In love with the idea of writing

I look up at the bookcase above my desk. Between pretty journals and my favourite novels, sit books that thrill me and drive the daydreams cluttered with words, desks, books, quiet alone time, delicious creativity. Daydreams that get  their material from Pinterest, Jane Eyre and writing classes. Some of my treasured books are:

• Writing From Start to Finish - Kate Grenville
• Beyond the First Draft - John Casey
• On Writing Well - William Zinsser
• Writing Tools  - Roy Peter Clark
• Bird by Bird - Anne Lamott
• The Writing Book - Kate Grenville 
• Writers on Writing - James Roberts et all

Vita Sackville-West had a whole tower of her own to write in (and plan her gardens at Sissinghurst)

These same books can also fill me with despair and despondency. They mock me and call me out as a wannabe writer. Days when the words just won't flow, are silly and pathetic, they sound forced and amateurish. These books of wisdom and encouragement just serve to highlight my shortcomings.

Who am I kidding anyway?  Pffft ... writer indeed!

My mind wanders from the daily goal of 1000 words, to blogs, to news stories, to a new email (not to facebook as I have learnt to turn that off!). Chastising myself, I reread the scene I have just written, the one I have been squeezing out of my brain for the last two hours, that little voice in my head telling me the whole time 'this is crap, whoever said you could write, you write like a six year old, silly baby words and all disjointed.' As I try and ignore this voice, I am reading my words, and I don't recognise them as my own. They sound ok, that bits funny, there is a sentence there that really works. 

Encouraged, I go back a few chapters and read some more. It's filled with spelling errors and some terrible grammar, but I like the scene I am reading, I like the character I have created. It gets me excited again.

Taking a break, I read some more of Bird by Bird, and she is writing the exact same thing I was thinking. She thinks her words are crap too, she asks herself who she is kidding being a writer. She tells me that this is all normal and common and part of what being a writer is all about. She tells me to write a 'Shitty First Draft'. To just get the words and the story out of my head. We can fix all the mechanics later.

The voice of negativity pipes up and says 'that's all well and good, but a real writer can WRITE - make beautiful words on the page, they just come to them, their shitty first draft does not look like yours ... they just have to tidy a few things up in the rewrite, not redo the whole bloody thing.'

(I know this is a kids movie, but I love the concept - )

It seems to be a universal thought - you can only call yourself a writer if you have a published and successful book. A real writer can construct perfect sentences and find words that resonate without effort. It's the people who ignore this universal thought who become the writers.

Today I offer that we can all call ourselves a writer - anyone who takes the time to put pen to paper, or finger to key, is bringing their thoughts to life - they are writing!

Can't concentrate - another symptom of anxiety.

My mind is all over the place these days, like the floor of a teenagers bedroom, it's strewn with undone tasks and discarded ideas. A symptom of anxiety, my poor brain feels like a fat kid let loose in a candy store with a bucket and the words "go grab what you want". Shiny and bright things keep grabbing my attention and I turn from each bit of bling to the next.

Today is Friday - Writing Day. 8am. I sit down to the computer to write. My mind is still not quite awake, so I get permission to read a little Facebook while I drink a coffee. I see a link to a great writing piece, or a tutorial on using Scrivener, or a link to a news story, or worse, a link to videos of naughty cats or 10 celebrities that forgot to put on makeup. Distractions galore. 

But once I get to the distraction, then 2 seconds into reading that, I am distracted again. I remember that I need to check my bank account, an email comes in, I see a previously open tab of a website that I wanted to read. I check my calendar. I look up and see all the books on my shelf that I still need to read. I decide that a load of washing needs to be put on. While I am in the laundry, I clean the toilet. Fold the towels from the dyer. Go back to the computer and recheck my emails. Check my chin for stray hairs, decide that a mirror and tweezers are needed. Make another cup of coffee. Empty the dead roses from the vase I pass. Think that I need to go pick fresh flowers ....

I chastise myself. I am meant to be writing. I convince myself that my brain needs waking up and I should do my daily brain training to kick start it. Halfway through, I get a facebook message. I check it. It's a link from a friend to her dropbox. She is on holidays. I start checking her pics and remember that I need to book flights to Sydney. I go to the booking site and an email comes in from my favourite homewares shop and they have a sale!

In under an hour, I have 15 tabs on my browser open, the washing machine on spin cycle, half a comment started on a friends blog post, two books pulled from the shelf and stacked beside my reading chair, a clean toilet, hairless chin and not one single word of writing done.

I can't blame the modern age of information overload entirely. I just can't seem to stick at any one task for more than a few seconds. I know its my anxiety that is causing this, I could not still my mind if my life depended on it right now. The notion of 'Mindfulness' is a far horizon.

