I'm dropping a bucket on the Opposition and others for the outrageous proliferation of lies and conjecture as truth.
I know that Kim Beazley is an unhappy man - he was a disaster as Defence Minister and copped two floggings at elections. Described as not having the 'ticker' to be Prime Minister, he was the most unpopular Opposition leader... ever.
Now though, he's back, and with a vengeance. He's shrouded himself in 'moral outrage' over a number of topics, but none more so than the AWB scandal. Not content with accusing the Australian Wheat Board of paying kickbacks to the Hussein regime, he now says he has evidence that the payments to a Jordanian trucking company that transported Australian wheat, was used to fund arms buying and the so-called weapons of mass destruction.
I'm sorry, but... what? This was the guy who accused the government of going to war for a lie, that there weren't WMDs. Now he's saying there were, and he has evidence? Please, Kim, share this with us; not just your party, but the United Nations - who found no evidence - with the whole world - who are a little embarrassed that they were wrong. Are you now saying Hussein did have WMDs? And that we paid for them?
For a politician, he's being remarkably naive if he thinks the Australians were the only ones to pay for the transportation of products. It's custom in middle east and eastern countries to pay 'that little bit extra' to clear the way. Call it a bribe, a kickback, whatever, but that is the way these countries do business.
And because Kim is pissed off that we went to war - against his wishes - he's spouting all sorts of bile. The Cole inquiry has yet to hand down it's findings, but Kim has made up his mind on this.
Nationals leader, Mark Vaile, has come out and said he was aware of concerns with the AWB some four years ago, but the lack of evidence had him dismissing those concerns.
The inquiry itself has come about because an American senator wanted to further his, and his country's, ambition in the Iraq region. Given that Australia exports more wheat to Iraq than America does, and they want an in, we became the logical target. Ban Australian wheat and the way is open for American wheat. If a 'scandal' ensues, well, that's politics and it's becoming dirty.
I have to say that the US Wheat Association was a little late in it's howling for blood. Did they not know about this? Or is it a case that for American companies, this is the way business is done: that payments are made in the same way? Whatever.
What pisses me off is a politician making outlandish and unsubstantiated claims that the AWB financed weapons to kill our own troops. Bull. Shit. If you're going that route, then the French, Germans, Russians and yes, the British and Americans are guilty too; after all, it was western countries who financed the war against Iran. That's where the weapons came from.
Mr Beazley should present the evidence, or shut the hell up before he's considered more than just a posturing idiot.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Monday, February 06, 2006
Sport, sport and... more sport
For the past fifteen years or so, I've set aside this day to watch the American Superbowl. We call it Gridiron here. First, yay! to both sides, the Seattle Seahawks and the Pittsburgh Steelers. Second, boo! to the umpires. Boo, boo, boo. What an amateurish effort in the first half! Yes, the umps have a difficult job, but jeez, they sure as hell should have been more professional in their decisions. I've seen some poor decisions in the game, but never so many so consistantly. I was beginning to think the umps were determined for the Seahawks not to win anything. And before you jump all over me, my team is the Dallas Cowboys who... ahem... didn't make it. Third, woot! I love the game and regardless of the... dubious decisions, I enjoyed it... mostly. Both teams had their opportunities and the Steelers came out on top. Congrats to them.
The Aussies apparently 'monstered' the Proteas in the one day cricket international yesterday. Australia scored a massive 6-344 from 50 overs; the South Africans scored 6-287 after 50. Yes, it was a great score by us, but kudos to the Proteas for not giving up. On another day, that would have been a winning total. The Aussies just had more Vegemite than the Proteas, and exposed their mean streak. It doesn't matter who Australia comes up against in the finals starting Friday, the way they are playing they're virtually unbeatable. And having said that, the game comes down to who plays the best on the day and we know that it is easy to fall into a heap. Go us!
The National Swimming trials are over and the team has been selected for the Commonwealth Game. There is much controversy about the exclusion of Craig Stevens who won the 400 metres but was excluded from the team because his time was only the 21st fastest in the world. That is, it was not a fast enough qualifying time. Some swimmers who came in third in their races have been selected. I don't have a problem with this. It was always my understanding that races, including athletics, had a qualifying time. Stevens wasn't fast enough; it's a simple as that.
The Winter Olympics begin tonight and we're hoping for a couple of medals. It doesn't matter what colour, this country is not known for it's winter sports. Just getting there is an accomplishment in my book. Good luck to them all. And let's remember that it was luck that lead Stephen Bradbury to the first gold medal in speed racing when the rest of the field fell metres from the finish line. He freely admits it was luck, but that's the sport.
One last sporting event and that's the Super 14 Rugby Union. The Game they play in Heaven kicks off this weekend. While I'd like to see the Brumbies up there at the end of the season, my thinking is that the teams still to beat is the Crusaders. They are an astonishing talent and I love to watch them play, even though their from New Zealand. (Of course, I'll go for any team who wups the asses of the South African thugs... um... teams.)
The Aussies apparently 'monstered' the Proteas in the one day cricket international yesterday. Australia scored a massive 6-344 from 50 overs; the South Africans scored 6-287 after 50. Yes, it was a great score by us, but kudos to the Proteas for not giving up. On another day, that would have been a winning total. The Aussies just had more Vegemite than the Proteas, and exposed their mean streak. It doesn't matter who Australia comes up against in the finals starting Friday, the way they are playing they're virtually unbeatable. And having said that, the game comes down to who plays the best on the day and we know that it is easy to fall into a heap. Go us!
The National Swimming trials are over and the team has been selected for the Commonwealth Game. There is much controversy about the exclusion of Craig Stevens who won the 400 metres but was excluded from the team because his time was only the 21st fastest in the world. That is, it was not a fast enough qualifying time. Some swimmers who came in third in their races have been selected. I don't have a problem with this. It was always my understanding that races, including athletics, had a qualifying time. Stevens wasn't fast enough; it's a simple as that.
The Winter Olympics begin tonight and we're hoping for a couple of medals. It doesn't matter what colour, this country is not known for it's winter sports. Just getting there is an accomplishment in my book. Good luck to them all. And let's remember that it was luck that lead Stephen Bradbury to the first gold medal in speed racing when the rest of the field fell metres from the finish line. He freely admits it was luck, but that's the sport.
One last sporting event and that's the Super 14 Rugby Union. The Game they play in Heaven kicks off this weekend. While I'd like to see the Brumbies up there at the end of the season, my thinking is that the teams still to beat is the Crusaders. They are an astonishing talent and I love to watch them play, even though their from New Zealand. (Of course, I'll go for any team who wups the asses of the South African thugs... um... teams.)
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Distant shores, close magic
I've finally sorted out my connection to Skype, the online telephone service. When my brother first suggested it, I thought it a nifty idea. No more long distance phone charges, able to talk as if he was standing right there...
Then I figured, nuh, I have dial up, not broadband. A few months later, I'd forgotten about Skype and I kind of got shanghaied into having broadband. I thought it just a chat on the telephone with the provider, but a few days later, the modem turned up. Huh. Okay, I thought, why not? And duly went through the destructions to connect. Great! Faster connection, faster downloads, the werld is my oy-stahhh!
Cue now. The bills makes me wince a little, but I can manage that by not having such a cavalier attitude to where I go, and not overuse the 'net - if there is such a thing.
With the post-Christmas sales, I had the opportunity to visit a new computer gaming store and lo, headphones with microphones half-price! Woo-hoo! I've been looking for voice recognition software for manuscript feedback and all I had to do now was find the software.
My brother sent me an e-mail, the kind that chats about family news. He again suggested Skype. Why not give it another go. So I went to the site, had to fool around with the microphone levels, sort out how I was going to go about contacting him, sent an email back that I was up and running. All I had to do was wait.
While I did that I went to CNET, the freeware and shareware site and downloaded some voice recognition.
I happened to be enunciating very carefully as I went through the tutorial when, bugger me if the icon didn't flash and it was brother on the line, all the way from Qatar where he is a senior engineer!
We chatted for half an hour and I watched my broadband usage rise. Never mind about that - he and I can chat whenever now, rather than using a sometimes scratchy telephone line. The only difficulty will be the time difference. When he gets back to Denmark, where he lives now with his family, he'll set up another account there and I can talk to my niece and nephew.
I have to say that it's a marvellous invention, this Skype - or should I say development. Corporations here in the Land of Aus are moving towards this technology now because it cuts down the telephony bills significantly. No need to answer the phone the traditional way, just press the mouse button and you're away.
Magic works in mysterious ways, I think. Sometimes it's inescapable as it gently guides you to where you should be going. A metaphysical kick in the rear end if you will.
I'll be posting more on real magic in future posts. And if you think it doesn't happen to you... you're wrong.
Then I figured, nuh, I have dial up, not broadband. A few months later, I'd forgotten about Skype and I kind of got shanghaied into having broadband. I thought it just a chat on the telephone with the provider, but a few days later, the modem turned up. Huh. Okay, I thought, why not? And duly went through the destructions to connect. Great! Faster connection, faster downloads, the werld is my oy-stahhh!
Cue now. The bills makes me wince a little, but I can manage that by not having such a cavalier attitude to where I go, and not overuse the 'net - if there is such a thing.
With the post-Christmas sales, I had the opportunity to visit a new computer gaming store and lo, headphones with microphones half-price! Woo-hoo! I've been looking for voice recognition software for manuscript feedback and all I had to do now was find the software.
My brother sent me an e-mail, the kind that chats about family news. He again suggested Skype. Why not give it another go. So I went to the site, had to fool around with the microphone levels, sort out how I was going to go about contacting him, sent an email back that I was up and running. All I had to do was wait.
While I did that I went to CNET, the freeware and shareware site and downloaded some voice recognition.
I happened to be enunciating very carefully as I went through the tutorial when, bugger me if the icon didn't flash and it was brother on the line, all the way from Qatar where he is a senior engineer!
We chatted for half an hour and I watched my broadband usage rise. Never mind about that - he and I can chat whenever now, rather than using a sometimes scratchy telephone line. The only difficulty will be the time difference. When he gets back to Denmark, where he lives now with his family, he'll set up another account there and I can talk to my niece and nephew.
I have to say that it's a marvellous invention, this Skype - or should I say development. Corporations here in the Land of Aus are moving towards this technology now because it cuts down the telephony bills significantly. No need to answer the phone the traditional way, just press the mouse button and you're away.
Magic works in mysterious ways, I think. Sometimes it's inescapable as it gently guides you to where you should be going. A metaphysical kick in the rear end if you will.
I'll be posting more on real magic in future posts. And if you think it doesn't happen to you... you're wrong.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Traveller of the mind
I start back at work in less than ten days; real life work, stuff I'm actually paid for even though it's not what I want.
This is a twelve month contract, a whole year of busting my butt for others, being nice and courteous to the public. I'm fortunate in that my job is in a beautiful area and in a national park. Of course, the money's good too.
Away from that reality is what I can do with the money, and my plan is to go overseas again. It's been ten years since my last jaunt. I find that too long. I love travelling; love the different cultures, different personalities, different landscapes.
But I'm not a tourist. I'm a traveller. The journey is just as important as the destination. Each journey teaches me about myself, and my fellow travellers. Not for me the phrase 'we have a bigger/better one in our own country', or bitching about the service, the food, the transportation, the accomodation. I like to study the differences, not criticise them.
The same can be said of the books we read: Whether one author is better than another, whether the story is intriguing or not, whether we'll read more from that author.
Each book is a unique experience, we imagine the story, the characters, the worlds created for us. The book's imagery settles into our mind like a memory, and when we see the title years down the track, we remember what it was about, or the blurb prompts that memory.
Whether we are travelling in fact, or travelling in mind, the memories build up to create a patterned quilt of our lives. The good, the bad, the dangerous and the downright ugly all come together to give us experiences we might not have otherwise had.
The difference, of course, is that books open up new worlds to us. Nothing limits us other than the quality of our imaginations.
So I'm pondering on where I shall go: The Pacific Northwest and New England? Or do I go the other way to Europe and the British Isles to hunt down my ancestors? One is an adventure novel, the other is a mystery novel. Both will be exciting and create more experiences in my library of memories.
This is a twelve month contract, a whole year of busting my butt for others, being nice and courteous to the public. I'm fortunate in that my job is in a beautiful area and in a national park. Of course, the money's good too.
Away from that reality is what I can do with the money, and my plan is to go overseas again. It's been ten years since my last jaunt. I find that too long. I love travelling; love the different cultures, different personalities, different landscapes.
But I'm not a tourist. I'm a traveller. The journey is just as important as the destination. Each journey teaches me about myself, and my fellow travellers. Not for me the phrase 'we have a bigger/better one in our own country', or bitching about the service, the food, the transportation, the accomodation. I like to study the differences, not criticise them.
The same can be said of the books we read: Whether one author is better than another, whether the story is intriguing or not, whether we'll read more from that author.
Each book is a unique experience, we imagine the story, the characters, the worlds created for us. The book's imagery settles into our mind like a memory, and when we see the title years down the track, we remember what it was about, or the blurb prompts that memory.
Whether we are travelling in fact, or travelling in mind, the memories build up to create a patterned quilt of our lives. The good, the bad, the dangerous and the downright ugly all come together to give us experiences we might not have otherwise had.
The difference, of course, is that books open up new worlds to us. Nothing limits us other than the quality of our imaginations.
So I'm pondering on where I shall go: The Pacific Northwest and New England? Or do I go the other way to Europe and the British Isles to hunt down my ancestors? One is an adventure novel, the other is a mystery novel. Both will be exciting and create more experiences in my library of memories.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Expectations
I was asked by a friend of mine for the manuscript of A Soldier's Ghost. He had read another of my novels, enjoyed it and wanted to read something else. My reaction was to smile, "Sure, I'll send it off to you in a couple of days".
I had stuff to do, you know real life stuff, so I couldn't do it immediately. What a relief! Not his asking, the real life stuff, because now I'm looking at the book thinking "Oh, shit, I did the mark-ups but didn't change the copy!"
I never actually thought anyone would want to read it. It is the second book I wrote. The first, The Saracen's Alchemist is, needless to say, terrible. Oh, the idea is great, it's the execution that's sadly lacking. This one isn't going to win any awards either. It's a better book, yes, but needs much work before anyone else sees it.
Yes, I gave it to my niece to read, she's twelve and thought it fabulous. She loves me, warts and all, and in her eyes, I can do no wrong. That's scary in itself. But for adults to read? No. Nuh-uh. No way. Not until I think it's ready for viewing and commenting.
It's a shorter piece, about 300 pages, and going to get shorter once I've put through the edits. Some of it will need re-writing, characters are going to need the smugness wiped off, there will be more description, better dialogue, the emotional impacts are going to be beefed up. I'll find a lot more to do to it.
I'm not going to apologise for the lateness of the work, he's a friend, not an editor and his request came out of the blue. I'd expected him to chose something else, or nothing at all if he didn't like the first one I gave to him.
Why am I not treating this as if an editor has asked to see my work? It's the lack of pressure. A friend won't mind, an editor would and before I send stuff to the professionals, I want input from friends, critiquers and a re-read myself to make sure it is the best it can possibly be. Hell, I need the practice. Yes, this book.
I can make it better, smarter and smoother and there is no reason why it can't be a professional book, even if it is the second one I wrote. It's not automatically excluded because it might be poorly written, or not as good as my later work.
The ideas are solid, the characters will be more engaging, it will be interesting. I am bringing what I've learned since this book was written to bear on a story I like. I want them all to be up to standard, and what better way to do that than to practice on what I first accomplished?
I had stuff to do, you know real life stuff, so I couldn't do it immediately. What a relief! Not his asking, the real life stuff, because now I'm looking at the book thinking "Oh, shit, I did the mark-ups but didn't change the copy!"
I never actually thought anyone would want to read it. It is the second book I wrote. The first, The Saracen's Alchemist is, needless to say, terrible. Oh, the idea is great, it's the execution that's sadly lacking. This one isn't going to win any awards either. It's a better book, yes, but needs much work before anyone else sees it.
Yes, I gave it to my niece to read, she's twelve and thought it fabulous. She loves me, warts and all, and in her eyes, I can do no wrong. That's scary in itself. But for adults to read? No. Nuh-uh. No way. Not until I think it's ready for viewing and commenting.
It's a shorter piece, about 300 pages, and going to get shorter once I've put through the edits. Some of it will need re-writing, characters are going to need the smugness wiped off, there will be more description, better dialogue, the emotional impacts are going to be beefed up. I'll find a lot more to do to it.
I'm not going to apologise for the lateness of the work, he's a friend, not an editor and his request came out of the blue. I'd expected him to chose something else, or nothing at all if he didn't like the first one I gave to him.
Why am I not treating this as if an editor has asked to see my work? It's the lack of pressure. A friend won't mind, an editor would and before I send stuff to the professionals, I want input from friends, critiquers and a re-read myself to make sure it is the best it can possibly be. Hell, I need the practice. Yes, this book.
I can make it better, smarter and smoother and there is no reason why it can't be a professional book, even if it is the second one I wrote. It's not automatically excluded because it might be poorly written, or not as good as my later work.
The ideas are solid, the characters will be more engaging, it will be interesting. I am bringing what I've learned since this book was written to bear on a story I like. I want them all to be up to standard, and what better way to do that than to practice on what I first accomplished?
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Work avoidance
We all do it. We know we have to do something, whether it is housework, letter writing, blog posting, shopping, whatever...
I'm avoiding work right now. I have a miserable assignment on 'contrasting meditative and descriptive styles' and 'the effectiveness of onomatopoeia'. Then there's the effects of verb usage. Oy...
