What does it take?

Our Australian Navy has registered 1,800 patrol days every year from Cairns in Queensland to Broome in Western Australia. The protect our northern border and it is not enough. That's not a criticism of the Navy, nor indeed our government. It is a testament to the vastness of our continent that we just don't have the resources or the people to cover such an area.

This gap in our security is a cause for alarm for the obvious reasons. However, I could write a book on that. That's not what this post is about.

It's about the rare Patagonian Tooth fish and other endangered species poached from our waters. Last Friday, the Federal Court acquitted fishermen on the charges of illegal fishing. The men, a Uruguayan, three Spaniards and a Chilean were caught with over a million dollars worth of the fish, obviously in Australian Territorial waters, yet because the Navy didn't catch them in the act of pulling the fish out of the water, they've got away with it.

What did the court think they were doing? Giving the fish a guided tour of the oceans of the world?

It's also of concern the increasing number of Indonesian fishermen being caught in our northern waters. Again, we don't have the resources to catch these blighters.

Now, the bleeding hearts will comment that these are poor men, with no education and little resources to improve their lives. Bullshit. The Indonesians have a grape vine to rival none and the Australian Navy has been doing this for thirty or forty years. These people know what their doing is wrong, they just don't give a rat's bladder.

The Opposition Leader is pushing his billion dollar plan for an American-style Coast Guard. We don't need it. The legitimate fishermen of the north have warned that they will take action. Not a bad idea given that the northern shark stocks - fished for their fins alone - are facing annhilation. Worse, these illegal boats carry chickens for food with the real risk of bird flu.

Something has to be done about these people and their boats. This year alone more than 200 illegal fishing vessels were seized.

Australia has the toughest Customs Act in the world to protect our native flora and fauna, and yet, these pricks are fishing our waters as if that is of no concern, and the stocks belong to them. Well they don't, and the fishing is of concern. One day soon, some local fisherman is going to say enough, and blow the fuckers out of the water. Maybe that is the only deterent we can rely on.

Jail doesn't work, confiscating and burning the boats don't work. Maybe more direct action needs to be taken. Australia has to come up with harsher methods if it to save it's fish stocks for the rest of the world to enjoy. If local fishermen join the effort, then we will have more resources for patrols and local knowledge to hunt the bastards down.

Getting into the slog

I finished the weekend at 41k and some extras. I have written, over the two days about 21k. And yes, it was tough. The hours slipped away while I struggled with words, with scenes, with what happened next, with the damn characters themselves.

The amount of words written give lie to just how difficult it was. There isn't really an outline for this book and I haven't looked at the cards. I will, but later, when I do a reverse construction as a precursor to editing. I just can't set a book up that way (probably why editing takes so long, too). But that's the way I work.

My characters are growing, kind of in synch. The more evil the bad guy, the more genius the protagonist and the more nasty her childhood. The lurve interest is just there, not developing much, except for the ubiquitous emotional growth. I think he needs more; he needs something to get him going... and I have just the thing, mwahaha!

Okay, so I'm slogging my way to the 50k point, but that won't be the end. The end will be when the book is done, hopefully by the time 1 December comes around.

My aim is another 4-41/2k tonight and again tomorrow. I'll be able to relax once the objective has been reached. So, to horse...

Motoring

The book is humming along, although it's been tough. Like I've said, this is outside of my usual genre so I was writing in fits and starts.

At the beginning of the middle, things began to flow. So much so, that I had to write a scene that didn't come into it until about four scenes. But I had to get it down. It was so totally evil.

That, in truth, is what I like about NaNo, there is no set format as long as you get to the 50k mark. After six days, I've hit 34k and it's going more smoothly.

I've never been comfortable with starts, it always seems to stilted. Of course, I can go back and edit later.

For now, I need some sustenance before heading into the afternoon's session. No more fooling around online, checking sites out and generally goofing off.

Those words won't write themselves.

And we're off

I've been pretty busy the past few days, with work and with the Nano, but I think I'm off to a good start. I have just over 14k for three days work. Not up to my usual manic standard, but I do have a job this year.

It's unfortunate that there are also the usual wankers out there posting unreasonable totals and flat out lying. This pinheads are usual young adolescents who think it's funny to fuck up the statistics and people's aims to accrue a legitimate spot on the leaders boards.

I'm not so pissed off about it as I have been in previous years because I just cut them out of my calculations. I can see who the honest writers are, and it's not those who cheat and post that they've virtually written a book in three days. No, I'm sorry, that's just not happening.

Many writers are trying hard to get the work done and it's pitiful that there are others trying to take away that achievement.

There's plenty of time for the genuine participants to get going. Many already have, me included. I love this challenge, and this weekend, Forward Motion is holding a marathon. It will have these word fests every weekend until the end. It's a great mechanism for people who need that extra push to do the words.

For me, it's the extra push to get closer to the end of the book, as long as I can concentrate on it. Of course, real life has a habit of getting in the way, but I'm going to do my level best not to let it. Hah!

People should know not to contact me during November, it's just... wrong, and I'm not in the best moods when interrupted. Still, I may venture a conversation or two, decide I'm done with them and get back to it.

That's a writer's life. Focussing on the book, not necessarily live people. Ah well, we're an interesting breed, otherwise, what on earth would you read for entertainment? The newspaper? The TV guide? Your kids' homework?

From Nano, can sometimes come great things. I hope so.

Champion

Today is Melbourne Cup day. A public holiday in Victoria where it's held, and a virtual afternoon off for everyone else. It is truly the Race that Stops a Nation. It is also, arguably, the toughest horse race in the world.

Race horses from around the world come here to compete, to win the tri-handled trophy and five million dollar prize. They come from Ireland, England, New Zealand, Japan and the great Godolphin stable.

History was made today, by an astonishing mare: Makybe Diva. The greatest horse the southern hemisphere has ever produced, and I include Phar Lap in that. For the first time, a horse has won the Melbourne Cup three years straight.

Think Big was the last horse to win it twice and that was back in 1975/76. Thirty years on, the Diva has taken it for a third time. A feat that shall remain unparalleled for decades to come.

All hail the Diva!

(Shame I didn't put any money on her... not even in the office sweeps.)

* * *

Okay, accolades aside - and I'm still staggered by that triumph - today also marked the beginning of the National Novel Writing Month, or NaNo for short.

As you can imagine, it was a tough day to get anything done. Work, horse racing sweeps to organise and trying to get a few words down on my new book.

Most of what I've written has been after work, and for that I guess I should thank Daylight Bloody Savings. I've been sitting here typing away on a murder scene while the sun is still in the sky. Now it's going down and I have just over four thousand words. Not a bad start, but there is a long way to go. I have no doubt there will be a lot of frustration, but if I keep my mind on what's going on, I shall be fine.

The only trap I see is to get to involved in the killer's head. He's a twist fuck, but aren't they best? All reasonable and calm, charming and charismatic, I like him. I'm having problems with my other characters though. For some strange reason, I identify more with the killer than the catchers.

Maybe that's not such a bad thing. I'll post something soon.

Ready, Set...

It's almost 'Go' time for Nano. There are a lot of nervous people over at the Nano site; those for whom this challenge is their first. For me, this is the third and I'm still nervous.

Various worries have surfaced again: do I have enough scenes for a book, is it interesting, will I get stuck, can I do this with a full time job? Of all these, it is the last that concerns me the most. The first two Nano books were 120k and 160k respectively, but I had time, I wasn't working. Now, I can see the challenge will be getting the minimum done during the week and 20-30k done on the weekends and another 10k done on a planned day off. Say an average of 25k, that gives me 100 plus an extra 10 for 110 and 2k every day of the week for a total of about 154k. Meh. That's a book.

I'll also have to consider that my contract ends on the 22nd; and that gives me extra time should I fail in getting the daily counts done.

One might wonder why I am worried. As I've said previously, it's not the 50k that's the challenge, but the writing of a book, in toto; that's the challenge. I fully expect a book at the end of the month. I also have to consider other pesky interruptions, like family dropping in for a weekend visit, or even a day. Yeah, I can afford to lose a day, or even a weekend. The problem is: I don't want to. This is my one yearly challenge to write a book; practice makes perfect and I'm still at an apprenticeship level. Writing is one of the longest apprenticeships around.

Some writers are blessed with spectacular talent; I have above average talent, but that does not mean I can expect a contract at the submitting of a precis. Oh, no. It's an ongoing process, this writing business. Any writer worth their salt will tell you they are constantly honing their craft, constantly searching for a better book, and that, dear reader, is why you go out and buy a particular author. Because they have spent years practicing and improving. That's what I want to do.

And when Demonesque, or Oracle, or Gateway, or Banker's Trust hit the shelves, they will be the best I, or an editor, can make them; and that you'll want more.

So roll on Nano, I'm ready!

Tempus Fugit

Yeah, times flies. Nano is getting close and I'm not as prepared as I'd like to be, or, to put it another way, I may well just dive straight in and see what happens. Creative, undisciplined minds are like that.

I'm trying to get through my TBR pile, so I won't have any distractions. I still have two David Weber's, one David Drake, and two Peter Fitzsimmon's to go. I aint gonna make it, so it's a choice for what stays on the shelf until December.

We're also heading into Daylight Savings time so my internal clock is going to be fucked up; royally. I'm going to be tired and grumpy and sooo not wanting to do 'real' work. Gad! Getting up at what amounts to 5.30 in the am is not my idea of fun, even if I'm going to bed an hour 'earlier'. I'm not a morning person. It will take me a month or so to adjust. So much for managing NaNo with Daylight Savings. Sigh.