Telling myself off and to "just get on with it", I reread what I have started and although I can read the words, they do not make a sentence in my mind. I get stuck on one word, while new and brighter ideas pop into my head. I scream at myself to STOP this!

And then in defeat, I sit in my reading chair with a book in my hand and just stare out the window with nothing but how tired I am on my mind. I catch myself nodding off like an old grandma dog and eventually give in to a nap on the couch.

It has taken me two hours to write this. I won't bore you with the 101 distractions I have succumbed to, not because I care, but because recounting them is a distraction in itself. 

By this afternoon, when I have written no more words to my word count and feel scattered and cast adrift in a sea of overload, I will feel so guilty and disgusted with myself that I will watch crap TV to escape that feeling.  

I want my old mind back. Anxiety sucks!

Feng Shui and Home Office Layout

Never one to really believe in unicorn ideas, I need science to explain to me the unexplained and proof that there is a tangible reason behind it. So Feng Shui at first glance for me falls into the positive thinking will get you everywhere, praying, The Secret, Lucky Bamboo category. Until we bought a house many years ago and when Mr K and I were viewing it, we both felt the same thing and commented how good it made us feel. A year or so living in this house, I received a book on Feng Shui and for giggles, I overlaid the principles on this house.

And you guessed it - this house followed all the basic rules of good Feng Shui. So whether it was just luck, or designed this way, or coincidence, the house certainly felt nice to live in and made for a happy house. It never made us wealthy however! We sold this house as we needed to look after my MIL, but when we designed the house we were to build (the one we still live in) we subconsciously applied some Feng Shui rules. Within reason anyway, the block is a battleaxe and the house is huge with a granny flat so we had space constraints.

So what about my home office? As you may remember, last July we renovated the house, including turning the old guest room into my office. It was the last room done and as I had to be up and working very quickly, it was all put together in a rush and that'll do for now. Over the months, it has been feeling all wrong, but I just ignored this as I am so busy and need to work, not re-arrange furniture. The worse thing was having my back to the door, don't know why but it felt all wrong. (Probably because I am a born sticky beak and I like to know who is walking past my door.)

On Thursday, I had a major assignment due, some work deadlines and yet I had this loud and determined voice shouting at me "You have to move your desk, its bad energy to have your back to the door". I tried to just get on with my work, but I kept drifting off and thinking of a better configuration. Friday I knew how it would be. I would move my desk to the commanding position, so I had a view of the opposite wall (and all my books) a view of the door and a view out the two windows outside to my front porch and garden beyond. I would have a solid wall behind me, for strength. 

With the aid of Son#1 and Mr K, I moved it all around and it does feel better. I feel more creative. Lets see if my grades at Uni reflect this!

Now, according to the experts, I have to get an indoor plant (please not bamboo), an inspirational poster to look at, and pack away all my books, except for ones with uplifting titles......

.... WHAT???  Hang on.  Lost me right there. Pack away my BOOKS? Apparently the edges are poison arrows and harmful. I can keep them only if there are a few, there is some softening of them like an ivy draped over, or some crystals scattered in the book shelves. This is not going to happen, so I guess I have just lost any hope of this being my wealth centre and becoming a millionaire.

Oh well.

The Writer's (or wannabe writer's) Lament

The problems with trying to become a writer -

• The writers lament - no words at all and a white page in front of you.
• Self doubt cleverly disguised as general doubt.
• Not being able to put anything more sophisticated on the page other than - Here is Dick. Here is Dora. See Dora run. (No. No. Even that's not right!)
• Drinking way too much (bad) coffee and Vegemite sandwiches.
• Having great ideas in the shower/toilet/just dozing off and by the time you get a hand to paper, the ideas have vaporised, never to return. 
• You just know those vaporised words were the start of a best seller.

I have done a number of writing classes now. They have all had a recurring message - Good writing is not because of a muse or natural talent, but sheer hard work, daily discipline to sit at the computer (or over a notebook) and perseverance.  Well, there are days when I have to disagree with this notion. Today is one of them. No matter what I try and write, its utter and complete crap. I start a sentence and its pathetic. Cliched, flowery and just boring. The question is - is it that my writing is always like this and its just that some days I am in a hedonistic cloud and don't see it? Or, other days, like today, I have clarity and see it for how it really is?

Gawd, I hope not!

I submitted a short story to the Country Style magazines Short Story Competition today. I wasn't completely happy with it, but the time had come the walrus said. C'est la vie. The theme was Chance. Thought that was a bit funny - fat chance I have!! 

At least, for the moment, I can hide in the shadows of being a student. It's ok, this phase will pass, it always does. 

