Refuge

Birthday week is over - and I enjoyed every minute of it; we (sisters, niece and nephew) should get together more often. (Maybe not the over-indulgence of alcohol, but I can now say I have tasted Moet and found it... hmmm.)

So I returned to the keyboard and work. Curious that over the past couple of months I've felt like I've been in a fugue state when it came to writing and editing. I don't know why, exactly - maybe it has something to do with the parent's illness and other concerns.

Today, at work, I was busily writing and researching a historical piece for museum. The time whizzed by, but I finally managed to finish - and wanted to start the next project. I have an ever-increasing list, of which most include tales of daring-do.

History is my refuge. Always has been, but until recently, I didn't realise how much. I've never found it stuffy or boring - that's in the way the author writes, or the teacher teaches. It's not just about dates - or it shouldn't be - but it's about the people and their affect on society, real and perceived.

Here I sit, in a small coastal town in Australia, yet where I live is directly connected to two of Britain's greatest naval heroes, Sir John Jervis and a young Captain under his command - none other than Horatio Nelson. Another connection is the Lady Denman ferry. It was built here, just up the road, and named after the wife of a Governor General, but more, Lady Gertrude Denman was instrumental in developing bush nursing in Australia, the Women's Institutes in England and the Land Armies of World Wars One and Two.

Of the three, Nelson is the most famous, but his career was guided and shaped by Jervis. Lady Denman is near forgotten, but she was instrumental in advancing women's rights on a global scale.

Much has been written about Nelson, but precious little on Jervis and Denman. In their time, they were dynamic, influential and hardworking. Jervis, for example, was recalled to command the Channel Fleet at age 70. He saw it as his duty, poor health or not.

I'm hoping to redress their vagueness in current history - at least in a small way - and use their virtues in my own writing; I think I already do, given my life-long love of history.

The past holds a wealth of inspiration from those famous and not-so-famous. To step back in time, is to step into the future, for heroes and villains abound. Every one a gem to a writer.

Family time

Yeah, not much happening around here; I've been focusing on family. Denmark family visiting and an 18th birthday family event this weekend. There's also two sister's birthdays, another niece and a nephew. (Neph and one sis done today.) And the ongoing parent health focus. Fortunately, the parent is now having more good days than bad.

Oh, and other work/edit stuff. Not so much. It's winter, and that means hibernating in front of the computer. (When I'm not having near anxiety attacks over how much rain has fallen. The backyard is so soaked, the grass moves underfoot! I swear, the next house I live in will have a proper drainage system.)

So, off to Canberra tomorrow for party time and visiting more family. And shopping. Mustn't forget the shopping.

29 ways to creativity

PBW has a list of 29 ways to stay creative:

1. Make lists.
2. Carry a notebook everywhere.
3. Try free writing.
4. Get away from the computer.
5. Quit beating yourself up.
6. Take breaks.
7. Sing in the shower.
8. Drink coffee.
9. Listen to new music.
10. Be open.
11. Surround yourself with creative people.
12. Get feedback.
13. Collaborate.
14. Don't give up.
15. Practice, practice, practice.
16. Allow yourself to make mistakes.
17. Go somewhere new.
18. Count your blessings.
19. Get lots of rest.
20. Take risks.
21. Break the rules.
22. Don't force it.
23. Read a page of the dictionary.
24. Create a framework.
25. Stop trying to be someone else's perfect.
26. Got an idea? Write it down.
27. Clean your workspace.
28. Have fun.
29. Finish something.

(Shamelessly copied text): If you're looking for something to blog about, copy the video and the list, bold the items on the list that you're already doing, cross off the ones that don't work for you, and star the ones you'd like to try.

Here's my meme version of the list:

1. Make lists.
2. Carry a notebook everywhere.
3. Try free writing.
4. Get away from the computer.
5. Quit beating yourself up.*
6. Take breaks.
7. Sing in the shower.
8. Drink coffee.
9. Listen to new music.
10. Be open.
11. Surround yourself with creative people.
12. Get feedback.
13. Collaborate.
14. Don't give up.
15. Practice, practice, practice.
16. Allow yourself to make mistakes.
17. Go somewhere new.*
18. Count your blessings.*
19. Get lots of rest.
20. Take risks.*
21. Break the rules.*
22. Don't force it.
23. Read a page of the dictionary.
24. Create a framework.
25. Stop trying to be someone else's perfect.
26. Got an idea? Write it down.
27. Clean your workspace.*
28. Have fun.
29. Finish something.
.
Go on, do your own list. I guess I have some things to change

Damn You, Autocorrect!!

I actually have autocorrect on when I'm writing; now, I'm going to reconsider.

It's all the fault of DYAC. It is a site I found via the Smart Bitches, Trashy Books. If you want a laugh, and I mean a serious crack up, DYAC is the place for you.

And I warn you, do not read this at work - people will stare. But worse, anyone who has autocorrect on their phones will immediately recognise some of the hilarious text conversations.

I have to say that trying to remember my bookmarks has been an opportunity to dump some sites and find others. DYAC is one I'll visit frequently, just for laughs.

Fed Up

...with the freezing of Google Chrome. I don't know why it kept doing it, but I finally dumped it for Firefox. I did try a number of fixes, including at least two virus hunts - all failed after I did routine maintenance and started up the search engine again.

The only problem was the loss of all my bookmarks [insert much cursing] and I have to remember them and re-bookmark; I'm sure I shall fail.

Now, I shall get back to the remembering.

Upgrade

I've upgraded my wireless broadband, and received a Pendo Pad as a bonus. It is evil. EVIL, I tell you.

While playing around with it, I downloaded a couple of games - and then... it was hours later. The old "I'll just finish this level..." gambit. I am now addicted to the 'jewels' game; all those shinies and explosions, and whirling jewels. O_o

I need to focus on writing. So...

Woman's Arse Size study...There is a new study about women and how they feel about their arses...The results were pretty interesting.
30% of women think their arse is too fat. 10% of women think their arse is too skinny. The remaining 60% say they don't care, they love him, he's a good man and wouldn't trade him for the world...

And now, back to writing the last story for the marathon. Phew.

A Three Hour Tour...

I've had a busy few days.

The moozeum has an exhibition opening on Friday and one of the co-ordinators damaged an ankle and hasn't been able to do much; so, for some insane reason, I volunteered to help out. Sheesh.

Anyway, I was invited to a photo shoot bright and early on Saturday morning:

Hmm. Up before sunrise for a morning out on Jervis Bay. The photo shoot was for a local dolphin and whale watching company. A group of us boarded a fast tourist boat to scoot around in. This boat has the photographers aboard.

It's been years since I was out on the Bay and it was a beautiful day to re-acquaint myself - I've also never been beyond the Point. Fishing inside the Bay seemed a much safer option in a little runabout.

So off we went, across the Bay and out past Point Perpendicular - a name that speaks for itself and continues the Australian tradition of stating the bleedin' obvious:

Once you get to the Point, you can see the rugged coastline. Shelves of slowly eroding sandstone all the way with large chunks of rock littering the sea floor and towering cliffs. Abseilers love climbing up and down because of drop and the many handholds. Curiously, I didn't see any seabirds nesting in cliff face.

