#3 Make a Wish list Collage

So I'm a day late with my second post for the Odd May Blog Challenge. But this is the brilliance of the idea in that you post every second day so being a day late can totally work. Well that's my story and I'm sticking to it ...

Anyway a collage of my wish list? Well I could have gone all out and made it a big craft project which would have been fun and is perhaps something I should do one day. Whether you call it a vision board or a collage or whatever there are some major positives in creating a visual reminder of what you want from life.

But instead I decided to make something digital using some photos and text. It was simple to put together and I knew if I planned anything too ambitious it probably wouldn't get done.

I also decided to limit it to a few things. I mean there is nothing wrong with wishing for a mansion or a million dollars and things like that but I wanted to narrow it and think about a few things that are simple but still very much wanted. I decided also to go with the first few things that came into my mind - no censorship.

So here is my collage.

My small wish list is for me to:

1. Travel more. I love travel and hope to see a lot more places before I die. The picture is from a recent trip to Japan.

2. Have more pain free days. Given my health conditions ( fibromyalgia amongst others) I find myself always wanting more pain free days where I can get things done. I know every day won't be a pain free day but a few more would be nice!

3. A claw foot bath. I've always wanted one. I love taking baths. They are the ultimate in pampering and luxury for me and I would love a traditional looking claw foot bath in a huge bathroom.

4. More visits to the Theatre. My first real writing gig was for a Theatre website (www.theatrepeople.com.au) and as much as I've always enjoyed the theatre there are so many shows out there just waiting to be seen by me. If I could I would go every week! But maybe once a month or so is doable. Let's see.

5. My own gorgeous study or library or both combined. I'd love something that looks like it came from an old English drawing room full of history and character. It would be wonderful even if it would probably not go with the decor in the rest of the house!

So there you have it. Will see you again tomorrow for #5 - well hopefully tomorrow!

#The Meaning Behind Your Blog Name

This could prove to be a rather dull tale I'm afraid. My blog name is simply to be consistent with my identity as a writer. So it's basically my name.

But I can at least explain the  'Wordsmith' part. I wanted to have one word that would describe me as a writer that I could use across all platforms and that was a little bit different.

Writer was too obvious and I haven't written a book yet so author would be confusing (I've written short stories).

So I wanted a word to encompass all the writing I do and the love of the written word I have. So wordsmith popped into my head. I've often wondered if it sounds a bit pretentious but I don't really care now.

I love the old fashioned nature of the word and the alliteration is cool. Shame my first name doesn't start with a W really ...

I have an inner toddler who HATES editing!

Sometimes I think that deep down inside me there is a toddler that hates to edit and she really wants to break out and make her displeasure known.

The other day I had finished my first draft of a piece and noticed that it was twice the number of words it needed to be. I didn't have a chance to be in shock or think of a solution before that little toddler wanted to throw a complete tizzy and have a meltdown. I wanted to scream, 'Noooooo! I am not going to shorten it. They will just have to deal with it as is!'

Of course I didn't actually have a physical meltdown and I did not even cry. Suddenly I felt like the parent having to explain to the toddler why that initial reaction really wasn't helpful.

So I explained to myself that words counts were in place for a reason. That a first draft is always going to be long and need editing and that there was sure to be loads of stuff that could be cut. Once edited the piece would be much better.

So the toddler sighed and sullenly agreed to scroll back to the beginning and start reading in preparation for the editing process.

So I gave myself the pep talk.... Stick to the angle… if it doesn't fit with the angle then cut it. Don't say the same thing twice ... then got to work. Of course I halved it and of course it did read better. 

There was a time years ago when I could not tame that toddler and I wrote pieces that were not tight enough and thus were not the best they could be. I think learning to tame that toddler was a turning point for me as a writer. 

Of course it may be that I am just a little bit crazy ... but then again I think that helps me as a writer too!

Do you have an inner toddler that wants to fight the editing process?

Writers - why not give a character an unusual phobia? There are so many to choose from!

There are so many more phobias in existence than I ever thought possible. I found out in an unusual way. I was mucking around with one of those apps for writers where you can look through lists of names, occupations, body types and all sorts of things supposedly to help you get over any writers block that has you wondering - 'just who is the character?' Or else when on page 63 you suddenly think you need to know the occupation of one of your characters and for the life of you can't think of one ...

So anyway there's an app for that. But what this app can also provide you with is a list of phobias. What if you decide one of your characters should have a phobia? I mean spiders is a bit obvious as is heights. So instead why don't you try finding an unusual phobia even if the particular phobia you choose might never actually become at all relevant in your story? Here's a few ideas to get you started.