I googled "writers doubt" and had a trillion hits. Good to know I am not alone. On the plus side, a found a few great writing blogs. I am off to read them and leave the writing for another day Tara.

Overcoming Perfectionism

I got my first assignment back on Saturday. I had been waiting, dreading, waiting, dreading it. I was disappointed with the result - 13/20 - but can honestly say I deserved it and with hindsight, it's more than I should have got. It's still a credit, but that damn little perfectionist voice in my head wanted no less than 20/20. Which is nearly impossible at Uni, especially in the arts.

A battle has raged in my head since that day, but now we have a truce. My first knee-jerk reaction was to give all this up, declare myself a loser, berate my stupidity, tell myself who was I kidding to ever think I could do this. It was a blow for sure, but realism has to be allowed to play the game too. 

So, this is what I learnt (after a good talking to myself):

• It was my first assignment attempted for over 10 years. I am bound to be rusty
• I am here to learn - no point getting a perfect score - means I know it all
• There is plenty of margin to improve
• I have learnt where my weakness's are, and where I need to put energy to improve
• 13/20 is not a failure
• Analytical essays are tricky at the best of times.
• I need to work hard at my technical side of writing - that's what let me down, my ideas and argument where well received.
• I need to use less comma's (my lecturers comment!)

I have a new assessment due on 3rd May. I have done a lot of the research and notes, ready to write a draft today. Then the hard work of editing - this is where writers really earn their keep.

I feel good about this - I overcame my natural tendency to give up when things are not perfect. Maybe I am growing up at last!

Dogs, cats and interuptions

Cat : "That dogs just a suckhole"

It used to be my kids that would stop me working/reading/crafting/being quiet.  Now its the three amigo's - Tommy the border collie, Minty the Maltese poodle and Tyler the mongrel cat.  I swear they get together and plan this out..

I sit down to write.  It's morning, I have an hour to write before I have to start work.  I have fed all three of them.  I have a coffee.  Mr K is still asleep, the neighbours are quiet.  

And it starts.  Cat starts to meow, loudly like he wants to be fed (I am sure he has developed Alzheimer's).  He comes into my office, jumps on my desk and proceeds to walk across my papers, books, keyboard, behind the monitor.  Me telling him off and his backchat just cause Tommy to rush to my office window, jump up on the window sill, scratch his paws down the fly screen and yip.  

Now I am telling off both the cat and Tommy.  They both think they are self appointed police animals and tell each other off as well.  This starts up the geriatric old girl Minty.  She starts yapping and running about in circles.

My once peaceful, quiet morning is now a cacophony of meow, yap and yip with the occasional well timed bark from the baritone.  This is the point I give up, go outside with them all following and bestow attention.

Just like I used to do when my kids were little and I was studying and they wanted my attention.  

Do I have to wait until the animals leave home until I get my own quiet time, free of interruptions?  Or by then will Mr K be retired and wanting me to find his glasses or make him lunch?

I have 4 blog posts, ones that need to be written carefully and thought about, to finish, and every day this performance goes on!! 

"I tell you, its all lies - silly human, I have been in bed the whole time"

"Don't make me get off the lounge to tell you lot off!"

"I am the good boy, yes I am!"

The problem with learning

The problem with learning things, is that it teaches you what you don't know!  There I was tonking along thinking that writing is easy - well sort of.  The hardest part, I thought, was making yourself sit down and pump out 2000 words a day.  The discipline of writing.  Once you had that nailed, you were on the home stretch.   

Wrong.

Turns out that is only one of many things that can stump you.

We are studying ethics at the moment, and what a can of worms it has opened up. As a writer, you have so much to think about.  Here is a quote made by Margaret Atwood when a member of the public asked her about basing characters on people you know.  This is a direct quote from my lecturer ...

I'll share a comment from the wonderful Margaret Atwood, whose interview on stage a couple of weeks ago was a highlight of the Perth Writers' Festival. A member of the audience asked about the ethics of basing characters on people you know and Atwood answered, and I paraphrase: 'Change their names and your relatives probably won't recognise themselves'.  She went on to say that she had received letters from readers, people she had never met, accusing her of putting them in her books. Both comments brought big laughs from the audience.

The characters I am writing about are composites of people I know, myself included.  So how can I avoid this issue of people thinking you are writing about them?  Because as a writer, you do write what you know, I do watch people and how they act and talk to get ideas about a character   And if I only write about myself, then its inevitable that I will encounter people, and therefore be writing about my interactions with them.  Am I destined to only ever write about characters that are wonderful and amazing in case someone I know reads what I write and recognises (or think they do) themselves?  

Tricky.

Maybe this is why SciFi and Fantasy writers went into those genres, they could really make things up.  

Or, maybe, writing under a pseudonym is the answer?