Of course, that might be because the Navy uses a part of the penisular for target practice.

And... since this was a dolphin and whale watch tour, and... since it is the start of the whale watching season, here's a whale:

A humpback whale, in fact, travelling north to the Great Barrier Reef for some R&R. They sometimes get a little confused and end up in the Bay, rather than continuing up the coast. But it's nice, safe harbour for the smaller whales. This one is moving in a circle - either to get away from the boat, or to come around and give us another look; I vote for the second. Overall, we saw five of them and a playful pod of common dolphins. The dolphins were too quick for the camera, unfortunately.

I don't think I've ever had three hours pass so quickly. And if I get another invite, I'm there!

Of cake and wine

Fortunately, I wrote my story this morning - thank you, Marina, for the inspiration.

A friend of my mother's, Ld, called up last week and said the third of the triumvirate, Lr, was heading this way for a Garden Club Reunion.

Now, all three have been friends since, ah, the late 1950s, so it's a long time friendship. Due to retirements, each moved hundreds of kilometres away.

Ld said to expect them on Monday. I made cack... sorry, cake; chocolate, in fact. ("Lr doesn't dobought cake," my mother said.) And so, we waited. No sign of them - and no, Lr isn't the kind of person to ring and say they'll arrive on such-and-such day at such-and-such time. I also arranged for a wine salesman to come on Wednesday, figuring 'if not today, the friend will turn up tomorrow.'

Tuesday, and we finished off the cake, made another. And so, we waited. No sign of them - and no, we didn't know where they were staying, nor their phone number.

Today. I made a nice butter cake, with cream and chocolate frosting - urg, licking the bowls gave me a monumental sugar rush. And we waited - my mother happily watching the television, me, curtain twitching. Two o'clock came and went, then three. I asked the parent whether she'd like to come into the other room to wait. I kept watch on the door while printing out some old photos for her, and we chatted. Finally, four o'clock arrived. My mother gave up and went back to her room, since the wine man was due at 4.30.

And lo, the weary travellers did turn up - at a quarter to five, while I'm sipping a rather bland French white.

The wine man wasn't sure whether to arrange another day, or stay and listen to the reminiscing. I urged him to stay and he settled back, occasionally pouring from a new bottle, that we briefly discussed while the other conversation continued. Lr's husband chimed in with comments every now and then about the wines he wasn't tasting.

Lr and husband declined coffee and cake, and stayed barely an hour. They left with promises of long letters. The wine man stayed another fifteen minutes or so, since he had another appointment.

I bought some rather nice Aussie wines, the story is written and all is right with world after my time with various wines - and there's still cake.

Name lag

I'm halfway through the marathon, and I've finally resorted to the baby name book.

Seventeen stories so far, with an estimated 51 characters, and just over 40,000 words. Why, if this was NaNo, I'd be well on my way! But, I digress. The stories have no fewer than three characters in them each, and that is a lot of names to come up with.

Sure, I could jumble up the letters of simple names to come up with fanciful ones, but, like any marathon, the middle is where you drag and you wonder why you bothered. In fact, I think I've used a couple of names twice, but I'm not re-reading to find out - that will come later.

So. Fourteen more stories to go and I'm hoping for some easier prompts. I think I need to watch some sci-fi, or read a fantasy book to get the creative juices flowing a little better. Some stories just arrive, waiting to be told; others hang on to obscurity until you pry them loose.

I want the former, but it feels more like the latter. Ah, well, tomorrow is a new day, just waiting to be explored.

Stop, go

Well, that little experiment failed utterly.

I figured I'd reduce my time on the internet and limit my book readin' in an effort to boost my concentration on writing and editing and creative stuff.

What I found was that staying off the 'net gave me more time to write, but reducing my novel reading also reduced my creativity. Worse, I began to have editing issues, wondering whether something was right, when I knew it was.

I have found that, if I watch a movie, the imagination sparks; if I watch the news or documentaries, or sport, empty-headed blandness is the result.

All I need do is read what I've written for the story-a-day marathon to see the best stories have been written after watching something fun.

I have felt vaguely lost and out of sorts, as if something was missing. Now, I know what it was: the imagination of others.

So, while I'm writing these stories, I'm also working on my historical piece for the museum, a book I promised a beta reader some time ago, and, in my spare time, I'm going to find something to post - it's been too long and I need the adulation of my fan... If I still have one.

Spoons and garlic

Writing a short story every day does have it's interesting moments; starting with the prompt.

It takes a while for the issues - theme, character, where, when and an important item - to jell into a cohesive idea for the beginning of a story, but there is always something I bumped up against later on.

For me, this is about free writing from the prompts, but I have to wonder where some of these ideas come from.

I thought today's story fine at the time, marinating my heroine in a vat of crushed garlic to escape the villains. But then an important question arose: how do you get rid of the garlic smell?

And off I went to research appropriate methods. Ah, the wonders of the internet.

Colour me surprised by the answers. A stainless-steel spoon rubbed on the garlicky area? Wow, I'll have to try that one, but not appropriate for the story. Personally, I'm not using coffee (it's precious to me), or lemon juice (what if I'd cut my finger chopping the garlic?)

So I found my solution and carried on. It has taken me nearly ten days of writing to complete a story I really like. Since I'm writing thirty-one, that means a month of work for three worthwhile stories.

Not much of a success rate, as it stands, but I hope to improve that number.

Word up

Okay, I'm over the rush of triumph from yesterday's news, and it's back to work on the marathon.

It's day three and I'm one story behind. Worse, or better, depending on how you look at it, the two stories written so far are fairly long. It can't possibly be a hangover from Nano, so I guess the stories just need that long to be written.

I'll have to work harder to catch up. Like Nano, I prefer to have extra work done - just in case I can't write on a day or two.

There are plenty of generators to chose stories from. The Seventh Sanctum is my favourite. It has plenty of variety and complexity.

Time to write another - maybe not so long, with a little humour? Joss Whedon suggests at the darkest hour for a character, to have something funny said or happen. I'm still working on that.

O BLah

For too long have we seen pictures of Muslims celebrating the deaths of so-called 'infidels', of Jews and of victims of suicide bombs.

Now, it's our turn to celebrate.

I've been watching Al Jazeera and listening to a man who interviewed OBL (I didn't catch his name). He said that with every success, OBL became more vain, began to believe he was a new Messiah.

To me, he became a coward who believed his own press, who sent brain-washed people out to kill innocent people with only the promise of better things in the afterlife and for no other reason than they believed in different things. For ten years he hid - some hero - spent time in caves and on the run, but always with a 'do as I say, not as I do' attitude.

What he has caused to be done in this world is abhorrent; all the murders, the violence, the terror. All because the Saudis didn't want him to go after Saddam and chose the U.S. instead. All because he thought he single-handedly defeated the Russians and therefore Moscow. Thought himself special enough, he could destroy the U.S. and Washington. Yeah, not so much.

The fundamentalists will turn him into a martyr and continue to kill in his name. The West will continue to fight and kill the fundamentalists in the name of justice.

But for now, the scum-sucking bottom-feeder is dead.

Osama Bin Laden, is now O BLah.

Marathon time

I am back from sunny Canberra, and missed the rain on the coast.

It feels like I've been away for longer than ten days, but we had a good time.