How about auroraphobia? Which is the fear of the Northern Lights. Presumably this happens to people who live where the northern lights can be seen and have some terrible childhood memory of thinking the lights indicated the sky was falling or something. So the minute they were old enough they fled to more southern areas of the globe and now tell everyone they meet of their terrible phobia and how it nearly ruined their life. Or maybe people simply develop the fear spontaneously never having seen the Northern Lights ...Which poses its own set of problems.

How about barophobia? That's fear of gravity - no I didn't make that up. Where are these people? How do they survive from day to day?

Then there is something that some of you might actually relate to which is syngenesophobia; the fear of relatives. Thinking of setting your book around Christmas time? What a perfect phobia for someone to have. The hilarious scenarios write themselves.

Now here's a good one - xanthophobia which is the fear of the colour yellow or the word yellow. Throw in a scene featuring a beloved childhood big bird toy along with a disastrous visit to a paint shop. Or else an unsuspecting partner suggesting Yellow as a safe word? Pizza and Movie night? Just remember nothing with Minions in it. It is probably also a good idea to hide that Minions onesie.

Then there is plutophobia; a fear of wealth which would be an interesting one. At least you could actually introduce a character happy in a low paying job they love. There’s a character you could do something with. His plutophobia might mean he is constantly giving away his possessions much to the disgust of his other half ... If he has one.

Now how do you make someone housebound? Perhaps you need a device in order for them to require someone else to do all the leg work but agoraphobia is too obvious? Simply give them a fear of walking or ambulophobia. This could work too if you have an ongoing theme of delivery drivers you want to introduce into the story.

You could try for irony and have an archaeologist as a protagonist who tragically suffers from atephobia - fear of ruin or ruins. Or a farmer with alektorophobia - which is a fear of chickens. What about a lighthouse keeper with climacophobia - fear of stairs, climbing, or of falling downstairs? Then again it would be easy to slip in a character who suffers from epistemophobia - fear of knowledge as I believe many people in the world seem to suffer from that ... Alas.

Not quite sure how you could write this one in - euphobia which is a fear of hearing good news but it should be easy to have someone with ergophobia or a fear of work - especially if you fancy writing a few good arguments.

Let's face it - you name it and someone somewhere has a phobia of it. Fear of wind, flowers, and garden gnomes to name just another 3. All manner of things send otherwise ordinary people into a spin. All writers need to make their characters interesting. They need to have flaws or eccentricities, face challenges and even have severe emotional conditions in some cases. So why not throw in an unusual phobia? At the very least it will give your agent or editor a good laugh. 

A top writing tip that could lead to an hilarious scenario

I recently read one of those ten tips pieces written by someone who presumably has been there and done that and knows ways to make life more productive. One tip made sense but also made me laugh at the potential consequences.

That tip was to go on strike when you write. That means you do nothing else. No cooking, no fetching, no washing, no playing uno with the kids, nothing. So basically you sit and write and tell everyone to look after themselves.

I can't help but imagine what would occur in some households if this were to happen. The poor cat would feel starved and neglected so basically sit on your head while you try to write and dig their claws in. If you lock them out of the room the relentless scratching at the door will drive you mad and you may also need to drive to Bunnings for things to repair the door.

You would have kids helping themselves to biscuits and cereal and spreading it all over the house. Every light in the house would be on and every TV on and at full volume. Piles of dirty washing would make a trail though the house that may or may not lead to the laundry.

Plus I'm assuming the writing can be left for brief moments? So you would have to tip toe past the mess and kids and crazy cat to go to the loo. Coffee making? Surely you couldn't go on strike to the point you couldn't operate the coffee machine? That wouldn't be right. So you block out all the requests for food and pleading for help with craft projects and getting past the boss level on a game to use the coffee machine. Only no milk, or sugar or coffee... So who will pop to the shop while you are on strike? 

In all seriousness though it could be a good idea if used with obvious limits that don't allow for colourful scenarios as above (which is of course what the writer intended). You could take chunks out of certain days, have coffee and biscuits by your side and 'go on strike' for a few hours. It would not be nearly as hilarious though.

It's funny but I already do that only its when the Wests Tigers are playing. I go on strike for the full 80 minutes. At half-time I will listen to non rugby league related items briefly if necessary and put the kettle on or pour wine. Otherwise unless it's life threatening it must wait till Full-time. Maybe it is time I tried that with my writing too?

What useful time management tips do you use? Or alternatively what are some silly ones you've heard?  

    

              The owner of this house was a writer that went on strike 

               ( statement may be untrue ...) 

The Xmas Tree Run - Xmas Tree #KellsWritingChallenge

Well I'm one day late with the final prompt. I hope I'm forgiven. I hesitated to share this but figured why not? I wrote this short story many years ago. I think maybe 15-20 years ago. For some reason after I had written the prompts I just knew I had to dig it out! I've had a quick read through and edited some obvious errors. Otherwise... It is as it was... So please be kind! 