Its all interesting stuff - I am SO loving this study.  

Family - a story from my Mum

Had to send this picture of the maned duck family. The parents stole the chicks from other ducks, even though there was a few days difference in ages. It was hard to count them but I think 32 or 33.  I would see them  on the mothers back and they took turns under her like penguins do in their huddles. The dad doesn't cover them but stands guard and would even attack me if I got too close 

Love Mum xxx

My mum and dad have the joy and privilege to live in the south west, where the soil is black and rainfall plenty.  This picture was taken in their backyard.  They have a little dam that they look after so that the ducks come to breed and raise their young.  I am sure there is a story in this picture, one day I will write it.

People Watching

People watching is, surprisingly, one of my favourite pastimes.  This is surprising as I am quite an introvert and really like my own company rather than be with people.  But this is the point - when I watch I am not being.  I am in another world, a voyeur, a fly on the wall, what they call in writing terms 'omnipresent' which is also a bit god like.  And like a god I find I get very judgmental of people and what I see.  I don't do a lot of smiting tho.  No, I just write it all down.

I make assumptions based on what they wear, how they talk, their action. I make up their stories - but isn't that what writing fiction is all about?  Here are a few notes from my day out in Freo:

• Older women, cargos, airwalker shoes, floppy hat, wanders into the restaurant  uses the loo and then walks out.  Bit cheeky, although I don't blame her, the public loos are disgusting .... and whats with that?  When you have to do a quick tinkle and you are out in public and have no choice but use a public loo (that always stink and you just want to pee and get out) and you use those thigh muscles to hover over the seat without touching and very proud of yourself, when the wee goes on and on and on.  Your muscles get wobbly, you grit your teeth, you become your own personal trainer and say (to yourself, to say it out loud would just be weird) ..come on, you can do it, just hold on a little longer, feel the burn ... and still the trickle goes on.  You try and recall what you have drunk since the last one, so you can gauge how much liquid is actually in your bladder, you come to the conclusion that it was just a cup of coffee and surely you have peed that out by now ... and oh god how much longer, your thigh muscles are burning now, you start to speculate just how dirty that toilet seat really is, discount that and keep your pose.  Finally, you think you have emptied your bladder, and then the pathetic little trickle starts, too much to blot with some loo paper, but annoying and painful in your present state.  Too bad you think, as you grab wads of toilet paper ... at last you can stand up .. except you cant ... your thigh muscles have locked in place and you are stuck, poised over a dirty loo seat.  Or is that just me?
• 
  
• A chubby mother, carrying a chubby child.  Her dress, or skirt or some kind of material is wrapped around her body, covering most bits except her thighs, bum and boobs.  A young man, father/boyfriend/husband trails behind her pushing an empty, expensive pram.  Later I see them - he has gone into a t-shirt shop (Metallica t-shirt anyone?) while she stands in the doorway, boob even more exposed and popped into the plump and content child's mouth.  I am a bit perplexed by this scene, I applaud her for breast feeding her baby but I wish she had arranged the wrap-around haute couture a little more discretely.  But  I am guessing they are a couple not on the hipster scale, but right at home in boganville.
• 
  
• A foreign speaking (French?) skinny, deadlocked, bike rider in the central square, like a child is aimlessly cycling about, round and round, not even going anywhere.  Does he not work?  He looks about 30-35.  Even a tourist would be doing something more productive.  He reminds me of a bored 7 year old.  There seems to be an awful lot of men and women this age doing not much at all.  Does nobody work anymore?

See, its very hard not to be judgmental!   A few stories for me there.

A Day in Freo bags me 4 books and a new journal

I needed a day to myself, to get my head clear, write, read and walk.  It was a bit of a bleak time at work last week, and the long weekend did not completely clear the decks.  I felt cheated of three days off work, that I could have been writing, spent with a panic-attack hangover caused by the job.  So I took a 'sickie' today.  And I have never felt better.

Mr K had an all day conference in the second city of Freo.  We got up early, left early and after an hour and a bloody three quarters, arrived at our destination.  Sure made me feel like I had gone away on a holiday, I wanted my in-flight meal and drink.  As the crow flies it is less than 20kms, we had traveled about 25 as we are not crows.  This took us 1.45hrs.  Eat your heart out West Sydney!

It was early for Freo, 9am.  Not many people were up and about, stark contrast to Perth CBD where 9am is practically lunchtime.  First stop for me was one of the two Elizabeth's Bookshops - a treasure trove of pre-loved books (or maybe some were only one night stands) stacked on floor to ceiling bookshelves, on the floor, on tables in every nook and cranny.  There is a vague organisation, but the fun part is trawling for a treasure.  Found one book here - 

Breakfast next.  Not feeling very brave or bohemian, and the fact that a lot of the hipper places looked closed, I went for the safe and sure Dome Coffee.  With a foccacia, pineapple juice, skinny cap, newspaper, journal and book, before me I had a little private chuckle at the sheer indulgence of it all.  Took me an hour and a half to eat breakfast.