I spent some quality time at the National Library fondling century-old documents. I love history, especially touchable history; snuggling up to Hadrian's Wall, walking the WW1 battlefields, kissing the Blarney Stone, touching Roman antiquities... or is that just me?

I'll get over the squealie fan-girl in a moment.

So. It's time for the Forward Motion story-a-day marathon.

I've written half a story so far. I spent yesterday morning cleaning up and the other half driving with the end-of-the-school-holidays traffic (unbelievable amount of idiots out there) that added an extra hour to the journey.

I confess to being ill-prepared to write. The first story the generator came up with seemed like a good idea at the time, but now... not so much. It might have been because of tiredness, but I shall persist and finish the story and another later today.

A good shot of caffeine should help the neural synapses spark.

ANZACS

Today is ANZAC Day. It is a day of two halves: the Dawn Services around the world at various points of military import, and the afternoon games of AFL, NRL... and two-up down the pub.

The morning is for commemoration; the afternoon, for celebration. One for death, one for life.

It sums up the ANZAC spirit, where we will lower our heads to think of those who fought in foreign lands for freedom and never returned; then, it's a wake, the telling of tales of battles long won or lost and keeping the memory of fallen mates alive.

At the end of the First World War, the discussion turned to reparations and the punishment of Germany.

President Woodrow Wilson (who won the presidency on the promise not to enter the war) advocated generous terms for reparations. In a moment of supreme arrogance, he said to Australian Prime Minister, Billy Hughes (who once punched out a heckler during a campaign for conscription and was as aggrieved as any Australian over the catastrophic losses), "But you only speak for five million people." The offended Hughes snapped back, "I speak for 60,000 dead. For how many do you speak?"

There is no hierarchy on who lost more, every nation involved lost too many due to the military incompetence of those in charge. If Douglas Haig had actually seen the ground on which he sent thousands to fight, he might have developed a different strategy. But he didn't, content to stay at a chateau behind the lines and study out of date maps.

It is the bravery of those men who did their duty, even knowing it meant certain death, that we commemorate today. The sacrifice is not forgotten. As the warriors of all wars are honoured, we salute those who are still in the field, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in East Timor and elsewhere.

And thank them all for their service.

Far and away

And... here I am in down town sunny Canberra. Okay, not so much 'down town' as in out in the 'burbs.

Good Friday traffic from the coast would have tried the patience of a saint; I settled for grinding the molars as cars consistently slowed to take in the mountain view, or slowly edged around corners that don't need it, then accelerated so no-one could overtake. sigh A three hour trip took four-and-a-half hours - and most of the traffic was going the other way, ie, down to the coast.

I'm here to do some Denman research at the National Library, then take in the new exhibitions at the War Memorial; I haven't been since completing my final year History extended essay way back in 19**. This weekend is also Anzac Day with commemorations around the country.

I can also find stuff to make my aged parent's life much easier - stuff I could not find in a rural shopping hub. I guess for specialist stuff, you have to go to a major city.

I don't think the library will be open tomorrow - shame that - so... I shall just have to shop. No, don't try to stop me, it must be done or I shall be bookless; and what a tragedy that would be. This is, after all, a working holiday.

Don't Honk at Old People

Go the Ninja-Gran!:

Don't Honk at Old People

Just another scam, ma'am

Cool! The laptop has booted perfectly for two days in a row!

Still, I got another phone call from a company claiming to be an outsourced computer maintenance group while wrestling with the problem. I think that's four this year.

Maybe it's just me, but I'm not turning on my computer, logging on to the internet and giving remote access to a complete stranger with an accent I can barely understand. Especially when the name of the company calling is garbled, with only the word 'Microsoft' clear. I have defeated the virus causing problems, reset all my security - which is now legion, cleared out junk files, defragmented the drive, backed up and sorted out the Black Screen of Death from a software download. I don't need some putz to then tell me I have the same problem as three months ago.

I don't know which is worse: Nigerians telling me they'll give me a percentage of a deceased estate - if only I would help them get the money out of the country; French/Canadian/Cameroonian e-mails telling me I've won the lottery in Spain, Holland or the UK, or sub-continentals with poor English skills wanting access to my very English laptop.

The tragedy is that many people will believe the scams, will send money to help out a Nigerian, will send their bank account details on the promise of wealth, and who will give these people access to their computers and find their identity or banking details stolen.

The solutions are to delete the e-mails and tell the callers you're a computer technician or there's one in the house and you'll just go get them. No one should be asking for remote access to your personal computer unless you absolutely trust them.

I'm sure this won't be the last time they call, but the next time, it will be.

Damn you, Murphy!

Still having problems with the computer.

The last thing I want to do is buy a new one, even as I know this laptop is considered ancient at five years old. (But the rapid turnover of technology is an argument for another day.)

Fortunately, I haven't lost anything. Everything has been backed up, a lot.

The Forward Motion story-a-day is coming up from 1 May and my schedule is tight enough. Still, Murphy's Law dictates that any annoyance you have, will worsen the closer to a deadline you are.

And it does no good to try to outsmart Murphy, he'll only sneak up behind you.

So. Time to reboot and hope the fixes have... ah, fixed the problem, or try fix number four...

BSD, or, WTF happened to the laptop???

I have been suffering from the dreaded Black Screen of Death.

It is definitely one of those things that sends a chill of fear down the spine. The white cursor arrow adrift in a sea of dark grey, like a lost glow in the never-ending night. Fear for all the work I've done this week. Gah!

I did a back up two days before the gloom arrived, and had an automatic download the morning of the big black - and that's what caused it. The f*&£$9 download.

The worst of it is wondering if you'll ever get Vista back, the thinking of the work lost, the inability to go online... and spending hours patiently watching the computer operating system search for the key to unlocking the madness.

Okay. I didn't watch, just set the system running and went off to visit with family - but it did take hours.

Finally, after, hmm, six hours or so? I came back and there was Vista, sitting innocently on the screen as if it hadn't caused me twenty-four hours of angst. The first thing I did was back up everything again, then run Spybot S&D as an administrator, then the anti-virus software and finally, searched on-line for a solution should it happen again.

All I can hope is, when I shut down, everything will boot cleanly tomorrow. At least all my important files are copied to an elsewhere should the worst happen.

Close encounter with ick

Summer time is over and the clocks have gone back; trouble is, I'm still waking up at the same time, except it's dark.

This morning, I don't think I mind too much.

It's a rainy morning, and a heavier burst of showers woke me. I'm one of those people who, once awake, cannot go back to sleep, or doze. I've just got to get up. So, I rolled over and reached out to the lamp - it still being near dark and all - and stopped a couple of inches from the switch.

The mind just does not work well before six a.m. In the pre-dawn gloom, I'm feeling like an idiot, with my hand stretched out to the lamp, trying to work out what the hell that darker patch is on the shade. Touch the tip of your index finger to the tip of your thumb and that's the size of the darker patch.

Discretion being the better part of valour, I rose and turned on the overhead light. Yeah, a spider. Hairy, with it's legs curled in camped out on the lamp shade. Watching me sleep. Plotting. Planning. Waiting...

