For my husband, Anton, who died 9 March. I miss you more every day. Your light reveals the shadows in others 

~~~~~

~~~~~

by Amanda Patterson. Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook,  Google+,  Tumblr  and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

1. The Good Luck of Right Now by Matthew Quick (Picador). This was my favourite book of 2014. Bartholomew Neil’s mother always loved to celebrate the little things and she had a gift for making the ordinary extraordinary. She believed in the good luck of right now. How will Bartholomew make sense of her death and find meaning again? Read it. It's worth every word.
2. Saints of the Shadow Bible by Ian Rankin (Orion). John Rebus has come out of retirement. Rankin, my favourite crime novelist, has crafted a brilliant crime novel with interesting topical threads.
3. The Circle by Dave Eggers (Hamish Hamilton). This is Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World filled with too much information, coupled with George Orwell’s ‘Big Brother’ from 1984. This dark satire is thought-provoking, well-written and worth reading. The Circle is probably just around the corner.
4. Little Lies by Liane Moriarty (Penguin/Michael Joseph). This is part suburban mystery, part women’s drama and completely compulsive reading. I loved this witty, clever novel.
5. Incognito: The Memoirs of Ben Trovato by Mark Verbaan (Macmillan). Reading this memoir felt like drowning – in a good way. I went on a journey to a place I had almost forgotten. My memories of South Africa in the 1970s and 1980s range from black and white snapshots to garish Polaroid blurs. My emotions are varied, bruised and confused, much like the author’s. Highly recommended.

by Amanda Patterson. Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook,  Google+,  Tumblr  and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

1. Life After Life by Kate Atkinson – What if you could go back and start again? Beautifully written, with complex, interesting, and fulfilling characters. 
2. Standing in Another Man’s Grave by Ian Rankin – Rebus is back. I never realised how much I missed him until I read this book. I never realised how much I missed the writing skills of Ian Rankin writing about Rebus. I do now.
3. Levels of Life by Julian Barnes - The story of the profound love Barnes has for his wife, Pat Kavanagh, who died in 2008. It is also the story of the opposite of that love, which is a grief equal in depth.
4. Confessions of a Sociopath by M.E. Thomas - The book is readable, as charming and seductive as the sociopath who is writing it
5. Night Film by Marisha Pessl - Beautifully-written. Pessl’s intelligence shines through her words. She is profound and funny. This psychological mystery and thriller is vivid, mind-bending and makes you wonder about everything.

I want to mention three books I loved by South African Authors: Back to the Bush by James Hendry - If you simply want to read good South African fiction & The Space Race by Alex Latimer - The novel is a funny, thrilling, completely South African caper & A Conspiracy of Alchemists by Liesel Schwarz - Schwarz creates a Steampunk world that includes history, magic, alchemy, romance, and fantasy. 

For Anton, b 28 October 1966, d 9 March 2011

~~~~~

by Amanda Patterson. Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook,  Google+,  Tumblr  and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

For Anton, b 28 October 1966, d 9 March 2011

~~~~~

by Amanda Patterson. Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook,  Google+,  Tumblr  and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

For Anton, b 28 October 1966, d 9 March 2011

~~~~~

by Amanda Patterson. Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook,  Google+,  Tumblr  and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

~~~~~

by Amanda Patterson. Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook,  Google+,  Tumblr  and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

For my husband, Anton, who died 9 March. 

~~~~~

For Anton, b 28 October 1966, d 9 March 2011

~~~~~

1. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
2. The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins
3. XO by Jeffery Deaver
4. Lost At Sea by Jon Ronson
5. Live By Night by Dennis Lehane
6. In One Person by John Irving
7. Bloodrose by Andrea Cremer
8. A Visit From The Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
9. Spud – Exit, Pursued by a Bear by John van de Ruit
10. Between A Mother and Her Child by Elizabeth Noble

I thought there weren’t that many great books in 2012 but these were my favourite ‘good reads’ of the year. 