A walk drew me to the second purveyor of books, New Edition. A tall elegant building housing a book shop and a cafe, and bizarrely, as only Freo can do, at the back of the bookstore, a hippy dress/bead/incense shop.  It was bizarre, as the book shop was rather posh, a bit Sydney.  I found two treasures here -

I will do some book reviews on all these at a later date. Anyone have a cold/flu/plague that they can come and sneeze on me so I can stay in bed and read for a few days?

Spent the next  hours just walking, observing, absorbing.  Found the public library and did a bit of reading which inspired me to sit down to write for a while.  Wasn't really hungry by 1pm but felt compelled to leave the library after it got overrun by kids, people with too few shoes and too much (matted) hair and a permeating sound of furious clacking on keyboards on the public computers.  

On 'the strip' I found most eatery's had now opened, again going to for the known, I chose Benny's - a quiet table up the back with a book, journal and Caesar salad.  Does it get any better than this!  I moved on when the staff seemed to be moving tables around me, perhaps I had outstayed my welcome.  Another stroll back to the library, the kids should have gone home for naps by now, and the shoe-less, matted hair lot surely cant concentrate that long.

Found yet another bookshop, Dymocks, and of course another book -

Nice little haul.  A good days gathering.  I spent the rest of the afternoon, waiting for Mr K in the library until I was joined at the writing table by the Bachelor Of the Year - a man whose body and clothes looked (and sadly, for me, and every person within 100 metres, smelt) like they had never seen soap, let alone water.  He wore three hats, each grubbier than the next, and .. get this ... HE tied a handkerchief, well grey rag, over this nose/mouth.  Was he being kind to me as he hadn't brushed his teeth that decade, or was it me who smelt?  Guess its all a matter of perspective!

Moved into the fresh air, and had a very nice and critical time writing about the comings and goings of Freo.

Day rating : 8/10

Phew - tax audit is over...or is it?

I know I have been MIA from my blog this last few weeks.  Always seems to happen this way.  This is whats been going on.

• I get on top of all my work (paid work as opposed to housework - never get on top of that) and start having some quieter days at work
• This gives me a hope that maybe I could study part time and still get all my work done
• I enroll at Uni - Unit 1 of 24.
• I get very excited about it - prepare all my resources  write out a study plan, do a lot of reading, get familiar with how online learning works.  
• By the 1st February, I am all ready for the start day of 25th Feb.
• I wait and look at my tub of sharpened pencils.
• 2nd February, I get a phone call from State Revenue.
• It appears we have drawn the lucky straw and been selected for a 'random' payroll tax audit.
• For anyone not familiar with this money gouge tax, its when a business pays $750,000 or more in wages over a financial year.  Not a lot when you think of how much an average wage is.  The govt take from you, 5.5% of every dollar over this threshold.  Doesn't matter if you made a profit at all that year, not relevant apparently. We didn't   We made a loss.  So keeping on staff while we were quiet is going to cost us.  Lesson learnt, sadly.
• Even though I do keep very good records, always pay what I need to on time  there is still a lot of work goes into collating, getting the documents out of archive, going through SR checklist etc
• I have been working with my accountant and his assistant for weeks now.  Finally we have it all ready to present.
• Yesterday, we had the audit (great timing, the last day of the month is always a busy day for me)
• She said it normally takes anywhere from 4 to 8 hours.
• My accountant presented her with bound documents for each year, collated and with every record she needed.
• She took just under an hour to complete her audit!!
• She gives me a preliminary finding, but I will have to wait for an official one.
• My accountant says to expect to wait up to 12 months for this!!
• I sent wine and chocolates and a hundred thank yous to my amazing accountant.
• We will have a bill for this financial year just gone, but all the other years are fine.
• We wont be employing any more staff, and pay rises are on hold until they raise the threshold.*
• Great incentive huh?  We are just a small business - and we get penalised for employing people.

OK.  Back to my study!

* Which I hate, our staff are like family to us.  Each and every one is valued and a human being.  We understand their problems and would love to be able to help with regular pay rises.  We would also like to keep staff on when things get quiet, but sadly we can't now.  This is how, and why bosses have to be tough.  It sucks.

Where my time not blogging is being spent

This weeks assignment for a writing course (the one I will finish the same week Uni starts!)  was to write a character description, and link this to a life lesson.  I chose my Grandad as he was such an enigma to me.  The parameters of the essay were it had to be 400-500 words (so hard when I had much more to say), we had to use words to create the character, put the character in a physical situation and then join in the life lesson.  It could be essay or fiction.  I might try and write this again as a fictional story.