Now I've squicked myself out. The spider is still there. I backed away, out of the room for my morning cup of tea. I know I sprayed for bugs, but I guess it's super-spidey. I figure I'll get paranoid about it later, when my thought processes become more focused.

What? Again?

I don't know anyone who's been called up for the jury pool and I thought I'd done my bit way back in... 2006? So, when I saw a letter from the Sheriff's Office, I had to think back to whether I'd done something nefarious (love that word: ne-fare-ious).

Nope. Damn it, nothing criminal at all to warrant a summons, but an alert that I'd been added to the jury pool - for a year. Again. Am I lucky or wot?

The first time was an attempted murder case - and I was all set to do my civic duty (and pay attention to the finer details of how a legal case is presented, you know, for research purposes) - but we were discharged after three days due to a witness opening his big trap about a previous incident. Me, I'd already condemned the accused purely on the police evidence already presented. Oh... wait. I was supposed to withhold judgement until the defence had finished? Well, the accused was convicted a year later, so the defence must have been weak.

Anyway. I'm interested in how the process works, as well as studying all involved - including fellow jurors who, at the time, seemed quite... listless and uninterested in the proceedings, unwilling to create much of a discussion in the jurors' room. But I chatted away, explaining my thoughts on the case and lo, interest increased.

I wondered, though, whether they were trying to think of ways to be excused - isn't that what most people do? Sure, it's an interruption to your own life, but it's not just about doing your duty as a citizen, it's a fascinating insight into the legal system a lot of the population don't see, or try to avoid because it's inconvenient.

I'm rather excited about being a juror again and I solemnly vow to study the evidence before me, without fear or favour, and reach a verdict I believe is true.

And then file the experience away for future use...

Three lights out

Over the past week, we've lost three leading lights:

Film legend, Elizabeth Taylor. Liz won two Oscars and was named as the American Film Institute's number seven on the list of Female Film Legends. Her career spanned more than fifty years and she starred in films that were truly epic: Giant (1956), Cleopatra (1960), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966), The Taming of the Shrew (1967), and so many more. As an actress, she brought glamour to screen, as a private person, she worked diligently on social issues, like AIDS/HIV and transcended the scandals that surrounded her. She leaves behind a portfolio of impressive, timeless work.

Diana Wynne-Jones, author of Howl's Moving Castle which was made into a gorgeously rendered animated film by Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli. Her fantasy works have influenced many of today's writers, including the brilliant Neil Gaiman. She will be missed.

Geraldine Ferraro, Democratic congresswoman and the first woman vice-presidential candidate. She was a staunch supporter of women's rights and broke through many gender-based barriers and stands as an icon for those rights.

These three women all blazed their way through life and work with determination and enthusiasm for their chosen trades, regardless of hardships. We can all learn something from their lives and careers, and, if nothing else, never forget what they achieved, nor the influence they've had on generations of people.

Out with old, in with the new

Monday morning and there's finally the chill of Winter in the air. The humidity of Summer has been swept away with the rain and I'm feeling like I'm getting on top of things. Who knew a two-storey house could hold so much crap? (Family, don't answer that!)

And while I'm gleeful at the slow slide towards cold nights and fresh days, I seem to have misplaced my Winter woollies; I put them away before the shifting of stuff and can't quite recall where I put them...

Seems like a good opportunity to buy new.

Speaking of new, we have a new State Government. Australians are notorious for voting out governments they feel have been in for too long - I don't think it has anything to do with political leanings, just that it's time to give the other side a go. Sixteen years is a long time to have one party ruling.

The tragedy is that former Premier Kristina Keneally was sacrificed by the Labor powerbrokers - the third time a woman has been handed the poisoned chalice of power. Carmen Lawrence of Western Australia and Joan Kirner of Victoria were both given the leadership when there was no hope of their party winning another term. During Keneally's fifteen-month tenure, at least twenty state members decided to retire or not contest this election; a clear signal they thought the seats unwinnable - or rats leaving a sinking ship (the cowards).

NSW Labor politics has become known for using the halls of power for their own purposes rather than for the people and has tainted even the Federal Government. The backlash against the Left became apparent very early on but not even the pundits could have predicted just what a landslide win the Coalition would achieve.

Will it make a difference? I hope so. I'm tired of Sydney-centric politics, of the country being abandoned and infrastructure left to run down. Hopefully, the new conservative government will be different and be proactive in solving the mess that is New South Wales. If not, then we'll have to wait for the Left to get it's house in order and have another change of government.

Earth Hour

Tonight, at 8.30 pm, we're turning off our lights in support of Earth Hour.

It all began in 2007, in Sydney, with more than two million people switching off lights and lighting up candles. Businesses also got involved. Since then, Earth Hour has gone from a local event to a global one with 128 countries joining in during 2010.

Started by the World Wildlife Fund, Earth Hour seeks to bring attention to climate change and our role in it, but their over-arching mission is to 'build a future where people live in harmony with nature'. (A noble, but ultimately impossible goal, unless repressive population control is introduced on a global scale.)

When we turn off the lights tonight, we won't be thinking about climate change, but an hour's worth of lighting we won't be paying for. (Reading by candlelight is hell on the eyes.)

I think Earth Hour still has a new and shiny sheen to it. An hour by candlelight instead of electricity also has a romanticism. Sixty minutes is long enough for people to know they've 'done their bit', but not so long as to be irritating. And while the website urges people to keep the lights off for longer, their call comes across as vaguely Luddite-ish.

But my question is this: candles emit smoke from the burning wax, if everyone in the world returned to the days of candles, what effect is this having on the environment?

Adjusting

I'm sitting here with Abraham Lincoln's quote running through my head: "It's better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt."

There are so many things I could comment on, given the current geo-political maelstrom that's going on around the world, or Mother Nature being pissed as, but a lot of blogs that I read aren't stepping into that minefield and nor will I.

Given that, there's not a lot going on. I continue to get the house in order - once the strained muscles ease - and continue research into the historical book I'm working on for the local museum. Real life has put fiction on the back-burner, much to my annoyance - oh, that and the printer running out of ink; again.

I'm slowly adjusting to the new rhythm of the house following my mother's illness. New schedules, medical appointments, travel, etc. have, temporarily, put the kybosh on things I used to do. Of course, she says with a smug aside, the new 42 inch television isn't helping. Who doesn't want to see Matt Damon, or Hugh Jackman on a bigger screen, or enjoy the fabulousness of LOTR EE up close and personal?

Yes, I suppose it is work avoidance and I should be focused on work, but I think I'm over the squee-ing and the "ah, crap, look how much stuff I still have to do". Stuff gets done in it's own time. And now, it's time to get on with it.

Not toasting St. P.

St Patrick's Day... Woo hoo... not.

I don't think a Christian fundamentalist's deliberate destruction of a sovereign nation's religion should be celebrated, especially the religion kept the peace for thousands of years.

Yet, in today's climate, fundamentalists - from a number of religions - still seek to suppress and crush anyone not adhering to their own brand of 'religion'. In a psychological sense these fundamentalists would be described as cultish, not religious, for their constant refining of their interpretations of what is written in sacred texts. But anyone who suggests such a thing is threatened with death for heresy, for daring to question a leaders devout words.

Yeah... no.