by Amanda Patterson. Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook,  Google+,  Tumblr  and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

Amanda Patterson’s Top 26 Books of all time

a)   “A Sight for Sore Eyes” by Ruth Rendell

b)   “A Widow for One Year” by John Irving

c)   “Animal Farm” by George Orwell

d)   “Black and Blue” by Ian Rankin

e)   “blueeyedboy” by Joanne Harris

f)    “Bright Lights, Big City” by Jay McInerney

g)   “Charlie & The Chocolate Factory” by Roald Dahl

h)  “Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café” by Fannie Flagg

i)    “La Peste” by Albert Camus

j)    “Life After Life” by Kate Atkinson

k)   “Long Walk to Freedom” by Nelson Mandela

l)    “On Writing” by Stephen King

m) “Pride and Prejudice” by Jane Austen

n)  “Room” by Emma Donoghue

o)   “The Blue Nowhere” by Jeffrey Deaver

p)   “The Fault in our Stars” by John Green

q)   “The Good Luck of Right Now” by Matthew Quick

r)    “The Hunger Games” Trilogy by Suzanne Collins

s)   “The Mists of Avalon” by Marion Zimmer Bradley

t)    “The Old Man and The Sea” by Ernest Hemingway

u)  “The Poet” by Michael Connelly

v)   “The Prince of Tides” by Pat Conroy

w)  “The Stone Diaries” by Carol Shields

x)   “The Women’s History of the World” by Rosalind Miles

y)   “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee

z)   “White Oleander” by Janet Fitch

From Writers Write by Amanda Patterson

Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook,  Google+,  Tumblr  and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

I posted this on our wedding day, just a breath or so ago. 

by David Whyte 

Anton Behr died on 9 March 2011.

Amanda, Sometimes

1. On Writing by Stephen King 
 

2. Flip Dictionary by Barbara Kipfer

3. A Writer’s Book of Days by Judy Reeves

4. Writing down the bones by Natalie Goldberg

5. The Art of Baby Nameology by Norma J Watts

6. Bullies, Bastards & Bitches by Jessica Page Morrell

7. The Fiction Writer’s Brainstormer by James V Smith

8. How to write a damn good novel by James N Frey

9. Tell it Slant by Brenda Miller & Suzanne Paola

10. Between you and I by James Cochrane

by Amanda Patterson. Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook,  Google+,  Tumblr  and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

9 March is the anniversary of my husband, Anton's death.

How we began - For Anton, one of the million reasons I love you so… 

'Dearest Amanda 

Through you I have been reminded that it is all right to be sad, and it is all right to be reminded of Love that has come and gone without being accepted. It is all right to be reminded of the Joy to be found in eating of the fruit that grows on the tree of all life, Love. It is all right to feel vulnerable. 

I have been on my own if not in flesh then in Spirit for a long time. 

I have not felt lonely, for a strange peace has reigned within me through my own busyness and desire to help others heal themselves. I have turned any longing or need I may have felt outward and directed that energy towards others. I know I have finished my last karmic relationship and felt that now it would be all right; things would again be predictable and safe. 

The little girl in you has unsettled that for me, and shown me a longing I felt I no longer had. 

What I share with you is a declaration of loneliness, and I ask you not to think less of me for it, I merely rediscover my own humanity. You have made me feel lonely for the first time in so long that I cannot remember, you have made me mourn myself and the longing I have hidden from myself. You have made me feel that all the blessings I have showered on me are somehow just not enough. 

You have restored my faith; that there are Women who are still vulnerable, honest and who know how to Love deeply and passionately. You have reminded me that there are still a few ladies left in this busy demanding world we live in who have not forgotten how to be soft and gentle. 

I know Gaia makes no mistakes and now search my own Soul and petition the Ancestors for answers, I know that everything works together for my highest Spiritual purpose and look forward in anticipation to her revelation. 