The Christmas Tree Run

Doug heard the truck before he saw it. It always made that same loud croaking sound as though every turn of the wheel was an effort. Old Mike was always tinkering with it. Every Sunday afternoon he was under it, looking under the bonnet or washing it. Funny thing was it always looked the same; old, dusty and out of condition.

Mike pulled up to a sudden halt and almost ran over Doug's foot. Doug was used to it though, Mike's driving was notorious. He stepped back just in time. A bit of mud splashed on his boots but he paid no heed. He held his jacket to him firmly as he prepared to step into the truck.

The evening was damp and cold despite the season and Doug was pleased to get out of the weather, even if it was into Mike's old, unreliable truck. The smell he noticed straight away was dog; he turned his head and saw Cobber curled up on the back seat, sleeping soundly. Did Mike ever give that dog a bath? Actually he wondered whether Mike ever bathed himself. Tonight he looked much like he usually did. He had a big oversized grey coat on which he wore everywhere. Doug suspected it had once been white or cream coloured. Mike's eyes looked through heavy lids; he smoked continuously and thus always smelled of it. His boots were always muddy and his hair was greying more every day. He was wearing his usual bright smile though. He had a good heart underneath it all.

Mike had the radio on, a country station. He was known to sing along but Doug cautioned him that they were on a mission tonight and they should try and be quiet, noises from the truck notwithstanding.  Mike turned the radio off. Doug breathed a sigh of relief. He was not in the mood for Mike’s singing.

The next pick up was Sam. He always came along on the trip every year even though he did nothing but complain about Christmas. Everything was too much bother for too little return. He needed a tree though; his wife would kill him if he did not get a tree for Christmas.

They might not be able to afford much else but all the families in the town would have a tree. All thanks to Mike, Doug and Sam doing the run through the forest in Mike's old truck. It had become something of a tradition. Even in the years that the crops were good and people had money, which were few and far between, they still did the Christmas tree run.

Sam was waiting impatiently. They could see him moving from foot to foot as though he was under orders not to stand still. Mike pulled up abruptly and Sam jumped in the back, earning himself a dirty look from Cobber.

'Get out of it' Sam gestured to the dog, who was stretched out over most of the back seat but Cobber stayed put. Sam squeezed in next to him. He knew better than to argue. 'You took your time. A man could freeze to death out there waiting for you mob' Sam complained

'Shut up Sammy, I got here didn't I? Anyway it aint cold, just nippy' Mike stated.

They headed off in the usual direction, which meant driving out of town. This did not take long - there was not much town. They proceeded cautiously, by Mike’s standards anyway, as there were no streetlights farther than a certain point and the roads could be dangerous. Mike declared he knew them like the back of his hand but that did not stop Sam and Doug clutching the sides of their seats or anything else that came to hand whenever Mike took a corner. Even Cobber kept shifting closer to Sam.

‘Ok, Usual place then?’ Mike said the same thing every year. The others nodded and grunted at him.

‘Nearly there’ said Mike after they had driven for another five minutes or so. Cobber barked at nothing in particular and Doug assumed he had heard and was happy that the trip would be soon be ending.

‘What was that?’ Mike said startled.

‘It was your bloody dog you idiot’ Sam replied

‘No not that! I’m not that bloody stupid, I thought I heard a car’

‘A Car? Who else other than us would be so stupid to be out here in the middle of the night?’ Sam asked, shaking his head.

Doug was keeping out of it. Every year it was the same. Mike always heard something and got spooked.

‘It could be the cops, they might be on to us’ Mike said as he kept looking around almost as though he was expecting someone to pop up at the window.

‘You say that every year Mike and it’s never the cops’ Doug had to say something. In any case it was a bit overboard to talk about ‘the cops’ where they lived. There were two policeman and both would be sound asleep in their beds.

‘Yeah well, it could be them. They have nothing much else to do and I’m sure that new sergeant was looking funny at me yesterday’

‘Everyone looks funny at you Mike’ Sam laughed.

‘Cheeky sod’ Mike said under his breath. That was the end of the scare for this year Doug hoped.

 The car stopped and they all got out. Cobber jumped out excitedly and raced into the clearing. Mike was unperturbed ‘He’ll be back’

The three men lifted the axes out of the back of the car and each took a large torch. Doug was first to shine his torch and find a circle of trees that would make perfect Christmas trees. ‘Over here’ he called, ‘Have a look at these beauties’

‘Golly they get better every year, I reckon these will reach the ceilings by Christmas day’ Sam stated.

They got started and chopped down six of the perfect Christmas trees. Sam gave up after one tree as his hand was giving him ‘gip’. Something it seemed to do whenever there was hard work involved.

‘How many do we need Sam?’ Doug called out as he wiped his brow; he was not cold anymore.

‘Ten. Mrs. Daley wants one this year.’ Sam replied, checking his tatty notebook.

