

What I want to talk about in light of this is what happens when you’ve entered something like this and you don’t get picked for the longlist? Because I don’t want to give the impression that I simply swan in, enter these things, and achieve some form of success every time I throw my hat in the ring. Far from it.

I’ve been rejected when applying for a Faber scholarship, Varuna fellowship, Deep Creek residency, for Publishable aka the Queensland Writers Centre’s manuscript development program, and countless other opportunities. If I do achieve success (such as scoring a Varuna residential fellowship for this year), I’ve usually applied at least once unsuccessfully before I get a ‘yes’. Last year, I started my application for the Richell Prize before getting sidetracked and not even finishing it.

Here's the thing, though: every half-drafted application and fully completed entry (yay!) that gets rejected (boo!) gets you closer to a ‘yes’. The next entry you write will be easier because you’ll already have a rough draft from having already written one of these things. Sure, the entry requirements will probably vary slightly, but they tend to feature the same sorts of things – writer bio, excerpt of your work, pitch, and synopsis. If you’ve attempted to create these things before, they get easier to recycle and tweak the next time you apply.

Anyway, I’ll step off my speaking podium on that front now and tell you about what’s been happening here in Sweden this week.

The weekend just gone, we went on a day trip to Norrköping, which is a city about 90 minutes away by train. We had a nice Italian lunch at a local restaurant called ‘Grazie’ (I had the Caprese salad, which was huge and wonderfully fresh and filling). We then went to the Arbetets Museum (aka ‘Museum of Work’), which was housed in an old textile factory and told of life as a factory worker back in the day, plus exhibits taking us through to our digital work future.

There was also a special section about UFOs on one of the floors, as there’s a huge locally housed archive of UFO-sighting material. Happily, another floor had a LEGO exhibition that wasn’t usually there and we just chanced upon. A whole bunch of home LEGO builders were displaying their creations. There were faithfully recreated buildings and vehicles, Star Wars scenes, a haunted mansion, idyllic forest settings, the works! To say I was delighted is an understatement. It was also so gloriously weird.

We then went for a stroll along the river and around the city centre in general before having a pasta dinner (again at Grazie – it was that good!), then heading back to Stockholm on the train.

Sunday was an adventure of a different ilk. There is this thing called surströmming. It’s essentially a can of (super-stinky) fermented herrings. I’m not sure I’m the best candidate for gross food challenges. My body’s prone to vomiting from motion sickness and other assorted causes. I’m no good at spicy food. I prefer eating things that, you know, are actually enjoyable. On the other hand, my sister-in-law was keen for me to try this fish and video the experience. Our travel companion, Joe, was excited to give it a go. Plus, we happen to be in Sweden during the prime time to eat this fish (it’s available for a limited season due to making sure it’s fermented, but not too fermented). So, I figured: when am I ever going to get this opportunity again?

We accumulated all the traditional accompaniments (flat bread, dill potatoes, sour cream, tomatoes, onion, and cucumber) and found a suitably well-ventilated outdoor space to make our attempt. It was a breezy sort of day. Joe opened the can. At first, I couldn’t smell it. Then a gust hit me. It was disgusting, but bearable. Then another gust hit me and I realised the first one had been a light whiff. When you catch a full-on faceful of it, it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever smelled. Like the ghost of a thousand cat wees. We tried it. The flavour is better than the smell. But I firmly never want to try it ever again. I managed a postage-stamp-sized portion. Joe at a fillet and a half, which was a momentous effort. We thoughtfully disposed of the remainder. Now let us never speak of it again.

Have an un-smelly week.