Thank you so much Amanda, for being you and for sharing your Spirit with me. You have tremendous courage, inner strength and beauty. I feel honoured to to share your energy, truthfulness and vulnerability.

Thank you for being a reminder to me and reflecting myself back on me, I am grateful. I ask for nothing in return Amanda and ask you not to feel bad in any way for how you have stirred me. My sharing has taken more courage from me than you could imagine. 

Your son is right Amanda; your light reveals the shadows in others. 

Much Love to you Always Beautiful Being

Love Anton'

I believe in good entertaining writing. I encourage authors to write for an audience desperate for a good read.

 People ask me why I teach people how to write novels.

My mother applied for special permission for me to go to the school library. Grade 1s weren’t supposed to have a library card. She couldn’t keep up with my appetite for magical stories. I loved The Magic Faraway Tree, The Famous Five, The Secret Seven, Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys. I would have bought every book in the CNA if I could. ‘It’s highly irregular, Mrs Patterson,’ said the principal. But my mother was firm, and he relented, handing her the card.

And I did like to read. I fell in love with books when I read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I loved every letter, every word and every sentence on the page. When I finished, I knew what I wanted to do when I grew up. I wanted to write a book. I wanted someone to read my books. I wanted to make someone feel the way I felt when I read the perfect story.

I read the long hot summer afternoons of my African childhood away. My sister and I would swim, ride horses across the veld, catch frogs and then retire to shady spots of our garden with our books. We shared our chocolates. I would arrange the Nestle coins on the edge of the pool until they melted in their shiny gold wrappers. We waited until they were mushy and licked the foil clean, noses buried in the mystery of the pages. I was always careful not to get chocolate on the books. I hid the novels under my towel when I became too hot, and jumped into the blue of our pool. I grew up in a world without the internet, television and cellular phones. Books fed my imagination, and filled my soul. I was never bored.

I read and wrote my way through a privileged, blessed childhood. I had parents who adored me, and the ability to apply everything I learned. ‘Your daughter must become a writer,’ said English teacher after English teacher. But life has a funny way of sending us on a detour on the way to our dreams. I was 16 when I matriculated and writing a book seemed slightly ambitious at the time. In High School, I decided that I would become a translator. It seemed glamorous. Until I sat in the tutorials at University and realised that there was nothing exciting about translating the parts of an automotive engine from French into English. At least, not for me.

 Falling in love

Marriage, business and a baby boy kept the urge to write at bay. And being pregnant gave me so much time to read. I lost myself in books. About babies, of course, but also about love, and war, and mystery. I had E is for Evidence by Sue Grafton in my hands the first time I felt Christopher kick to show me I wasn’t imagining my pregnancy. Matilda by Roald Dahl, The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris and Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho were there too.

After my husband died, life became scrambled. Four people who completed my world died within the space of five years. I carried on with businesses that meant nothing to me. I owned three children’s clothing boutiques, importing labels for the rich and fussy. Don’t even ask how I ended up there. I don’t even like children much.

Then my widowed sister became ill and almost died. I decided that life was sending me a serious message. I had to follow my dreams or risk regret. I didn’t want that. I had seen life carelessly seep out of those I loved. I knew how fragile it was. It was obviously time to write. I closed the shops, and decided that I wanted to become an author. I wrote a book and sent it to a publisher with all the arrogance of a beginner writer. I would write a bestseller, my budding genius would be recognised in the manuscript - based, of course, on my life story. I was the perfect clichéd unpublished writer. I had a unique story. Publishers would want it on that basis alone. Surely?

I was deservedly rejected. When I look at those slips now, I marvel at how polite the publishers were. The manuscript was awful. I cringe when I read the first draft of what is now preserved in paper as my lesson in how not to write. I am grateful for their good sense. And for the kindness in their letters. I took a long hard look at myself, and my writing. I decided I needed help. I looked for a course, for someone to show me how to write a publishable book. But I couldn’t find an interactive creative writing course that produced results. Institutions offered degrees in Journalism, English Literature and English. I already had one of those. I think my degree is wonderful, but it does not offer useful advice, suggest techniques and answer my questions on how to become published.