The upshot is that I am really enjoying the challenges of the assignments.  I start at Curtin Uni next Monday, the first unit is online. But it does keep me away from my blogging, I need to retire from work so I can just write all day!!

Grandad and Grandma - he always loved cats!

My Grandfathers Gift (or Don’t look a Gift Horse in the Mouth?)

My grandfather scared me.  He was gruff and looked like a small wiry pirate. With his ginger, long beard, sea swept face, and thick glasses, he always looked ancient to me.  His fingers were all bent, one of them at right angles, and he always smelt of wood putty and pipe tobacco.  He evoked an air of distance, like the leader of a dog pack, us littlies approached at our peril, especially when he was eating his sharp cheddar and bread.  He was fond of the saying Silence is Golden, something that I never really understood at the time, but I got the gist when he growled it.  Sometimes, he would pay me attention, by picking me up to show me the little blue cuckoo that would spring out of its carved wooden door when the hour hand struck.  If he was in a good mood, he would indulge my request when I said ‘again Grandad’. 

Grandad rarely gave us kids presents, and certainly not when it was expected.  Christmas, Birthday, Easter - we learnt to not ever expect gifts from him.  I never really thought of this until I was older because what we didn’t know did not hurt us.  As I got older, friends would show me amazing gifts they had got from their Grandparents.  One time my best friend received from her Grandma the biggest Easter egg I had ever seen, nesting in a cardboard box with cellophane and ribbons. I wondered why I never got such things.  It was a fleeting thought, certainly never an issue. 

No, Grandad did not spoil us with material things, but as we grew into more independent beings, and I dare say less silly, noisy and sticky, he was more than generous with his time, his careful teachings, his wisdom.  By the time I was a teenager he treated me as a grown-up. I knew this was given as a gift, so I acted as such around him.  I loved just being in his calm, quiet, contemplative company.  He was always doing something interesting, making things with wood, tinkering with tools, in the garden, reading, debating politics or religion.  Even watching him prepare his pipe, was engaging.

He took a keen interest in my horse riding.  He was a man who loved animals and appreciated the skills in handling them.  One day, he turned up at my parent’s farm, with a very pretty little palomino mare, in foal.  She was way too small for me to ride, but he wanted me to teach my little cousins to ride and care for a horse.  This was his gift to me – the temperament and tool to guide and teach the young as he had done in the ways of quiet, steady, consistent patience.  A horse was the perfect gift for this lesson. 

  

Italian Dentists and Writing

This is a representation only of my Italian Dentist - he was WAY better looking than this :-)

Funny where inspiration strikes you.  I went to the dentist yesterday, the last of my appointments to have the black amalgam taken out and replaced with porcelain fillings.  I now have only white fillings and white teeth.  Yay.  No more visits needed other than the 6 monthly cleans and checks.

I always had a real phobia about going to the dentist.  So I didn't go, for a loooong time.  I paid the price however and eventually pain, and Mr K forced me.  I was so terrified that first visit that I actually drew blood as I pressed my hands together.  I had this lovely Chinese lady dentist (Phung) and she was so understanding and kind and she taught me how to meditate and imagine I was somewhere else when I was in the dentists chair.  She helped me for years and eventually I was no longer afraid and went willingly for treatment.  In the beginning, I was so scared, Mr K had to come with me and sit in the room and hold my hand.

I had my happy place I went to each time. It was always laying on a daybed, next to a pool in Bali.  Cool and calm, I would visualise myself reading a book, a fresh watermelon juice laced with vodka next to me.  I got so good at this technique that sometimes Phung would have to bring me round and say, Jodie, we are finished, you can go now.

My Happy Place - hard to be miserable here!

Yesterday, I settled in the dentists chair and tried to go to the Bali day-bed.  My new dentist is a very sexy Italian, he even speaks to his assistants in Italian, so Bali just wasn't cutting it.  He is also a HUGE Springsteen fan and has his music very loud and Joe even sings along sometimes.  Just what I needed - a sexy, singing dentist!  Needless to say, I had all the visualisations right here, I wasn't going anywhere <wink>

Then  the strangest thing happened. The hippy lady who I want to write a book about popped into my head, as clear as day.  She is different to what I first thought she would be, but I like her so much more. Maybe this was why I had trouble starting the book, I had not yet found the right protagonist.  But there she was, in my mind and the first scene of the book.  It was so clear, that I  started to write the words in my head.  