My act is just going to have to get together. Motivation is the key, but with that comes the peril of stress-related problems; and they are painful. Maybe I'll take up meditation, tai chi, or Valium.

This book is coming out whether I like it or not... and I do. It's not a namby-pamby, telegraph everthing kind of book, it's a watch what the villian sees, fear what the protagonist fears, and follow the clues if you can. I'm doing this for one reason: predictability sucks.

I posted a large section of a book for critique to Forward Motion and got complaints of not giving enough clues to what was about to happen. Someone wanted to stay in their happy place. Well, nuh-uh. I write what I want to read, and I want to feel chilled, I want to feel that hot/cold of 'oh, jesus'. Yeah, that's what I good book is about, I think. But I'm not cheating, either. No Deus Ex Machina. It's all there for you to work out.

And if interested, I'm going to be posting here and on the Nano site for anyone who wants to read the excerpts.

Three days and counting...

Where's the shame?

The Bali nine are getting increasing media attention because of the AFP's letters to the Indonesian police.

One, Renee Lawrence is suing the AFP because their information could lead her to the death penalty. Apparently, it's okay for her to try to import heroin, but it's not okay for the AFP to protect the rest of us from that import.

The others a similarly scrambling to cast blame everywhere except where it truly belongs: with themselves. Okay, so they are young, does that mean they have no personal responsibility? Does that mean they blame others for their own actions?

Not in my book. I have personally seen the result of chronic drug use and I have little sympathy for those who think to earn cash as a drug mule to bring that shit into my country. Every one of them knew it was wrong; knew what the consequences would be should they be caught. Did they pay attention? Of course not, it wouldn't happen to them. Or, it wouldn't have happened if those evil protectors of our country hadn't betrayed them. The bastards. Imagine the local constabulary doing their job? How could they? Couldn't they see the Bali nine were only trying to earn a little cash?

I don't think I'm being harsh, either. Those idiots were caught with the stuff strapped to their bodies.

And for those who believe the AFP should have stopped them before they left Australia, how could they? The nine had yet to commit a crime here. Maybe they should have waited until they returned to Australia, ladened with narcotics? The original crime was perpetrated in Indonesia, not Australia, hence it is the Indonesians responsibility.

I lack compassion? Nope. How many drug addicts die from overdoses every year? How many could have died if the nine got through? Why are the officials the bad guys in this? At least the Indonesians are trying to stamp out this kind of crap with deadly sentences. At least they stopped a shipment from reaching our streets.

Australian officials pass along information to a lot of governments, including the US, who, if memory serves, also has the death penalty, though not for drug running. Should we not send them information because of that?

Yes, the parents are pissed at the Australian government. Yes, they are fearful for their children. Yes, I'm sure they have a lot of support. But why are they blaming the government for their children's actions? Why didn't they speak to their children about this? Family dynamics are complex, but it's a shitty way to discover love for a child, or the error of your ways. I see no embarrassment, no shame in the eyes of the parents, nor the faces of those caught, no sign of culpability or remorse. These people were caught with the stuff strapped to their bodies. I can only assume the ranting and raving are because most people realise they are not going to get away with this.

It's sad that they won't get the opportunity to learn from this monumental mistake. If not the death penalty, then an extended stay in prison awaits the Bali Nine. And I cannot, in all honesty, feel sympathy for them. The best thing that could come out of this and the Michelle Leslie case, is that young Australians learn not to take or use prohibited drugs in South East Asia. The consequences will be catastrophic, not only for them, but their families as well.

Seven Days

It's a week until the madness of Nano begins. I've no doubt that there are people who are feeling just a might anxious. I know I am. I still have a bit of world building to do.

Yep, world building. It's all very well to write this book sans outline, that's doable; it is not okay to write without having some idea of what your world looks like.

I need to find things like weather, topography, recreational activities, abnormal psychology, firearms, and a few other things I'm mulling over.

Being a freewriter doesn't mean I'm lazy. I prepare as much as possible for challenges like this. If I don't know my world, my characters, their motivations, how it starts and where it finishes, things will very quickly fall apart and be disjointed. That makes editing a real bitch.

By researching the topic, you can avoid the hunt for information while you're writing. I have to be prepared for this book, it's out of my usual genre and I'm going to hard pressed not to incorporate any mythology, any science fiction or supernatural aspects. It's a straight up thriller. To avoid that trap, I have to steep myself in this real world.

I have my protagonists - the secondary characters will appear as needed - I have my end game, I have main events. How they join, how they interact, that's the challenge. That and writing until it is finished. I don't know how long it's going to be; my second Nano finished two chapters into a second book. I don't want this to be a tome, I don't want to end up with 200k, that is too long and I'd have to spend a lot of time taking stuff out. There will not be a sequel, it's a stand alone.

So, I'm almost ready. The world building is going well, the characters are at the starting blocks in my head, ready to play. What more do I need? The patience not to dive into this before November begins. The best thing about the wait is that the story, the images I'm getting, is becoming more solid and that can only be a good thing.

A cliche of characters

I've been surfing online for books, since my local stores are lacking in anything resembling what I'd like to read. When I've read the blurbs, I'm appalled at the cliches describing books.

To use the romance genre as an example:

Regency: Heroes are dashing, rakes, arrogant; heroines are ravishing, virginal, haughty, respectable, or spoiled.
Paranormal: Heroes are brooding, dangerous, dark; heroines are determined, passionate, feisty.
Medieval: Heroes are ruthless, arrogant, reckless; heroines are passionate, proud, pampered, feisty.

You get the idea, but with one caveat: all the men are alphas, as are the women, one way or another. The behaviour of these characters leave a lot to be desired and are in no way a reflection of current day people. I know, I know, that's not the point; when it comes to romance, it's the ideal, the fantasy that attracts readers. The more the merrier, it seems, an echo of when men were men and women knew what they wanted. But...

Dream Mountain puzzled me because the hero is such a prick. The Carpathian series pisses me off because they're about domination and taking choices away. Anita Blake is, so far, about moral decline. The historicals and futuristics where control over a woman is paramount. I could go on. But I won't. The point is, these books are popular. Do modern day women want to dominated in such a manner? How can this be called love? Where is the equality? How can women give up so much and the man so little? Am I wrong in thinking that love, and yes, marriage, should also be about partnership? I'm not talking about wanky 'metro-sexuals' - what kind of a word is that, anyway? - I'm talking about the fantasy ideal that women want to be controlled via sex. They don't. Or, I should qualify, I don't.

I'm aware that it is fiction. I'm aware that people love these books. I'm aware that writers, good ones, write from the heart. I'm also aware that reading material can influence people. For example, the court case that involved best-selling author Patricia Cornwell.

Good, bad or indifferent, writers have a responsibility when creating characters that they be true. Readers have a responsibility to understand that it is fiction.

Regencies, Scottish, Viking - historicals, have little basis in fact. Most marriages then were for convenience, not love. The paranormals? Hmm... I don't think vampires or werewolves are nice creatures, but some women like the edge of danger, you certainly know you're alive if your lover can rip your throat or heart out in the throes of passion. Futuristic ones, or the ones I've read, are basically regencies of the future. I won't be reading them anymore.

The books I write, the dark fantasy, the sci fi, the science fantasy, now that I think about them, all have an equality in them. None discriminate between the sexes. Each hero and heroine is as capable as the other, each rely on the other to survive. Partnership. A happy medium, I think, and I'd like to see more of it.

Roasted Grammar

Gotta love a good bit of argy-bargy, and over at Smart Bitches there's a long argument involving grammar. Sara Donati also gives a bit of history on the English language. Let's remember that it is an amalgam of other languages that was then mixed with peasant commentary. The language is versatile and flexible, but it is also the most mongrel of all the languages.

For my part, the language grows more complex. To give you an example: the Americans use the Webster's Dictionary, the English use the Oxford, and we here in the land of Aus use the Macquarie Dictionary. I don't know what other English-speaking countries use, and I don't care unless called upon to edit work from there. There will be endless arguments about the correct use of words; for some aspects of grammar, it is simple and straightforward. An example, the confusing in the use of its or it's. It's is a contraction of it is. That's is a contraction of that is. Who's is a contraction of who is.

Actually, if you really want to know this stuff, find yourself a book on grammar. Better yet, lobby the government to reintroduce grammar into the English curriculum. It's a kind of hobby horse, but I'll say it again: we are raising a generation of illiterates who won't be able to communicate properly. They don't know how. I'll leave it with a final comment that the above problem is one reason why I became an editor.

Evolution

I don't mean Darwin, but personal evolution; self-growth, self-actualisation and all those other 'selfs' that sociologists love to fling about.

It occurred to me that growth, soul growth, happens without conscious thought. How do I know this? Well, I was doing my latest assignment on my Diploma. The assignment is on electronic publishing. That led me to how long I've been using the 'net, and how long I've been apart of the Forward Motion community. From there, I realised how much I've learned while there.

Writing is not an easy thing to do, but I can look back at the beginnings of my posting work and see how much I've learned. From head hopping and rushing my work, I'm now circumspect in scene writing and slower in consideration of why something is where it is and how it works in with other scenes. All of this wasn't really thought about, just watched for. Now my writing has a better flow.

Same thing for editing. I'm more focused, more evolved in what I'm looking for. Others, I know, appreciate the care I take with their work.

Life works the same way. Sometimes, I think we learn through osmosis. We absorb information every day and when someone asks about something, we know. Some of us may pause and wonder how we know others simply accept it.