 Where was the help?

Somewhat taken aback at the nothingness of courses around me, I decided to go back to the beginning. I have always found answers to my problems in books. Books nursed me through childhood, through adolescence and most definitely through grief. I decided that they could show me how to write one of them. I bought every reference book on writing. It seems simple now but Exclusive Books only kept dictionaries in 1999. 

They say that timing is everything. Impeccable, the crawling Internet stood up at the right time, and walked. Amazon became my friend. Soon, I had 50 books on how to write for my project. I would read until I understood how I could get it right. I wanted my research to show me how to make my writing as publishable as possible in popular fiction.

I explored the concept of plot, theme and storyline. I dissected viewpoint until I understood every one of the seven I discovered. Do you know what enigmatic third person simple past tense is? I constructed and deconstructed the four characters needed to tell a story. I engineered dialogue for people I would never meet, never hear and never see. I researched the rhythm of pace, the subtle art of making a reader turn the page. I completed exercise after exercise until I made sense of the theory. Most importantly, I learned how to show and not tell.

 I See The Moon

I didn’t even realise I was creating a writing formula. I rewrote my manuscripts and I finally had an offer to publish in my hands. I was elated, determined and terrified. Writing popular fiction wasn’t really the ‘done thing’ in South Africa. Academics treated Wilbur Smith’s novels the same way their followers treat Mills & Boon. With disdain. Thankfully, these critics’ sell-by-date is approaching. Quickly.
Everyone wanted to know how I did it. I couldn’t answer everyone individually. ‘I’ll show you,’ I said. I decided to run a once off course on Tuesday & Thursday mornings with a friend.
Before I started the first session, the second was already booked out. What was I doing? Doubly terrified, I trawled through the books again, checking for information and inspiration. But it was too late to back out. I decided to embrace the process. I would encourage authors just like me to write about ordinary characters faced with extraordinary challenges.

I started my teaching life in a state of anxious terror, laced with uncertain euphoria. And I’ve never had so much fun. I ran the course from temporary venues – The Fourways Gardens Clubhouse, an obscure British university, The Vega School of Advertising. Before I realised what was happening, I had gathered students, and guest speakers, and laughter, around me. I became a well-read gypsy, peddling my writing skills. I wondered when it would end. Surely, there was a limit. But why would there be one? Books create endless worlds inside them and around them. It made perfect sense to carry on. The research I turned into a course manual was showing people how to make their writing dreams come true.

I had written a perfect course on how to write a book. I just hadn’t thought of doing it before. In September 2003, I said, ‘Character is setting. Setting is character.’ I was struck by the truth of this statement as I drove home after the class. Amanda Patterson had become a character based on her experience and defined by her setting. I was a Northern Suburbs girl from Johannesburg with a university degree who married well, and - unlike Janis Ian’s song - didn’t retire.

 Rewrite your future

I carried on teaching, discouraging politically charged books. Politics never disappears, but I tried to show that it should exist as background rather than a focal point. It does this in all great novels. I hoped that South Africa would understand this. Political stories about apartheid, and the angst it engendered, had been rehashed, repackaged, and written to death. Two Nobel laureates from one country is a wonderful achievement. Why, I would say, can’t we leave it at that? I wanted writers to sell more than the 2000 books considered a bestseller in fiction writing in South Africa. I didn’t have to be a genius to understand successful International publishing trends.

I realised that South African readers wanted to laugh, smile, reflect, cry, and then laugh some more. We needed to read about characters living in the South Africa we know today. If we did this, South Africa could become a writing destination, exporting wonderful stories that a reader in New York or Sydney or London would read.