‘ I thought she hated Christmas?’ Mike asked perplexed. He was loading what they had cut down onto the back of the truck. He noticed one that was smaller than the others and made a mental note to give that one to Mrs. Daley.

‘Yeah well she has not been the same since that last stroke has she? She even waved at me the other day.’

‘Funny that. When my old Nan had a stroke she turned into a real crabby old bag and she had always been really nice.’ Mike said.

Sam laughed ‘Yeah I guess that what happens after you have a stroke, your personality reverses.'

They all laughed but Mike stopped short. ‘What was that?’ He stopped dead in his tracks and flashed his torch every which way.

Sam and Doug cracked up laughing. 

‘Nothing you fool, even if it was something do you think shining your torch around like that is gonna help? They are probably coming for us now because you showed em where we are!’ Doug was trying hard not to laugh as he spoke.

‘Yeah whatever, lets just get this finished’. Mike was obviously embarrassed.

Sam must have been in a good mood as he picked up an axe to help and they got the job finished within no time.

Mike whistled for Cobber who came running and dived onto the backseat and spread out before Sam had a chance to get in. ‘Bloody dog’ Sam quipped.

Doug offered to swap seats but Sam declined. Doug often thought that Sam just liked having something to complain about.

They headed back into town and Mike was on the look out as his paranoia rose to new heights. Sam and Doug kept tapping the seat just to see Mike jump and repeat his ’they are coming to get us’ routine. 

They arrived at the edge of town and Mike slowed down. ‘Where to first?’ He asked

‘Old Harry’s place is closest’. Sam replied. He was right; they went to Harry’s place first every year.

Mike reversed the truck into Harry’s driveway and Doug got out and placed a tree behind the Car Port. No light came on. Harry could sleep through anything. They continued to do the same in each house that wanted a tree.

They were down to three trees. One for each of them. Doug was exhausted and was glad that Mike was dropping him home first. He reached over to pat Cobber and got out and unloaded his tree.

‘See you tomorrow for a beer’ He said as he closed the truck door.

‘Yep’ Sam replied and Mike nodded.

They headed back towards Sam’s and little was said, as they were both tired. Mike’s head pricked up and Sam was about to laugh when he saw the headlights in the rear view mirror.

Sam gulped ‘I think they want us to pull over Mike.'

‘Yep, I reckon they do’ Mike was surprisingly calm.

Mike pulled over. Sergeant Walsh pulled up behind them and got out of his car. He left the headlights on and they shone brightly. Sam wanted to cover his eyes. He was reminded of scenes in the movies where the police would blind people with lights to intimidate them. It worked.

Every step the policeman took felt like an eternity. Sam did not dare look at Mike, as he feared he might start laughing. He looked down at his feet as though he was trying to hide. Mike clutched the steering wheel and took deep breaths. Only Cobber spoke, he did not like the headlights either.

‘Hey, Mike isn’t it?’ The sergeant put his head through the passenger window, which Mike had opened in anticipation of this.

‘Yep and this is Sam’ Mike gestured to the back seat without turning his head; he could have been referring to Cobber.

‘Yeah'  the sergeant smiled and nodded, 'I've seen you both around but what with trying to get to know people since I moved here I haven’t had the chance to speak to everyone’ His tone was friendly, jolly even. Both Mike and Sam sat rigid totally unsure of what to say or do.

‘Well anyway Mike, I tried to get your attention yesterday but you mustn’t have seen me. I would like a tree.’ the sergeant stated simply.

Mike and Sam both stared at him blankly. 'A Tree? For Christmas?’ It was Mike that had gathered his composure first.

‘Um, yes... If that's okay? I suppose you don’t have any spare?’ The Sergeant looked hopeful.

Mike took a minute gulping again; somehow he found his voice,  ‘Of course Sarge. We will follow you home and you can have one of the spares on the back’ Mike managed, trying not to laugh...or cry.

‘Cheers gents, I will show you the way’. The sergeant got back in his car and Mike waited for him to take off so that he could follow.

Sam found his voice; ‘Spares!! What bloody spares? They are our trees!’

‘I bloody well know that. Did you think I should say no? To a copper? Who wants a tree that he knows as well as everybody damn else in this town that we got illegally?' Mike had been driving as he spoke. He was not entirely sure where the new sergeant lived but hoped it was close.

‘Yeah I suppose, But he ain’t having mine’. Sam was adamant

‘Whatever Sam, I’m willing to give mine up. Sal wants to buy one of those plastic ones this year anyway – she reckons they make really nice big ones and you can just pack em away and bring em out each year.'

Sam shook his head. A plastic tree from the shop? Whatever next! 

They arrived at the sergeant’s house and dropped off the tree among promises to meet up for a drink.

Driving back to Sam’s, Mike was quiet. He pulled into Sam’s driveway and refused to help his friend unload his tree.