I'd like to think most people realise this, but I know it's not true given the selfish behaviour I see.

Evolution, personal growth, professional growth. If more people thought about their own philosophies and how they interact with others, we'd probably live in a happier place. Maybe it's because of the aging process, but I don't think so. I think it has more to do with how introspective a person is; I think it has to do with what kind of emotional roller-coasters people have ridden during their lives. The steeper the hills, the lower the valleys, the more evolved people become. If you don't have any rough rides, how can you appreciate the wonderful ones?

Think about that the next time you're tempted to bad behaviour.

The Director Who Films Your Life

Ever thought about who would play you in a film of your life? No? Well, cripes, aren't you boring? How about the director. Sure, everyone wants Angelina, Ashley, Jennifer, etc. or Brad, Colin, Dwayne, whomever as the stars, but what about the director, hmm?

Had a happy life? One filled with action or humour or lurve? Here's a quiz you can take to find out.

Roger Corman
Your film will be 51% romantic, 25% comedy, 48% complex plot, and a $ 37 million budget.

An action-complex tale about a complex character that is you. Corman was responsible for a very early Jack Nicholson film, 1963's The Terror (Francis Coppola was associate producer), filmed in three days! The actor who plays you will emote complexity like Jack ... maybe Christian Slater or Gwyneth Paltrow. Also, Roger filmed the original Little Shop of Horrors film -- which in the 1980s was the basis for a hit Broadway musical and another film. All his films were shot for mere thousands of dollars, sometimes completed within the week. Roger knows talent, and knows how to keep costs down with complex stories such as your life story. His versions of Edgar Allen Poe stories are considered classics (The Raven, The Pit and the Pendulum), and also directed Deathsport and Bloody Mama in the 1970s. Oh, yeah, man, this guy will make your film a cult classic!




My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 24% on action-romance

You scored higher than 19% on humor

You scored higher than 75% on complexity

You scored higher than 45% on budget

I like the complexity part. No one's life should be simple. Okay, Paris Hilton excluded.

Here's the link if you want to find out who would direct your life's movie:
The Director Who Films Your Life Test

Pun-dits

I love word games. And since I haven't anything else to write about at the moment, perhaps you'll be as amused as well:

Those who jump off a bridge in Paris are in Seine.
A backward poet writes inverse.
A man's home is his castle, in a manor of speaking.
Dijon vu - the same mustard as before.
Practice safe eating - always use condiments.
Shotgun wedding: A case of wife or death.
A man needs a mistress just to break the monogamy.
A hangover is the wrath of grapes.
Dancing cheek-to-cheek is really a form of floor play.
oes the name Pavlov ring a bell?
Condoms should be used on every conceivable occasion.
Reading while sunbathing makes you well red.
When two egotists meet, it's an I for an I.
A bicycle can't stand on its own because it is two tired.
What's the definition of a will? (It's a dead giveaway.)
Time flies like a arrow.  Fruit flies like a banana.
In democracy your vote counts. In feudalism your count votes.
She was engaged to a boyfriend with a wooden leg but broke it off.
A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.
If you don't pay your exorcist, you get repossessed.
With her marriage, she got a new name and a dress.
When a clock is hungry, it goes back four seconds.
The man who fell into an upholstery machine is fully recovered.
You feel stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
Local Area Network in Australia: the LAN down under.
He often broke into song because he couldn't find the key.
Every calendar's days are numbered.
A lot of money is tainted - It taint yours and it taint mine.
A boiled egg in the morning is hard to beat.
He had a photographic memory that was never developed.
A plateau is a high form of flattery.
A midget fortune-teller who escapes from prison is a small medium at large.
Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end.
Once you've seen one shopping center, you've seen a mall.
Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead-to-know basis.
Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.
Acupuncture is a jab well done.

Some days, I just can't help myself.

Summertime

I was reminded, today, that summer is on it's way.

It wasn't that the sun is getting up unspeakably early, it wasn't the feral hoards of tourists, or the sickly white stick figures baring all down at the beach. Oh, no. It was a mosquito big enough to carry a small child away.

Every Australian knows the song Redback on the Toilet Seat, but this was a jumbo jet mosquito! At first, I thought it to be a Daddy Long-Legs spider, all legs and attitude. It crouched there with spindly legs looking up at me from the rim.

Okay, I thought, just flush that sucker away and get on with it. Hah! One flush and it flew up, hair-thin proboscis out and ready to do battle. Missed, though, and I heard that sucker hum, a low, threatening sound. I'm gonna get the fly spray to it. No way am I waking up in the middle of the night with that stuck to me.

It also reminded me of what else is here to harm the unwary. With the warming temperatures and rising humidity, true spiders are starting to be active. The Funnel-Web spider, the Redback spider, Wolf spiders, Trap door spiders, White-tailed spiders and Huntsman spiders. Snakes, too; the Red Belly Back snake, Brown snake, Taipans, Death Adders. All are coming out to play with the ignorant.

The warming waters will soon attract the sharks, the jelly fish and blue bottles.

Oh yes, there is much to watch for in the Summertime that has nothing to do with salt rash, sand in your togs and sunburn (slip, slop, slap, people).

Reminds me of that song, Austraylya, it'll killya, that lists all the things in this Great Suthen Land that is potentially lethal. Hah! I love it here, man-eating sketos and all.

Prince of Denmark

Congratulations to the Crown Princess and Crown Prince of Denmark on the birth of their first born, a son. Mary and Fred are, not surprisingly, happy, proud, pleased at their boy. The majority of Danes were positive the baby was going to be a girl and thus create a constitutional crisis. Our Mary had a boy and avoided the political morass. Now comes the speculation of the baby's name. Christian - the traditional name - is the front runner followed by Frederik. Both are good names, but what about an Aussie connection?

Prince Macca? Trevor? Davo? Prince Wally perhaps? The Danes have a sense of humour, but I don't think any of those names would garner any support. Heh.

The family will probably be known as our Mary, Fred and Chris, or Fred junior - probably Freddo, given the Australian habit of abbreviating names.

No doubt the Danes, whose party instincts rival the Aussies (I know from personal experience) will be toast the baby for some weeks yet. Onya Mary!

***

And speaking of princesses, the TV program, Australian Princess is flagging the ratings race. One wag from the Sun Herald has suggested that the Republican movement could view that as support for their cause. Hel-lo? Could be that Australian audiences are more discerning than their overseas counterparts and view this program with disdain because it's full of shit? That it's positively awful? That it commercialises the 'fairy tale' of Mary meeting Fred in a bar in Sydney? Jeez, Louise! How fatuous can the television industry be?

The Joe Millionaire, Survivor, The Mole, Big Brother, and the rest are worthless. Who gives a rat's bladder that Joe Millionaire isn't? Who the toughest castaway is? Who the bastard is who's mucking up the challenges or how prurient and licentious the housemates are? What social value do any of them have? None I can see, and I don't think titilation is an acceptable value for our kids.

So. Australian Princess will either serve out it's time and never be seen again, or be cut (oh, please, oh, please, oh, please). I know who is the weakest link and I know what my vote will be: the off button.

Muse Muscle

Not to think about something, but the muse that sits behind you, urging you on to writer brilliance. Every writer has a muse, be they real or imagined. A muse is someone who inspires you, tosses you the bone of an idea and sits back to slyly watch your confusion, your puzzlement, your pause, interest and then frenetic pace as you plunge that bone into the plot pot and make a feast for the senses.

There's one rule: don't piss your muse off. Do that, and you're doomed to either mediocrity or, worse, no words at all.

My muse sits behind me, sometimes smirking, sometimes serious, always nagging. She is changeable. She is sometimes a Greek Goddess, sometimes a black-clad Goth, sometimes and arse-kicking biker chick, sometimes a chic business woman. She appropriates characters, interjects with dialogue, smacks her forehead when I get it wrong, puts a light bulb above my head when she gives me an idea. She is friend and foe, sage and savant, lover and lout, but she is always with me.

People often ask writers where their ideas come from. Well, my answer is the Muse. I don't know her name, I don't need to. She's observant, blunt, caustic, humourous, impatient and ever so willing to plunge into my stories to interfere, to boost, to guide the characters in whatever direction she wants. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but it's always entertaining.

We work together, she and I, to create. I guess you could say she's the brains and I'm the brawn, after all, she's an amorphous being who happens to have some terrific ideas. And I, I have the fingers on the keyboard.

All I have to do is listen. Writer's block isn't a problem. A blank page can be cured by the words "Chapter One". She curious enough to come over from the snack bar and have a look.

My muse and I are a team. Why not go and listen to yours? You might be surprised by what they're trying to tell you.

Writing Styles

With the National Novel Writing competition coming up soon, weblogs are abounding with advice on how to complete the challenge. I'm not linking them because the majority say the same thing I do: sit down and write. Simple, no frills advice.

The minimum to complete the challenge is 1667 words a day, five, six pages. It's not so much, if you've got a great idea, all your plot notes in order, your outline completed, your character interviews done and your research next to you for quick reference. Or... are you an 'organic' writer?

I came across this term a few days ago and wondered, yet again, why people are so determined to create a name for a group who sit outside the box.

An organic writer is one who starts with an idea and runs with it; who sits down at the keyboard and gets the words down, in order. They let the characters take them on the journey. I'm an organic writer... mostly. Here's how it works for me:

I get an idea. I let it stew for a week or so, write down a note about it. I'll spend time dwelling on various aspects of the book: the main character, other characters including the villain, the plot, the end, the beginning, whether there will be an intimate scene, how to kill someone, how a character escapes, weaponry, clothes, scenery, dialogue - I listen to other people's conversations for nifty sayings - weather, and so on. Each aspects comes to me like an excerpt from a movie. My job is to transcribe that movie onto the page, which is why, when I get these flashes, I'll jot them down to remind me of what I saw in my head.