As I taught, graduates started to email or call to give me their publishing news. ‘Thank you for putting the pen in my hand,’ said Alex Harris, my first published graduate. I was shocked. This really did work. I wasn’t sure who was more surprised - my students or me. I have learned from the writers I have taught. They have all shown me how to be a better writer, and reader. I have had the privilege of teaching gifted storytellers, and their words will always have a place in my storytelling world.

Teaching people to form words into stories has taken me into the real lives of policemen and paupers, stockbrokers and strippers. I have supplied the contact numbers of a Nobel prize-winner to a president. The common denominator? Books. As Dr Seuss says, ‘The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go.’ He must be right.

 With Marina Lewycka

I have met almost every author I’ve admired. My first guest speaker was my favourite crime-writer, Ian Rankin. I can’t remember much of the night. Just that he was as amazing as his writing. I was grateful simply to meet him, and vaguely stunned that so many people had accepted my invitation. And that is how my book club was born. I have interviewed and hosted over 100 authors since then, but they say you’ll never forget the first time. They’re right. Black & Blue is still settled in first place on my shelves of autographed books.

I continue to believe in good entertaining writing and in the South Africans who write it. I support and encourage authors to write and to reach out to an audience desperate for a good read. The Internet is also showing us how to do this. Traditional South African publishers may become redundant if they do not meet the needs of the changing market. It would be sad to see them archived along with the writing they continue to embrace.

And Amanda?

The little girl who read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory has become a writer. I love the power of words. I have found my truth in the books, and courses, I create. I teach other writers to dream their stories into a book. I watch as they breathe life into a page with a pen. I have learned more from them than they will ever know. 97 of my students are published and it’s worth everything to see it happen. Sometimes they do it against all odds.
Mostly they do it because someone believed they could.

By Amanda Patterson

Biography

 Amanda & Anton Behr

Amanda Patterson is married to Anton Behr. She is the CEO of Writers Write and the author of The Plain Language Programme. She has created 19 writing courses, written two romances, a crime novel, a memoir and a writer’s diary.
She was nominated for The South African Woman of the Year in 2006 and 2010, and was a semi-finalist in SA’s Most Influential Women in Business and in Government 2010. Amanda has developed training courses for Corporations, Political Parties and Media Companies.
Since creating Writers Write, 97 of her graduates have become published authors. When one of Oprah’s Dream Winners wanted to write a book, Amanda Patterson taught her to write. Amanda's Book Club has 15 000 subscribers. Amanda has a combined following of over 20 000 fans on Facebook and Twitter. 100 authors have featured as guests through interviews or public appearances.
Amanda’s Charity, The Write Foundation, is a trust dedicated to literacy.