‘See you tomorrow for a beer around lunch?' Sam asked through the passenger window as he held the tree precariously.

‘Yep, sure thing. Hey Sam?’ Mike called as Sam had started to walk off.

‘Yeah?’

‘Did you find that new copper kinda weird.'

‘Weird?’

‘Yeah, you know...friendly like’

‘Twas a bit odd I suppose, but we should be bloody thankful!' Sam scratched his head with his free hand. 'I mean next year we won’t have to worry about going in the bloody dark if we have the bloody local copper wanting a tree!’ 

‘Dunno about that one Sam’ Mike stated seriously, shaking his head. Sam waited for Mike to say more, but he didn't. He waved, not very enthusiastically, and drove away noisily. How did they ever think they could do anything covert in that truck? 

It had been a weird night that was for certain. Sam went inside and put the tree in the living room and actually smiled. He couldn't wait to see Doug and tell him what had happened. He couldn't help but wonder if their annual tradition was suddenly over. But no, the annual Christmas tree run was not at end, Mike had a whole year to come up with some new danger.

.

Best Ever & Roller Coaster #KellsWritingChallenge

Day 8 & 9 

Best Ever and Roller Coaster...

Hmmmm I've given myself a job here. How do I combine these two things into one blog post or story? Serves me right for not writing about best ever yesterday! I could tell a story of how spending a day at a theme park going on a roller coaster was the best ever day of my life but I would be lying... So it would have to be fiction..

No when I think of best ever I don't think of roller coasters or theme parks for that matter. Sorry to say. A few things come to mind. Like when you are child everything is pretty much the best ever. A certain toy you long for and finally get for xmas, riding on a bus or train, going on holiday to...well anywhere really. A certain birthday would be the best ever.., until the next year came around and managed to beat it!

Then at some point we stop thinking like that. We take everything for granted. Gifts and holidays we suddenly see as boring or not cool. We don't appreciate a good birthday cake, or a simple scenic train journey. But it's a part of growing up I suppose. Because at some point we change again and write things like this because we realise that we need to start celebrating the little things in life and taking joy in so many different things.

Even now with all these years behind me and places I've stayed, put me in a hotel room and I get crazy excited. Just like a child. I grew out of it when I was a teen then at some point in my twenties I suddenly realised it was ok to feel child like glee over something simple. So pop me in a hotel room and I check out everything; the little bottles of toiletries come home with me, I have to check out  what label tea and coffee they offer, I may even bounce just a little bit on the bed... Maybe each time isn't quite the 'best ever.' But at least I'm enjoying myself! 

It would be tough to pick out one best ever day or year or time of my life. I just think the best ever thing in life is to be grateful, laugh, love and enjoy as much as we can.  Of course not every day will be great. There will be bad times. Ok here it comes.., like is one big roller coaster. There are highs and lows, there is anticipation, things move too fast or go too slow, sometimes you laugh and sometimes you scream. Sometimes you just want life to stop so you can get off. Sometimes you just wanna throw up...

But mostly we have a lot to be thankful for, even when things are not going so well. We can be kind to ourselves in the down times and know that a best ever moment might be just around the corner. 

There we go then... Best ever and roller coaster.., I didn't think I could go it! 

The High Road #KellsWritingChallenge Day 7

Day 7 - The High Road

So I have written a poem. Promise to laugh with me and not at me. This is not my forte! But I wanted to give it a try and this just seemed like the ideal prompt. Hope you are all enjoying the challenge!

The High Road 

Two roads

so the story goes

One takes you somewhere

the other, nowhere

Choose

right or wrong

the fork, the intersection

twists and turns

What if both are safe, 

or not?

Walk past the fallen rocks,

Through the ferocious storm

The High road

The Low road

the right one

the wrong way

Choose carefully

or not at all

Simply go forth

Take a step

Get there in the end

high or low, fast or slow

Just keep going

Moving on   

Day 6 Outside #KellsWritingChallenge

Day 6 - Outside 

Outside the house, outside the box, standing on the outside looking in. So many different things came to mind when I thought of the word 'outside.' Outside the house is probably the most positive. We go outside to get fresh air, feel the breeze, see the blue sky or alternatively the starry sky at night.

In fact why don't I do that more often? I love sitting outside and looking up at the night sky. I'm ashamed to say I cannot recognise any constellations. I tend to make up my own, though they are rarely very imaginative. 'Look if you join that one and that one and that one its a giant triangle! How cool!' Yeah not very creative I know! 

So going outside can have many positive connotations. Think about going outside for the first time in years? Perhaps you have been ill or gaoled for a crime you didn't commit. 

I read recently about a man being released from prison after serving 27 years. It was discovered he was not guilty after all. Imagine when this man walks outside for the first time unshackled? Everything will be vivid, a blessing. Things we take for granted such as feeling the grass under our feet, feeling the sun on our face, a cool breeze on a warm day will be magical to him. Walking along a busy street and stopping to browse would seem like a great adventure.