Then there's the editing I've neglected. Yeah, I've had plenty of time and I've got plenty of excuses. I even know it's unprofessional of me. The worst of the excuses is that I've got 'plenty of time'. Say what? Plenty of time? I don't think so. Sure, I can write a book and a half in a month, Nano is good for getting off the butt to create. But edit the damn thing? I had fun writing, but editing means looking closer. Studying every word, every sentence, every paragraph, following the plot, the characters, dissecting what I've written. I don't think writers like to do that.
Oh, for the ability to write the perfect novel straight up. Unfortunately, I'd be permanently wearing smug.
Editing takes time. It takes focus. It takes a good grounding in language skills. It can sometimes suck the joy right out of writing.
On the other hand, it can surprise. After you've rested your great work (and you know it's great because of the feeling of satisfaction you had when you wrote 'the end') you'll go back and read it. I'll bet you've come across something you've written you don't remember typing, and thinking 'wow, that's great'. It's that something special that keeps us going, even if it's only us who know about it.
I have to remember that. When I look at the ream of paper I've put through the printer and think 'omg, that's a lot', I have to remind myself that, while I'm by no means a brilliant author, I've always come across passages that just work so well, I'm astonished. We all have those moments, and if you don't admit that, even to yourself, you're in denial.
The reason I've posted this is because I've had a request from a friend to read more of my work and I know damn well the book he wants has a sucky beginning - I can't seem to get beginnings right - and I have to do something about it.
So. Enough work avoidance. I'll just keep telling myself: I have no right to keep my imagination to myself... I have no right...
I'm avoiding work right now. I have a miserable assignment on 'contrasting meditative and descriptive styles' and 'the effectiveness of onomatopoeia'. Then there's the effects of verb usage. Oy...
Then there's the editing I've neglected. Yeah, I've had plenty of time and I've got plenty of excuses. I even know it's unprofessional of me. The worst of the excuses is that I've got 'plenty of time'. Say what? Plenty of time? I don't think so. Sure, I can write a book and a half in a month, Nano is good for getting off the butt to create. But edit the damn thing? I had fun writing, but editing means looking closer. Studying every word, every sentence, every paragraph, following the plot, the characters, dissecting what I've written. I don't think writers like to do that.
Oh, for the ability to write the perfect novel straight up. Unfortunately, I'd be permanently wearing smug.
Editing takes time. It takes focus. It takes a good grounding in language skills. It can sometimes suck the joy right out of writing.
On the other hand, it can surprise. After you've rested your great work (and you know it's great because of the feeling of satisfaction you had when you wrote 'the end') you'll go back and read it. I'll bet you've come across something you've written you don't remember typing, and thinking 'wow, that's great'. It's that something special that keeps us going, even if it's only us who know about it.
I have to remember that. When I look at the ream of paper I've put through the printer and think 'omg, that's a lot', I have to remind myself that, while I'm by no means a brilliant author, I've always come across passages that just work so well, I'm astonished. We all have those moments, and if you don't admit that, even to yourself, you're in denial.
The reason I've posted this is because I've had a request from a friend to read more of my work and I know damn well the book he wants has a sucky beginning - I can't seem to get beginnings right - and I have to do something about it.
So. Enough work avoidance. I'll just keep telling myself: I have no right to keep my imagination to myself... I have no right...
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Two-time/streaks
Why use one word when two will do?
I live in a country where 'too much sport is never enough' to quote a couple of comedic sports commentators. And it's true. On a Saturday, you can turn the teev on and watch cricket, tennis, golf, motor sport or basketball, all televised at the same time.
What burns my wick, however, is the ongoing trend of superfluous words. A champion isn't a 'dual' winner or has won a particular event 'twice', he/she is a 'two-time winner/loser'. Call me a pedant or nitpicker, but that smacks of laziness.
Worse is the cliched 'losing/winning streak'. It doesn't sound bad, but when attached with 'two/three/four game', it descends into the realm of ridiculous. Since when has two games been considered a 'streak'? I love my sport, but I get a case of lock-jaw when a team's progress is described as a 'streak' whether they win or lose, or how many. Ten games lost. Yeah, when they win, you can describe that as having 'broken their ten game losing streak'. Two games is two games, not a streak.
We live in a world where the media are constantly vying for our attention, but the concept of 'spicing' up news/sport programs with the liberal salting of cliches and 'excitement' is denigrating the achievements of the people involved.
'If it bleeds, it leads' is the current catch-cry of various media groups. It sucks. Pure and simple. Gone are the days of journalists simply reporting the news; we live in an era of purple prose reporters who have to squeeze as much out of a story as possible. It's one of the reasons I gave up journalism. I couldn't do my job without throwing in various inflammatory phrases to catch people's attention. My job, as I saw it, was to report the news, not to create it. I presented the facts, not start a bloody riot with a slanting of what I saw.
The same can be said of novel writing. One school says to overstate what's happening; make your characters and situation larger than life (the rule: people will believe a big lie over a small one). The other school is to be spare in your writing and let your readers imagination fill in the gaps (the rule: a person's imagination has more creativity than your words, prompt them and they will do the rest).
During the times of Dickens, Austen, and others, descriptive passages were long and drawn out, using up as much space as possible to set the scene. Today, we use descriptive passages sparingly. Different times, different capacities for patience. In each era, it was the accepted style, neither is right or wrong. What has changed is our attitude and how much time we have for reading.
A few years ago, I read page after page of how an atomic bomb worked in a particular book. Pissed me off with it's technical descriptions and I skipped the last bit, bored: but it was in that last bit that described why the bomb didn't go off and I was left thinking 'huh?' Why didn't the author simplify the description? I really didn't give a rat's bladder about the whys and wherefores, I just wanted the story to move on and because of that one long, drawn out passage, the rest of the book was spoiled for me. I don't think I've read any more of that particular author because I was fed up with the constant technical descriptions. (I'm sure my no longer purchasing the books wouldn't worry such a well-known and wealthy author, but still...)
It does not pay to be too wordy. Finding the balance, of course, is the trick. One every writer should aspire to learn.
I live in a country where 'too much sport is never enough' to quote a couple of comedic sports commentators. And it's true. On a Saturday, you can turn the teev on and watch cricket, tennis, golf, motor sport or basketball, all televised at the same time.
What burns my wick, however, is the ongoing trend of superfluous words. A champion isn't a 'dual' winner or has won a particular event 'twice', he/she is a 'two-time winner/loser'. Call me a pedant or nitpicker, but that smacks of laziness.
Worse is the cliched 'losing/winning streak'. It doesn't sound bad, but when attached with 'two/three/four game', it descends into the realm of ridiculous. Since when has two games been considered a 'streak'? I love my sport, but I get a case of lock-jaw when a team's progress is described as a 'streak' whether they win or lose, or how many. Ten games lost. Yeah, when they win, you can describe that as having 'broken their ten game losing streak'. Two games is two games, not a streak.
We live in a world where the media are constantly vying for our attention, but the concept of 'spicing' up news/sport programs with the liberal salting of cliches and 'excitement' is denigrating the achievements of the people involved.
'If it bleeds, it leads' is the current catch-cry of various media groups. It sucks. Pure and simple. Gone are the days of journalists simply reporting the news; we live in an era of purple prose reporters who have to squeeze as much out of a story as possible. It's one of the reasons I gave up journalism. I couldn't do my job without throwing in various inflammatory phrases to catch people's attention. My job, as I saw it, was to report the news, not to create it. I presented the facts, not start a bloody riot with a slanting of what I saw.
The same can be said of novel writing. One school says to overstate what's happening; make your characters and situation larger than life (the rule: people will believe a big lie over a small one). The other school is to be spare in your writing and let your readers imagination fill in the gaps (the rule: a person's imagination has more creativity than your words, prompt them and they will do the rest).
During the times of Dickens, Austen, and others, descriptive passages were long and drawn out, using up as much space as possible to set the scene. Today, we use descriptive passages sparingly. Different times, different capacities for patience. In each era, it was the accepted style, neither is right or wrong. What has changed is our attitude and how much time we have for reading.
A few years ago, I read page after page of how an atomic bomb worked in a particular book. Pissed me off with it's technical descriptions and I skipped the last bit, bored: but it was in that last bit that described why the bomb didn't go off and I was left thinking 'huh?' Why didn't the author simplify the description? I really didn't give a rat's bladder about the whys and wherefores, I just wanted the story to move on and because of that one long, drawn out passage, the rest of the book was spoiled for me. I don't think I've read any more of that particular author because I was fed up with the constant technical descriptions. (I'm sure my no longer purchasing the books wouldn't worry such a well-known and wealthy author, but still...)
It does not pay to be too wordy. Finding the balance, of course, is the trick. One every writer should aspire to learn.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Formula
I'm currently having a discussion, via correspondence, with my tutor on marketing versus art.
With over a hundred thousand book titles being published every year in the States, it's difficult, if nigh impossible, to get your book noticed. If you are a well known series author, or even a becoming-known series author, readers, according to some amorphous research, will stick with the books you write, but not necessarily anything outside of that series. I'm thinking this is why authors write under numerous nom de plumes in various genres. The author is known in those fields, the publishers know those names and genre and run with it because they are successful.
Are series formula, though? We know publishers go with what's successful, not what might be better written or new or fresh. Does formula writing interfere with a writer's creativity? No, I don't think so. A writer can write to formula and still be creative. Witness the romance genre for example. We all know there's going to be a happy ending (generally speaking), but it is the story of how the hero and heroine get there that's important.
Every genre has a type of formula, it is simply a matter of how we, as authors, apply that formula to our own creativeness.
Individual style and content is at issue though. I've yet to make a decision on whether I would, for example, change the ending of a book simply because the publishers found the nationality of the villian to be unacceptable (as one Australian author was asked to do). And if, perchance, a series of books I'd written were so successful, would I want to continue writing that series until I'm dead and buried? I think I'd go the way of many authors and find a pen name to write in a different genre, but still maintain the series.
I think, when it comes to marketing versus art, the marketing machines have misunderstood what's going on out there in readerland. With the advent of weblogs and pages, authors can spread their words further and further afield, network with other authors and readers, promote their work in their own words for less that the marketing budget. It's an effective way to become well known. Diana Gabaldon started her career from a writers group. And like a pebble tossed into a pool of still water, the ripples of her career have expanded to encompass a very successful writing career. Art has triumphed over marketing. The publishing houses have just made it more difficult to succeed when the push particular books, trying to decide what you should and should not be reading.
I think art will continue to succeed as long as authors are willing to work for their talent and readers are willing to read what's been written. It's basically a grass roots process, and nothing works as well as a well fed grapevine.
With over a hundred thousand book titles being published every year in the States, it's difficult, if nigh impossible, to get your book noticed. If you are a well known series author, or even a becoming-known series author, readers, according to some amorphous research, will stick with the books you write, but not necessarily anything outside of that series. I'm thinking this is why authors write under numerous nom de plumes in various genres. The author is known in those fields, the publishers know those names and genre and run with it because they are successful.
Are series formula, though? We know publishers go with what's successful, not what might be better written or new or fresh. Does formula writing interfere with a writer's creativity? No, I don't think so. A writer can write to formula and still be creative. Witness the romance genre for example. We all know there's going to be a happy ending (generally speaking), but it is the story of how the hero and heroine get there that's important.
Every genre has a type of formula, it is simply a matter of how we, as authors, apply that formula to our own creativeness.
Individual style and content is at issue though. I've yet to make a decision on whether I would, for example, change the ending of a book simply because the publishers found the nationality of the villian to be unacceptable (as one Australian author was asked to do). And if, perchance, a series of books I'd written were so successful, would I want to continue writing that series until I'm dead and buried? I think I'd go the way of many authors and find a pen name to write in a different genre, but still maintain the series.
I think, when it comes to marketing versus art, the marketing machines have misunderstood what's going on out there in readerland. With the advent of weblogs and pages, authors can spread their words further and further afield, network with other authors and readers, promote their work in their own words for less that the marketing budget. It's an effective way to become well known. Diana Gabaldon started her career from a writers group. And like a pebble tossed into a pool of still water, the ripples of her career have expanded to encompass a very successful writing career. Art has triumphed over marketing. The publishing houses have just made it more difficult to succeed when the push particular books, trying to decide what you should and should not be reading.
I think art will continue to succeed as long as authors are willing to work for their talent and readers are willing to read what's been written. It's basically a grass roots process, and nothing works as well as a well fed grapevine.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Australia Day
Today is our national day of celebration. It's a day of barbeques, of fireworks, of the beach, sand, surf, of parties and strangers calling out 'g'day, mate'. It's a day when most of the population sigh and think 'damn, I'm glad I'm Australian'.
Every country thinks theirs is special. I'm no different. To me, Australia is special. I've travelled, so don't think I'm being parochial. I even tried to live in England, my mother's birth country. I couldn't do it. Not because it was cold and damp during winter and mild in summer. I loved the scent of the sweet grass in spring, the dying leaves in autumn, the snow in winter. I loved the... Britishness; the ancient monuments, cobblestone streets, the fluffy, white clouds and long evenings. I even enjoyed the harsh northern winters of chilled rain and sharp wind, the cold winter sun, the red-cheeked, pale people huddled in thick coats; it was all wonderful.
I've been to America - twice, and plan another trip. I enjoyed their openess and willingness to help a stranger, the spectacular Rocky Mountains, Grand Canyon, Puget Sound, Arches National Park, the snow swept grasslands of North Dakota, the sulky heat of New Orleans, the wooded hills of Tennessee. I was intrigued by the class and racial divisions that are denied, the diversity of accents; I listened with interest to the tales and stories of ordinary Americans. I was in San Francisco for the devastating fires - yeah, some time ago now, but I remember the familiarity.
I've been to Thailand, to Fiji, Denmark, Canada, Ireland... and nowhere felt more like home than... Australia.
Because this is where I was brought up? Probably. But this country was built by those who came from other countries. How hard was it for them to give up their nationalities to create this new country? How difficult to leave behind everything they'd ever known, friends, family, lifestyle to come here?
There are alot of attractive things about Australia: the weather, the people, the sheer openness and diversity of our landscape.
We welcome thousands every year who come from everywhere to settle. We're proud to be Australian no matter where you came from, we believe in the ethic of a fair go and we believe in mateship.
It probably comes from our convict origins, but we pull together during times of adversity. This country is not an easy one to live in. We are a land of drought, of floods and bushfires, of surf and sand, of snow and mountains and deserts and rainforests. Some of our best people were born elsewhere, but call Australia home. And some of our best people were born here and succeed overseas.
It doesn't matter where you were born, we are proud to call you ours. And on this Australia Day, it is our multiculturalism that is celebrated with such style.
Every country thinks theirs is special. I'm no different. To me, Australia is special. I've travelled, so don't think I'm being parochial. I even tried to live in England, my mother's birth country. I couldn't do it. Not because it was cold and damp during winter and mild in summer. I loved the scent of the sweet grass in spring, the dying leaves in autumn, the snow in winter. I loved the... Britishness; the ancient monuments, cobblestone streets, the fluffy, white clouds and long evenings. I even enjoyed the harsh northern winters of chilled rain and sharp wind, the cold winter sun, the red-cheeked, pale people huddled in thick coats; it was all wonderful.
I've been to America - twice, and plan another trip. I enjoyed their openess and willingness to help a stranger, the spectacular Rocky Mountains, Grand Canyon, Puget Sound, Arches National Park, the snow swept grasslands of North Dakota, the sulky heat of New Orleans, the wooded hills of Tennessee. I was intrigued by the class and racial divisions that are denied, the diversity of accents; I listened with interest to the tales and stories of ordinary Americans. I was in San Francisco for the devastating fires - yeah, some time ago now, but I remember the familiarity.
I've been to Thailand, to Fiji, Denmark, Canada, Ireland... and nowhere felt more like home than... Australia.
Because this is where I was brought up? Probably. But this country was built by those who came from other countries. How hard was it for them to give up their nationalities to create this new country? How difficult to leave behind everything they'd ever known, friends, family, lifestyle to come here?
There are alot of attractive things about Australia: the weather, the people, the sheer openness and diversity of our landscape.
We welcome thousands every year who come from everywhere to settle. We're proud to be Australian no matter where you came from, we believe in the ethic of a fair go and we believe in mateship.
It probably comes from our convict origins, but we pull together during times of adversity. This country is not an easy one to live in. We are a land of drought, of floods and bushfires, of surf and sand, of snow and mountains and deserts and rainforests. Some of our best people were born elsewhere, but call Australia home. And some of our best people were born here and succeed overseas.
It doesn't matter where you were born, we are proud to call you ours. And on this Australia Day, it is our multiculturalism that is celebrated with such style.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Trees
I'm the family genealogist and I actually like to hunt down ancestors. I haven't found too many - 365 - which is pitiful compared to some hunters out there with thousands in their trees. Of course, I don't have direct access to records in Utah, England, Ireland or Denmark so I have to do it the hard way and search databases.
Not that it isn't fun checking out other people's trees for matches. I found four more for the tree in my grandparents generation from an unexpected source - and they weren't even related.
I think it's important to know where we came from, or rather, who we came from; it's the generations that went before us who make up who we are now. I haven't found anyone famous yet, but you never know.
I did find this. Amazing, really, that so many people could be descended from one man. And yet, it was atypical of families to have as many children as possible to ensure the next generation. I've found in my own tree that the child mortality rate was high; even as late as my grandfather's generation. He had four siblings who died in childhood before he was born.
There are plenty of sites out there in cyber-space that help in the search for past generations, and I've found that it's intriguing to think about what kind of a life they led, who they were related to, where they travelled to and from.
It's the kind of hobby that can be addictive. In fact, I think I'll just go and see if I can hunt down some more relatives...
Not that it isn't fun checking out other people's trees for matches. I found four more for the tree in my grandparents generation from an unexpected source - and they weren't even related.
I think it's important to know where we came from, or rather, who we came from; it's the generations that went before us who make up who we are now. I haven't found anyone famous yet, but you never know.