Okay. When I feel ready, or the workings of the book get so overwelming that I must write, I will sit down and do so. The whole story is arranged in my head and out it comes. Most authors will tell you that they have characters living in their heads, but the pressure eases when they've been evicted onto a blank page.

So what does all this mean? It means that I don't have a lot of discipline until I actually sit and write, then I can write for fourteen, sixteen hours - with regular breaks to satisfy the Occupational Health and Safety gnome of my conscience - and write the first draft in a short amount of time.

How short? My first book - don't ask, it was appallingly dreadful and I keep it as a reminder of where I started and how much better I am at this - took me three weeks of fourteen hour days to write. It was 90k. Demonesque, last year's Nano, is 122k; the Oracle Duology is 280k and took me six weeks.

This method works for me. I would like to write three books a year, although I'm capable of more. This method doesn't work for everyone. Plotting is hell for me because it captures my creativity and cages it on the page before it's ready. When I have tried to plot, the book has deviated from about chapter three and that's an end to the plot notes.

Whatever you are, structured, organic, anal or free-spirit, the point is to actually put your bum on the seat and write. Your schedule doesn't matter, I don't think as long as you get the work done. Of course the challlenge of Nano is to guide you into a scheduled existence and into a routine. It's worthwhile. If nothing else, by the end of November, you'll have a book and you'll know what you like and hate about writing.

Sacrifices of the few for the many

Death and destruction, murdered civilians, suicide bombers, accusations of brutal tactics, complaints that America is losing the war in Iraq, that the death toll is too high, that the Coalition should leave Iraq to the iraqis and let them sort it out themselves.

Where, amongst this vitriol, is the good news? Where, amongst the sneering isolationists, is the proof that the invasion failed? Where are the "ordinary Iraqis" protesting the invasion? Why haven't they demanded the withdrawal of troops? How much damage have the Americans and her allies done to this country?

Well, it's all here, actually:


Baltimore Sun


The next time some whiney-assed, ill-formed, holier-than-thou, hippy wanna-be demands peace in a warring country, remember that sometimes war is the only solution; that peace is always bought at a price; that out of the blood and tears, sometimes comes happiness and contentment; that you cannot defeat brutal insanity with kindess and flowers. The sacrifice of a few should be worthwhile for the benefit of the many, otherwise, what has it all been about?

Red Cross, Double Cross

People across the globe donated millions to the Red Cross in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. In an age of media, we all saw the devastation wrote by the storm and sympathised with the victims. We put our hands in our pockets to help. Where is that money now?

Larissa Ione is spitting chips about the lack of help from the organisation. And rightly so. I have noted that many webloggers are not publicly stating they will not support the Red Cross in light of this and the debacle following the 9/11 attacks. It's a sad indictment on an organisation that does so much good in the world, that it has made so much money vanish.

***

Update on my NaNo preparations: I've now done twenty five plot cards courtesy of Holly Lisle's wonderful site. I've not done plotting like this before, and I'm finding it tough. I'm a linear, organic writer, so this is definately outside my comfort zone. But, you've got to challenge yourself every now and then, just to see if you can.

I suspect I'll be falling over myself in anticipation for November. I can't stop thinking about the book, nasty scenarios keep popping up, conversations are in my head, appeareances, histories, motivations, everything I need to write this book... and I can't start it. Yet.

November will come soon enough, so all I can do is make this plotting and associated notes, the best they can be before the starting guns goes off. I know I'm not the only passenger in this ship, let's hope it doesn't sink.

A joke of politicians

It's hard to take our so-called representatives seriously when they are so ill-informed.

At the heart is the Government's new Industrial Relations package that introduces the idea of workers being able to negotiate their public holidays, allowances, overtime and meal breaks for higher wages. Bear in mind that these are automatically guaranteed anyway and are protected under the legislation.

Various religious groups, the Catholic and Anglican churches, have expressed concern about this, even though neither commentator has read the entire legislation.

Worse, these comments have provoked a number of politicians to applaud the churches for involving themselves in matters of state. Hello? State and Church are separate for a reason. And Kim? You should fucking know better than to give legs to a lie! Unfortunately, it's not the first time. The Kyoto Protocol comments being an example.

I would have thought Senators Joyce and Fielding would have the curtesy of informing themselves better before taking to the media and stirring up trouble that will, no doubt, backfire again. New Senators like these might think they are flexing their political muscles, but the Opposition must be snickering something fierce at their idiocy and the Government, rolling their eyes.

Have they learned nothing since the debacle of the Telstra sale? I'm sure they see themselves, at least Joyce does, as the conscience of the Parliament, but jeez, these guys should get a grip. If they want to remind the Government they are there, then for God's sake, become informed about a subject before shooting yourself in the foot!

Characters as people

I rarely do outlines for books, and when I do, they don't resemble the finished product. I've usually deviated within the first three chapters of actually writing the book.

This time, it has to be different. The book is complex and I'll need pointers. Eventually, the twists and turns won't surprise me but I hope will surprise the readers. I'm not concerned about that - though, perhaps I should be. What I don't want to happen is the deviation. What I have in mind is a terrific idea that twists the stalker/woman-in-jeopardy premise (and, no, it is not the atypical stalker story; I'm not telling any more).

So far, I've managed to write down the principles of outlining: the mood, the setting, the characters strengths and weaknesses, their moral codes, the evolutions, etc. I don't want them to be two dimensional characters. I don't want my villain to be unlikeable, nor my protagonist unsympathetic. And there in lies the difficulties of writing modern fiction: villains aren't your typical bad guys anymore. They have wants and needs, too; they have ambitions, joys, hurts, the whole kit and kaboodle, except... they must have or do something that is reprehensible, must have something wrong with them that is socially unacceptable.

They might be wonderful people you'd like to know, except for that one, disturbing element. That's the kind of villain I'm going for.

It's the same with the protagonist. They, too, might be wonderful, except for a peccadillo or two, except for a dark secret, except for a personality flaw. That's the kind of protagonist I'm going for.

The difference between the two is as simple as it is complex: one is redeemable, the other is not.

With thoughts of both characters swirling, I'm hoping to blur the line between the concept of good and evil.

I can't wait to start writing this book - it's the same with all I've written - but this time, I have to pace myself, I have to keep in mind the endgame, and I have to have an outline to guide the way for me. I'd better get to it: the sooner I have the outline, the sooner I can tweak it and get ready for November 1.

A Web of Evil

I'm currently researching my Nano and the history on my internet looks very, very suspicious. I've gone from stalker sites to serial killers to criminal profiling to maps of small towns to photographs of streets to local weather. I've downloaded articles and street maps like a 'how to' list.

The scary thing is, I found my own street from two sites not based here. The phrase 'I can see my house from here' takes on a new meaning. I'm sorry to say... it was a lot of fun finding the information I need. Of course, I'm not done yet. The mind of a writer is just as dangerous as the perps written about.

If I can find the information, anyone can. The questions swirl, the plan evolves, but, in this instance, I shan't be going out to test my theories on stalking, to see how it's done myself. I'll settle for reading about it and using my imagination.

The difficulty in writing this book, is that I've never been to that particular state in in the U.S. A lot of the others, yes, and they would do just as well. But a nice isolated, low populated township - or two, three, four - is just what I need. Writers can be scary people. They can take on the characteristics of the bad guy, they can take on the personality of the good guy, the bystander, the victim, the enemy. They are, in an intellectual way, nuts; crazy people who talk to themselves, carry on conversations, sneak about, test weapons, argue with themselves, fight themselves or try to get family members to do so. We are an incomplete set of marbles - and we love it.

I'm creeped out by the coldness of my planning, but I'm also sprinkled with smugness at the cleverness, at the total lack of concern.

It's early stages yet, though. The whole thing might be too effective, or has plot holes a pantechnicon could drive through.

Yeah, writers are scary people who troll through the muck and mire of human depravity or the Elysian Fields of mankind's purity, for inspiration and creativity. No wonder I love being one.

Tomorrow, the week-long Forward Motion Outline Challenge begins. I'll let you know how the Stalker Plot progresses.

Nano wind up

It's October and it is time to start preparing for the National Novel Writing Month of November.

November is mayhem. Thousands of writers trying to finish fifty thousand words in a month. This isn't, quite, novel length, but it's a good start.

For me, the challenge isn't the 50k finish line, it's the novel aspect. To me, Nano means exactly that: write a novel in a month. Not 50k, not 60k or 100k, but a complete, beginning, middle and end, book. It has a plot, it has conflict, it has dialogue, it has questions to be answered, it has heroes and villans, it has it all.

For others, it is their first attempt at completing a book. It's their first attempt at writing more than a short story. For most it's a challenge they will fail at. Significantly, last year, if I remember correctly, there were about 48,000 people signed up for it, but less than 2,000 actually wrote 50,000 words or more.

The attrition rate is appalling and gives a better idea of how difficult it can be to write a book. It's about discipline, it's about ambition, it's about real life interferring, it's about not giving up, it's about the sense of achievement at the end of the month. (Especially when you're on that first page with the other high word counters.)

Of course, people cheat. There are always a handful of people who piss the rest of us off by putting down a million words or five hundred thousand or any other impossible word count. I don't count them, because they are not worth the attention.