So yes going outside. That's what I'm going to focus on today. Not desperately trying to think out of the box or being so different that you are an outsider.  Instead I will think of starry nights, a smiling moon, cool breezes, birds chirping in trees overhead; wondering if you may well be a victim of bird poop landing on you...Yes even that is positive. It is supposed to be good luck after all! 

There's No Time Like the Present #KellsWritingChallenge Day 4

Day 4 - There's No Time Like the Present.

Right now, in this moment, I should be getting up. Instead I feel rooted to the spot or as though I'm strapped to the bed. I want to get up and do what I have to do but I just can't. Of course I could simply ignore what I have to do... Just as I have the last few days. Putting it off, procrastinating, thinking tomorrow will be just fine. One day won't make a difference right?

So here I am in this moment, my hair messy, my nightie crumpled, my face no doubt pale and tired. I dare not look. I have the covers half on and half off; somehow it keeps you from being too hot or too cold. I can see the sunshine streaming through the gap in the curtains. No way to hide in the dark. I manage a bodily movement and cover my eyes with my forearm and take a deep breath. Am I still in the present? Everything I just thought is in the past now. What does my future hold?  How strange to be lying here, tired, immobile, a sick feeling in my stomach and just casually philosophising. 

I suddenly realise that the past is not something that happened a hundred years ago. Well it is but that's not all it is. My thoughts are now in the past. How long does the present last before it becomes the past? A few seconds? Minutes? Hours? There's no time like the present, the old saying goes and in this case it is correct. I should be doing what I have put off for so long. But what is the present? Once you think something then that thought is immediately in the past.

Perhaps it is better to think that something should be done in the future... The immediate future perhaps but it will be the future. Too much pressure to expect anyone to do something so taxing in the present.

Well my future awaits! So I throw back the covers and leap out of bed in one swift move. Like taking off a bandaid, it was easier to do it quickly and in one go. I head to the kitchen and without even thinking, put the kettle on and reach for a cup. I almost do what I have done every other day this past week and ignore my favourite mug, the one I feel I can no longer use. But instead, today I  grab it quickly. Avoiding it was the same as avoiding the task I must perform.

As the kettle noise rises, reaching its trembling crescendo, I find myself suddenly remembering my childhood, before electric kettles. There was something quite magical about dragging a heavy kettle to the stove top and using a match to light the flame underneath. The little hat in place that would whistle ferociously once the water was at boiling point. Why were electric kettles better? Quicker perhaps? Cheaper to run? I don't know, I just know I went with the flow like everyone else. No living in the past. In the present we use electric kettles. The future? Who knows. Maybe I might buy an old fashioned one, Polish it every day as my old aunt had.

I make my tea, the heady aroma almost making me feel better, calming me slightly. I tremble though when I lift the mug and spill a little. Enough procrastination though. I need to get to it. No time for changing or a shower; I just head to my office and turn the computer on, sipping hot tea as it boots up.

  

I have been putting this off for so long but no more so than this morning. Philosophical conversations with myself about what constitutes the past or the present. I was somehow in my past, present and future all at once. All these clever thoughts don't change the truth that I do need to act now... If I need to see it as the future then so be it.

So I open my email program, ignore the inbox and click on the compose icon. I sip some tea, my heartbeat suddenly galloping. In my immediate future I will write and send this letter. I will, I must. So I take a deep breath and start to type, 'Dear John...' 

#KellsWritingChallenge Chocolate Cake!

Day 3 - chocolate cake 

 

There is so much I could say about chocolate cake. I could try and describe the taste, texture or aroma. I could describe the feeling of expectation when you order it or make one, or the slightly ill feeling you get when you have eaten what you thought was just a small slice.

But you know when I think about chocolate cake I remember when chocolate cake was not really chocolate cake. When I was young a chocolate cake was basically a plain cake with cocoa added to it. It was a chocolate flavoured cake. It kinda looked like chocolate but it wasn't really. Then one day someone somewhere introduced the concept of mud cake where you actually put real chocolate in and my life changed! 

It may seem strange to some of you but I didn't much like cake as a child. Birthday parties were tough going. I didn't like icing and I didn't like that fake cream they put in cakes back then. Plus it didn't even really help if it was called 'chocolate' as that usually implied it was a chocolate sponge and that did nothing for me. For me it was like the difference between KFC and a packet of chicken flavoured chips. Some may like both but in no way does one taste like the other. So chocolate sponge cake is simply in my opinion, chocolate flavoured cake. In order for it to be an acceptable cake to me it has to have actual real chocolate in it. 