I did find this. Amazing, really, that so many people could be descended from one man. And yet, it was atypical of families to have as many children as possible to ensure the next generation. I've found in my own tree that the child mortality rate was high; even as late as my grandfather's generation. He had four siblings who died in childhood before he was born.
There are plenty of sites out there in cyber-space that help in the search for past generations, and I've found that it's intriguing to think about what kind of a life they led, who they were related to, where they travelled to and from.
It's the kind of hobby that can be addictive. In fact, I think I'll just go and see if I can hunt down some more relatives...
Saturday, January 21, 2006
A public thanks
To one of my favourite authors, S.L. Viehl, or Lynn Viehl, or Jessica Hall, or Gena Hale - she has so many pseudonyms is a wonder she's not suffering from multiple personalities. Oh, she's also Rebecca Kelly (I think) but I don't read those books.
Over at Paperback Writer, S.L.'s weblog, she had a competition for her latest sci-fi book. Rather than select the winners from all the entries, she chose to give every entrant a copy; signed, too. It shows a remarkable generosity of spirit - which she'd deny - and a wonderful dichotomy of personality even when threatening to delete her weblog and to be rid of us all. She is a private person willing to share - her stories, both real and imagined - her time - though she has precious little of it - and her craft - of which she is becoming a master.
So thank you, S.L. Viehl, from me, all the way across the other side of the world.
Over at Paperback Writer, S.L.'s weblog, she had a competition for her latest sci-fi book. Rather than select the winners from all the entries, she chose to give every entrant a copy; signed, too. It shows a remarkable generosity of spirit - which she'd deny - and a wonderful dichotomy of personality even when threatening to delete her weblog and to be rid of us all. She is a private person willing to share - her stories, both real and imagined - her time - though she has precious little of it - and her craft - of which she is becoming a master.
So thank you, S.L. Viehl, from me, all the way across the other side of the world.
Advice for Writers
I don't know where this originated from, but it tickles me. Just FYI, it's tongue-in-cheek, but you'll get the idea of language use.
Verbs has to agree with their subjects;
Don't use no double negatives;
A preposition is something you should never end a sentence with. (Or as Sir Winston Churchill once said: This is the type of nonsense up with I shall not put!) Actually, this is true. He said it at a dinner party;
About sentence fragments;
When one is writing, it is important to maintain your point of view;
Don't say the same thing more than once. It's redundant and repetitious;
This sentence no verb;
Perform a functional iterative analysis on your work to root out third generation transitional buzz words;
Beware of malapropisms. They are a communist submersive plot;
Join clauses good like a conjunction should;
Avoid the use of dyed-in-the-wool cliches.
I can't help but snicker at some of these, but they are a good illustration of what to watch for when writing.
Verbs has to agree with their subjects;
Don't use no double negatives;
A preposition is something you should never end a sentence with. (Or as Sir Winston Churchill once said: This is the type of nonsense up with I shall not put!) Actually, this is true. He said it at a dinner party;
About sentence fragments;
When one is writing, it is important to maintain your point of view;
Don't say the same thing more than once. It's redundant and repetitious;
This sentence no verb;
Perform a functional iterative analysis on your work to root out third generation transitional buzz words;
Beware of malapropisms. They are a communist submersive plot;
Join clauses good like a conjunction should;
Avoid the use of dyed-in-the-wool cliches.
I can't help but snicker at some of these, but they are a good illustration of what to watch for when writing.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
It's 'its'...
I read. A lot; weblogs, books, newspapers, articles, short stories. I also write critiques for people. As an editor/writer, whatever, I don't just read for enjoyment, but for errors and there are a few out there that are creeping into everyday texts.
Some are easy to see, others not so easy. A few examples that I see more and more:
Its or it's. This one is remarkably simple. It's is a contraction of 'it is'. 'Its' is a possessive noun. To remember where and when to use it, think of this: 'It's 'its' except when it's it's'. (It is 'its' except when it is 'it is'.)
Than or then. This is one of my bugbears. I don't get the confusion of use. Rather than, not rather then. 'Then' is time oriented, 'than' is an alternative. Everything blurred, then steadied. Or: His chuckle came out more hiss than laugh.
Effect or affect. Effect is usually used as a noun, it means a result of an event; affect is a verb. A bee sting will affect you; the effect of a bee sting may be pain.
These three common mistakes can ruin a perfectly good story. Worse, it can teach bad habits to readers. Writers have many technical books, none more important than a good grammar and style book. If in doubt, look it up. The English language is complicated enough without bringing errors into it. Yes, it's constantly evolving, it's that kind of language, but being lazy is no excuse. Although... are we becoming so lackadaisical that it's beginning not to matter as long as the sense of what we're trying to say is understood?
Some are easy to see, others not so easy. A few examples that I see more and more:
Its or it's. This one is remarkably simple. It's is a contraction of 'it is'. 'Its' is a possessive noun. To remember where and when to use it, think of this: 'It's 'its' except when it's it's'. (It is 'its' except when it is 'it is'.)
Than or then. This is one of my bugbears. I don't get the confusion of use. Rather than, not rather then. 'Then' is time oriented, 'than' is an alternative. Everything blurred, then steadied. Or: His chuckle came out more hiss than laugh.
Effect or affect. Effect is usually used as a noun, it means a result of an event; affect is a verb. A bee sting will affect you; the effect of a bee sting may be pain.
These three common mistakes can ruin a perfectly good story. Worse, it can teach bad habits to readers. Writers have many technical books, none more important than a good grammar and style book. If in doubt, look it up. The English language is complicated enough without bringing errors into it. Yes, it's constantly evolving, it's that kind of language, but being lazy is no excuse. Although... are we becoming so lackadaisical that it's beginning not to matter as long as the sense of what we're trying to say is understood?
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Read... Write
I've put a list of what I'm reading/read/will read on the sidebar. I've done this for a number of reasons. First, to keep track of what tempts me throughout a year; second, some of them are by my favourite authors; third, some of these writers lift my ambition to write better; and fourth, to write effectively an author has to read.
I think it was the great Nora Roberts who suggested that reading be considered research - up until I read that, I consider reading a guilty pleasure that took me away from writing. Now, it's research. Of course, like anything else, you have to know when to stop. I have a lot of bookcases filled with novels I'll re-read, if only to give me that lift and think 'wow, I wish I could write like that', followed by 'hmmm, that gives me an idea'.
It's a question that authors get all the time: "Where do you get your ideas from?" The simple answer is 'everywhere: books, half heard conversations, odd events, world politics, newspapers, dreams, even a line from a song.' From the last, I wrote a Nano of nigh on 150,000 words.
Every writer finds their own way, either on their own or helped by others. It's what makes sites like Forward Motion so important. Weblogging is also important. Blogs make recommendations and those who read the blogs are immediately tempted by what their favourite author is reading.
To aspire to write like a particular author is flattering, I think, and every writer has their own style. For most authors, their style is a blend of who they read as a youngster and their own voice to create something new.
The more we writers can encourage people to read, the bigger the audience. It might be stating the bleedin' obvious, but it cannot be overstated. Witness JK Rowling, Steven King, John Grisham and other luminaries. I would also add another comment, and that is that reading increases your vocabulary and teaches you about something you might not have otherwise investigated.
I love being a writer; it's not a job, nor is it work, for to say as much is to suggest it's less than satisfying. And that would be wrong. I love the worlds others create for me, the characters, the problems and the solutions. Some are well written, some are not, but they are all entertaining in some way. Better yet, I like to think I fall somewhere in between, and one day, I'll share my worlds, the characters, the problems and solutions with a broader audience.
Maybe that will be my year's goal: to post exerpts; it's time.
I think it was the great Nora Roberts who suggested that reading be considered research - up until I read that, I consider reading a guilty pleasure that took me away from writing. Now, it's research. Of course, like anything else, you have to know when to stop. I have a lot of bookcases filled with novels I'll re-read, if only to give me that lift and think 'wow, I wish I could write like that', followed by 'hmmm, that gives me an idea'.
It's a question that authors get all the time: "Where do you get your ideas from?" The simple answer is 'everywhere: books, half heard conversations, odd events, world politics, newspapers, dreams, even a line from a song.' From the last, I wrote a Nano of nigh on 150,000 words.
Every writer finds their own way, either on their own or helped by others. It's what makes sites like Forward Motion so important. Weblogging is also important. Blogs make recommendations and those who read the blogs are immediately tempted by what their favourite author is reading.
To aspire to write like a particular author is flattering, I think, and every writer has their own style. For most authors, their style is a blend of who they read as a youngster and their own voice to create something new.
The more we writers can encourage people to read, the bigger the audience. It might be stating the bleedin' obvious, but it cannot be overstated. Witness JK Rowling, Steven King, John Grisham and other luminaries. I would also add another comment, and that is that reading increases your vocabulary and teaches you about something you might not have otherwise investigated.
I love being a writer; it's not a job, nor is it work, for to say as much is to suggest it's less than satisfying. And that would be wrong. I love the worlds others create for me, the characters, the problems and the solutions. Some are well written, some are not, but they are all entertaining in some way. Better yet, I like to think I fall somewhere in between, and one day, I'll share my worlds, the characters, the problems and solutions with a broader audience.
Maybe that will be my year's goal: to post exerpts; it's time.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Grammuh
I've been working on a proofreading and editing exercise, number ten of twelve, so I'll be done with it soon and have another few letters to stick on the end of my name. I don't look for qualifications, I look for courses that interest and will help me.
A lot of people will remember the days of doing grammar at school with a groan or two; what verbs are, what nouns are, pronouns, adjectives, adverbs, whether you've got a dangling participle or, gods forbid, you've split an infinitive or used a double superlative. Heaven help you if you've got an oxymoron.
For most people, English comes naturally, but for others with a learning disorder, it can be a nightmare. (I don't include people for whom English is a second language, I'm talking about people born to the language.)
I was recently contacted by someone I went to high school with. His writing skills are atrocious. It took me some time to decipher what he was saying and while I was pissed at having to do so, it also occured to me that he was probably dyslexic. I have no memory of this fellow, I doubt I was in any of his classes; but he remembered me, or perhaps, he thinks he does: just recognises the name. He was in, what was called then, a 'special learning' class. We all read that to mean the real dumbasses. I doubt I had any thought of whether they had learning difficulties, I was simply smug in my advanced knowledge base.
Once, I would have written back, correcting all the mistakes in his e-mail - how arrogant would that have been? How cruel? Thankfully, that kind of attitude has slipped away; it began to fade when I gave up being a full time journalist, when I was focused on the absolute correctness of my work. I'm more relaxed these days, more willing to allow for style and expression. I still get pissy at bad grammar and spelling, for the latter, there's no real excuse - if in doubt, look in the dictionary. Yeah, I still have an echo of that stick up my butt. And it is a hot button with me.
To be able to communicate effectively in this world, speaking and writing your chosen language is paramount, otherwise, misunderstandings and confusion arise.
As writers, we have a responsibility to express ourselves in clear, concise language. For my school colleague, I can't imagine the difficulties he has with getting his point across unless it's verbal.
The good news is that learning proper English can be a simple as absorbing it. The more books, articles, or whatever read, the better a reader becomes at writing. By listening to the news, to audio books, to speech patterns, people can absorb what sounds right and what doesn't, can learn to differentiate between good language skills and bad, can know what is a colloquialism and what is pure English; and since the English language constantly evolves, can create new ways to say old things. What remains, however, is grammar. Ever and always. Those classes weren't so bad after all.
Now, I have to go and hunt up the onomatopoeia in my assignment and explain the appropriateness of them.
A lot of people will remember the days of doing grammar at school with a groan or two; what verbs are, what nouns are, pronouns, adjectives, adverbs, whether you've got a dangling participle or, gods forbid, you've split an infinitive or used a double superlative. Heaven help you if you've got an oxymoron.
For most people, English comes naturally, but for others with a learning disorder, it can be a nightmare. (I don't include people for whom English is a second language, I'm talking about people born to the language.)
I was recently contacted by someone I went to high school with. His writing skills are atrocious. It took me some time to decipher what he was saying and while I was pissed at having to do so, it also occured to me that he was probably dyslexic. I have no memory of this fellow, I doubt I was in any of his classes; but he remembered me, or perhaps, he thinks he does: just recognises the name. He was in, what was called then, a 'special learning' class. We all read that to mean the real dumbasses. I doubt I had any thought of whether they had learning difficulties, I was simply smug in my advanced knowledge base.
Once, I would have written back, correcting all the mistakes in his e-mail - how arrogant would that have been? How cruel? Thankfully, that kind of attitude has slipped away; it began to fade when I gave up being a full time journalist, when I was focused on the absolute correctness of my work. I'm more relaxed these days, more willing to allow for style and expression. I still get pissy at bad grammar and spelling, for the latter, there's no real excuse - if in doubt, look in the dictionary. Yeah, I still have an echo of that stick up my butt. And it is a hot button with me.
To be able to communicate effectively in this world, speaking and writing your chosen language is paramount, otherwise, misunderstandings and confusion arise.
As writers, we have a responsibility to express ourselves in clear, concise language. For my school colleague, I can't imagine the difficulties he has with getting his point across unless it's verbal.
The good news is that learning proper English can be a simple as absorbing it. The more books, articles, or whatever read, the better a reader becomes at writing. By listening to the news, to audio books, to speech patterns, people can absorb what sounds right and what doesn't, can learn to differentiate between good language skills and bad, can know what is a colloquialism and what is pure English; and since the English language constantly evolves, can create new ways to say old things. What remains, however, is grammar. Ever and always. Those classes weren't so bad after all.
Now, I have to go and hunt up the onomatopoeia in my assignment and explain the appropriateness of them.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
The work environment
The challenge, on various writer's weblogs I read, has been to show off work spaces. Some are pristine, some are... not; some are very spare and others are simply a comfortable place to sit with the laptop on the knees.
I don't have a digital camera (it's also not on my list of things to buy), and no photo of my own workspace. My desk is an antique and just fits everything; I'm surrounded by bookcases, cd racks and software boxes and with the stereo speakers above and to either side of my desk. I have two filing cabinets as well on either side of the desk. It's actually quite crowded, but comfortable. This is going to change soon.
I actually went out looking for a hutch for my desk; something to sit over the moniter and printer, for my most used books which are currently in two rows on a coffee table. All that twisting while seated cannot be good for me. What I found was a fabulous lake-size desk. Hand built, solid wood (recycled pine), with an inlay, drawers down each side and a keyboard drawer... sigh. It's just like my Dad's, only bigger. It was on my 'one day' list, and now I can cross it off. Of course, it won't fit where my current desk is, so I'm going to have to rearrange my office somewhat.
The good thing about it is that everything I need will fit with space to spare, including my editor's board. This is a tilted board on hinges that I can raise for more comfortable reading; my sister built it for me. I don't have to bend my neck for hours on end reading a manuscript and doing markups. I can even shove the keyboard under it - a nifty space saving tool. With the new desk, the keyboard will go into it's drawer. Oh, the joy!
The only negative about the desk is that I'll have to wait until April for it to arrive. The back order list is that long.
Why did I buy a desk when I have a perfectly good one? In my defence, I can only say it was like when I went out to buy a lawn mower and came back with a microwave - it just happened. Call it Karma, fate, or simple distraction for a beautiful piece of furniture, but that sucker is mine, half price, too.
(Oh, no, I can feel a gloat coming on. Better shove that aside.)
Work environments aren't supposed to be important to writers, we need to be able to work anywhere, and that's true, to a point. The new desk won't make me writer faster, or better, but it will make me feel more comfortable, once I get past the 'mwahaha! Mine, mine, mine!' stage.
Now, all I need to do is find the right chair for it... I'll probably come back with car racks...
I don't have a digital camera (it's also not on my list of things to buy), and no photo of my own workspace. My desk is an antique and just fits everything; I'm surrounded by bookcases, cd racks and software boxes and with the stereo speakers above and to either side of my desk. I have two filing cabinets as well on either side of the desk. It's actually quite crowded, but comfortable. This is going to change soon.
I actually went out looking for a hutch for my desk; something to sit over the moniter and printer, for my most used books which are currently in two rows on a coffee table. All that twisting while seated cannot be good for me. What I found was a fabulous lake-size desk. Hand built, solid wood (recycled pine), with an inlay, drawers down each side and a keyboard drawer... sigh. It's just like my Dad's, only bigger. It was on my 'one day' list, and now I can cross it off. Of course, it won't fit where my current desk is, so I'm going to have to rearrange my office somewhat.
The good thing about it is that everything I need will fit with space to spare, including my editor's board. This is a tilted board on hinges that I can raise for more comfortable reading; my sister built it for me. I don't have to bend my neck for hours on end reading a manuscript and doing markups. I can even shove the keyboard under it - a nifty space saving tool. With the new desk, the keyboard will go into it's drawer. Oh, the joy!
The only negative about the desk is that I'll have to wait until April for it to arrive. The back order list is that long.
Why did I buy a desk when I have a perfectly good one? In my defence, I can only say it was like when I went out to buy a lawn mower and came back with a microwave - it just happened. Call it Karma, fate, or simple distraction for a beautiful piece of furniture, but that sucker is mine, half price, too.
(Oh, no, I can feel a gloat coming on. Better shove that aside.)
Work environments aren't supposed to be important to writers, we need to be able to work anywhere, and that's true, to a point. The new desk won't make me writer faster, or better, but it will make me feel more comfortable, once I get past the 'mwahaha! Mine, mine, mine!' stage.
Now, all I need to do is find the right chair for it... I'll probably come back with car racks...
Monday, January 09, 2006
The Plot Thickens
Hmm... it's an interesting statement, don't you think? Mentally, it's an 'ah ha!' moment accompanied by a 'mwahaha'. That's the way the reader thinks, but what of the writer?