Personally

Amanda is married to architect, Anton Behr, the original Creative Native. She wrote her article which appeared in O and Fair Lady, I'm Cappuccino, He's Chai Tea, for him. They live with their two children, one dog and three cats in Sandton
~~~~

Post note
Anton Behr died tragically on 9 March 2011. Amanda has since added a postnote in her letter to her son, Christopher in Dear Chris

1 of 3

by Amanda Patterson on Monday, 01 November 2010 at 21:52

I was so much wiser when I was 26... Last night I found poems I wrote when my first husband, Mark, died. I was angry, grief-stricken and hurt, but I was sure I had some sort of spiritual understanding.

The more deaths I lived through, the more eulogies I wrote, the older I grew, the less sure I became. Until I became sure there were no answers to the 'Whys'. There are no ‘Whys’. We just think there are. It didn't stop me tormenting myself with them. It also never stopped me believing in love.

The only time questions disappeared was when I fell in love with my husband, Anton.

All that mattered was that I had this incredible man to love. I had this beautiful being to share my energy with. I was witness to his life and he was witness to mine.

We melted into each other from the first day. I met myself in him and he met himself in me. The good and the bad. To still look at the worst and the best of yourselves and find unconditional love is a revelation.

What was even more incredible was that we found peace with each other. I would have been with him in a shack, or a mansion. It didn't matter. He was my world and I was his.

Sometimes we are given heaven on earth, or sometimes we see clearly enough to be able to take it. We had a piece of heaven. I don't know why he had to die young too. It may not even matter. All of my losses may not matter. We all try so hard to make sense of a world that is senseless.

I just hoped the tiny bit of heaven we found would last a little longer. I foolishly believed that so much loss would be balanced with a few more years.

I am reminded always there are no answers to the 'Whys'. I'm more sure than ever there are no ‘Whys’.

I still believe in love. Of course I do.

But after all these years I now know the only thing that matters is finding a love like I did. Loving someone more than you love yourself. And being loved in return. When that truly happens you have found the meaning of life. I found the perfect love.

And that is the only answer life will ever give you.

by Amanda Patterson

Amanda is the founder of Writers Write. Follow her on Pinterest, Facebook, and Twitter.  Read her writing blogs.

by Anton Behr on Wednesday, 29 December 2010 at 10:22

 Wedding Feathers

The mountain fades in the distance as we drive along the highway. The South Easter blows as if often does coming from the sea to cool the air. Another mountain is coming into my view. It has a tunnel I have to go through to leave this city behind. I know this road all too well I have travelled it many times before. This is the same road through the mountains I have danced in for many years.

Anton & Amanda

 Anton and Amanda, O Magazine Shoot,  I'm Cappuccino, He's Chai Tea

 Hands 

 Anton Jesu Behr

 Amanda Patterson & Anton Behr 

 Anton Jesu Behr with Amanda Patterson Behr At Home 

My centre is where it’s always been, it has a new face that is more groomed than before.

Anton's Vows: 
Amanda–Lee You have made my eyes smile from the moment I met you, you have enchanted me, 
You have Loved me and you have challenged me. You showed me the “lady” was not extinct. 
You made my heart skip a beat You have become my friend and my confidant. My ally and so much of my life. 
You are the Woman to my Man. 
My Alice in wonderland, 
With my Love and my Labour I will cherish you. With my might I will protect you and with my flesh, I will honour you. 
With all I am, I will support and encourage you, to be all that you can, In good times and bad, in sickness and in health. 
I will join myself with you in Mind, Body and Spirit and promise to Love you until we journey on I ask you to make covenant with me, and be my wife. 

~~~~~ 

Amanda's Vows: 
I love you, Anton. You are my friend, my lover, my heartbeat, my sunshine, my safe place. 
You have made me smile from our first hello. I have waited a lifetime for you. 
You have made me beautiful with your words. You have made me kinder with your love. 
I will always love you for the dream you were, and the reality you’ve become. 
I promise that I will support you and inspire you. I will laugh with you, and I will comfort you. I promise that I will love you when life seems easy and when it seems hard. I promise that I will be there when loving seems simple, and when it feels impossible. 
I promise to cherish you, and to respect you. Today and all the days of our life. 
I will treasure your mind and the pleasure it brings me. I will cherish your spirit and the love that shines from deep within you. I will honour your body with mine, and take comfort in our union. 
I promise you this for better or for worse, in times of sickness and health, until death parts us. I love you, Anton. 
10 September 2009

[This article first appeared in Femina : When her son Christopher was three his father died in an unimaginable way. Here is the letter Amanda Patterson promised to write to her son on the eve of his eighteenth birthday.]

‘When will we get another Mark?’ 
Your question undid me. You are five and it is two years since your father died. 
‘Never,’ I answered, with half a smile. I loved the idea of simply ordering a replacement husband for me, and father for you. 
You are sleeping. The sky is a squid ink smudge between the blinds. I am crying. Will I ever make any sense of what happened? 

I promise that I will write you a letter about him when you are 18.

• I'm Cappuccino. He's Chai Tea.
• Sometimes
• Big City Lights by Anton Behr