I bet you never even thought about the distinction before did you? Well it's an important one. These days there are probably so many different varieties of chocolate cake so that most people never ponder what is a chocolate cake and what is simply pretending to be one. But to me cocoa is no substitute for actual chocolate. That's just me. You may disagree. You may be one of those people that stuffed themselves silly with birthday cake at parties when they were young. I remember you. I equally envied you and thought you were crazy.

In fact I was probably the odd kid at most birthday parties. I wouldn't eat the cake and often had to explain at great length that it wasn't because I wasn't allowed, it was simply that I didn't want any because I didn't like it. Then there was the jelly which I also hated. I still do actually.. I would eat custard or cream ( if it was real!) and some very easy going mothers would happily give me a bowl of custard or cream without comment or asking questions.

These days my birthday is pretty simple. I get a chocolate mud cake. Maybe totally hand made, maybe made from a cake mix or maybe bought from a cake shop. I don't mind really, so long as it does what it claims and actually tastes like real chocolate! 

Moving? The moving House Gods are kind to no one!

Well here we are. Day 1 of my writing prompt challenge is here! The first topic is Moving - here is a blog post inspired by Moving.

#KellsWritingChallenge

Whenever I see the word 'moving' I think of moving house. If you just groaned at the thought then I am totally with you. I think moving house is the single most stressful thing you can ever do. It's traumatic. It makes grown men weep. It is one of those things that we all have to do at least once in our lives and yet we would do almost anything to avoid it.

You know when you are watching a game of footy and the commentators ( or the person beside you on the couch) will mention the football Gods. The ball stops just millimetres before the dead ball line... The football Gods were shining on the kicker!

Well I think there are Moving Gods. Except they are never ever with anyone. I see them as like those cheeky Gods on Mount Olympus playing tricks on the gullible humans. You may think the Moving Gods are with you but there will always be a sting in the tail.

Most people hope that on moving day it will be a fine day. Rain and moving house is a bad combination. So no rain please. The Moving Gods grant you this wish and for those few seconds upon waking that you realise it's not raining you think oh thank you! Until it turns out that instead moving day will in fact be the hottest day on record since 1971 so that two boxes in you melt in a puddle on the driveway unable to do more... Moving Gods are kind to no one! 

Then there are the times when we realise that we really are beyond borrowing people's vans or hiring a truck and so we hire professional movers. So we plead that the movers be on time, not play blaring music that will give you a headache, and that they do their job quickly and efficiently. The Moving Gods rarely accede to this request. It's usually beyond even their powers to control the habits of removal men. But when they do... It seems like a small piece of heaven has arrived in your new home. That is until you discover every single glass you own is now in a thousand pieces... Or worse... Just one glass from every set of 4.

So the moving Gods are kind to no one. They like having their little jokes. If you don't know this then might I suggest you take a good look around where you live and imagine yourself living there for the rest of your life. Because if you decide to move then the Moving Gods will spare you no mercy!

A bit excited... Writing Prompt Challenge

I was going to write a post about common courtesy and about how it seems to be in fact very uncommon these days...if you will pardon the cliched pun. But instead of whinging and whining about people at busy supermarkets I am going to focus on the positive...

I can't tell you how thrilled I am to have posted my first ever event on facebook which is a writing prompt challenge. The thought came to me after I had participated in some online challenges. Mostly photo based ones but in the midst of these, I was a reading  a writing prompt book and the idea came to me; what about a writing prompt challenge? 

It worried me at first that it might be hard to write based on a prompt every day. But I thought even just a single sentence would do and even that can be creativity challenging. So why not? 

Given that not long ago I hesitated to even create a writers page for myself I think this is a great step in the right direction. It's scary to think I will have to post a piece of writing every day for ten days. But it's also exciting!

So thank you to all of you who have signed up. I can't wait to see what you all come up with. If you haven't been invited and would like to join then go to my facebook writers page. ( will put the link below) Also if I sent you an invite and you thought 'bloody hell I can barely have one clear thought a day let alone write something...' and have not accepted....then shame on you! No just joking.... It's all fine, this is meant to be fun after all. Feel free to silently stalk the page and chuckle at my efforts!

Anyway December 8th it starts and see... I have already forgotten about that annoying woman in the supermarket who made me want to rant about courtesy....

Bye for now,

Kell

https://www.facebook.com/Kellieawarner

My Brisbane Writers Festival experience

This is just one of the many collage pictures I have made to try and represent my experience at the Brisbane Writers Festival. Not sure I've fully managed to cram my excitement, creativity explosion and sheer joy into one picture. But it's been fun trying!

                                                     

I spent two days at the festival and each day and session was incredible and inspiring. First up was an urban explorer talking how once deciding to do a story on the phenomena he had to join urban explorers in their risky ( and often illegal) activities before they would talk to him. He found in urban exploring what he hadn't in archaeology and he was hooked. He had incredible stories about the underground in London, the Metro in Paris, old abandoned psychiatric hospitals in England, half built skyscrapers in Dubai.