Plots are the essential ingredient for a book; without plot, you have nothin' but a string of words, more or less, in a particular order. It's like cake without the sugar, pancakes without the maple syrup, a car without the petrol.
Some writers are rabid plotters. They'll have reams of paper filled with plots, how they work, how they intertwine, how they begin and end, how the characters interact with them; diagrams, maps, Post-It notes strewn across the wall and monitor. In short, they create a thick plot before the real writing begins.
Other writers will have a vague idea of the plot as they begin their writing. The book will be done in it's first draft before any formal plot is set down elsewhere.
In the first instance, the plotting is the safety net for when the writer gets edgy about which direction to take the book in, a road map, if you will. In the second instance, it doesn't so much matter at first, because the writer is making it up as they go along. There is much freedom, grasshopper, in this second approach, but too much freedom can lead to confusion and indecision.
I'm not a great plotter. I find it sucks the creative juices right out of me, leaving no room for exploring what's up that off ramp, or dirt track. And yes, it's all about discipline. The 'don't look down there, stay on the highway you've built' will get you to where you're going, but when you're writing, you want adventure, to study the scenery and enjoy it.
I'm not criticising any writer who does this. I admire them for their discipline and ability to surround themselves with the comforts of all the worldbuilding, character profiles, research, and so on. I just can't do it. Tried, didn't work. For me.
My version is ass backwards: I'll write the book, then write everything else down. I'll take each scene and study it, decide whether it progresses the book or not, whether there is enough description, whether the conversations are right, whether there is action on every page. I make note of where it breaks down, why and how to fix it. Of course, I can hear people saying 'if you plotted it out to begin with, you wouldn't have this problem'. But like I said, it doesn't work for me.
Plots are not carved in stone. Plots are flexible, deleteable, moveable. Nor is there a right way to write a book, and there are plenty of authors out there who have their own way of doing things, and successfully. The point is to find your own way.
As a craft, writing is a never ending learning curve. With every book you write, you learn something new. I can tell you catagorically that without initial plotting, my writing has still improved since that first woeful effort. I know more of the technicalities, how to make dialogue flow better, how not to use 'weasel' words, have better sentence construction, worldbuilding and so on. Am I publishable yet? Maybe. Is it my aim? Well, yes. Am I bothered by not being published? No, my stress levels are high enough, thank you all the same. The important thing is that I enjoy creating people, worlds and problems that need to be solved.
Plotting, for me, comes after the book is done. I can take a thin consomme of populated worlds, and make it a rich, thick and tasty soup of heroes, villains, love, hate, tragedy, triumph, scenery, dialogue, evil plans and brilliant solutions. But... the book has to be written first.
Plots are the essential ingredient for a book; without plot, you have nothin' but a string of words, more or less, in a particular order. It's like cake without the sugar, pancakes without the maple syrup, a car without the petrol.
Some writers are rabid plotters. They'll have reams of paper filled with plots, how they work, how they intertwine, how they begin and end, how the characters interact with them; diagrams, maps, Post-It notes strewn across the wall and monitor. In short, they create a thick plot before the real writing begins.
Other writers will have a vague idea of the plot as they begin their writing. The book will be done in it's first draft before any formal plot is set down elsewhere.
In the first instance, the plotting is the safety net for when the writer gets edgy about which direction to take the book in, a road map, if you will. In the second instance, it doesn't so much matter at first, because the writer is making it up as they go along. There is much freedom, grasshopper, in this second approach, but too much freedom can lead to confusion and indecision.
I'm not a great plotter. I find it sucks the creative juices right out of me, leaving no room for exploring what's up that off ramp, or dirt track. And yes, it's all about discipline. The 'don't look down there, stay on the highway you've built' will get you to where you're going, but when you're writing, you want adventure, to study the scenery and enjoy it.
I'm not criticising any writer who does this. I admire them for their discipline and ability to surround themselves with the comforts of all the worldbuilding, character profiles, research, and so on. I just can't do it. Tried, didn't work. For me.
My version is ass backwards: I'll write the book, then write everything else down. I'll take each scene and study it, decide whether it progresses the book or not, whether there is enough description, whether the conversations are right, whether there is action on every page. I make note of where it breaks down, why and how to fix it. Of course, I can hear people saying 'if you plotted it out to begin with, you wouldn't have this problem'. But like I said, it doesn't work for me.
Plots are not carved in stone. Plots are flexible, deleteable, moveable. Nor is there a right way to write a book, and there are plenty of authors out there who have their own way of doing things, and successfully. The point is to find your own way.
As a craft, writing is a never ending learning curve. With every book you write, you learn something new. I can tell you catagorically that without initial plotting, my writing has still improved since that first woeful effort. I know more of the technicalities, how to make dialogue flow better, how not to use 'weasel' words, have better sentence construction, worldbuilding and so on. Am I publishable yet? Maybe. Is it my aim? Well, yes. Am I bothered by not being published? No, my stress levels are high enough, thank you all the same. The important thing is that I enjoy creating people, worlds and problems that need to be solved.
Plotting, for me, comes after the book is done. I can take a thin consomme of populated worlds, and make it a rich, thick and tasty soup of heroes, villains, love, hate, tragedy, triumph, scenery, dialogue, evil plans and brilliant solutions. But... the book has to be written first.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Marathon
Forgive me, God of Web World, for I have sinned, it's been a week since my last blog...
Yeah. Who knew twelve-year-olds required so much attention? I have spent hours at the beach, at the movies, playing Mah Jong and baby sitting even smaller human relations this week, and I am... worn out. I took the aforementioned twelve-year-old back to her home, some 280 kilometres away and have returned in a fugue state. I feel like I've done a marathon. Tomorrow, my eldest sister arrives with a few hours of Hex to watch, yippee!
Monday, however, looms large and ominous. Yessiree Bob. Time to get on with the New Year's resolutions and my list of things to catch up on is crooking it's blackened, evil finger. No more screwing around. I have an assignment to finish, books to edit, books to read, books to make notes on, anime to watch, exercise to get on with and, oh... right... housework. Bleh.
Ah, well. The Yule tree has been dismantled, my work space, er, not cleaned up per se, as in sneered at stuff moved (read: piled up elsewhere).
I will confess, here and now, that I'm not really a summer writer. Summer wears me out with the hot temperatures, the warm winds and moisture sucking lack of humidity. I just don't find it fun, or conducive to writing. Autumn, winter and spring is when I get most of my work done, but I cannot afford to slack off like the past three weeks. Writing must be done. Editing must be done. Sending my work out mu..., um... I'll get to that. Eventually. Okay, this year. I promise...
The holidays are over, kids have dispersed and I'm once more on my own to do what I please. My head is overfull with story ideas and it's time to get on with it. I'm off to do just that: make notes on new works.
Yeah. Who knew twelve-year-olds required so much attention? I have spent hours at the beach, at the movies, playing Mah Jong and baby sitting even smaller human relations this week, and I am... worn out. I took the aforementioned twelve-year-old back to her home, some 280 kilometres away and have returned in a fugue state. I feel like I've done a marathon. Tomorrow, my eldest sister arrives with a few hours of Hex to watch, yippee!
Monday, however, looms large and ominous. Yessiree Bob. Time to get on with the New Year's resolutions and my list of things to catch up on is crooking it's blackened, evil finger. No more screwing around. I have an assignment to finish, books to edit, books to read, books to make notes on, anime to watch, exercise to get on with and, oh... right... housework. Bleh.
Ah, well. The Yule tree has been dismantled, my work space, er, not cleaned up per se, as in sneered at stuff moved (read: piled up elsewhere).
I will confess, here and now, that I'm not really a summer writer. Summer wears me out with the hot temperatures, the warm winds and moisture sucking lack of humidity. I just don't find it fun, or conducive to writing. Autumn, winter and spring is when I get most of my work done, but I cannot afford to slack off like the past three weeks. Writing must be done. Editing must be done. Sending my work out mu..., um... I'll get to that. Eventually. Okay, this year. I promise...
The holidays are over, kids have dispersed and I'm once more on my own to do what I please. My head is overfull with story ideas and it's time to get on with it. I'm off to do just that: make notes on new works.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Last Call for 2005
Today, apparently, is the day for reflection and renewal; reflection on all that you've achieved this year and renewal for everything you hope to achieve in the coming year.
Everyone makes 'resolutions' - and I'm no different - but how many actually keep them? I know I haven't, the bathroom scales tell me so and it wouldn't lie to me (damn it!). Starting the New Year with the best of intentions is fine, however by the beginning of February, I'm thinking just about everyone has forgotten their pledge or found it too difficult, too boring, too... whatever. One good thing about New Year's Resolutions is that you can always give them up for Lent.
And speaking of which, the latest catalogue for Woolworths Fresh Food has Easter Buns! Yep, the Hot Cross Buns are out there already - although they are not branded as such. I dunno: a fruit bun in a group of six/eight with a white cross on the top says Hot Cross Bun to me. What's up with that?
But I digress. Resolutions. Should you make them? In the moment, when the fireworks are exploding in pretty colours, people are hugging or laying a big, fat juicy one on someone, they're probably spoken with a great deal of honesty and energy.
Once the hangover clears, the OMG moment arrives. Witnesses will remind you of those ill-thought words when you least want them. If you're a person who sticks to your word, you'll give it your best shot. If not, it's 'was I drunk at the time? Then it doesn't count'. Especially if you've promised to cure your fear of heights by jumping out of a perfectly good plane with a backpack hopefully stuffed with a parachute, or that you're going to be nicer to your worst enemy, or, in fact, that you're going to cure any well-used and beloved phobia.
I will probably make the same resolutions I always make, but this time, I'd better stick to them - for health reasons. I'm not a spur of the moment resolution-maker, I think about it, plan for it and then try to execute the aforementioned plan.
Maybe this time next year, I shall be a svelte non-smoker; then again, I may still be an overweight smoker lamenting the lost determination - or dead. Who the hell knows? There are plenty of buses and knuckle-headed tourists out there to run me over.
Anyway, have a safe and enjoyable New Year, and watch out for people demanding to know what your resolution/s is/are. Just smile benignly at them: it's none of their business.
Everyone makes 'resolutions' - and I'm no different - but how many actually keep them? I know I haven't, the bathroom scales tell me so and it wouldn't lie to me (damn it!). Starting the New Year with the best of intentions is fine, however by the beginning of February, I'm thinking just about everyone has forgotten their pledge or found it too difficult, too boring, too... whatever. One good thing about New Year's Resolutions is that you can always give them up for Lent.
And speaking of which, the latest catalogue for Woolworths Fresh Food has Easter Buns! Yep, the Hot Cross Buns are out there already - although they are not branded as such. I dunno: a fruit bun in a group of six/eight with a white cross on the top says Hot Cross Bun to me. What's up with that?
But I digress. Resolutions. Should you make them? In the moment, when the fireworks are exploding in pretty colours, people are hugging or laying a big, fat juicy one on someone, they're probably spoken with a great deal of honesty and energy.
Once the hangover clears, the OMG moment arrives. Witnesses will remind you of those ill-thought words when you least want them. If you're a person who sticks to your word, you'll give it your best shot. If not, it's 'was I drunk at the time? Then it doesn't count'. Especially if you've promised to cure your fear of heights by jumping out of a perfectly good plane with a backpack hopefully stuffed with a parachute, or that you're going to be nicer to your worst enemy, or, in fact, that you're going to cure any well-used and beloved phobia.
I will probably make the same resolutions I always make, but this time, I'd better stick to them - for health reasons. I'm not a spur of the moment resolution-maker, I think about it, plan for it and then try to execute the aforementioned plan.
Maybe this time next year, I shall be a svelte non-smoker; then again, I may still be an overweight smoker lamenting the lost determination - or dead. Who the hell knows? There are plenty of buses and knuckle-headed tourists out there to run me over.
Anyway, have a safe and enjoyable New Year, and watch out for people demanding to know what your resolution/s is/are. Just smile benignly at them: it's none of their business.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Visitations and monsters
Nah, not those kinds of visitation, but the ones I inevitably forgot about that happen at this time of year: the relos. Not just Boxing Day either...
I like my peace and quiet to do things I like, not be forced into by others. Good manners, however, prevail and for the past five days they've arrived, fed, been watered, had their children chastised in a variety of ways and gone their happy way, while I have just wanted to say 'clear orf and take your loud, obnoxious children with you'.
I confess that I have a neat game to play on my computer. One I've been waiting to play for some time. The problem has been that I didn't have the hardware to do it. With the post-Christmas sales, I went out early, spied my prey and hunted that sucker down. Handy-dandy screwdriver in hand, the video accelerator went in, system rebooted, game loaded and, mwahaha! Return to Castle Wolfenstein is up and running! (I also have Doom 3, but one game at a time.)
Sure, by today's standard their old and outmoded - hell, hasn't everyone played them and lost interest? Not me. Patience has been rewarded. I'm not paying a hundred bucks for a game, so I waited until both games were on special and scooped them up.
The graphics are terrific, the movements smooth, the movie cutaways are okay - I really don't need to see perfectly rendered monsters, I can create my own nightmares - and the missions are cool. Now, I only needed to find the time between visits of small people to be able to play. The games are unsuitable for them to even watch and I don't want to explain things to them. The argument about whether computer games encourage violence is not one I'm going to get into here, it would take too long.
So. Today, the last of my bulk visitors leave, without one niece who's with me for another week - she's twelve, she understands her aunt's need to kill things - and the peace and quiet should descend once more with the occasional admonition that we go to the beach, the movies, whatever. I can handle that, as long as I get to play.
Of course, I had to stop the other night, the music was too sinister and the monsters attacked rather suddenly. Creeped me out. I like that in a game.
The aforementioned niece is getting antsy. She likes to be with me, no matter what I'm doing. It's a sunny day. I think I hear the beach and the waves calling. BJ will have to wait a little longer before gunning down those nasty creatures.
I like my peace and quiet to do things I like, not be forced into by others. Good manners, however, prevail and for the past five days they've arrived, fed, been watered, had their children chastised in a variety of ways and gone their happy way, while I have just wanted to say 'clear orf and take your loud, obnoxious children with you'.
I confess that I have a neat game to play on my computer. One I've been waiting to play for some time. The problem has been that I didn't have the hardware to do it. With the post-Christmas sales, I went out early, spied my prey and hunted that sucker down. Handy-dandy screwdriver in hand, the video accelerator went in, system rebooted, game loaded and, mwahaha! Return to Castle Wolfenstein is up and running! (I also have Doom 3, but one game at a time.)
Sure, by today's standard their old and outmoded - hell, hasn't everyone played them and lost interest? Not me. Patience has been rewarded. I'm not paying a hundred bucks for a game, so I waited until both games were on special and scooped them up.
The graphics are terrific, the movements smooth, the movie cutaways are okay - I really don't need to see perfectly rendered monsters, I can create my own nightmares - and the missions are cool. Now, I only needed to find the time between visits of small people to be able to play. The games are unsuitable for them to even watch and I don't want to explain things to them. The argument about whether computer games encourage violence is not one I'm going to get into here, it would take too long.
So. Today, the last of my bulk visitors leave, without one niece who's with me for another week - she's twelve, she understands her aunt's need to kill things - and the peace and quiet should descend once more with the occasional admonition that we go to the beach, the movies, whatever. I can handle that, as long as I get to play.
Of course, I had to stop the other night, the music was too sinister and the monsters attacked rather suddenly. Creeped me out. I like that in a game.
The aforementioned niece is getting antsy. She likes to be with me, no matter what I'm doing. It's a sunny day. I think I hear the beach and the waves calling. BJ will have to wait a little longer before gunning down those nasty creatures.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
The meaning of love
Before I race off and do the final Christmas preparations, I thought I'd share this with you. It comes from Adwoff, Nora Robert's bulletin board:
What does love mean?
Touching words from the mouth of babes.
What does Love mean? A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, "What does love mean?" The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. See what you think:
"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love."
Rebecca- age 8
"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth."
Billy - age 4
"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other."
Karl - age 5
"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs."
Chrissy - age 6
"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired."
Terri - age 4
"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK."
Danny - age 7
"Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss"
Emily - age 8
"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,"
Nikka - age 6
"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday."
Noelle - age 7
"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well."
Tommy - age 6
"During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore."
Cindy - age 8
"My mommy loves me more than anybody; You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night."
Clare - age 6
"Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken."
Elaine-age 5
"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford."
Chris - age 7
"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day."
Mary Ann - age 4
"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones."
Lauren - age 4
"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you." (what an image)
Karen - age 7
"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross."
Mark - age 6
"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget."
Jessica - age 8
And my personal favourite:
"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen."
Bobby - age 7
I think everyone should take Bobby's words to heart.
Have a safe and fulfilling Christmas.
What does love mean?
Touching words from the mouth of babes.
What does Love mean? A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, "What does love mean?" The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. See what you think:
"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love."
Rebecca- age 8
"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth."
Billy - age 4
"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other."
Karl - age 5
"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs."
Chrissy - age 6
"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired."
Terri - age 4
"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK."
Danny - age 7
"Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss"
Emily - age 8
"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,"
Nikka - age 6
"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday."
Noelle - age 7
"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well."
Tommy - age 6
"During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore."
Cindy - age 8
"My mommy loves me more than anybody; You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night."
Clare - age 6
"Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken."
Elaine-age 5
"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford."
Chris - age 7
"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day."
Mary Ann - age 4
"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones."
Lauren - age 4
"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you." (what an image)
Karen - age 7
"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross."
Mark - age 6
"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget."
Jessica - age 8
And my personal favourite:
"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen."
Bobby - age 7
I think everyone should take Bobby's words to heart.
Have a safe and fulfilling Christmas.
Christmas Roast
It's going to be a normal Christmas. Ick.