A deserving religion demands it be questioned and supply truthful answers; a worthy religion is felt in the heart and resonates. A true religion isn't about whether its' god is the only true god, but about faith to oneself, god and the universe that surrounds us. And a good religion doesn't inflict itself on others, nor does it forceably convert, destroy other religions or seek to subjugate people.

But then, what are the chances the boys from South Park are right and the answer is... the Mormons...?

Tribalism wins

Well, the world is going to Hell in a hand-basket: civil war, regimes falling in the Middle East; earthquakes around the Pacific Rim; cyclones and massive flooding here...

I think Mother Nature is the more pissed at the world.

The troubles with the Middle East have been ongoing for centuries, all down to tribalism, religious animosity and the elevated value of oil within their borders.

Mankind is instinctively territorial; he wants what's his and will defend it any way he can and with those of a like mind. But if someone next door has something he sees and better, he might just want it enough to take it through force. He has to be strong enough to keep it and so determines a strategy to demonise whom he decides is an 'enemy'. Propaganda. Not just the most effective tool of the twentieth century.

Go back in history to any war you care to name, and you'll find the troops on either side believe what their commanders tell them - until they have a meaningful discussion with the enemy. The Romans were determined to spread and oppressed the people of invaded lands until they saw the value of Pax Romana. The barons who defeated King John and forced him to sign the Magna Carta did so by telling the people what a bad dude he was, all the while maintaining their own feudalistic control over their own lands. Cromwell was determined to crush the Monarchy and explained why the royal house was so bad for the public. The list goes on.

Now add religion.

Christianised Romans hunted down and killed anyone worshipping pagan Gods - men, women and children. Catholics versus Protestants throughout the Middle Ages, and now, radicalised Moslems versus... well, everyone else who don't believe in their extremism; Sunnis versus Shi'ite within Islam. Worse in history, religious differences have been responsible for the most heinous torture of people. Extremists only grow more extreme, not less, and to maintain their power, they will manipulate any ancient text of their religion to 'prove' their veracity.

Why should one god be better than another? It goes back to tribalism: what you've got is better than the neighbours... or else. It goes back to power, the control of the population.

And then there's the oil. The value of an item used to be in what others would offer to pay; now, it is what those who control the item, demand. When it is within the borders of countries in turmoil, supply becomes a problem. The situation is made worse when acknowledged oil reserves are ignored.

It would be easy to see a global conspiracy, of oligarchs plotting to achieve their own nefarious agenda of world-wide oppression. Of fanatic religious groups determined to die for the creation of an extremist bloc, ready to take on everyone else in the pursuit global domination. But... tribalism, the protection of what's yours, be it family, property or the tribe and killing your enemies to keep it.

Even if defeated, a tribe will integrate the invaders culture, manipulate and develop the worthwhile aspects and call it their own; it's how Britain came into being following the Roman invasion.

At least with Mother Nature, she'll kill you by accident, not design.

And while this is a bit of a rant about what's happening in the real world, I've already read books with this type of world-building - complex, interesting, believable. I've read books with the weather as a character.

So while the current geo-political situation appears to spiralling out of control and Mother Nature is doing her best to vent her spleen, be aware of what's going on in the world, and plot accordingly.

I've donated to a number of charities to help those in need: in Queensland, in New Zealand and in Japan; if you find yourself with some spare change, donate to the charity of your choice and help those whom Mother Nature has kicked.

Upside down home styling

The parent is home and adjusting to her new environment; and I'm adjusting to the new configuration of the house. I still have things to put away, but the parent's comfort comes first.

Living in a two storey house never seemed a problem before, but now... it is fraught with issues, a lot of them to do with safety. It's not going to change, no matter how much I'd like to move to a single storey house.

My mother grew up in a two storey house and for years, we lived in a single. On my Dad's retirement, she was determined to live as she'd grown up - with damned stairs. For me, it's reversed. I like everything on one level.

It's been a massive adjustment all around, but with the help of family, we've created a fabulous space for her - she calls it her 'flat' (she's English and proud of it).

Now comes the hard part: stopping her from falling back into bad habits...

Update

Well, it's been a while since I posted, but my attention has been elsewhere.

The parent comes out of hospital tomorrow and we have been busting our butts to make the house more 'walker' friendly by shifting furniture and removing obstacles. We've created a nice haven on the ground floor where she'll be more comfortable.

There are still some issues to resolve, but nothing major; all it takes is compromise and a little extra effort.

Hopefully, by next week, I'll be able to get back to a near-normal schedule. I have work waiting for me that really needs to be caught up on.

The next step

The parent moved into rehab today, so it's all going well. No word on when she'll be home, but she's happy and mobile. Her only complaint is that there are so many people buzzing about.

I'm just happy she can complain. I expect she'll be confined for a while, maybe another week before they let her out on parole. In the meantime, I just have to keep her calm about her situation, by being calm myself.

And now, back to work. Apparently, there is no Edit Fairy - she just took long service leave and is basking on a beach somewhere in Fiji...

Breathing room

I finally feel like I can take a breath. There is nothing worse than taking someone to hospital for what you think might be minor and being told it's major. Then, of course, it's thinking about whether you did something wrong, or failed to do something, or...

Fortunately, the aged parent's condition has now stabilised and will be off to the rehab unit tomorrow or Thursday. I have spoken to the occupational therapist, the speech therapist, the nurses, a doctor, ward sister, another therapist and then informed family members until I don't know what I've told to whom, or whether I've repeated myself.

The house is quiet with just me - except for the usual house settling with the change in weather and temperature - and yeah, it's a little eerie. But there's plenty to do for when the parent does return. Which means I need to get back to the major spring-cleaning housework - I still have to set the 'book' room to rights after the installation of the new carpet. It looks terrific, but still has that 'new', obnoxious smell to it.

* * *

And pray for New Zealand; they need all the help they can get.

Time out

The aged parent is ill, as in hospital ill, so I'm gonna be scarce; of course, I haven't had a chance to get the virus off this computer either... so no backing up, which equals no work - no work on the computer means no work to lose.

I really hope March is more fun. This year hasn't started off well at all.

Sick computer

I have been slaving away today. We've got the carpeters coming tomorrow, and I had to shift stuff. I had no idea how many books my mother had until I was moving them. After the carpeters have gone, I'll have to move them back.

I gave her the opportunity to sort through them, to toss some and keep others; nothin' doin'. She's keeping all except for the old mathematics books my dad used for teaching.

I also have a virus on the computer which doesn't want to be killed off any time soon.

A visit to the technician is in order - hopefully before the virus kills the computer; I would be... unhappy, if that happened. But having paid buckets for the car inspection, greenslip and registration, the computer will have to wait.

Thus, being online is spotty and will continue to be so for another fortnight.

Epic fail and win

I joined the 100 million plus people watching the Superbowl and, true to form, picked the wrong side. Again. Go the Cowboys? she says in a weak voice.

So. Football is done and dusted for another year - and with the looming lockout, we might not get any games next season. Sigh. It's a good thing the rugby union starts in a couple of weeks. I'm just saying.

I'm multi-tasking at the moment: working on two books. One for a beta reader (sorry, S., it's coming, I promise!) and one for the museum for whom I do some work.