I was so eager to get out of that chair and race home to write, that I didn't hang about and flirt (even just a little) with Joe.  He was asking me to look at my new sparkling teeth (he was very proud of his work) in the mirror and was pointing out the highlights.  I was saying  yeah, yeah, all the while with sentences streaming through my mind.  I must have been crazy!  Who would pass up the opportunity of standing in front of a mirror, with a hunky Italian man very close behind you, paying you the keenest interest (well my teeth anyway)?

I did race home and blurted out the first half of chapter one of my book.  

Wonder if I could go back now and see if Joe wants to still pay me attention!

For the record - I am NOT at all a Springsteen fan - but I wasn't going to say so to Him!

Writing gets in the way of Blogging!

Sorry my fellow bloggers and readers - I have been MIA of late, but the time away has been spent in very pleasurable pursuits - writing courses and endless assignments.  I thought I might share a recent exercise where we had to go through a newspaper and find something to write about.  It had to be 600 words, with only the first 300 submitted and the rest 'summarised' as if we were submitting it to a magazine for publication.  

I found an advertisement in the Real Estate Section at the back of my local paper that had a by-line that just captured my imagination.  

A Permanent Holiday at Home  - Now that sounds just lovely doesn't it?  Perpetually living your life on holiday, all from the comfort and convenience of your own home, no need to even pack.

The advert leading line was in bold type and just below this was added – resort feel inside and out adds to appeal.  A large colour photograph of a sparkling blue pool, waterfall and palms took up most of the page, balanced by a paragraph of text and six smaller thumbnail pictures.  At first glance this seemed a novel idea, a permanent holiday – yes please!  But it was the last two words that made me think again… at home.  Yes it had an inviting ‘resort-style’ pool, tropical gardens, an outdoor entertaining area, a ‘sweeping open plan living area and games room’.   But something just didn't add up.

From certain angles it did remind me of a villa I once stayed in Bali, with palm trees, swimming pool, large, elegant bathroom - very resort-style indeed - but with a Bali twist, namely beautiful Balinese staff to wait on my every need.  

“Ah, good morning Mrs Jodie.  You want pancake for breakfast today?”

“Yes, Wayan, that would be lovely, thank you.”

“You want fresh pineapple juice Mrs Jodie?”

“For lunch today, Made make Pad Thai, you happy about that Mrs Jodie?”

On goes the day; after breakfast a swim in the (clean) pool, coming back to a freshly made bed and the house maids washing the floor.

“Sorry Mrs Jodie, be finish soon.”

Get my book and go and recline on a daybed in the gardens, all lovingly tended by a team of gardeners raking, watering, weeding.  Later in the day, maybe a facial or a massage.

That is what I call a holiday.  So, tell me more about this house for sale that will be a permanent holiday home?

I can see a chef’s kitchen with no chef in it.  Does this indicate that I will be doing my own cooking?  I see a very white and sparkly bathroom – it got that way by some hard work and spit – who comes in to ‘do your room’?  The pool looks lovely in the picture now, but how much time will be spent vacuuming, scooping, tinkering to keep it that way?  Same goes for the gardens.  All that sweat, effort and dirt don’t spell holiday.  Also noted is a laundry and clothes line – which would indicate that white towels and clean sheets would not just be miraculously appearing on the bed.

I have perused the photo’s in the adverts very carefully and not seen any spa treatment brochures or room service menus, so I am beginning to doubt the honesty of this advert.  No mention of the number of staff this comes with, no mention of what time breakfast tomorrow is.

It’s a long bow being pulled I think.  I am starting to get the distinct impression that this is just an ordinary home, that will cost me $750,000 for the privilege of doing it all for myself in a home that just looks like a resort.  By my calculations, for the same money, my husband and I could live in Bali for 20 years – as if we really were on a permanent holiday.  No brainer really.  I can pretend 20 years is pretty permanent.  I don’t think we will be making an offer.

Well ... I pressed 'enrol'

A BIG thank-you to Jacana for her kind words and the last bit of encouragement she gave me.  It gave me a big boost and propelled me into giving this a red hot go!  I enrolled right after I read your comment.  Thank you xxx

I feel pretty daunted now, a whole host of things running through my (very foggy) mind.  Yesterday I pressed the enrol button on Unit 1 of a 24 unit Bachelor of Arts (my Son#1 said ... "oooh Mum an 'arts' student" - never thought of that, I always see writing as far more serious!  But then, when I think of art I think of this Art Review)  

Some rambling thoughts, to try and clear my mind, which is still full of whatever sinus infection/allergy/nasal thing I have:

• The first unit is, surprisingly, called An Introduction to Writing.  
• I start on the 25th February, which works out well as the week before, I should complete my current online course.
• It's all very exciting, and thrilling and I have a million stories and themes running through my head already.  
• It all feels very jumbled for the moment, but the excitement is there.  
• Wish I felt this excited for other things in my life.  
•  I have bought 3 brand new pads of Executive Lined Paper - it makes me feel very grown up.
• I have filled the jelly bean jar on my desk.
• The enrollment details say this unit should take 10 hours a week - I suspect it will be more.
• Did I mention how excited I was?