At this time of the morning, it's usually just warming up. Not today. Nuh uh. Today is barbeque day. At 5.30 in the am, as the sun rose, it was already 30 degrees; celsius, not fahrenheit. By 9.00 am, 35 degrees. Humidity? 18 percent.
As a child, it was great. We would dash down the beach and stay until lunch, race home and feed, then return until the sun lowered in the western sky. Some days, we'd be home earlier to watch the southerly buster come through with strong cold winds. The next day, we'd do it all over again. Yeah, the halcyon days of my youth.
Now that I'm older, it's different. It's uncomfortable, energy sapping and worrying. Three states have total fire bans and fire watches. A dozen or more bush and grassland fires are burning already, with more to come as those psychological fuck ups look to appease their desire to see flame. If they chose winter, it wouldn't be so bad, but nooo, Summer; high summer, when the grass crackles underfoot, the sky is a painfully bright blue, the sun slowly spit roasting the pale flesh of office workers taking the day off. Now they come and play with matches.
I've been through fires. Three years ago we had a conflagration of epic proportions with gale force winds pushing the fire towards us. Yeah, we're on the beach, but when the tree in the front yard starts smouldering, you know it's going to be bad. It happened at Christmas and we were without power for four days. Two years ago, I was in Canberra surrounded by fires in neighbouring suburbs. The ash reached the coast some two hundred and sixty kilometres away.
We survived both fires with no damage; others weren't so lucky.
This country is one of extremes; a country where Mother Nature is guaranteed to remind you of who is in charge every single year. From the six month fire season, to the three month gale force wind season, monsoon season, storm season, droughts, floods, she can be a total bitch. And we love it.
Call us a little odd, but this Christmas, Mother Nature is going to kick some butt.
Maybe I'll go down to the beach after all. Later today, we have a severe storm warning with damaging hail and gale force winds. Gotta batten down the hatches, but I'll enjoy MN's largesse before the hammer falls.
At this time of the morning, it's usually just warming up. Not today. Nuh uh. Today is barbeque day. At 5.30 in the am, as the sun rose, it was already 30 degrees; celsius, not fahrenheit. By 9.00 am, 35 degrees. Humidity? 18 percent.
As a child, it was great. We would dash down the beach and stay until lunch, race home and feed, then return until the sun lowered in the western sky. Some days, we'd be home earlier to watch the southerly buster come through with strong cold winds. The next day, we'd do it all over again. Yeah, the halcyon days of my youth.
Now that I'm older, it's different. It's uncomfortable, energy sapping and worrying. Three states have total fire bans and fire watches. A dozen or more bush and grassland fires are burning already, with more to come as those psychological fuck ups look to appease their desire to see flame. If they chose winter, it wouldn't be so bad, but nooo, Summer; high summer, when the grass crackles underfoot, the sky is a painfully bright blue, the sun slowly spit roasting the pale flesh of office workers taking the day off. Now they come and play with matches.
I've been through fires. Three years ago we had a conflagration of epic proportions with gale force winds pushing the fire towards us. Yeah, we're on the beach, but when the tree in the front yard starts smouldering, you know it's going to be bad. It happened at Christmas and we were without power for four days. Two years ago, I was in Canberra surrounded by fires in neighbouring suburbs. The ash reached the coast some two hundred and sixty kilometres away.
We survived both fires with no damage; others weren't so lucky.
This country is one of extremes; a country where Mother Nature is guaranteed to remind you of who is in charge every single year. From the six month fire season, to the three month gale force wind season, monsoon season, storm season, droughts, floods, she can be a total bitch. And we love it.
Call us a little odd, but this Christmas, Mother Nature is going to kick some butt.
Maybe I'll go down to the beach after all. Later today, we have a severe storm warning with damaging hail and gale force winds. Gotta batten down the hatches, but I'll enjoy MN's largesse before the hammer falls.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Ho, ho... ho... huh... ho
You'd think I'd be nice and relaxed by now. The presents were bought a couple of weeks ago, wrapped last week, menu set this week and food list ready for tomorrow's made dash. I've been muscling up for the fight - it's not shopping, it's war out there - the elbows are sharp for the bumping of those in my way, the lip curl practiced for those who demand and apology. Hah! I've got it down, I know how to do the last minute shop. I've even practiced my deep breathing. Hoo, hoo, hee, hee, for when the doors open at six am.
And yes, nag, nag, nag, I've already advised to do things early, mea culpa. My niece came to stay this week and keeping a twelve year old occupied is task better made for those who started with them, not those of us who came late and snickered at the parental struggles.
I took her to the beach, fed her junk food, played board games, let her surf the 'net unsupervised, play music way too loud, watch unsuitable DVDs and let her stay up far too late. Oh, and allowed her to consume litres of Coke. Heh.
Of course, yesterday was the funeral for Keith, so she was left in the capable hands of her grandmother - who, by the way, raised six children, including a set of twins, all under the age of nine.
For me, it was a long and heartbreaking trip. Four hours drive there, an hour's service, half an hour chatting to relatives, turn around and four hours back. sigh
My niece, it turns out, needed the break from all the 'fun'. She had a relaxing day catching up with her e-mails and chatting with her friends about what she and I got up too. (They're all jealous, but she's said for years every one should have an aunt like her Jaye - insert warm fuzzies here.)
So, back to my point. I am behind in my Christmas preperations. But not for long. I shall tackle the shopping with my usual aplomb - see above - and be totally ready for the big day.
Boxing Day is D-day. By that I mean Dooms-day. My brother, his wife and two urchins will be here, as will my twin sister and her two and my younger sister and her two. Not bad? Uh.... My brother has the patience of Job. My twin can be argumentative, and my youngest sister is passive-aggressive and her two kids are monsters. My eldest brother is safe: he'll be in Denmark with his family; My eldest sister is staying away. And me? Oh, yeah, I'll be in the sanctuary of the kitchen, cooking up a storm. The family will be so stuffed full of food, there'll be naps all around followed by the invasion of the beach and I shall put my feet up and bless my good fortune to have them all.
I don't fight at Christmas. Hell, I rarely fight at all. It's just not worth it, now or ever. I'm not interested in the internal battles of others. It passes. I'll let them have their say, should it need to be said, and again, raise solutions that will be ignored.
Every family is dysfunctional, it's only a matter of degree. It doesn't have to spoil Christmas. You don't have to rise to the bait, or defend someone, or something - like a gift that drops like a bomb.
If your Christmas is like a combat zone, do something different: don't go to family, you're an adult; you can say no. And remember, "What other people think of you is none of your business." Be yourself, be calm and be grateful for your thick-headed, misunderstood, anger-provoking, funny, warm/cold, blind, silly, obtuse, exasperating family.
And yes, nag, nag, nag, I've already advised to do things early, mea culpa. My niece came to stay this week and keeping a twelve year old occupied is task better made for those who started with them, not those of us who came late and snickered at the parental struggles.
I took her to the beach, fed her junk food, played board games, let her surf the 'net unsupervised, play music way too loud, watch unsuitable DVDs and let her stay up far too late. Oh, and allowed her to consume litres of Coke. Heh.
Of course, yesterday was the funeral for Keith, so she was left in the capable hands of her grandmother - who, by the way, raised six children, including a set of twins, all under the age of nine.
For me, it was a long and heartbreaking trip. Four hours drive there, an hour's service, half an hour chatting to relatives, turn around and four hours back. sigh
My niece, it turns out, needed the break from all the 'fun'. She had a relaxing day catching up with her e-mails and chatting with her friends about what she and I got up too. (They're all jealous, but she's said for years every one should have an aunt like her Jaye - insert warm fuzzies here.)
So, back to my point. I am behind in my Christmas preperations. But not for long. I shall tackle the shopping with my usual aplomb - see above - and be totally ready for the big day.
Boxing Day is D-day. By that I mean Dooms-day. My brother, his wife and two urchins will be here, as will my twin sister and her two and my younger sister and her two. Not bad? Uh.... My brother has the patience of Job. My twin can be argumentative, and my youngest sister is passive-aggressive and her two kids are monsters. My eldest brother is safe: he'll be in Denmark with his family; My eldest sister is staying away. And me? Oh, yeah, I'll be in the sanctuary of the kitchen, cooking up a storm. The family will be so stuffed full of food, there'll be naps all around followed by the invasion of the beach and I shall put my feet up and bless my good fortune to have them all.
I don't fight at Christmas. Hell, I rarely fight at all. It's just not worth it, now or ever. I'm not interested in the internal battles of others. It passes. I'll let them have their say, should it need to be said, and again, raise solutions that will be ignored.
Every family is dysfunctional, it's only a matter of degree. It doesn't have to spoil Christmas. You don't have to rise to the bait, or defend someone, or something - like a gift that drops like a bomb.
If your Christmas is like a combat zone, do something different: don't go to family, you're an adult; you can say no. And remember, "What other people think of you is none of your business." Be yourself, be calm and be grateful for your thick-headed, misunderstood, anger-provoking, funny, warm/cold, blind, silly, obtuse, exasperating family.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Tough day
It's always tough when a loved one dies. Not passes on, or has gone to his great reward, but dies. I'm tempted to put something Pythonesque here, but it would be inappropriate.
Keith had been a great friend to the family; had, in fact, been my father's best friend since the two were in university together. My dad's been dead nearly fifteen years now, but Keith was still a part of our family. He was my eldest sister's God father.
As kids, we went around to his holiday place and had barbeques, easter egg hunts, beach parties, film nights and generally had the best time. He was always there for us. As he got older, we were there for him; painting his house, mowing his lawns, gardening, visiting for an old fashioned afternoon tea.
He'd send us post cards from exotic places and bring us trinkets and wonderous tales of his adventures. He always said that our family connection went back generations, was adamant about it, in fact, though I never found any connection in my research.
I have telephoned the rest of my family - my mother is just too upset - and we are gathering our resources to be at the funeral. And while no funeral is ever a good time, I fear that this will be the most hurtful since my father died.
I don't want to say goodbye to this wonderful man. I don't want to hear from others how wonderful he was. I want to hold the memories I have of him close and think that he is just where I always found him: sitting in his rocking chair, listening to classical music, dipping his oatmeal biscuit into his to weak and milky tea.
I want to sit next to him and listen to his stories again, to get those postcards and cheap trinkets. I don't want this hollowness, as if another significant part of me has been scoured out. I don't want this emptiness where Keith lived and breathed.
Maybe he's around and will stay to see us all, to make sure we're all right. Maybe he's with my dad, reminiscing about the old days; I'd like that, and I'll think of that. For now, though, I won't say goodbye, but I will say a blessing that his journey is safe.
Keith had been a great friend to the family; had, in fact, been my father's best friend since the two were in university together. My dad's been dead nearly fifteen years now, but Keith was still a part of our family. He was my eldest sister's God father.
As kids, we went around to his holiday place and had barbeques, easter egg hunts, beach parties, film nights and generally had the best time. He was always there for us. As he got older, we were there for him; painting his house, mowing his lawns, gardening, visiting for an old fashioned afternoon tea.
He'd send us post cards from exotic places and bring us trinkets and wonderous tales of his adventures. He always said that our family connection went back generations, was adamant about it, in fact, though I never found any connection in my research.
I have telephoned the rest of my family - my mother is just too upset - and we are gathering our resources to be at the funeral. And while no funeral is ever a good time, I fear that this will be the most hurtful since my father died.
I don't want to say goodbye to this wonderful man. I don't want to hear from others how wonderful he was. I want to hold the memories I have of him close and think that he is just where I always found him: sitting in his rocking chair, listening to classical music, dipping his oatmeal biscuit into his to weak and milky tea.
I want to sit next to him and listen to his stories again, to get those postcards and cheap trinkets. I don't want this hollowness, as if another significant part of me has been scoured out. I don't want this emptiness where Keith lived and breathed.
Maybe he's around and will stay to see us all, to make sure we're all right. Maybe he's with my dad, reminiscing about the old days; I'd like that, and I'll think of that. For now, though, I won't say goodbye, but I will say a blessing that his journey is safe.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Bloody Preachers!
Right. I am not Catholic, Protestant, Anglican, or any other of those Christian religions that feel an obligation to 'preach the good word' to all those 'heathens' out there, ie, anyone who is not a Christian.
Why am I so pissed off about religion today? This close to Christmas? Because I am fed up with the hypocrasy of it all. Not just the consumerism, but the rhetoric, the deciding what is and is not acceptable to the Christian faith.
For example: the Harry Potter books and movies were branded as evil because of the use of witchcraft; The Chronicles of Narnia are being hailed as a parable of Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ is right! What gave the church the right to decide which kids book was the more acceptable? Oh, wait. I remember: these are officials in a patriarchal organisation who's personal agenda sets how every Christian should live their life.
Right then. Bitching over; facts time. Questions: What was Jesus doing with the loaves, fishes and water if not magic? Why was it okay for him to do magic and not pagans who had been doing for centuries? If Jesus had been a woman, would it have been more acceptable? Why do people accept the personal interpretation of another's words as gospel?
CS Lewis was not an overly religious man, and his stepson has come out and said the series is not the parable religious groups are claiming it to be.
It hasn't been released here yet, but I understand from other sites that the movie, while spectacular in its' special effects, takes on a preaching tone that is hard to swallow and has proven to be a disappointment to those who loved the books as a child.
I can't tell you how sad that is, nor how angry the religious zealots make me in their pontificating. The movie will be a hit regardless of who says what, if only for the special effects. But. It is a movie. For kids.
Let them enjoy it without the need to preach or convert or comment on the alleged religious aspects.
Why am I so pissed off about religion today? This close to Christmas? Because I am fed up with the hypocrasy of it all. Not just the consumerism, but the rhetoric, the deciding what is and is not acceptable to the Christian faith.
For example: the Harry Potter books and movies were branded as evil because of the use of witchcraft; The Chronicles of Narnia are being hailed as a parable of Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ is right! What gave the church the right to decide which kids book was the more acceptable? Oh, wait. I remember: these are officials in a patriarchal organisation who's personal agenda sets how every Christian should live their life.
Right then. Bitching over; facts time. Questions: What was Jesus doing with the loaves, fishes and water if not magic? Why was it okay for him to do magic and not pagans who had been doing for centuries? If Jesus had been a woman, would it have been more acceptable? Why do people accept the personal interpretation of another's words as gospel?
CS Lewis was not an overly religious man, and his stepson has come out and said the series is not the parable religious groups are claiming it to be.
It hasn't been released here yet, but I understand from other sites that the movie, while spectacular in its' special effects, takes on a preaching tone that is hard to swallow and has proven to be a disappointment to those who loved the books as a child.
I can't tell you how sad that is, nor how angry the religious zealots make me in their pontificating. The movie will be a hit regardless of who says what, if only for the special effects. But. It is a movie. For kids.
Let them enjoy it without the need to preach or convert or comment on the alleged religious aspects.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Seven Memes
At Holly Lisle's Pocket Full of Words, she has written of things 'seven'. I figured I would list my seven, so here goes:
Seven things to do before I die
1. Visit New England in the Fall and run around in the colourful leaves;
2. Publish a book and see it sitting on a shelf, any shelf;
3. Camp at Uluru and watch the sun rise;
4. Learn to snow/water ski;
5. Teach English to the young, since too many kids don't know how to communicate propertly;
6. Fall in love and be loved in return - self-explanatory.
7. Drive a Ferrari/Porsche/Aston Martin...
Seven things I cannot do
1. Maths - sheesh, and my dad was Maths teacher;
2. Explain how/why I know things - or how I reach particular conclusions;
3. Completely grow up - I love my comic and kids movies collections;
4. Paint - although two of my siblings can;
5. Surf - too fearful of the sea creatures with sharp pointy teeth.
6. Understand racial/religious violence;
7. Keep my dog with me forever, she's fifteen and I've had her since she was a puppy.
Seven things that attract me to my significant other
Don't have one, so I can't answer this.
Seven things I say most often
1. Can I help you?
2. Doood/Dooodette
3. Who's a treasure?
4. No.
5. Blossom/Petal
6. Good morning/afternoon.
7. Mwahaha!
Seven books (or serials) I love
1. Anita Blake/Merry Gentry series - Laurell K. Hamilton
2. Honor Harrington series - David Weber
3. Stardoc Series - S.L. Viehl
4. Valour's Choice - Tanya Huff
5. Sympathy for the Devil/Minerva Wakes - Holly Lisle
6. Donovan Trilogy - Nora Roberts
7. Path of the Fury/The Apocalypse Troll - David Weber
Seven movies I watch over and over again
1. Lord of the Rings Trilogy;
2. Appleseed;
3. Pitch Black/Chronicles of Riddick;
4. Starship Troopers;
5. Shrek 1 & 2;
6. Aliens;
7. The Incredibles
There are more books and movies that I re-read/see over again, but I don't think I'd be able to limit my answers to even ten. Why not have a go yourself? It certainly takes careful thought.
Seven things to do before I die
1. Visit New England in the Fall and run around in the colourful leaves;
2. Publish a book and see it sitting on a shelf, any shelf;
3. Camp at Uluru and watch the sun rise;
4. Learn to snow/water ski;
5. Teach English to the young, since too many kids don't know how to communicate propertly;
6. Fall in love and be loved in return - self-explanatory.
7. Drive a Ferrari/Porsche/Aston Martin...
Seven things I cannot do
1. Maths - sheesh, and my dad was Maths teacher;
2. Explain how/why I know things - or how I reach particular conclusions;
3. Completely grow up - I love my comic and kids movies collections;
4. Paint - although two of my siblings can;
5. Surf - too fearful of the sea creatures with sharp pointy teeth.
6. Understand racial/religious violence;
7. Keep my dog with me forever, she's fifteen and I've had her since she was a puppy.
Seven things that attract me to my significant other
Don't have one, so I can't answer this.