Now, the Lady Denman Heritage Complex is so named because of the main attraction: the ferry. Back in the day, all Sydney ferries were named for the wife of the Governor General. So ours is named after the wife of the fifth Governor-General's wife, Lady Gertrude Denman. The ferry was built by local builders and plied the waters of Sydney Harbour for nigh on seventy years before a community group managed to get the ferry back home.

It's not the only attraction, there's other stuff, too. But it is the ferry that's important.

One of the most frequently asked questions by visitors is "Who was Lady Denman?"

I'm a little disgruntled that the reply is usually, "The wife of the fifth Governor-General of Australia." Or "She named Canberra." Lady Denman was more, did more than most Australians realise.

So, I set about researching, with the aim of writing a few pieces for the newsletter. I got distracted last year by other stuff going into the newsletter, but I'm now back on track.

Everywhere I looked, the primary reference was Gervas Huxley's biography Lady Denman, G.B.E, 1884-1954 (Chatto & Windus, 1961) now out of print. I managed to track down a second-hand copy from Abe Books in New York (isn't the internet a wonderful thing?).

Today, the book arrived. It doesn't have a dust cover but it is in a good condition. I'll be using it in conjunction with other primary and secondary sources. My sense of satisfaction turned into a squee moment and a Holy Shit, followed by an OMG. Inside the cover is a bookplate, no big. On the opposite page is an inscription:

To Eve & Bert
with love
Judy Burrell
1961

Yeah, I know you're thinking 'so what?' So I'll just say, Judy Burrell was born, the Hon. Anne Judith Denman and married Lt-Col. Sir Walter Raymond Burrell, 8th Bt. She went by the name... Judy.

There are ways to check the provenance of the book, but I don't have access to the databases required - or how Eve and Bert knew Judy, but the scenarios are legion, if I want to try.

I'm just happy to have the text and to marvel at the universe for putting the book into my hands. It's almost as good as having Lady Denman sign it herself!

Sooper!

Today... is... Superbowl Day! Smiley-face!

Yay! Go the Cowboys!

Oh... that's right. They're not in it. They had an unexpected, embarrassing and crappy season. Frowny-face.

Green Bay Packers or Pittsburgh Steelers. I don't think I dare choose. Post-season, I managed to pick just about every loser. But then, I suspect most people did.

This season has been the worst for tipping. I had a Patriots/Saints for the Superbowl, or Falcons/Bears. I did not think the Steelers or Packers would be there at the end.

I've thought on the firepower, on the wily Aaron Rodgers versus the solid Ben Roethlisberger as quarterbacks, and it's not helping. I've though on the other players, too, who might play a pivotal role, but that's not helping either. It may come down to which team has an off day - which would be crushing.

I think I'll just sit back with my peeps and enjoy the show. Whoever wins will have earned it - and next year (woe, it's such a long wait), with a new coach, maybe the Cowboys will be in the Superbowl... Smiley-face?

Mystery veggie

I am not the most gifted gardener; I admit it. In fact, I can be quite... ah, well, neglectful, but with the best of intentions! I figure plant it, water a little and leave it alone - except for the occasional weeding.

The rain, the heat and the humidity have done for the tomatoes. They grow nicely, but before being able to redden, they've split and fallen off the twig. The Brussel Sprouts are the most hardy and, for a winter vegetable, have exceeded my expectations. Somewhere, beneath the weeds, garlic and onion grow, or have grown, or are waiting for me to dig them up... or something. Same thing with the potatoes.

I was actually looking forward to handing out to the siblings, full sized watermelon - that's what I thought the leaves indicated. I didn't plant it, the compost bin tipped over and me, ever neglectful, didn't right it. I had to think. Some weeks prior, my youngest sister had bought watermelon. We tossed the seeds and white rind into the bin. Ahh. Had to be it.

The plant grew, tendrils reaching out across the back of the yard with remarkable speed. Big, lush yellow flowers appeared. It could have been a zucchini, so I waited until small green bulges replaced the fragile blooms. Then the striations appeared on the green globes. Oh, joy! Watermelon! Whoo hoo! Just the thing for a steaming summer! Cool, pink watermelon and lots of it.

Except... they're not. Watermelon, that is. Nor are they zucchini. What's left?

Um, does pumpkin freeze well?

New Worlds

Whoa! Scary children! Hyperbole and a Half demonstrates just how scary they can be.

Imagination can be a dangerous thing and lead to many careers, like writing...

I remember as a kid using a ride-a-roo, or space hopper - you know, those rubber balls filled with air with a handle - to bounce around the backyard, or, in my world, the Wild West! Yee-haa! Then there was the pogo-stick that doubled as a broadsword; I managed to hit my youngest sister with that one, but hey, I was a knight! The pinecones and fists of sand at the beach that doubled as grenades; the greenhouse - deepest, darkest Africa - ripe for exploration (damn you, Kipling!); the garage provided a place to rescue people from, or was a mad scientist's laboratory. The park became the Sydney Cricket Ground where my brothers snickered as they bowled the fast ones, or near sunset, another landscape to find a path through.

No wolves, though. Tigers, lions, goblins, the Hun and so many more... then back to the bookcase to find more adventures to translate into action.

It's nice to think back on those times, they were real, well, to me they were. It's even better to be able to create new worlds now. There's just so much out there to explore... and twist into whatever I want.

Imagination makes all things possible - at least on paper.

Hot and bothered

I am sweating, both literally and figuratively. The temperature just passed the 40C mark and with no air-conditioning, I'm finding it tough to do any work. There's a slight breeze, but it's just pushing warm air around. The cabbage butterflies are enjoying it, though, drifting from one vegetable plant to another to lay eggs. The cicadas are a bit deafening and I think the birds have decided it's too hot to fly around; if I constantly wore a feather coat, I'd be reluctant, too.

The laptop ain't too happy neither, the fan is desperately trying to keep the inner workings cool - maybe I should shift me and the computer to sit in front of an open refrigerator, or a fan. So. It's hot; damned hot.

Figuratively, I'm trying to work through edits and wondering what the hell I'm doing. The more I read, the more I like the work, even as I recognise there's something wrong with it.

I used a voice-recognition program to read it back to me. I'm guessing in the first instance, the protagonist shouldn't be talking to herself; it's not part of her personality. In the second, some of the descriptions are subtly wrong - not sure why, yet - third, there's some chapters missing. I don't know what happened to them, but I'll have to rewrite them. Fourth, I need to be more precise about locations and descriptions thereof. Fifth, sucky grammar. 'Nuff said.

Summer, it has to be said, is the worst time for me to do this work. I'm a winter person and the heat just sucks the energy right out of me. Oh, for a southerly change blasting up the coast with bitey winds and light rain!

I think it will be up early to work, wallow during the heat of the day and work in the evenings and night - I can't sleep in the heat, so I may as well do something constructive.

I promised this book to a beta reader and I'm way past due with it, even with the flood damage. For now, I shall at least finish this chapter for revision tomorrow, even as I want to find the coolth of the sea.

Go Us!

We're at it again and we've been doing it for years!

Australia Day has come around again and Aussies are all out backslapping, barbequeing, drinking, having citizenships ceremonies and generally celebrating.

Two hundred and twenty-three years ago, Captain Arthur Phillip and 11 ships with 1332 souls aboard sailed into Port Jackson to establish the first European settlement on Australian soil.