Focus should be on those writers who have taken up the challenge and, for the first time, finished what they started. It's a monumental achievement given how many others gave up after the first week or so. And when I read some of the excerpts, I am amazed at the genius, ingenuity and cleverness of the works. A few I even want to read more.

I've had good feedback on what I've written in the past and I'm hoping for more, although this year it will be a different genre. This is my third year doing this challenge and a third different genre. Year one was a sci-fi, Prisoners of Time; last year was an urban fantasy, Demonesque; and this year is a... well, I suppose it's a suspense, tentatively entitled Deception. I'll have to research small American towns, police procedures, psychiatry and stalkers for this one and do an outline. That's going to be the challenge this year, because the previous years I had a starting point and just wrote.

I'm going to need an outline before I start this year's Nano so I don't forget clues and red herrings. I'll post excerpts here and on the nano site which is at:

www.nanowrimo.org/

There'll be a lot of people doing the Nano this year, and I can't wait to read some the new and innovative ideas people have.

For the next 24 days or so, I'm going to make reference to my progress and that of others... I'm a writer, after all, it's what I do.

The rise and fall of fictional heroes

I'm reading two series that are so far apart genre-wise as for anyone to wonder what similarities they have. I can answer that one: politics.

When I began reading these series, I was impressed by the characters intestinal fortitude to Get Things Done no matter what the cost to themselves - and, on occasion, others. You know the saying, there is no greater love than to give your life... for someone who probably doesn't appreciate the sacrifce and will resent the hell out of you for the rest of their lives because of the guilt. Hmm. Nothing noble there. Why do they do it? Something about honour, justice and love, I suppose. Although, it would twist a enemy character, wouldn't it, to know that a hero died to save them. "Damn their eyes! How dare they be more worthy than I? How dare they take my victory away by sailing between me and that rogue asteroid/out-of-control-ship/terraton-alien-missile/fighting-the-monster-to-the-last-breath?" Something to ruminate on for the rest of their naturally embittered life.

But I digress. The similarity. Politics. From starship commander to an Admiral of two two fleets, Honor Harrington is now more involved in the politics of fighting a resumed war than actually getting out there and kicking butt; from feared vampire hunter to fuck-bunny, Anita Blake is now more involved in the politics of monsters than in solving crimes and killing beasties. For those readers who enjoy the political side of these characters, it must be a relief to get away from all that nasty violence. For those of us who like the violence - within reason - in the pursuit of a stunning, dramatic conclusion to a book, it's a sad down turn of some truly original books.

Could it change back? Well, no. Characters need to grow and develop. Unfortunately, while Honor Harrington has maintained the code of Manticore, Anita Blake has, for one reason or another, betrayed her own code of honour and descended into the very depths of depravity she swore she would not succumb to. Hah. We have followed Anita's demise, some readers agree it is a natural progression, others do not. I'm in both camps, giving the author time to consider motives and reasonings; nothing changed. The character continued to plunge into the abyss.

Politics have stripped the original vampire hunter of humanity. It was that very part of her identity that made the Anita Blake series such a good one. Now, it is steeped in sex for very specious reasons, and with no emotional consequences, no thought to the betrayal of fundamental morals.

For me, there are things I absolutely will not do for any reason or any lure. I will not betray myself or my honor in the pursuit of power or for the betterment of someone else just because I think I love them. It's not about them, it's about what I can live with. Sadly, Laurell K. Hamilton's character is all too willing to prostitute herself for others needs, rather than her own. And yes, it has all come about by her own choices. She's taken the easy way out because it became too hard to fight against.

For David Weber's Honor Harrington, nothing would convince her to betray everything she believed in, even when the enemy was her own government. I don't know that I agree with the recent developments - White Haven is too old, forty years is too big an age gap even with prolong - but the characters are happy, well-adjusted, people. And yes, Harrington is well aware that she is a stone-cold killer, just as Blake is. The difference is attitude; the difference is how each dealt with the politics of the situation. One stood firm, held honor in both hands and earned unwanted political power; the other slipped, gave in to temptation, turned and embraced that which she abhors and accepted the darkness.

What will be the results of all this? Only the authors know that. But it brings up an interesting thought: Which is the more intriguing scenario? The rise or fall of a hero?

One clue is always whether new readers are attracted, or whether fan readers are repelled. For both Harrington and Blake, the juries, luckily, are still out.

Greenery

I feel like a bucket of shit without the bucket. Yeah, it's Springtime and the Star Jasmine is out. Hayfever, rhinitis, what... everrrr, the bleary eyes, constantly running nose, muffled ears and headache. It's here, I got it and I'd rather be home, in bed, than at work being slightly vague. Sounds like a cold, but neither the ibuprofen nor the paracetemol is having much effect, ergo, hayfever.

I've got to find out where that blasted jasmine is: not to kill, but to avoid. It's fly spray to me. A real quick knockdown on me. I've just got to walk past it and wham! Headache time. Shitty stuff. If I don't find it, Spring is going to be awfully long.

What pisses me off is the exorbitant cost of anti-histamine medication. I don't get leveled by hayfever every year, but I got slammed this time. One minute fine, the next, I've got watering eyes, sneezing ferociously (no delicate achoos for me, pal, I let 'em rip). Blech, right at the beginning of the long weekend, too. *insert pout here*. I'm going to have to reach out and grab some o' those expensive drugs, three days of this is enough. I'll get attacked again before the spring is done, I understand and accept that, plenty of time to fork over a fortune for the the medication.

Okay. To cheer myself up, a colour quiz. Thanks to Paperback Writer for the link:

you are lightgreen #90EE90

Your dominant hue is green. You're logical and steadfast, focused on figuring life out and doing what makes sense. You value being trusted because you know you're taking the time to figure things out and everyone should just follow you. Your saturation level is lower than average - You don't stress out over things and don't understand people who do. Finishing projects may sometimes be a challenge, but you schedule time as you see fit and the important things all happen in the end, even if not everyone sees your grand master plan. Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

Not exactly what I expected, but the colour would be different tomorrow. Different mood, different answers, different colour. For today, it suits me. Green - defintely a metaphor.

Bali bombing II

Again with the murder of innocents!

Thirty-two people dead and over a hundred wounded following three bomb blasts in Bali; and just days before the third anniversary of the last one that killed a hundred or so people

I'd like to know how such actions further the cause of Islam. Is it riding Indonesia of infidel westerners? No. Is it destroying the livelihoods of the locals? Absolutely. What greater good is there?

I know these fundamentalist groups blame western civilisation for their woes, for their poverty, for the undermining of the islamic faith, but they are wrong. It isn't the west who is to blame for this attitude, but the individual agendas of the clerics who manipulate the Koran and provoke emotionally unstable teenagers to blow themselves up. Martyrs for the cause? What a load of unmitigated bullshit! It causes grief, it causes anger and, worst of all, it feeds the egos of the so-called clerics with their display of wretched and twisted power.

The Koran doesn't say 'go out and slaughter innocence and your reward shall be great'. It doesn't say 'it is your duty to rid the world of unbelievers'. It doesn't say that 'every infidel is worthless and you shouldn't worry about the blood on your hands'. And it certainly doesn't authorise indiscriminate jihads. A jihad can only be called by a council of clerics, and only if the holy land is in peril.

Those days are long past when the Moors battled the Crusaders. At least then, both sides had a code of honour they stuck by. At least then, neither the Bible, nor the Koran, nor, indeed the Torah, were corrupted by power-seeking religious fanatics.

The strong are supposed to protect the weak, not the weak-minded minority kill and maim the stronger majority. But then, if a vote doesn't go your way, slaughter as many of the 'wrong-headed' community as you can and maybe they'll come around to your way of thinking. And what's wrong with this picture?

It's the civilians who suffer. These fanatics' only approval comes from the sick leaders they support.

It's time for a re-evaluation of the way young moslems are educated. It's time for some proactive bravery from moslem leaders. It's time for suicide bombers to face up to their own problems and not blame anyone but themselves for the ills of the world. Different religious beliefs should not be an excuse to kill people in job lots, and yet, more people have been killed because that same difference than any other cause of wars you care to name put together.

And maybe that's the way it's always going to be. We live in a much more dangerous world where nothing is sacred anymore, where human life has no value, where petulant bullies kill indiscriminately because they can.

Doesn't bode well for the human race, does it.

Moral Responsibility of All

Former Labor Prime Minister, Robert Hawke, raised the issue of nuclear waste and its recycling. He suggests that it would be a great economic boon to Australia if we took the world's nuclear waste and buried it in the deep, dark recesses of the great outback. There's nothing out there, nobody lives there, it's empty - except of course for indigenous flora and fauna.

The current Labor Opposition Leader, Kim Beazley, smugly assured the populace that the issue was not one of Labor policy. Even the current Liberal Prime Minister, John Howard, demurred on the subject. But should they?

A former Greenpeace head has tentatively broached the subject of Australia's moral responsibility of uranium export. His reasoning is that if we are willing to sell yellow cake to the world, we should accept the resulting plutonium and other radio-active tailings.

And herein is the dilemma: nuclear waste is dangerous; yellow cake is not. Should we, as a nation, bear responsibility for what other nations do with our uranium?

When I first heard of this, I said a loud, mental 'no', 'not on your life'. Now, though, I'm thinking that Greenpeace - who I don't support because of its bloody minded arrogance - may have the right of it.

There are many who protest the shipping of our own nuclear waste to France aboard supposedly secure ships. But these are people who protest the nuclear facility just outside of Sydney, but refuse to come up with a viable alternative.