Seven things I say most often
1. Can I help you?
2. Doood/Dooodette
3. Who's a treasure?
4. No.
5. Blossom/Petal
6. Good morning/afternoon.
7. Mwahaha!
Seven books (or serials) I love
1. Anita Blake/Merry Gentry series - Laurell K. Hamilton
2. Honor Harrington series - David Weber
3. Stardoc Series - S.L. Viehl
4. Valour's Choice - Tanya Huff
5. Sympathy for the Devil/Minerva Wakes - Holly Lisle
6. Donovan Trilogy - Nora Roberts
7. Path of the Fury/The Apocalypse Troll - David Weber
Seven movies I watch over and over again
1. Lord of the Rings Trilogy;
2. Appleseed;
3. Pitch Black/Chronicles of Riddick;
4. Starship Troopers;
5. Shrek 1 & 2;
6. Aliens;
7. The Incredibles
There are more books and movies that I re-read/see over again, but I don't think I'd be able to limit my answers to even ten. Why not have a go yourself? It certainly takes careful thought.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Hunting Season
It's that time of the year when the politicians ram through as much legislation as they can get away with, the television is showing re-runs of the most awful programmes, the weather is hot and humid, the shops are brimming with people and the mailbox is stuff full of junk mail. Ah, Christmas time, ya gotta love it!
The shop decorations have been out since the first of November with advertisements cajoling that if you don't buy this three hundred dollar present for your precious child, you're the worst parent in the world. Let's not forget the whining of children singing in your ears as you drag them from shop to shop searching for that elusive and perfect gift. Give it up. It won't happen. No matter how hard you try, you will never get the perfect anything for anyone. Close, maybe, but unless they ask specifically for something - and where's the surprise in that - it's a lost cause.
Bah, Humbug!
Yeah, but I'm dripping in smug at the moment because all my hunter/gathering is done. I can sit back and watch everyone else extend their elbows in a blocking move, lower the eyebrows in a threatening manner, growl and snarl as they reach out claw-like fingers for that last Barbie/Bratz/RoboRaptor/whatever before the other man/woman/demon gets it.
I've seen shelves denuded like the Amazon basin, trolleys smash like the Indy 500, weeping, squealing, screaming red-faced children, angry, frustrated, sweating parents and fear-struck, trembling clerks. I've seen catepillar lines of customers at checkouts with over worked and smoking tills. I've heard the tinny Christmas music repeated over speakers adding to the sense of quiet panic and the tantrums thrown by children as an anxious parent tries to put him/her on a red-clad, white bearded, obese stranger.
And there is still two weeks to go. The worst is yet to come, people. It's too late to be reasonable, to be organised, and you only have two options left: leave the children at home and go early or shop online and hope the stuff arrives on time.
Me, I'm one of those horrible, evil, self-satisfied planners. I have to be. I have five siblings, each of whom is married with two children. That's a lot of gifts. If I don't start early, I'm doomed to be inflicted with temper, with the urge to overspend, with the urge to just buy book/store/mall tokens. Can't... let... that... happen! People, I think, like to open presents, not envelopes.
I started early, had my list and began the hunt. Surprisingly, it only took me two days and every store had what I wanted. It doesn't always work out that way, but beginning early so you can relax at Christmas is, for me, the only way to go.
Sure, it upsets my weekend writing schedules, but some things are worth it. Nothing I've bought is the perfect gift, but that's not what matters. What matters is that I took the time to listen throughout the year to my relatives and their wishes, that I wrote it down, that I went out six, eight, ten months later and got what they wanted. The 'oh, how did you know I wanted this?' just adds to the sense of well being. I love my family and it is no big deal to remember what they've said throughout various conversations. It's the giving, not the receiving, that gives us that special feeling of love; that look on a child/teenager/adults face when they unwrap your gift and gasp in astonishment, surprise or wicked glee.
Selfish of me to enjoy all that; in fact billions of people around the world are doomed to suffer the same fate. Under all that sparkle, glitz and glamour of tinsel, baubles and Christmas lights, there is nothing more special than seeing a person glow, and yes, gloat, over a gift you've bought for them.
Remember that as you go out on the hunt and remember the same effort someone else has endured to achieve the same expression you're expecting. It makes it all worth while.
The shop decorations have been out since the first of November with advertisements cajoling that if you don't buy this three hundred dollar present for your precious child, you're the worst parent in the world. Let's not forget the whining of children singing in your ears as you drag them from shop to shop searching for that elusive and perfect gift. Give it up. It won't happen. No matter how hard you try, you will never get the perfect anything for anyone. Close, maybe, but unless they ask specifically for something - and where's the surprise in that - it's a lost cause.
Bah, Humbug!
Yeah, but I'm dripping in smug at the moment because all my hunter/gathering is done. I can sit back and watch everyone else extend their elbows in a blocking move, lower the eyebrows in a threatening manner, growl and snarl as they reach out claw-like fingers for that last Barbie/Bratz/RoboRaptor/whatever before the other man/woman/demon gets it.
I've seen shelves denuded like the Amazon basin, trolleys smash like the Indy 500, weeping, squealing, screaming red-faced children, angry, frustrated, sweating parents and fear-struck, trembling clerks. I've seen catepillar lines of customers at checkouts with over worked and smoking tills. I've heard the tinny Christmas music repeated over speakers adding to the sense of quiet panic and the tantrums thrown by children as an anxious parent tries to put him/her on a red-clad, white bearded, obese stranger.
And there is still two weeks to go. The worst is yet to come, people. It's too late to be reasonable, to be organised, and you only have two options left: leave the children at home and go early or shop online and hope the stuff arrives on time.
Me, I'm one of those horrible, evil, self-satisfied planners. I have to be. I have five siblings, each of whom is married with two children. That's a lot of gifts. If I don't start early, I'm doomed to be inflicted with temper, with the urge to overspend, with the urge to just buy book/store/mall tokens. Can't... let... that... happen! People, I think, like to open presents, not envelopes.
I started early, had my list and began the hunt. Surprisingly, it only took me two days and every store had what I wanted. It doesn't always work out that way, but beginning early so you can relax at Christmas is, for me, the only way to go.
Sure, it upsets my weekend writing schedules, but some things are worth it. Nothing I've bought is the perfect gift, but that's not what matters. What matters is that I took the time to listen throughout the year to my relatives and their wishes, that I wrote it down, that I went out six, eight, ten months later and got what they wanted. The 'oh, how did you know I wanted this?' just adds to the sense of well being. I love my family and it is no big deal to remember what they've said throughout various conversations. It's the giving, not the receiving, that gives us that special feeling of love; that look on a child/teenager/adults face when they unwrap your gift and gasp in astonishment, surprise or wicked glee.
Selfish of me to enjoy all that; in fact billions of people around the world are doomed to suffer the same fate. Under all that sparkle, glitz and glamour of tinsel, baubles and Christmas lights, there is nothing more special than seeing a person glow, and yes, gloat, over a gift you've bought for them.
Remember that as you go out on the hunt and remember the same effort someone else has endured to achieve the same expression you're expecting. It makes it all worth while.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Oil for Food scandal grows
More allegations have been levelled at the Australian Wheat Board's involvement in supplying food to Iraq during the 1990s. The American CIA alleges that the money paid to middle-men in Iraq funnelled part of the $AUS220 million to Saddam's regime and to Palestinian suicide bomber families.
A judicial inquiry has been set up to investigate the allegations made, and I assume the CIA will produce the documents they say prove that the AWB knew of the kickbacks being paid to transport Australian Wheat to where it was most needed. Worse, that the Australian Government knew of the extra money being paid to facilitate the smooth transportation of our wheat into this very lucrative market.
When the Coalition of the Willing invaded Iraq, Australia had delivered, but had not been paid for, $AUS800 million worth of wheat. Iraq refused to pay, the new government refused to pay, the US refused to clarify the situation and Australia made the wheat a gift to the new struggling nation.
A lot of accusations are coming out of the US in regards to Australia's wheat export to, oh, let's see, countries targeted by American farmers. Preferred markets that Australia has a strong foothold in.
And I am really pissed at the US's accusations. When I first heard about this, I thought it was payback for the lamb incident where by Australia took the US to the International Court over tariffs; the US lost.
Then I read that while the US Government and the CIA are busily sling mud and accusations at us an international politics analyst, Dr Keith Suter, reminded people that it was a board who managed the oil-for-food program under the auspices of the United Nations. Remember that Kofi Annan's son is in trouble for his part in the scandal?
What toasts my buns is the fact that this board is made up of representatives from a number of countries, including the US, the UK, France and Germany. This Board knew what was going on, they managed the program, gave advice to those going in country.
I'd like to know where the accusations are against the board who facilitated and had full knowledge of the Oil-For-Food program. I want to know why the US is accusing the Australian Wheat Board of corruption when Australia had to rely on the recommendations of the Board for facilitating the food transfers. I want to know who from the Board is accepting responsibility for this cluster-fuck and I want to know why, given that the CIA has known about these allegations for some eight years, they chose to reveal it all now?
What is coming up that the CIA has to undermine the credibility of an ally to achieve the US's goal? Has to be agricultural and/or trade, doesn't it. Wheat contracts to Pakistan, Iraq, Iran, Israel or somewhere else? Live sheep exports to Saudi Arabia, perhaps? Beef exports to Japan, maybe? How about sugar or wool?
The one thing we've learned is that the US hates to lose. At anything. To anyone. I can only think that the US will protect its interests, in regards to the Oil for Food scandal, in regards to WMD, in regards to its unfair global trading practices. But, hey, that's international politics.
A judicial inquiry has been set up to investigate the allegations made, and I assume the CIA will produce the documents they say prove that the AWB knew of the kickbacks being paid to transport Australian Wheat to where it was most needed. Worse, that the Australian Government knew of the extra money being paid to facilitate the smooth transportation of our wheat into this very lucrative market.
When the Coalition of the Willing invaded Iraq, Australia had delivered, but had not been paid for, $AUS800 million worth of wheat. Iraq refused to pay, the new government refused to pay, the US refused to clarify the situation and Australia made the wheat a gift to the new struggling nation.
A lot of accusations are coming out of the US in regards to Australia's wheat export to, oh, let's see, countries targeted by American farmers. Preferred markets that Australia has a strong foothold in.
And I am really pissed at the US's accusations. When I first heard about this, I thought it was payback for the lamb incident where by Australia took the US to the International Court over tariffs; the US lost.
Then I read that while the US Government and the CIA are busily sling mud and accusations at us an international politics analyst, Dr Keith Suter, reminded people that it was a board who managed the oil-for-food program under the auspices of the United Nations. Remember that Kofi Annan's son is in trouble for his part in the scandal?
What toasts my buns is the fact that this board is made up of representatives from a number of countries, including the US, the UK, France and Germany. This Board knew what was going on, they managed the program, gave advice to those going in country.
I'd like to know where the accusations are against the board who facilitated and had full knowledge of the Oil-For-Food program. I want to know why the US is accusing the Australian Wheat Board of corruption when Australia had to rely on the recommendations of the Board for facilitating the food transfers. I want to know who from the Board is accepting responsibility for this cluster-fuck and I want to know why, given that the CIA has known about these allegations for some eight years, they chose to reveal it all now?
What is coming up that the CIA has to undermine the credibility of an ally to achieve the US's goal? Has to be agricultural and/or trade, doesn't it. Wheat contracts to Pakistan, Iraq, Iran, Israel or somewhere else? Live sheep exports to Saudi Arabia, perhaps? Beef exports to Japan, maybe? How about sugar or wool?
The one thing we've learned is that the US hates to lose. At anything. To anyone. I can only think that the US will protect its interests, in regards to the Oil for Food scandal, in regards to WMD, in regards to its unfair global trading practices. But, hey, that's international politics.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Future magic
I filched this link from Holly's site, but it's apropros:
Astrology for Writers, Editors and Filmmakers
For November and we all know what happens every November.
gemini: eeegads you poor thing, seems the world is stacking up against you in so many ways. This too shall pass. Into every life a little rain must fall, etc. Chin up, out of this mess will come a better life, and a much more innovative approach to your writing. Spend more time alone now, it is the best way to bring up the new ideas.
December's prognostication is:
gemini: mid february will lift the cloud of frustration that has hung over you for some months. Huge challenges, no joke, have befallen your twisted path. If you can, wait until then to finalize contracts.
Strange, I do have a contract coming up, probably in February, if not sooner; nothing to do with writing. It has been frustrating trying fit into a proper writing schedule. Hmm... maybe things are about to change?
Astrology for Writers, Editors and Filmmakers
For November and we all know what happens every November.
gemini: eeegads you poor thing, seems the world is stacking up against you in so many ways. This too shall pass. Into every life a little rain must fall, etc. Chin up, out of this mess will come a better life, and a much more innovative approach to your writing. Spend more time alone now, it is the best way to bring up the new ideas.
December's prognostication is:
gemini: mid february will lift the cloud of frustration that has hung over you for some months. Huge challenges, no joke, have befallen your twisted path. If you can, wait until then to finalize contracts.
Strange, I do have a contract coming up, probably in February, if not sooner; nothing to do with writing. It has been frustrating trying fit into a proper writing schedule. Hmm... maybe things are about to change?
Friday, December 02, 2005
Execution
I wasn't going to say anything about this, but...
Today, at 9.00am Australian time, a drug trafficker was put to death in Singapore. Why does this rate a mention? Because Van Nguyen is the first Australian to have a sentence of death carried out for twelve years.
It has, according to the media, split this nation down the middle. I disagree. I could wax lyrical on the pros and cons of the death penalty, but the fundamental truth is: he was caught, he confessed, and he was in a country where there is a mandatory death sentence for drug trafficking.
The Singaporean government is using one side of the media attention as a deterrent to other would be drug mules.
Individual Australian Ministers are condemning the practice as barbaric, that no one should die for carrying drugs.
And this is where I disagree.
Van Nguyen was carrying 400 grams of heroin on his body. Apparently, that's enough for 20,000 hits. I don't know if that's true or not, but that's not the point.
Where is the outrage that the heroin, if it had arrived in Australia, may have been cut with a lethal substance? Where is the horror that Van Nguyen could have a killed a dozen or more people here? Why is this facilitator of death more important than the deaths of those addicts on the streets? I haven't seen any of these 'outraged' people helping those addicts, at shelters, calling for more to be done. I haven't seen any of them condemning the drugs brought in to this country.
What we have seen is so called 'safe' injecting rooms. This combats the problem... how? I don't see how it can give addicts a reason to give up. And I have seen drugs destroy people's lives.
So, no. I don't have any sympathy for Van Nguyen. What I do have is sympathy for his mother. One brother has been executed trying to pay of the debt of the other. And what debt was that? The brother was in debt because of... guess what? Drugs charges.
I applaud the government for doing everything it could to save Van Nguyen. I can only hope that other intended drug mules think again before deciding drug running is easy money. It's not worth your life, or the grief caused to your family.
Today, at 9.00am Australian time, a drug trafficker was put to death in Singapore. Why does this rate a mention? Because Van Nguyen is the first Australian to have a sentence of death carried out for twelve years.
It has, according to the media, split this nation down the middle. I disagree. I could wax lyrical on the pros and cons of the death penalty, but the fundamental truth is: he was caught, he confessed, and he was in a country where there is a mandatory death sentence for drug trafficking.
The Singaporean government is using one side of the media attention as a deterrent to other would be drug mules.
Individual Australian Ministers are condemning the practice as barbaric, that no one should die for carrying drugs.
And this is where I disagree.
Van Nguyen was carrying 400 grams of heroin on his body. Apparently, that's enough for 20,000 hits. I don't know if that's true or not, but that's not the point.
Where is the outrage that the heroin, if it had arrived in Australia, may have been cut with a lethal substance? Where is the horror that Van Nguyen could have a killed a dozen or more people here? Why is this facilitator of death more important than the deaths of those addicts on the streets? I haven't seen any of these 'outraged' people helping those addicts, at shelters, calling for more to be done. I haven't seen any of them condemning the drugs brought in to this country.
What we have seen is so called 'safe' injecting rooms. This combats the problem... how? I don't see how it can give addicts a reason to give up. And I have seen drugs destroy people's lives.
So, no. I don't have any sympathy for Van Nguyen. What I do have is sympathy for his mother. One brother has been executed trying to pay of the debt of the other. And what debt was that? The brother was in debt because of... guess what? Drugs charges.
I applaud the government for doing everything it could to save Van Nguyen. I can only hope that other intended drug mules think again before deciding drug running is easy money. It's not worth your life, or the grief caused to your family.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
I'm done...
...for. No, not really. Nano is over for me and I can only breathe a sigh of relief. One hundred and eighty thousand, one hundred and seventy five words. One and three-quarter books. Thirty days of writing with a full time job tossed in just to make things interesting.
Ker..iste! What was I thinking? The smug has leaked out of me and all I feel is tired. That will pass by tomorrow, I suspect, because the second book aint done yet.
I'd do more tonight, but hell, I'm typing with dyslexic fingers. It would be too ugly, and too much to delete. So I'm done. Calling it quits. I have my book done, the second one is a bonus. An interesting read so far, but unfinished. A couple of days rest, and I'll come back and finish it.
I'd like to thank the music of Mike Oldfield, Pat Benatar and Laura Branigan for getting me through the last week of writing. Without their emotional impact, I doubt I would have accomplished so much in such a short time.
So. I'm off to stare blankly at the television screen. Tomorrow, I shall read, or watch a dvd or two, shop, do the house work, or none or all of the above. Whatever I do, it shall be away from the book - although I have sneaking suspicion the characters won't let me.
Ah, well, such is the life of a writer.
Ker..iste! What was I thinking? The smug has leaked out of me and all I feel is tired. That will pass by tomorrow, I suspect, because the second book aint done yet.