New Online Writing Course starts today

Writeriffic: Creativity Training for Writers

Is the new course.  Six weeks, 12 lessons and a portfolio to submit at the end.  I loved the last course I did, so enrolled for this one too.  

So far, I have completed lesson 1 - terrible assignment however - I am meant to read a book!!  How simply awful   So to punish myself further, I chose two books - I am nothing but an over-achiever.

Book #1 - Writers on Writing.  Have read this before, so know how it ends, but I will do my homework like a good girl.  This is the Australian edition, and as I am the only Aussie in the (online) class, I guess I will have to talk to myself about the book.  Wonder if I will agree with myself?

Book # 2 - The Writers Guide - spot the theme here?  The subtitle is -
a companion to writing for pleasure or publication - I guess if you are going to pursue the solitary occupation of writing, then you are going to need a companion - hope he's good looking - I can't fake pleasure if he's not!

The other part of the first assignment is to go out and buy a writers journal!  Boy, talk about throwing us into the deep end.  Reading and buying journals - what next - I expect it will be making us write.

Whilst all this is going on, I also have my finger hovering over the submit button for the first unit at Curtin Uni in a Bachelor of Arts (Professional Writing and Editing).  I have been researching all the Uni's for their writing courses and Curtin seems to come up trumps.  Plus I am able to start it, and do a lot of it, online.  

I have to commit to at least 10 hours per week per unit.   24 Units, at four units per year, will take me six years!  I am pretty sure I can do this, just have to stop doing extra things, like washing, cooking, cleaning - you know the little things.  Think I can manage that.  Enrollments end on 10th February, until then I am going to mull it over for a week or so - I don't want to start something I am not going to finish.

It's very exciting however.

No Resolutions - Just a Saying

Last year my mantra, or words to live by was "Do Less Better".  It was a very effective way to keep me focused on what mattered and to make me slow down enough to enjoy life.  Everytime I felt rushed or life was overwhelming I would say to myself 'do less better'.  It really worked.

I have been trying to think of one for this year that is as effective.

It's hard, as my mind has been clouded by Mr K and I working on the principals for our business - 3 or 4 key words that we can share with our staff as their words to live at work by.

The three we have so far are :

Simple
Efficient
Accurate

But when it comes to my own personal one, I am a little stumped.  I said I would make 2013 the Year of Writing, but that is not a mantra. 

But then I saw the post-it note on my monitor and it said 'Show, Don't Tell' and I knew that was it.  This is a writing term that makes you use your words to show what you want to say, not spoon feed the reader.  So more description, more visualisartion, more care with every word.

For my blog, this could also mean taking more pictures which will make my photography better.

It also can stand for my life outside writing.  Show the people I love how much I care instead of just telling them.  Show my staff how things should be done, don't tell.  In other words, lead by actions not just words.

So, in this Year Of Writing I will Show not tell.

Careful what you wish for!

Have felt like I have been pulled in seven different directions the last few weeks.  So much to do, half of which is my own making - I wished I could be a writer.

So, three weeks ago I enrolled in an online writing course through UWA Extension.  It was a six week course with 12 lessons.  Each lesson has about 5 chapters, each with a number of writing exercises.  Plus a quiz and an assignment, and lots of extra reading.  You post your assignment onto an online discussion board for critique by fellow class members and the lecturer.  You are also expected to read and comment on your fellow class mates work. 

Love every single minute of it, but it sure takes a lot of my time.  Add to this, a few all day writing workshops, that annoying habit, called a full time job, housework, gardening, Christmas looming, and it all makes me a very busy girl.

My dear blog, the thing that has saved my slipping sanity, gets the cold shoulder.  I don't mean to, and yes, it makes me feel very guilty.

On top of all this, I have some kind of sinus infection. Its been with me for weeks now.  I thought it was just hay fever set off by the easterlies.  Some days are better than others, the worst days make it so hard to think I need a Bex and a good lie down.  Actually, the drug I am taking that has stamped on the box in bold 'Non-Drowsey' makes me so sleepy its like I have taken a sleeping tablet. 

I wished I could be a writer and write all day. Now I know I need to change the wish to, I wish I could do nothing else but write.  Geez, why cant magic genies who grant you wishes use a bit of common sense?  When I wished I could be a writer, they could have made the assumption that I couldn't do it all and cut out the non-writing things in my life.