It's like prisons. Yeah, everybody is for law and order, but a prison in their neighbourhood? No way, no how, put it somewhere else. If these people had their druthers, we wouldn't have nuclear power at all, which means importing nuclear medicine at the very least.

There's no doubt nuclear substances are dangerous, but we cannot put the genie back into the bottle; we cannot unknow the science of it, we can't turn our back on it. What we can do is accept that it is our yellow cake out there being turned into nuclear energy and we can accept that because of that, we must make sure that the waste is disposed of in a suitable fashion.

In the outback? Buried in cement barrels under hundreds of metres of earth? I honestly don't know. Polluted groundwater is what immediately springs to mind.

Nuclear fusion is one of those things that I wish scientists had stopped to think whether they should develop it, before they thought of whether they could. It's a technology that is feared even as it's applauded, but never truly controlled until we can dispose of it in a safe manner.

This is a debate that can and should go on for some time before a decision is made.

This Sporting Nation

Last weekend, the Sydney Swans were crowned the AFL Champions in a thriller against the West Coast Wiggles, er, Eagles. This weekend, it's the ARL, with the West Tigers taking on the North Queensland Cowpats, er, Cowboys on Sunday night. Rugby League isn't the only sport that's ending. It's the change of seasons for a number of other athletic pursuits.

The Spring Racing season kicks off this weekend, with the running of the Epsom Handicap, the various Cups with the penultimate, the Melbourne Cup, there is also the A-league, the English premier league, domestic and international cricket, basketball, the local rugby union Grand Final on Sunday, golf season, the Bathurst 1000 motor racing, surf life saving carnivals, iron man races; finished is the netball (yay, Swifts) the International Rugby Union - let's not and say we did - the end of the tennis season, motor bikes, Formula One... and so much more.

This nation of ours has a ferocious need for sports and to achieve much in the chosen field. When the cricketers lost the Ashes, there were howls of outrage, calls for sackings and general ruckus. Sure it hurt, but, dare I say, it wasn't the end of the world. We'll get the Ashes back. Rugby Union? Okay, we didn't win any international games *wince* and our Super 12 sides were below par - except NSW. We'll improve before the World Cup. Soccer? We're going along nicely in the world rankings and our boys in the Under 17s World Cup are doing well. Hell, it's been thirty odd years since the Socceroos managed to get to the senior World Cup round.

For those of us who have given up sport and now watch with a sigh of 'when I was playing' being an armchair critic is fine. This summer, I'll be watching cricket, soccer, the Melbourne Cup... anything that happens to be on the teev. I'm one of many who will. Others will be taking their youngster out for street or yard cricket, will be playing touch footy down at the local sports field or taking their kids to their summer sporting venue. Why? Because this sporting nation prides itself on developing young talent. Because this sporting nation is a beach culture and loves the outdoors. Because this sporting nation, no matter who and where we are, loves a good, fair game.

Because we're Australian and 'too much sport is never enough'.

'New Age' Education

A new report released yesterday has, basically, condemned the current model of education for primary school students. The report's author, Dr Kevin Donnelly, has criticised what he sees as "outcome based education". From the Minister's media release: The report concluded that Australian curricula have largely been influenced by an outcomes based education approach, leading to curriculum documents that are vague, lack academic content, offer limited guidance to teachers about what to teach, and work against the acquisition of essential knowledge.

I've known for some time that the education system borders on the criminal in it's teaching of children. An example: my niece was severely pissed off at being taught about 'Australia's oppression of the indigenous population' rather than how Captain Cook discovered Australia and how it was settled; how Macarthur was a cruel racist invader, rather than the man who began the Merino wool industry in this country; how our explorers were slavers and thieves who stole land. Her complaint was that there was nothing positive in Australia's history and that political correctness had changed the view of the past.

Let's face it: there are some aspects of our history that are ugly, that need exploring and explaining. History, however, should not be apologised for. It happened, get over it! Discuss it if you must, but you cannot change it. Nor should history be warped by one person's attitude. We are not Japan trying to suggest that they were the attacked in WWII; we are not certain members of the international community suggesting the death camps of Belsen, Auchwitz and others never happened.

Our history is our history: the good, the bad and the unfortunate. No amount of new ageism is going to change that.

But history isn't the only subject under siege. English, too, has come under attack. As the Minister says: Every child deserves the opportunity to fulfil their potential through learning the fundamental skills of reading, writing, counting and communicating with one another.

Our teachers, unfortunately, are not giving our children that opportunity. Too many educators lack the skills and knowledge to teach. So what the hell are they doing training our kids if they don't know the bloody topic? Why are we letting students into teaching degrees who don't have the ability to acquire knowledge?

With the publication of this report, we are seeing what many parents have already known: their kids are leaving school without the ability to further themselves because they have been taught the wrong protocols. Reading, writing and arithmatic used to be the catch-phrase of all teachers. Now it's interpret the pictures, self-expression without correction and... who cares about numbers anyway?

The three Rs were a part of our education system for very good reason. It is the basis from which ability to acquire knowledge springs.

I'd like to find that touchy-feelie-political-correct-hippie-wannabe-who-just-wants-to-be-liked-and-everyone-to-love-each-other and kick his silly, self-serving, amoral, ignorant ass for what he's done to the education system.

With this new report, maybe now we can get back to what education really means: teaching our children the ability to acquire knowledge and be prepared for the future they will encounter.

Manufactured moods

When I'm writing, I 'listen' to a number of albums, depending on what genre the work is in. I say 'listen' because when I'm involved, I may not actually hear the music, only the silence when the album is finished.

It's a focus thing and it's a mood thing. And I have found I use the same type of music over and over again. For the big scenes, battles, revelations, etc, I listen to the soundtrack of... Conan the Barbarian or Wagner. Both have the sweeping majesty and I'm-gonna-kill-you-for-justice military cadence. For clever conversations or sly light bulb moments, I'll be using Mike Oldfield or Mozart. Love scenes and betrayal, I can't go past Pachebel's Canon or Clannad. Happy scenes, contented acceptance is, surprisingly, Shawn Colvin, Merril Bainbridge or Tchaikovsky. Scenes of anger, I-don't-give-a-shit, it's Pat Benatar. For a lot of the rest, I listen to Amici, and the numerous single CDs I have - and of those, most are repeats.

Each piece of music generates a particular mood for me that seeps into my subconscious and promotes the attitude I'm looking for. It's works. I've read previous manuscripts I've written and I can steep myself in the words. Not because I remember the music, but because the mood is there, in the writing. For some of it, I'm surprised. I didn't remember writing that bit and it was damn good. I'm sure other authors feel the same way.

There's satisfaction in manufacturing moods when the words come out just right.

Crazy world of blogging

Okay, for some reason I can't write in 'compose' but I can in 'edit html'. I'm sure there's something simple that's gone wrong, but since I'm a newbie at this, it's driving me nuts.

Worse, the last post went straight to archives rather than onto the current blog. I shall have to be cunning in finding a way around this nasty turn. Who knew a blog could turn against you?

Busman's Holiday from Hell

I had always thought that my editing skills would be useful, especially when I'm writing fiction, and that's true. What I didn't expect was that the department across the way would also find them useful. Without my knowledge, or consent, my boss negotiated with the aforementioned department to use my skills. The pay off? Not bookoo dollars, but a training course which the unnamed department would pay for.

Well, harumph! The work they want me to do will take a week or two; the course, two days. Who got the better deal? Editors aren't cheap, but apparently, I am. I've got news for them: their precious manual isn't as perfect as they thought. Hah! Of course, I'm as much of a perfectionist as I was once described as, which is lucky for them and unfortunate for me.

Now that I've griped about that, all I can say is that it's probably a good thing I was standing by to do this for them. The project will go on my CV along with other works I've done. And the training? Like a lot of course, it will swing from boring to exciting.

Next time, I just want them to ask instead of assume. Then we can perhaps come to a more equitable remuneration.

Neighbourhood training

Learning doesn't stop with graduating from school. Every day, in small and large ways, we are constantly learning new things. Yesterday, I was at an Emergency Management Arrangements course.

An interesting course that brought home what our neighbourhoods have become. Where once communities would be grateful for help during flood, fire, tempest from the local authorities, now it's more a comment of 'where the hell we're you?'

How have we let our neighbourhood communities become so materialistic and selfish that they feel they can demand help whenever an individual needs it? What happened to community spirit during times of strife?

Sure, neighbourhoods have a right to expect help, but many people are a bit lackadaisical about their own safety. Fire coming? Clean your gutters, prepare your house, prepare for evacuation or prepare to fight. Flood coming? Sandbag your house, prepare to evacuate or prepare to paddle. Tempest? A little more difficult, but batten down the hatches, prepare to evacuate or prepare for a torrid time.

Once you've done your bit, look around at your neighbours. Does the elderly lady across the road have help? Is the house next door vacant? Is there something you can do?

Emergency staff have enough problems without racing around neighbourhoods distributing advice. There is a constant shortage of emergency personnel as is. Do something for your neighbourhood; don't wait until it is too late, don't wait to help.

Gulfport, USA managed on their own after being flattened. They picked themselves up and got on with the job.

If you're going to scream, shout and stamp your tiny foot when emergency staff turn up, make damn sure you did all you could in the first place to mitigate the damage. Make damn sure you helped your fellow neighbours. Who knows, maybe it will make for a closer knit community with everyone pitching in and helping out.

Now that I have the basics down, I'm going to take it further and get more training.