I'd do more tonight, but hell, I'm typing with dyslexic fingers. It would be too ugly, and too much to delete. So I'm done. Calling it quits. I have my book done, the second one is a bonus. An interesting read so far, but unfinished. A couple of days rest, and I'll come back and finish it.
I'd like to thank the music of Mike Oldfield, Pat Benatar and Laura Branigan for getting me through the last week of writing. Without their emotional impact, I doubt I would have accomplished so much in such a short time.
So. I'm off to stare blankly at the television screen. Tomorrow, I shall read, or watch a dvd or two, shop, do the house work, or none or all of the above. Whatever I do, it shall be away from the book - although I have sneaking suspicion the characters won't let me.
Ah, well, such is the life of a writer.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Practical Magic
Science Fantasy. That genre that crosses the void between science fiction and fantasy. It joins the two in marriage and gives the reader a taste of both worlds.
It is the genre where magic happens in a technology world.
Once upon a time, the main genre was called, sci-fi/fantasy. The one genre encompassed both magic or science fiction, but not both. If you had a book of science fantasy, well you had to choose one or the other, you couldn't be both. If you didn't choose, someone chose for you.
Now that genre has split into two and face each other across an ever increasing void. I think some writers groups forget where they came from, writing pure science fiction or pure fantasy. (I'll just point out that all fiction is fantasy.) Some suggest that the twain shall never meet. You cannot blend the two genres.
Well, you can. All you have to remember is to be scientific about fantasy.
Of course it takes research to do this, but we also live in a world where practical magic is done every day. I don't mean card tricks, I mean spells and incantations.
It's been around for thousands of years by thousands of people, on every continent. And if you don't think it works, think again. I'll use Australia as an example.
Our indigenous population have the Kadiachi man. He is used as punishment and he doesn't have to touch the perpetrator to cast his magic. If convicted of a crime against the tribe, he will cast his spell. Word will get to the convict. If the Kadiachi man says in five days you will have a temperature, the convict, five days later, will have a temperature. If the curse says two days after that you will experience pain... and so on, it will happen. Why? Belief. Absolute, total, unwavering belief. I would say that the Christian Church has similar magic and before I'm accused of heresy, Christians pray and sometimes those prayers are answered. What is that if not magic?
To the fictional world, then. Magic within technology. We consider ourselves sophisticated, intellectual beings, and yet the idea of magic is not uncommon. Think you on JK Rowling's books. Magic is an integral part of the books. Okay, you say, but it's the suspension of disbelief. Is it, though?
Consider more closely the use of magic. Each character has a wand, speaks an incantation and voila. A spell erupts from the wand and does wonderful or terrible things.
A wand is a stick.
Nothing technological about it. Nope. It's an inert object.
A stick is a piece of fire wood, it's a tool for digging holes, it's a measure, it's a guide pointing in a particular direction, it's a weapon, a toothpick, a lever, a piece of art, it's part of a structure and a lot more. That's the physical.
On an emotional level, it can be whatever you want it to be. It's the memory of throwing it for your dog, it's the fingers you burnt while prying off the melted marshmellow, it's smacking your evil sibling and the tears that followed. Combine that with something as esoteric as magic, and you have science fantasy.
The magic comes from within. Point and flick with your stick and see what happens. Magic mixes with technology and out pops science fantasy. The genre that bridges two worlds.
It does need explaining. With the two, it is the science that has to be explained, and to explain the science, you have to explain the magic. It's not hard, just think of where the magic came from and that's all the explanation you'll ever need.
It is the genre where magic happens in a technology world.
Once upon a time, the main genre was called, sci-fi/fantasy. The one genre encompassed both magic or science fiction, but not both. If you had a book of science fantasy, well you had to choose one or the other, you couldn't be both. If you didn't choose, someone chose for you.
Now that genre has split into two and face each other across an ever increasing void. I think some writers groups forget where they came from, writing pure science fiction or pure fantasy. (I'll just point out that all fiction is fantasy.) Some suggest that the twain shall never meet. You cannot blend the two genres.
Well, you can. All you have to remember is to be scientific about fantasy.
Of course it takes research to do this, but we also live in a world where practical magic is done every day. I don't mean card tricks, I mean spells and incantations.
It's been around for thousands of years by thousands of people, on every continent. And if you don't think it works, think again. I'll use Australia as an example.
Our indigenous population have the Kadiachi man. He is used as punishment and he doesn't have to touch the perpetrator to cast his magic. If convicted of a crime against the tribe, he will cast his spell. Word will get to the convict. If the Kadiachi man says in five days you will have a temperature, the convict, five days later, will have a temperature. If the curse says two days after that you will experience pain... and so on, it will happen. Why? Belief. Absolute, total, unwavering belief. I would say that the Christian Church has similar magic and before I'm accused of heresy, Christians pray and sometimes those prayers are answered. What is that if not magic?
To the fictional world, then. Magic within technology. We consider ourselves sophisticated, intellectual beings, and yet the idea of magic is not uncommon. Think you on JK Rowling's books. Magic is an integral part of the books. Okay, you say, but it's the suspension of disbelief. Is it, though?
Consider more closely the use of magic. Each character has a wand, speaks an incantation and voila. A spell erupts from the wand and does wonderful or terrible things.
A wand is a stick.
Nothing technological about it. Nope. It's an inert object.
A stick is a piece of fire wood, it's a tool for digging holes, it's a measure, it's a guide pointing in a particular direction, it's a weapon, a toothpick, a lever, a piece of art, it's part of a structure and a lot more. That's the physical.
On an emotional level, it can be whatever you want it to be. It's the memory of throwing it for your dog, it's the fingers you burnt while prying off the melted marshmellow, it's smacking your evil sibling and the tears that followed. Combine that with something as esoteric as magic, and you have science fantasy.
The magic comes from within. Point and flick with your stick and see what happens. Magic mixes with technology and out pops science fantasy. The genre that bridges two worlds.
It does need explaining. With the two, it is the science that has to be explained, and to explain the science, you have to explain the magic. It's not hard, just think of where the magic came from and that's all the explanation you'll ever need.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Speed Demon
I've had some comments - not here, elsewhere - on the speed at which I produce work. In particular, how I manage to write so quickly.
For example: this Nano challenge, I have written - from scratch, without plot or plan - 120k on the thriller Deception and 31k on the Science Fantasy novel SABLE. That's a big total for twenty-seven days of writing. And that is exactly how it sounds: Twenty-seven days of writing. No days off for good behaviour, no squibbing on the total or the writing, no shirking the muse because family came to visit. That's sitting down at the keyboard and pounding out the words, one after the other, no matter how late in the night.
That is how a book is written, with your focus on the story, on the characters and what their doing, on What Happens Next.
WHN is of paramount importance here. If you don't know where you're going with a book, it doesn't matter how fast you type, the words won't come.
Typing is a learned trade, but a practiced art. Like writing, the more you practice, the better you'll get at it; well, that's the theory, anyway.
And there, grasshopper, is the secret to high word counts. Write every day until the book is done. Then you can take a break. Know What Happens Next, even if, like me, you're a free writer. Have, at least, a vague idea and hit the keyboard. If it doesn't work... well, it works for me, but if it doesn't, you can always go back and fix it at the editing stage. Learn to type properly. Not this hunt and peck method, that smacks of a lack of commitment and arrogance. Do it the conventional way before you do it the unconventional way.
By the end, you'll have your book; do your happy dance. (For some of you, do it privately, please?) Then let it rest. It needs it after all you've put it through. When it's matured and you've got some distance, go back and edit; that is another skill to learn.
Go, young Jedi, use the Force and create. With every word, sentence and paragraph you type, the faster you will go.
For example: this Nano challenge, I have written - from scratch, without plot or plan - 120k on the thriller Deception and 31k on the Science Fantasy novel SABLE. That's a big total for twenty-seven days of writing. And that is exactly how it sounds: Twenty-seven days of writing. No days off for good behaviour, no squibbing on the total or the writing, no shirking the muse because family came to visit. That's sitting down at the keyboard and pounding out the words, one after the other, no matter how late in the night.
That is how a book is written, with your focus on the story, on the characters and what their doing, on What Happens Next.
WHN is of paramount importance here. If you don't know where you're going with a book, it doesn't matter how fast you type, the words won't come.
Typing is a learned trade, but a practiced art. Like writing, the more you practice, the better you'll get at it; well, that's the theory, anyway.
And there, grasshopper, is the secret to high word counts. Write every day until the book is done. Then you can take a break. Know What Happens Next, even if, like me, you're a free writer. Have, at least, a vague idea and hit the keyboard. If it doesn't work... well, it works for me, but if it doesn't, you can always go back and fix it at the editing stage. Learn to type properly. Not this hunt and peck method, that smacks of a lack of commitment and arrogance. Do it the conventional way before you do it the unconventional way.
By the end, you'll have your book; do your happy dance. (For some of you, do it privately, please?) Then let it rest. It needs it after all you've put it through. When it's matured and you've got some distance, go back and edit; that is another skill to learn.
Go, young Jedi, use the Force and create. With every word, sentence and paragraph you type, the faster you will go.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Archived
For some reason, and I figure it is secret blog business, my last post went straight to archives.
I think, maybe, I was too quick to look at the post on my blog. I should have waited, but there you go.
I think, maybe, I was too quick to look at the post on my blog. I should have waited, but there you go.
And so it goes on
Oy, where does the week go? My last post was on Wednesday and here it is Saturday. Having too much of a good thing, I expect.
Oh, yea, verily, in the land of make believe, I do continue my journey.
FYI, here's an important fact about writing: do not rest on your laurels for too long after finishing a book. Have a time out, by all means, but keep going. If you're going to be a writer, then be one and break out the next book to write.
I've looked at the Nano site and seen many a wannabe author doing the hula, toasting one another, slapping each other on the back and generally celebrating the finishing of 50,000 words.
Can you see one eyebrow raised? Yeah, that's me, and the lip curl. It's probably churlish of me, but hey, 50k a book does not make. Novella? Yeah, but realistically, these are the people who won't succeed because the 50k is all the challenge they see. It's a great, almost compulsory starting point, but it's not the whole challenge.
Writers, write; wannabe's crow over the green bar and do no more. And that is a shame.
You'll note that a number of authors have hitched a second book to their profiles. These are the one's who take writing seriously. They finish one book and begin another.
Publishers, agents, editors want to know what kind of a track record you've got; whether you can be relied upon to keep producing. What are you going to say to them? "Um... no, not yet, but I'm sure an idea will come to me next November." Yeah, and they'll show you the door.
This is a money making business, people. Not for you, of course; let's face it authors, agents and editors make shit money, but for the publisher. You want to be a success, you've got to keep going. Eventually, if you're good enough, produce enough, work hard enough, have an enormous imagination and sacrifice enough virgins, you'll make it. Maybe.
So, while you're in a good mood from completing Nano, three words: Plot, Plan, Begin.
They are the words that will carry you through. Get into the habit of writing because your books won't write themselves, there is no book fairy, if you don't do it, no one will and finally - I don't know who said it, but it's brilliant: You have no right to keep your imagination to yourself!
Oh, yea, verily, in the land of make believe, I do continue my journey.
FYI, here's an important fact about writing: do not rest on your laurels for too long after finishing a book. Have a time out, by all means, but keep going. If you're going to be a writer, then be one and break out the next book to write.
I've looked at the Nano site and seen many a wannabe author doing the hula, toasting one another, slapping each other on the back and generally celebrating the finishing of 50,000 words.
Can you see one eyebrow raised? Yeah, that's me, and the lip curl. It's probably churlish of me, but hey, 50k a book does not make. Novella? Yeah, but realistically, these are the people who won't succeed because the 50k is all the challenge they see. It's a great, almost compulsory starting point, but it's not the whole challenge.
Writers, write; wannabe's crow over the green bar and do no more. And that is a shame.
You'll note that a number of authors have hitched a second book to their profiles. These are the one's who take writing seriously. They finish one book and begin another.
Publishers, agents, editors want to know what kind of a track record you've got; whether you can be relied upon to keep producing. What are you going to say to them? "Um... no, not yet, but I'm sure an idea will come to me next November." Yeah, and they'll show you the door.
This is a money making business, people. Not for you, of course; let's face it authors, agents and editors make shit money, but for the publisher. You want to be a success, you've got to keep going. Eventually, if you're good enough, produce enough, work hard enough, have an enormous imagination and sacrifice enough virgins, you'll make it. Maybe.
So, while you're in a good mood from completing Nano, three words: Plot, Plan, Begin.
They are the words that will carry you through. Get into the habit of writing because your books won't write themselves, there is no book fairy, if you don't do it, no one will and finally - I don't know who said it, but it's brilliant: You have no right to keep your imagination to yourself!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
'Tis done
The Nano book is done. My challenge is complete and not without angst, girly hair pulling and swear words. It is 120k of first draft; some of good writing, some of it bad writing and some of it mediocre. No doubt it has plot holes you could drive a truck through, but no book ever written is a total loss. Re-written, yes, great gobs of it thrown out, but not a total loss.
If the idea is sound, it can be worked into a book; if the idea is unsound it won't progress no matter how much you try.
That should give hope to all those who want to write, who need to write. Those first few attempts, while exciting at the outset may not have had a workable idea, and so failed. Of course, motivation may have flagged into non-existence, too, thus scuppering the writer in his/her tracks.
What happens, though, if the idea is sound? For the writer, the idea won't go away, no matter how much your try. For those wannabes, the idea drifts into obscurity, never to be thought of again.
I know I've had some brilliant ideas, but didn't have the motivation to write them down. That is my loss, for they went away in a fit of pique into the universal pool of muses to sulk.
Now if I get an idea, I write one sentence down on anything I can find. The muse has a sense of humour and is continually testing my patience.
Every creative person has a muse who whispers in their ear. Some may not hear it, but others do. And not every creative person achieves public success. The private thrill of having a book written in enough.
This is my tenth book, but none have yet made it to publication. It's a tough world out there, with thousands of books being printed each year. Worse, trying to get noticed is like being one rice bubble in a bowl of many.
No matter how crackly you are with the milk of inspiration, you're still one of many other cracklies. (Huh. Strange analogy that. But it shows my point adequately, I think.)
Luck plays a big part, but so does professionalism. No fanciness with your manuscript, no diatribes on how wonderful the book is, no threats. Be professional, adhere to the submission guidelines. Make sure you find out everything you can about the publishing company you want to publish your work. Make sure it's the right one. Then cross your fingers.
Never stop writing. One book is fine, but publishers like to know they can rely on you for more work.
That's my next job: to get this manuscript, or another one I'm thinking of, ready to submit. It will take a while, but that's okay. Next year looms large, for it is the to get my work out there. Short stories, longer stories, books - out there in the world at large. I have enough of a back list to work with and more ideas.
Hopefully, 2006 will see me in print, not just excerpts on various sites.
Now, though, I have another book to write while NaNo is still on. That inner athlete won't quit and while she doesn't, neither will I.
If the idea is sound, it can be worked into a book; if the idea is unsound it won't progress no matter how much you try.
That should give hope to all those who want to write, who need to write. Those first few attempts, while exciting at the outset may not have had a workable idea, and so failed. Of course, motivation may have flagged into non-existence, too, thus scuppering the writer in his/her tracks.
What happens, though, if the idea is sound? For the writer, the idea won't go away, no matter how much your try. For those wannabes, the idea drifts into obscurity, never to be thought of again.
I know I've had some brilliant ideas, but didn't have the motivation to write them down. That is my loss, for they went away in a fit of pique into the universal pool of muses to sulk.
Now if I get an idea, I write one sentence down on anything I can find. The muse has a sense of humour and is continually testing my patience.
Every creative person has a muse who whispers in their ear. Some may not hear it, but others do. And not every creative person achieves public success. The private thrill of having a book written in enough.
This is my tenth book, but none have yet made it to publication. It's a tough world out there, with thousands of books being printed each year. Worse, trying to get noticed is like being one rice bubble in a bowl of many.
No matter how crackly you are with the milk of inspiration, you're still one of many other cracklies. (Huh. Strange analogy that. But it shows my point adequately, I think.)
Luck plays a big part, but so does professionalism. No fanciness with your manuscript, no diatribes on how wonderful the book is, no threats. Be professional, adhere to the submission guidelines. Make sure you find out everything you can about the publishing company you want to publish your work. Make sure it's the right one. Then cross your fingers.
Never stop writing. One book is fine, but publishers like to know they can rely on you for more work.
That's my next job: to get this manuscript, or another one I'm thinking of, ready to submit. It will take a while, but that's okay. Next year looms large, for it is the to get my work out there. Short stories, longer stories, books - out there in the world at large. I have enough of a back list to work with and more ideas.
Hopefully, 2006 will see me in print, not just excerpts on various sites.
Now, though, I have another book to write while NaNo is still on. That inner athlete won't quit and while she doesn't, neither will I.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Ruttles
I've managed to write myself into a rut. Not the kind of rut you'd expect either, but the rut of writing x amount of words per day and struggling with more.
Over the past three weeks, I've averaged out at between three and six thousand a day. I get up, go to work, come home and write for three hours. A good habit to get into... except when I want and need to write more.
My inner athelete accepted this challenge, but now is unwilling to be pushed beyond the pain barrier. She wants to watch the end of cricket, read a book, watch a DVD, take a break.
I don't blame her. I've been writing every single day and it's tiring; the constant focus and creativity wears on a body. No amount of cajoling and promises are working. Weekends are usually my high time for writing. 10k is common in one day, more when I'm in the groove. Not this weekend. I've barely done the same for two days. I'm close to the end, but picking my way through the ending choices is tough. And I still haven't decided which way to go to get to the end point I want.