There was a downside to all this as well what with governments lumping these explorers in with terrorists. Fear at what they simply don't understand.

I immediately rushed downstairs after the session to buy his book. The historian inside me was intrigued and excited. On another level I instantly felt excited about the notion of going for it at any cost and figured this book from this cool amazing guy could me a new found sense of adventure!

One of the most poignant sessions I went to really had nothing to do with my writing... Or did it? The session was about the mind. There was a philosopher, a former psychiatrist who went through a breakdown and then a stroke, a gifted medical practitioner who suffered terrible depression and nearly once sliced her own arm off with a scalpel. Both the last two had written books about their recovery. The final panelist was a fiction writer, mostly of science fiction. Phew! What a panel! Luckily the moderator was very good and each got to speak in turns and there was even a few jokes... Which is bound to happen when talking about the mind among crazy medical people, a
sci-fi writer and a philosopher!

Plenty of things were discussed. Is the mind and the brain different? The mind/body connection, plus how medical professionals deal with being on the other side of the table as patients. Somehow even Doctor Who was mentioned ( which went down well with us all!) and the latest movie Lucy ( which didn't ) at one point the philosopher stated that the only people who can use just 10% of their brains are the writers of that movie script!

What resonated with me was Kate Richards and her struggle with mental illness. Some of the things she described I really related to. She referred to how she felt people were living in her mind. Some were benign and others were malicious and as clever as she was she was so far into her mental illness that it took her many years to realise the voices were a figment of her own mind.

Her book is called 'Madness: a memoir' and sounds like it would be a heart wrenching but important read. Her book came about only due to the fact that she wrote copious notes and journal entries over the years even when at her worse. So despite not always recognising her own words or even knowing what year she wrote some entries she put them together in a book.

Like Kate I have kept journals a lot over the years particularly when I was very ill. I'm not sure if there is a book in them though!

So onto another session which was two debut authors, one Australian and one Irish. Both having books with the word 'Thing' in the title and both having written fiction based on real events they had each witnessed to various degrees. Their books sounded incredibly researched and are on my to read list. Particularly Mark Mulholland's book ' A Mad and Wonderful Thing.' His own brother was arrested and gaoled for being part of an IRA bomb plot. Mulholland grew up with what he called 'charming' men who had this double life as killers for a cause. He said his protagonist, a conflicted IRA member is representative of Ireland and is also a mixture of all those charming men.

Now I couldn't go to a writers festival and not see some sessions on crime novels could I? One was focussed on villains. What makes a good villain? Why do we like them ? Are they just a few brain cells away from us? This session introduced me to a fabulous Scandinavian author
 Yrsa Siguroardottir and I have already bought one of her books.

Another panel was incredibly interesting and just nicely gruesome! Speaking of dead bodies and what happens at a crime scene as well as what crime scenes are usually actually like. We had an ex cop crime fiction writer and a forensic investigator who intrigued me greatly. He had some interesting theories and though he has not written fiction I imagine his text books on the subject would be invaluable to crime writers and enjoyable for true crime fans (like me!)

I did a workshop on feature writing. I figured I knew a fair bit about the art but my problem rather was my perfectionist streak that keeps me from finishing or even starting pieces. But I Learned a hell of a lot! Three hours of useful information. Caroline Overington was a brilliant teacher and she writes features for the Australian Women's Weekly on people like Hilary Clinton so we all ate up every word she said!

Oh and Frances Whiting popped in to say hi to us all.  It was almost surreal. The next day as I was waiting to be picked up after checking out of my hotel I was scanning the paper and there was Whiting herself with a brilliantly funny article. To think she had smiled at me and happily chatted to all us amateurs just the day before!

Phew! What a weekend!

Thursday is BLOG DAY

Well here we are and finally after a break of oh a bit of time... I am going to start blogging on a regular basis again. Thursday is Blog day and from now on I will blog on a weekly basis and if I miss I give you permission to chastise me on a grand scale.

So this blog of course has not taken much thought so I thought I would say a few words about blogging in general. To some people blogs are pointless. There are countless number of blogs out there and most are probably not much good which raises the question what are blogs for?

I'm certain initially when people started online journals they did so simply to write. They wanted to share feeling and thoughts and opinions and it felt cathartic. Perhaps a few friends had a look and discussion ensued. But because we are human these things took of and now we find bloggers who are famous for blogging. It is the reality TV of the Internet now.

Why do I blog? Well I like writing down my thoughts and if someone reads them then that is great. Well actually it would be really great as hopefully then these people will read my other writings!  However if no one reads it then that is ok too as I enjoy it, it is fun and helpful and great writing practice.

Why do you blog? Or do you think Blogging has gotten a little out of hand?

Cheers till next Thursday,
Kellie