While the First Fleet first landed at Botany Bay, between 18-20 January 1788, it was decided the bay wasn't suitable for the establishment of the colony. There was no protection as it was an open bay, the trees (probably ironbark) proved too tough for the tools brought and there was no fresh water nearby. On the whole, not the best spot for a colony and little like the perfect place Captain Cook described.

Captain Phillip took a small party in boats and sailed up the coast. There, he found Port Jackson - named, but not explored by Cook. Phillip spent three days at Port Jackson and decided to move the colony.

He wasn't the only European looking around. On a scientific expedition, Jean-Francois de La Perouse had expected to find a settlement where he could repair his ships and re-provision. Instead, he found the convict fleet worse off than his ships. Although La Perouse and Phillip never met, some of the officers of both nations did have cordial conversations.

Captain Phillip moved the fleet to Port Jackson on 26 January 1788 and began construction on the colony at Sydney Cove, inside the harbour. The French hung about until early March before moving on.

Captain Phillip did not lose one ship on the 15,000 mile journey. Given the lack of proper medical care, the threat of scurvy, small ships, crammed conditions and rough oceans, the First Fleet's journey to Australia has to be one of the greatest sea voyages in maritime history. Yes, 48 people died along the way, but for the time, this was considered a win.

It must have been terrifying for the voyagers, travelling halfway around the world and not knowing what to expect once they arrived. Australia would be totally alien to them, with different trees, astonishingly weird animals - Botanist Joseph Banks compared the kangaroo to a giant mouse - bright, hot sunlight and wary indigenous people who knew more about the land than they ever would.

Today, we celebrate the sheer tenacity and courage of the First Fleet colonists and convicts. Today, we welcome new citizens from around the world, all of whom, throughout our history, have made Australia what it has become and what it will be.

Back at it

We waved off the last of the visitors on Sunday and I returned to work today.

Not writing work - I'm organising the furniture so it can be more easily moved when the carpet peeps turn up - but my work at the moozeum. I didn't want to go; I have too much stuff to do, but once I got there, all the stress of the last few weeks fell away and I wallowed in historical research.

I sat in my shared office and checked over all the work I had to do and had missed since December. It all reminded of why I love history and why I'm at the museum. Regardless of the personalities I deal with, I can plug in the MP3 and get on with it. No telephones, no requests, no interruptions, just me and all those juicy databases I can explore in the pursuit of bringing a little known part of history to those interested.

There isn't much on Lady Gertrude Denman, for whom the museum is named - okay, it's actually the ferry, but the ferry was named after her. Most Australians know her as the woman who announced the name of our new capital city, Canberra. But she did so much more, did so much here and in England. Her husband, Lord Thomas Denman, Governor-General of Australia between 1911 and 1914 also has an interesting history and yet is almost consigned to the dustbin of history.

I need to write more fact sheets and finally get started on those extended pamphlets/books I've been planning for the museum. Other staff members are dealing with the local history stuff, but I'm more interested in the the people who shaped this country and have a local connection, in particular, the Denmans.

I haven't forgotten the fiction writing - I'm anxious to return to that, too - but with downstairs about to get a make-over, I've hit the pause button until next week.

Cyberspace finds

With downstairs still in disarray - slacker that I am - I decided to bring the broadband modem upstairs rather than laboriously wait on the dial-up. The damn thing kept giving me local access only, not a global environment to explore.

It took me about an hour to realise I still had a split filter on the line. Now I've sorted that, I'm free to roam fast and still take phone calls.

While surfing the gnarly cyber-waves, I came across JM Tohline's weblog post on the 12 biggest mistakes writers make when querying agents. It's a long post, but well worth reading.

Paperback writer has some sub-ops peeps might be interested in, or you can go direct to the source at Ralan, a marvey database constantly updated with opportunities.

And... speaking of Lynn Viehl, I am now going to sit down and read her latest, Frostfire - now that family have departed to their various homes. I'm off tomorrow to find some new carpet.

And now, the new

So I've worked like a... well, worked hard today, taking photographs of the damage, breaking furniture down and tossing out stuff.

It's not like Queensland, Victoria, Tasmania or northern NSW, but it's miserable enough. Now, it's the insurance company and getting new carpet. All week, I've seen the carpet cleaner vans pull into driveways and next time - if there is one - I'm calling them.

I could lament the destruction, but I'm not going to: it's an opportunity to buy new things, and who wouldn't want that? Whether the insurance company comes across or not, I am going shopping and I'm rearranging the office. Then I can get back to work.

I miss not sitting at my desk (it's in pieces for easy shifting), my books (stored up high in another room) and the creative process (too busy with the other immediate stuff of child care and visitors).

I am determined to read a book and edit a book by the end of the month. So far, that's looking like a dream. Come... ah... next weekend? I might just have a chance at it. I'm over Summer; the consistent humidity and heat is awful and I want the coolth of Autumn and Winter.

And gee, only another six weeks to go...

Wrecked

I am wrecked. Oterly and tutterly wrecked. I promise never to curl my lip at the men who dig trenches and lean on their shovels ever again. It is hard work.

It looks like we're going to be hammered again with rain on Saturday, similar to that of Sunday, so it was imperative we initiate some flood abatement methods. That meant digging a trench along the driveway and at the back of the house.

Fortunately, my b-i-l is here and assisted with the shovelling of mud and the vacuuming of excess water out of the carpet - and the shifting of furniture. Because of the continued humidity and showers, the carpet is... damp and only dry in parts. With the weather conditions due to deteriorate, it's not going to be completely dry any time soon. Do I even bother given we've decided to replace it? The carpet is robust and has weathered a number of floodings - the underlay, not so much. Who knew when it gets wet, it smells like dead fish?

I broke the bookcase, so that will have to go. It's made of particle board, and when I tried to move it, the top shifted but the bottom didn't. It broke neatly under one of the shelves. This is my first bookcase; one that has moved house with me for more than twenty years. Heavy, unwieldy, it has hosted my favourite reads for two decades. But now... I don't know whether to keep as a truncated bookcase or buy a new one.

The what-not is doomed - also particle board - and the top, glassed in piece is squashing the soaked bottom part. (I don't know what the proper name for it is, but I'm guessing it's usually used for the storage of dining-ware.)

The good news is that only four books perished - some Betty Neels of my mother; I'm hoping I can replace them for her.

I've yet to get to the back storage area... that is going to be ugly because I know I stored stuff in cardboard boxes. It can wait, the outside is more important.

So. I've been kept busy, especially with the kids I'm looking after at the same time. I currently have three under ten, one teenager and four adults - two of whom are unable to help out. All leave tomorrow.

It feels like it should be later than the middle of January; I've been on the go since before Christmas. No writing, no reading, no work at the museum.

My youngest sister is arriving on Saturday with a ute to cart away the wreckage; my oldest sister is coming Friday night to help with the back room and furniture moving. We'll have a couple of kids again, too, for the weekend.

Sigh. I need a day off... Maybe next month.

Water, water everywhere...

I know Queensland is being deluged by buckets of rain and so there's flooding all over the place, but... we got hammered today.