Yeah, yeah, I should trust my characters to know what to do, but they're a little off stride too. I think they're just as tired as I am and I'm so not going to have an Deus Ex Machina step in. I need my characters to be honest with me and themselves.
And yes, its sounds like I'm talking about real people, because to me, they are real, otherwise they'd be two dimensional and that is death for a book.
I think I'll take a moment, an hour, and ponder the quandry.
Over the past three weeks, I've averaged out at between three and six thousand a day. I get up, go to work, come home and write for three hours. A good habit to get into... except when I want and need to write more.
My inner athelete accepted this challenge, but now is unwilling to be pushed beyond the pain barrier. She wants to watch the end of cricket, read a book, watch a DVD, take a break.
I don't blame her. I've been writing every single day and it's tiring; the constant focus and creativity wears on a body. No amount of cajoling and promises are working. Weekends are usually my high time for writing. 10k is common in one day, more when I'm in the groove. Not this weekend. I've barely done the same for two days. I'm close to the end, but picking my way through the ending choices is tough. And I still haven't decided which way to go to get to the end point I want.
Yeah, yeah, I should trust my characters to know what to do, but they're a little off stride too. I think they're just as tired as I am and I'm so not going to have an Deus Ex Machina step in. I need my characters to be honest with me and themselves.
And yes, its sounds like I'm talking about real people, because to me, they are real, otherwise they'd be two dimensional and that is death for a book.
I think I'll take a moment, an hour, and ponder the quandry.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Aiming for 'The End'
The problem with freewriting is knowing when to end the book. Sure, you look at your word count and think, "hmm, I need to kill someone." Or, "I need more sex." Personally speaking, yeah, sure, I do, but writing wise, we're talking about word counts. Pay attention. Free writing is a process by which you have an amorphous idea and run with it. You have no middle and no ending in mind, just a vague thought that the book will finish on it's own.
Hah! I have over 100k and have just killed off two more people. Jeez, am I blood thirsty or what? That makes five, no, six dead bodies on the ground. I have one accident, one assault and one near-rape, too. It's all go on the Deception front, but I now need an ending. Should I kill the fucker off? Should I have him duly beaten by the big, buff cop? Should I have him escape? Now that would be cruel, wouldn't it?
I'm in nowhere land with a number of solutions available. The perp has finally lost it, and if I go his way, more people are going to die. If I go the cop route, a kidnapping and assault ensue. If I go the 'accidental arrest' route, that lets the reader down, I think, because there's no real climax until the unveiling.
This is what free writing is all about: the uncertainty. I can see why Sue Grafton doesn't, or didn't plot, because the author is in the dark as much as the reader, and surprises always happen.
I think I'm just going to see what happens. After a bit of sex. In the book! Perverts!
Hah! I have over 100k and have just killed off two more people. Jeez, am I blood thirsty or what? That makes five, no, six dead bodies on the ground. I have one accident, one assault and one near-rape, too. It's all go on the Deception front, but I now need an ending. Should I kill the fucker off? Should I have him duly beaten by the big, buff cop? Should I have him escape? Now that would be cruel, wouldn't it?
I'm in nowhere land with a number of solutions available. The perp has finally lost it, and if I go his way, more people are going to die. If I go the cop route, a kidnapping and assault ensue. If I go the 'accidental arrest' route, that lets the reader down, I think, because there's no real climax until the unveiling.
This is what free writing is all about: the uncertainty. I can see why Sue Grafton doesn't, or didn't plot, because the author is in the dark as much as the reader, and surprises always happen.
I think I'm just going to see what happens. After a bit of sex. In the book! Perverts!
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
The middle bit
Writers are often filled with a sense of urgency to get something down. They may have done all the research, plotted, outlined, spoken to their characters, worked out the structure, whether it will be first or third person, everything that needs to be done.
But when a writer finally gets down to it, there is that ever so slight tremble in the fingertips as they rest on the keyboard to start the book.
Many writers, structured ones in particular, will say that the hard work is over. There will be no hesitating because they have the guideposts already set. They know what is going to happen, are familiar with the whole book. And, I have to say, they are right.
It's not my style and each author has their own way of doing things. Mine is just as exciting as a structured authors. I don't know what's going to happen, the characters do what they will within the bounds of their personalities. For example, a church-going virgin, will not suddenly break into curse words and screw anything on two legs; a soldier will not suddenly toss his gun away and start picking flowers - unless it is a part of their personalities and the story has led to this point. But I digress.
A writer, poised to start the great work. If everything is set, fingers will dance across the keyboard in perfect step to the thoughts, the plan, the ideas. A frenetic pace, perhaps, or measured, in beat with music only the writer can hear. For pages, the prose will flow, the muse will dance and the writer is filled with a sense of purpose, with excitement, with pleasure.
But then: The Middle.
Where every author knows, is a place that can be as dry as a desert or as impenetrable as a jungle. The right words dry up or are blocked. The story slows down, is choked with unfortunate passivity, where action is an emotion, a thought, an intention.
We all know the beginning of the end is coming up and we can't wait. We all know the surprises coming up, the stunning conclusion, the gobsmacking climax is a few chapters away, but we must wade through The Middle. Have a place from which to set up the incredible, original, amazing End.
To get there, we must scale mountains, plumb the depths of our creativity, bash through The Middle.
I'm currently bashing away at that Middle. Eighty-five thousand words later, and I'm up to my waist in emotional, psychological and worrisome Middle. It's not something that 'will pass'. I have to fight for each paragraph, for each sentence, for every, single damn word. It doesn't have to be perfect, I can edit later, but the ideas, the form, what I'm trying to say must be right, or I'll not know what I meant to say.
I could throw myself upon the mercy of structured writing. Beg forgiveness from the muse of convention, plead for the demon Freewriter to let me go. But I won't.
Part of being a writer is the constant learning curve. For every writer, no matter what they write, writing is an ongoing learning experience, be it creative or not. This is part of what being a writer means: to push further than you think you can. To grow, to experience, to understand and to feel accomplished when you've discovered something new about yourself and your writing.
Middles: the most challenging of all, and the most rewarding.
To quote best-selling author, Holly Lisle: Writing. It's one damn word after another.
And that's how you get through the dreaded Middle.
But when a writer finally gets down to it, there is that ever so slight tremble in the fingertips as they rest on the keyboard to start the book.
Many writers, structured ones in particular, will say that the hard work is over. There will be no hesitating because they have the guideposts already set. They know what is going to happen, are familiar with the whole book. And, I have to say, they are right.
It's not my style and each author has their own way of doing things. Mine is just as exciting as a structured authors. I don't know what's going to happen, the characters do what they will within the bounds of their personalities. For example, a church-going virgin, will not suddenly break into curse words and screw anything on two legs; a soldier will not suddenly toss his gun away and start picking flowers - unless it is a part of their personalities and the story has led to this point. But I digress.
A writer, poised to start the great work. If everything is set, fingers will dance across the keyboard in perfect step to the thoughts, the plan, the ideas. A frenetic pace, perhaps, or measured, in beat with music only the writer can hear. For pages, the prose will flow, the muse will dance and the writer is filled with a sense of purpose, with excitement, with pleasure.
But then: The Middle.
Where every author knows, is a place that can be as dry as a desert or as impenetrable as a jungle. The right words dry up or are blocked. The story slows down, is choked with unfortunate passivity, where action is an emotion, a thought, an intention.
We all know the beginning of the end is coming up and we can't wait. We all know the surprises coming up, the stunning conclusion, the gobsmacking climax is a few chapters away, but we must wade through The Middle. Have a place from which to set up the incredible, original, amazing End.
To get there, we must scale mountains, plumb the depths of our creativity, bash through The Middle.
I'm currently bashing away at that Middle. Eighty-five thousand words later, and I'm up to my waist in emotional, psychological and worrisome Middle. It's not something that 'will pass'. I have to fight for each paragraph, for each sentence, for every, single damn word. It doesn't have to be perfect, I can edit later, but the ideas, the form, what I'm trying to say must be right, or I'll not know what I meant to say.
I could throw myself upon the mercy of structured writing. Beg forgiveness from the muse of convention, plead for the demon Freewriter to let me go. But I won't.
Part of being a writer is the constant learning curve. For every writer, no matter what they write, writing is an ongoing learning experience, be it creative or not. This is part of what being a writer means: to push further than you think you can. To grow, to experience, to understand and to feel accomplished when you've discovered something new about yourself and your writing.
Middles: the most challenging of all, and the most rewarding.
To quote best-selling author, Holly Lisle: Writing. It's one damn word after another.
And that's how you get through the dreaded Middle.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Inside the bad guy's head
As NaNo progresses, I'm finding all sorts of things about my characters. This marathon, to me, is all about freewriting; that is, not having a recognisable outline to follow, just some ideas about characters. If you know your characters, everything else follows.
It's been an interesting ride to watch these people who've come out of my head, but I wonder if authors are sometimes a little psychotic.
To write well, or even great, you must get into their heads and see things from their point of view. Sound odd? It probably is to the population at large, but an author has to get in touch with 'The Dark Side' to create not just the moral, upstanding, heroic person, but the evil psychopathic enemy, too - unless the story is deliberately structured that the bad guy isn't an integral part of the book, or is better served as an ideology (see Tolkien).
I'm still unsettled by yesterday's writing, though, because of what my bad guy did. Sometimes, I think authors have to be brave to write what they do. Not because of controversial ideas, but personally brave; to write what disturbs them, upsets them, or pisses them off.
I had a scene where my two protagonists finally get together and make love. That was fine, but with the Stalker nearby, the act was going to have consequences. I'd forgotten that the characters were in charge of this book and were going to act accordingly; and he did.
I spent alot of time wrestling with the first scene; a slow word count, deleting because it wouldn't work, or the motivation was wrong, but finally got it right. Yay, happy dance. Then came the dark cloud and I had to walk away from the keyboard as I realised what had to happen.
In what non-writers would call some seriously fucked up thinking, I couldn't stay away. I had to write it down; and did, with fingers flying over the keyboard. One serious assault of my lead character - okay, let's not be squeamish, it's a near rape scene, with accompanying violence. Shocking, devastating and... right.
And when it was done, my hands were shaking, hell, I was shaking. I really wanted to write a happy scene after that, but I couldn't think of one and it would have been wrong of me. So I finished the day's work on a really nasty scene.
More fucked up thinking: I slept really well after that. I won't revisit the scene until it's time to edit, but it's a good piece. It fits in with the book and the characters. Now, we get to the aftermath. I have to get this right too, or readers will see it as false, or superficial and throw the book across the room. I don't want that. I want readers to hurt, to ache, to be furious and hoping for appropriate vengence and a just end.
Authors must step out of their comfort zones to portray truth in their novels. Not your truth or my truth or an amorphous universal truth; the truth of the novel.
And sometimes, that means getting in touch with your inner psychopath.
It's been an interesting ride to watch these people who've come out of my head, but I wonder if authors are sometimes a little psychotic.
To write well, or even great, you must get into their heads and see things from their point of view. Sound odd? It probably is to the population at large, but an author has to get in touch with 'The Dark Side' to create not just the moral, upstanding, heroic person, but the evil psychopathic enemy, too - unless the story is deliberately structured that the bad guy isn't an integral part of the book, or is better served as an ideology (see Tolkien).
I'm still unsettled by yesterday's writing, though, because of what my bad guy did. Sometimes, I think authors have to be brave to write what they do. Not because of controversial ideas, but personally brave; to write what disturbs them, upsets them, or pisses them off.
I had a scene where my two protagonists finally get together and make love. That was fine, but with the Stalker nearby, the act was going to have consequences. I'd forgotten that the characters were in charge of this book and were going to act accordingly; and he did.
I spent alot of time wrestling with the first scene; a slow word count, deleting because it wouldn't work, or the motivation was wrong, but finally got it right. Yay, happy dance. Then came the dark cloud and I had to walk away from the keyboard as I realised what had to happen.
In what non-writers would call some seriously fucked up thinking, I couldn't stay away. I had to write it down; and did, with fingers flying over the keyboard. One serious assault of my lead character - okay, let's not be squeamish, it's a near rape scene, with accompanying violence. Shocking, devastating and... right.
And when it was done, my hands were shaking, hell, I was shaking. I really wanted to write a happy scene after that, but I couldn't think of one and it would have been wrong of me. So I finished the day's work on a really nasty scene.
More fucked up thinking: I slept really well after that. I won't revisit the scene until it's time to edit, but it's a good piece. It fits in with the book and the characters. Now, we get to the aftermath. I have to get this right too, or readers will see it as false, or superficial and throw the book across the room. I don't want that. I want readers to hurt, to ache, to be furious and hoping for appropriate vengence and a just end.
Authors must step out of their comfort zones to portray truth in their novels. Not your truth or my truth or an amorphous universal truth; the truth of the novel.
And sometimes, that means getting in touch with your inner psychopath.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Death of the Sickie
We regret to inform you on the recent death of the sickie.
Unfortunately, for those out-of-touch union reps and the Opposition Laborites, the sickie has been dead for sometime and it is the stench of the rotting corpse that has awoken you from torpor.
Most industries are more flexible than the hardline enemies of Industrial Relations reform realise, or even want to know. If you are genuinely sick, you get to a doctor and get your medical certificate. If you are just looking for a day off, why, lo and behold that's what flexible working hours are all about.
Remember flexi-time? Yes, boys and girls, it still exists.
What the reforms are trying to do is untie employers hands so they can get on with negotiating a better deal for the employees and the company. It works both ways, do you see?
Ninety-nine point five per cent of employers aren't the mongrel dogs that the unions would have you think. Most employers just want to get on with business, and make money; that's why they're in business to begin with.
Employers are not there to coddle lazy layabouts who, when roused, bitch about their allowances, their holiday pay, their wage, their Union-given rights to work in an ergonomically-correct, equal opportunity and equitable work environment. And that includes personal well-being.
We are a long way from the 1860s when Labour Day was fought for. We are a long way from the oppressed worker, we are a long way from the halcyon days of unionism. Less than twenty percent of Australians belong to one. Surely this is significant?
I'm not saying we don't need them; we do, otherwise we really would be at risk. It is the union reps who study and understand the laws, so as to negotiate individual and collective workplace agreements... but JESUS get a grip, would you?
This is not about the undermining of individual entitlements! This is about the restructuring of them; giving the employer and the employee should he/she wish to do so the opportunity to negotiate on some rights and entitlements. This is not about stripping employee rights as the current media campaign would have you believe, and I would take issue at the misinformation being bandied about by the unions and the Opposition, that is commonly refered to as a 'lie'. The current campaign would have you believe that we are heading back into the Industrial Revolution, and work for thirteen and fourteen hours a day for a pittance. Here's a clue: some people do. They're called sweat shops. Go after them if you've got so much money to waste on lying to the public.
As for everyone else, most people are happy, or at least content, with their working environment. This change will not affect them.
Some people may be affected adversely. Show me legislation that doesn't affect someone adversely. The difference is the affected employee can choose not to work for that company; the affected person can choose to move on. Or, the affected employee may decide to accept the shitty workplace agreement, and keep an eye out for a better job.
In the current climate, there are plenty of jobs available.
And the unions should be negotiators on those jobs, not bloody namby-pamby squealie girls who protest anything to do with change that they haven't mooted.
Grow up people, the good times are here regardless of what those campaigns are saying. Get informed, stay informed and you won't lose out.
Unfortunately, for those out-of-touch union reps and the Opposition Laborites, the sickie has been dead for sometime and it is the stench of the rotting corpse that has awoken you from torpor.
Most industries are more flexible than the hardline enemies of Industrial Relations reform realise, or even want to know. If you are genuinely sick, you get to a doctor and get your medical certificate. If you are just looking for a day off, why, lo and behold that's what flexible working hours are all about.
Remember flexi-time? Yes, boys and girls, it still exists.
What the reforms are trying to do is untie employers hands so they can get on with negotiating a better deal for the employees and the company. It works both ways, do you see?
Ninety-nine point five per cent of employers aren't the mongrel dogs that the unions would have you think. Most employers just want to get on with business, and make money; that's why they're in business to begin with.
Employers are not there to coddle lazy layabouts who, when roused, bitch about their allowances, their holiday pay, their wage, their Union-given rights to work in an ergonomically-correct, equal opportunity and equitable work environment. And that includes personal well-being.
We are a long way from the 1860s when Labour Day was fought for. We are a long way from the oppressed worker, we are a long way from the halcyon days of unionism. Less than twenty percent of Australians belong to one. Surely this is significant?
I'm not saying we don't need them; we do, otherwise we really would be at risk. It is the union reps who study and understand the laws, so as to negotiate individual and collective workplace agreements... but JESUS get a grip, would you?
This is not about the undermining of individual entitlements! This is about the restructuring of them; giving the employer and the employee should he/she wish to do so the opportunity to negotiate on some rights and entitlements. This is not about stripping employee rights as the current media campaign would have you believe, and I would take issue at the misinformation being bandied about by the unions and the Opposition, that is commonly refered to as a 'lie'. The current campaign would have you believe that we are heading back into the Industrial Revolution, and work for thirteen and fourteen hours a day for a pittance. Here's a clue: some people do. They're called sweat shops. Go after them if you've got so much money to waste on lying to the public.
As for everyone else, most people are happy, or at least content, with their working environment. This change will not affect them.
Some people may be affected adversely. Show me legislation that doesn't affect someone adversely. The difference is the affected employee can choose not to work for that company; the affected person can choose to move on. Or, the affected employee may decide to accept the shitty workplace agreement, and keep an eye out for a better job.
In the current climate, there are plenty of jobs available.
And the unions should be negotiators on those jobs, not bloody namby-pamby squealie girls who protest anything to do with change that they haven't mooted.
Grow up people, the good times are here regardless of what those campaigns are saying. Get informed, stay informed and you won't lose out.
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