With the fire season just starting and drought conditions still prevalent, I suspect I'm in for a busy summer. Hopefully, I'll get thanks for the help, rather than pissy comments at having the gall to be fighting a fire when I could have been at the beck and call of one person.

Imploding politics

I was amused at the latest go around by the various political parties here. The bouquet goes to former Federal Liberal Opposition Leader, John Hewson, for describing Mark Latham as a Labor Party Suicide Bomber.

The bucket, of course, is dumped on those ardent Mark Latham supporters who are now denying any such connection and scrambling to get as far away as possible. Too late! It's no wonder Mark trashed the party and its members. What an amoral bunch of hypocrits! How much truth there is in his newly published diaries, I don't know. But if even it is half true, that makes the party a cesspit of venomous, power-hungry zealots who are unable to see the wider cause and are totally focused on their own ambitions.

Can anyone tell me the last time a Laborite came up with an original and workable policy on anything? When Mark tried, he was directed to some nutjob public relations 'guru' and given policies that, if not so extreme, may have worked. Even the grass-roots labor votes turned against them at the last election.

And so, the Federal Liberals are dining out on an unexpected banquet. Every Liberal MP is grinning from ear-to-ear and giving out tasty sound bites to the media. What mirth. Manna from heaven to distract everyone from what else is going on in politics: The UN. The Iraqi War. The Price of Petrol. Interest Rates. It has all been pushed aside in favour of the tang and zest of roasting Labor politicians.

No doubt, at the end, the Liberals will be sitting back, full bellied and picking their teeth with Mark Latham's sharp rebukes, chuckling over such a magnificent feast he provided... free of charge.

Personality traits

Of course, you just can't help yourself when a weblog tempts you to go to a quiz site. These sites compare you to a famous person, inanimate object, mood, colour, whatever. Why do we do these things? Because we are human and our curiosity is innate. Now. Having justified my position with some vague argument, I'll thank Vanessa Jaye's weblog for the link to these answers:

What movie are you?

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

And this one, which, as far as I'm concerned, is diametrically opposed to the above movie:

What great leader are you?

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Amazing, huh. I have no idea how to reconcile the two. Good thing I'm a Gemini and used to my dual nature...

Da Weekend

Had some of the family visiting for the weekend, but I managed to finish the edits of my book. Chapter twenty-five required an almost total rewrite. I thought I had a clever confrontation, but, while it was clever, it was also a cop out and out of character (thank you, Vanessa Jaye).

The new section reads better, feels more real, and has the added bonus of some neat kick ass action. Clues are there, throughout the book, so I haven't hidden anything. I just hope it works well enough.

Hah! Now I get to put the whole thing back together, let it stew for a while, then read through before handing it off to an independant critiquer. I'm excited and nervous about that, but it gotta be done. Woot!

I think I'll just go and have a glass of congrats on a job finally done.

Farewell to Sinbad

I went to the funeral yesterday of a man who I admired and respected.

He was a fighter pilot, an aircraft mechanic, a sailor, a priest, a father, a husband and a confidante to many.

His sense of humour was wicked; his temper, mild. He looked at you with keen interest and as if he knew a secret that he was only too willing to share, if only you'd ask. I never did; but I've never been comfortable with religion.

I went to school with his two younger sons, never having met the older brother or sister. Sinbad Most Junior was one of my best friends during those years and the family were neighbours. Junior spent as much time at our house as I did at his. We had a cadre of pals and we did everything together. Swim, talk, play tennis, do everything teenagers did when together - though not drugs or alcohol, we had no need and our community was very, very small.

Sinbad was always there in the background, with his King George V beard, handing out advice and telling, sometimes, inappropriate jokes, a sparkle in his eyes. We were all comfortable with him: he didn't pressure us, treated us like we were a part of his family too. Happy were those days, even with teenage angst.

Now, some twenty-five years later, he's gone. It's odd that I was thinking of him and his youngest son only a couple of days ago. Had he, once departing his mortal cage, touched those he'd helped long ago one last time? It would be just like him: no matter how much time had passed, he would always remember you, and what you meant to his children and him.

I had no tears for him at the funeral, he would have told me to buck up, nudged me out my maudlin mood, told another of his jokes; he was that kind of a man. At the moment though, the tightness is there in my throat, the sting is behind my eyes. I didn't realise how I would miss him. Now, I do. He'll always be a part of my history and I will always be glad I knew him. He'll live on in my heart; and in so many others.

Blessed be, Sinbad

Drop Ins

I'm sitting in my office and a Caribou is occasionally flying low overhead. The heavy thrum of the engines is, at once, distracting and soothing. What is a Caribou doing flying over the office?

It's headed out over the Bay to drop off parachutists. These brave men and women are in the final stages of training and must be able to jump out of a plane. They also hang about in the swimming pool for a few hours in their jammies. All part of the survival training for our future defence force leaders.

I remember similar exercises from when I was growing up here. Then, I took my swimming lessons with the new cadets: me learning to swim, them, hunky young men in their jammies floating in the cold water and chilling rain.

When it came time for those young men to jump out of the plane, I stood on the shore and watched; admired them for their courage, feared for their safety, eyed the spectacle of all those 'chutes opening.

Today, little has changed. The base has undergone some construction, some houses are gone, but the men and women training there remain, though less in numbers.

I can't imagine the excitement, the sheer terror of staring out the back of a noisy Caribou and knowing you've got to jump into space and plummet towards the blue of the sea; and hope your landing buddies are there to drag you out of the frigid water before the chute and your clothes drag you beneath the surface. You've got to admire them for that.

Invincible youth. Yeah. By showing courage now, we can be relieved that they will also show courage in the future, when they, and we civilians, need it most. Brave souls, one and all.

Oh, the pain

Yeah, well, it's probably a good thing that we lost the cricket: there is such a thing as being too used to winning. The younger members of the team, as cricket commentator Mark Taylor pointed out, have never been in a losing side. Now they have. It can only give them a better sense of purpose, of pride, and of determination.

Let's face it: it stings to lose. It stings even more when it has been 18 years since the Ashes were last in English hands. It stings the worst when you remember the arrogant predictions of a five - nil whitewash McGrath proclaimed before the Aussies left Australia. *sigh*

It hurts to lose the Ashes, but the English deserve to gloat. They had the consistency, the skills... and why the hell am I being polite about this for. We fucking lost!!! To those mongrel, whinging, smug Poms!

Sure we were wrong in thinking it would be easy, but, MY GOD, to lose those matches in such a way. When those idiots arrive back in Australia, no doubt there will be recriminations along with the 'there-there, you did your best'. To hell with that!

Okay... I'm over it now. Mostly... Some... gotta suck it up...

I'll just concentrate on the footy and not think about cricket for a while...

Dust to dust

I think it is safe to assume that the Ashes are lost to us. We've held the trophy for sixteen years and now it is on its way home. Why the Aussies decided accept the bad light call for the second day running is beyond me. Do they think, that with England's current form, they can still reach a big total and bowl the opposition out?

How realistic is that? It's not even close. England need only a draw and by the way the Aussies are playing, you'd think it was they who needed a draw and not a win.

What the hell is Punter thinking? Fine, Hayden makes a ton. So what? It will be overshadowed by the glee and celebrations of the Poms. And rightly so. They have worked hard to use the Aussie's game against them. With players like Warne contracted to English cricket sides, the Poms have plenty of practice against him. To our detriment. It's made the game more skillful, more exciting and the resurgence of English cricket can only be good for the game.

I'm not saying that the domination of Australian cricket is over, but it certainly looks shaky. The reliance on old, and admittedly effective, strategies has exposed a fatal flaw. It would have been nice for some of the older players to go out with a win, but that's not going to happen.

And much as it pains me... well done to the English. You've worked hard, played hard and won the series.

To other sport and it's finals time in the AFL and ARL. All I can say is: Carn the Dragons!!!

Apropos yesterday, I plugged in the new printer/scanner/copier and it works a treat... after a few bugs were sorted out. I still have the properties in German, but I'm sure I can a) translate or b) work around that.

I finished up half way through the book. In two months' time, the National Novel writing competition begins and I must have some dot points organised before then, so this book must have the edits finished before then. I figure I'm on target to have some down time in December, but who knows? My job contract is up in late November with the prospect of more work. The NaNo book might not be as long as I want it to be by the time I finish, but I love a good challenge and the idea I have is an original one - and book number ten. I'm looking forward to it.

Lost time

I'm editing this weekend and losing time. It's amazing how involved I can get in the work. Must be fate.

This morning, I picked up an all-in-one printer, scanner and copier to replace individual peripherals. I haven't plugged that sucker in yet, because I had to get these edits done. Sixty-nine pages done today and I'll hopefully follow that up with another sixty odd pages tomorrow. Of course, that's only if I have the full day to work. Visitors on a Sunday is a definite possibility.

The book is going well, though. It reads much better since this is third time I've gone through it. By the time I'm done, I'll re-read it again, then gird my loins and fire off of query letter.

Before I start work tomorrow, I'm gonna play with my new toy.

Ashes to Ashes

It's down to the wire. The most exciting and closely watched Ashes series for twenty or more years. The older, more experienced Australians versus the young firebrands of England. Australia need to win to retain the Ashes, the English need only a draw.

Commentators have been hedging their bets. Would the English aim for a draw? Thus cheating the sold out crowds of what could be a monumental struggle? Or would they go for the kill and win 3-1?

The Aussies are confident and laid back about their chances; they've been there before and triumphed. The English have already booked Trafalgar Square for the victory celebrations.

Should the Poms beat Australia, will the Captain, Michael Vaughan, and the Coach, be rewarded with Honours ala Sir Clive Woodward and Jonny Wilkinson? Geez, I hope not. As good as the English Rugby Team isn't, on the day they won the World Cup, it came down to luck, to refereeing, to holding the Wallabies and one last gasp in overtime. A win of opportunity. Not the sort of game that should have had Queen's Honours.

None the less, the English won that day, ergo, they were the better team. The cricket, on the other hand, has held the nation's attention. To go for a draw would be criminal and I know the English have more courage than that.

Whatever the outcome of the fifth test - it begins tonight - this series has been spectacular for it's skill, lack of skill, dropped catches, wiley bowling, run chases, near escapes and sheer entertainment.

Good luck to either side, may the best team win.

Cleaning Up

With the levees now repaired and the pumps sucking up the the water, the recovery process continues in Hurricane devastated New Orleans. Things, however, are about to get much, much worse.

As the water levels drop, the true nature of the disaster will be revealed: the environmental one. The dead, human and animal, on the streets, in their homes, rotting down to liquid and mixing into the water; petroleum, gas and oil leaks from the refineries, cars, generators, clinging with rainbow iridescence to everything, chemicals from pharmacies, gas stations, supermarkets, auto repairers and other business; raw sewerage, rusting cars, rotting food, and the rest are all being combined to create a toxic and diseased soup. The mess will deteriorate as this poison is absorbed into wood, concrete, stone and plant material.

Those people who want to remain are singleminded in their madness. Will they sue the City of New Orleans in the future should they fall ill due to the toxicity? Blame the Government, the Mayor, the Governor for not trying hard enough to get them out? Some of these people are armed, as the American constitution allows. Sure, they've got a right to bear arms, but this isn't a invasion of people who threaten them, it's an invasion of disease and poisons. Guns won't be much good against those microbes. To reject those who are trying to save them is as irresponsible as it is selfish. Those rescuers have laid their lives on the line day after day to help others.

"I aint goin' nowhere! I gotta a right to bear arms and protect my home!" One lunatic said and punctuated her words with racheting another round into the chamber of her shotgun.

Fine. Ten, twenty, thirty years down the track - should you make it that far - remember those words and the remember that people tried their damnedest to save you and you didn't want to be saved.

Oh, and one last point. With the toxic water being pumped out of New Orleans, it is being washed into the Mississippi and Lake Ponchartrain and the Gulf of Mexico. It will be interesting to see what kind of environmental damage is done and how long it will take to recover.

Perhaps, when it is time to rebuild, the architects, builders and contractors could look at more environmental building materials, stronger materials, safer materials.

Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen. Bigger and better are the catch-cries of the south. So they will rebuild Gulfport, Biloxi, Pass Christian, Long Beach and the other towns, Bigger and Better than they were. Hopefully, they will be built stronger, too.

Rescue

There's been a lot of criticism about the way the Australian Government handled the situation of those trapped in New Orleans.

The Opposition suggested that perhaps we should have sent troops into a friendly nation, then steal whatever transport could be found, gone down into a city where roads were blocked and/or under water, find every single missing Aussie, and drag their butts outa there.

Can anyone else see what's wrong with this scenerio?

Gosh, it's easy to criticize when you're in Opposition, when you don't have to actually do anything but comment.

But the stoic, noble, former Defence Minister, came up with one of the worst, most laughable solutions I have ever heard. The Americans weren't letting anyone in but their own troops. Such bravado from the Opposition leader. Willing to risk an international incident with an act of war, just to save our people; sacrifice the many for the few. What an idiot.

I agree that the American Government was criminally negligent in its' failure to understand the gravity of the situation, and the lack of impetus in getting the rescue efforts off the ground. But that is their business, not ours.

You wanna get out of New Orleans? Walk. There was at least one road clear. You got the legs, you use 'em. Someone will find you, or you will find them. Take water, take food, or find it on the way. Rescue yourself.

As for Opposition Leader, Mr Kim Beazley, instead of making ridiculous, embarrassing statements after the event, try being supportive and helpful in suggesting useful plans for the evacuation of our people, no matter where they are.

The American President

Three images of Dubya stand out most in my mind. The first was when an aide leaned over to tell him the twin towers had been bombed by terrorists. Dubya had been reading to a group of school children. His face went blank, as if wondering how to react. He finished reading the story, then left. The second was his expression of earnestness when telling a carefully orchestrated public gathering that they were going to invade Iraq. And the third... most telling of all... was his interview on American television that he had not forgotten New Orleans and that help would be on its way. Why is this an image of import? Because he had humour in his eyes.

I found nothing funny about the situation, nor his total lack of compassion or empathy.

Dubya is a man who has never gone hungry, nor thirsty, has always had shelter, has money out the wazoo and if all else fails, has his Daddy to protect him.

It's as if he feels nothing for these people; has no responsibility. 9/11 was managed by New York's mayor, Rudolph Guiliani; the so called 'war on terror' is managed by the armed forces. Colin Powell advised against such an action and offered to resign. He changed his mind because he felt if he was in charge of such a foolhardy action, at least he could moderate the damage. Now we have New Orleans. And where is he? Holding press conferences. He didn't dare land in the city, he went to a smaller town, where he knew he would be safe; among white amercians. Press the flesh, apologise, say everything will be alright; but no direct action. That's left to the National Guard who were ordered in much too late.

How is it that journalists can fly in but without supplies? How is it mandatory evacuation is ordered but no one bothers to help the poor and destitute out of the city? Worse, not make sure there are enough supplies for them? How can this go on for five days!

The richest country in the world is managed by a failed business man who cares nothing for the poor of the nation and knows nothing about crisis management; has failed on numerous occasions. As long as he feels good about himself - hence the smile on television - everything is alright with the world; his staff can deal with it.

There is only one good thing to come out of his current presidency: it will be his last. Then, maybe, the Americans will have the Government the rest of the world needs: competent, compassionate, intelligent.

Perfect Storm

I've seen the devastation of New Orleans and I grieve with the rest of the US. Such a catastrophy to rival any other in the world in recent years. It will take months, years for a final death toll, for the city to rebuild - if it should.

New Orleans is eight feet below sea level with levees to keep the water at bay. On one side, Lake Ponchartain, on the other, the Mississippi River. Every year, the area loses an acre to submersion: the city is sinking. After this disaster, I have no doubts that the engineers will work extremely hard to make sure this sort of flooding won't happen again.

World wide, people have 'oohed' and 'ahhed' at the pictures, yet no offer of help has come. Instead, blame is being tossed at the American President for not signing the Kyoto Protocol: http://service.spiegel.de/cache/international/0,1518,372179,00.html

I had no idea that signing a piece of paper would protect a country from natural disasters.

Astonishing, really, that such magic exists.

What these people fail to mention is that the Earth's climate is cyclical. The episodes of drought and flood have greater seasons than yearly events.

The media, of course, deal with sensationalism, the more outrageous the claim, the more public attention, more people have access etcetera, ad nauseum. Ergo, these claims are become false facts.

The Gulf of Mexico, East Coast of the U.S. and the Caribbean are susceptible to hurricanes; Australia is known for droughts and cyclones; Bangladesh, India, China, for floods; California, Albania, Iran for earthquakes. I'm sure you can come up with more.

My point is: just because one bad hurricane hits the U.S. does not mean you can take the opportunity to kick the Americans and say "I told you so". You did not. Storms like this are a rare event. The damage was predicted, the site it hit was predicted, even the death toll was predicted. Unfortunately, telling people to leave, wasn't enough. Perhaps the hurricane warning came too late, perhaps no one believed it would, really be that bad. Whatever reasons exists, the reality is that people are in trouble. Criticizing some amorphous piece of policy that is detrimental to some countries but gives others a warm fuzzy feeling of false accomplishment leads nowhere.

They need rescue workers, they need builders, they need food, clean water, blood, emergency personnel. They need everything we did for the Acehnese after Boxing Day.

Button the lip for now and help them as they have helped other disaster areas of the world.

Tiger's Tail

Salman Rushdie is tempting fate again: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/4140540.stm.

I agree with him. He brought down upon his head a Fatwa by criticizing Islam in his book Satanic Verses. The Ayatollah Khomeini issued a religious edict calling for his execution. That pronoucement in itself shows the perils of giving one man so much power. He had radical fundamentalists hunting a man for writing a few words? I don't see the Christians, the Jews, the Buddhists, the Taoists, the Pagans, the Catholics hunting down people for slights against their religions.

Islamists should get a grip. Like every other religion, it's time for the Islamic Reformation. What the radical moslems are being taught today is, in no way, shape or form, a part of Islamic doctrine. Any moderate will tell you suicide bombing is against islamic teachings; the burkha is a personal choice and woman are supposed to be by their husband's side, not a few steps behind.

There is much in the Koran that has been corrupted by power-hungry Clerics and Mullahs. Worse, they are teaching the young to hate anyone not of their faith, that they are worthy, less than animals. Muhommad would be appalled at how his once peaceful and understanding faith has fallen into the hands of egotistical, arrogant and cowardly men who reply to any sort of criticism with vengeance.

Each and every one of those radical Mullahs has a personal agenda to forward and are using the young and impressionable to see that agenda fulfilled. It has nothing to do with religious intolerance or revenge and everything to do with how many followers the Mullahs can muster.

Just by writing this, I'm grabbing the tiger's tail oo, but I'm secure in the knowledge, that since no one has commented on my previous posts, there are precious few out there reading this blog. That being so, this post will fall into the pit of archives before a Fatwa can be declared on me.

Go, Salman, Go Salman!