The heavy, tropical rain started at 5.30 am and did not stop until about ten o'clock. Needless to say, the drains in the backyard, and three out on the street didn't cope.

It has temporarily stopped, but we're expecting more. Which is really bad because we've been inundated by water. The carpet is a mess and I've spent some significant time this morning sweeping water out. Since the next couple of days are also going to be rainy, I'm not hopeful of drying stuff out any time soon.

Still, I have no choice but to persevere in mopping up and digging alternative trenches to funnel the water away from the house. Since the drainage problem started with the villas being built next door, I'm returning the water to their system.

I am grateful to my neighbours on the other side who came when I called for help and worked so hard to shift the water and also help with the trenches. John works for the SES so he knew exactly what to do. Yay!

For now, I have to get back to mopping. Oh... joy, it's started to rain again...

Twain, Austen and Angry Robots

Controversy first? A competition for literature? Or an opportunity?

Controversy, then, because this kind of shit always makes my blood boil:

Publishers Weekly is reporting, in my opinion, an assault on a much-loved classic. Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is about to have the word 'nigger' removed by Auburn University Twain scholar Allen Gribben. Quote: "This is not an effort to render Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn colorblind," said Gribben... "I'm hoping that people will welcome this new option, but I suspect that textual purists will be horrified," he said. Unquote.

Is it ever okay to change literature so as not offend the sensibilities of current schoolchildren? My answer is a resounding 'no'. Yes, the word nigger is offensive in today's socially and politically correct climate, but that does not mean it has always been offensive. You cannot change history and to remove a legitimate word from an historical piece negates the value of that piece. There was a reason Twain put the words nigger and injun into his works to make a point; to remove them devalues the book and denies kids the ability to analyse literature.

And while some supporters of this move suggest NewSouth is only a small press and that the idea seeks to make Mark Twain a more attractive option for teachers, I think the argument is a metaphoric pat on the head and a 'don't you worry your little head about it'. I find that contemptuous.

What would be the outcome if an academic decided to change Bronte, Dickens or Austen because they found something offensive in the work?

* * *

And speaking of Jane Austen, the website Bad Austen has a competition: "Write Like Jane". The prize is money and the entry published in an upcoming book, Bad Austen. What makes this fun is that you can write in any genre. The site has works up already and you can vote on your favourite. You need to register to submit your entry.

You're not asked to change any works of Austen, but write in the style of Austen.

* * *

Here's a rare opportunity, Angry Robot Books is holding an Open Door Month in March. This means it will be open to submissions from authors who don't have an agent.

Angry Robot’s Editor, Lee Harris, said, “We’re delighted to be able to offer this opportunity to unpublished and unrepresented novelists. There are a lot of exciting authors out there, just waiting to be discovered, and we’d like to be able to help them kick-start their careers.”

So get your manuscripts ready. It's a new year with new opportunities.

Faffing about

While mooching about the internet, I came across an article: Ripping yarns can take their toil by Caroline Overington.

It reminded me that it's time to get back to work. I haven't written anything since November so the books have stewed in their own juices for long enough.

I also recalled that I needed new ink for the printer; for some obscure reason, but probably a total mental freeze up (got teenagers here - had a nine-year-old, too - so I'm working on fumes) I bought the wrong colours, ie, I missed the black cartridge and bought more blue and red. I'm guessing reading a blue or red manuscript will be hard on the eyes. Why I think I'm constantly out of those two colours, I don't know, but the black will have to wait until tomorrow.

Then I can start editing a book for a beta reader in preparation for submission. And I really need to get going, rather than sitting on my duff watching American College Football, or the NFL. Hah! The Saints are gonna hammer someone next week!

Er... right. Faffing about doing bugger all on the wips. It's time to stop and get back to work, once I get the ink cartridge... and now, the teens are 'gonna die if they don't get snackage. sigh

Turn of the year

It's the last day of the year, when lots of bloggers reminisce on the year.

Yeah, not so much for me. The past cannot be changed and future is yet to be, so no New Year's resolutions either because of the variables likely to pop up and screw around with any future plans.

So. I will simply say that if your out partying tonight, stay safe and enjoy yourselves. Tomorrow begins a new year with unknowable potential. Once the hangover passes, it's a clean slate, with no regrets and plenty of energy to think on what's to come.

Let's hope 2011 is an improvement on 2010.

Now, I'm off to take the teenagers to the local carnival and water-slides; it's hot here and tomorrow it's going to be gruesomely roasting at over 100 degrees Farenheit. It's good to live next to a beach...

Tour De Balcony

I tell you, the exercise bike is getting hammered. It's bad enough to over eat at Christmas, but there are still all those left-overs, and the food visitors bring.

But... the knee feels terrific; no more pain and I'll soon have stronger leg muscles to balance my carcass on. The arthritis isn't going anywhere, but it can be managed with more muscle support and an adjustment in walking style.

It's actually nice to have the bike on the balcony, overlooking the road and the beach. I can imagine I'm anywhere, like competing in the Tour de France or Giro D'Italia, and look at the people wandering by while playing the new MP3 player. I'll be back walking on that beach in no time - if it doesn't become too hot, of course. It is Summer here, but you wouldn't know it from all the rain.

Haven't touched a manuscript either, although I have been tempted. I'm trying to make it to the new year before throwing myself back into the work. I even have a new digital voice recorder to read the work into and check for anomalies. Now, all I need is to buy new ink cartridges and I'll be ready to go - regardless of the teenagers visiting for between two and four weeks, and the other little relatives coming to stay at various times during January. That's what we get for living next to a beach.

And if you're still reading, nip over to Pecked by Ducks and say some kind words; Marina recently lost her mother.

Blerk...

Blerk. Is that a word? It must be a word. It has to be a word, coz it describes how I feel at the moment.

Way too much eating and drinking. I made too much for just the two of us for breakfast and lunch and three for dinner.

I love getting into the kitchen at Christmas and everything worked! I know I'm not supposed to use new recipes for the first time on important occasions, but it worked!

Now, I have plenty of leftovers for tomorrow, for what we call 'Bread and Get It'. I put everything out on the table with bread and everyone gets their own dinner. We have peeps turning up tomorrow evening. Simple. Especially since I'm gonna be on the bike working overtime to compensate for the over-eating today. And I can do that while watching the cricket and the NFL - go the Cowboys!

I hope everyone had a most excellent Christmas, with or without the blerk...

Merry Christmas to all

Here it is, Christmas Eve.

Today, I have made half a dozen beds for visitors arriving over the next couple of days, washed the kitchen floor, done a couple of loads of washing, dusted, vaccuumed, shopped (twice), baked, made eight mini-trifles - two standard and six Black Cherry chocolate and fondled the presents under the tree. Tonight, I will make a peach upside-down pudding and a smoked trout salad (washed down with a rather nice Merlot).

Tomorrow, the real cooking begins - after I have trashed the aforementioned presents. We'll begin with Vanilla French Raison Toast, then mince pies, followed by prawn cocktails, roast chicken with all the trimmings and the trifles accompanied by a nice Sauvignon Blanc. For dinner, there'll be roast pork with potato and leek bake and green beans followed by the Christmas Pud my brother made for us and custard, and a Cabernet Merlot. After that... well... I'm guessing the exercise bike for an hour or so if I'm not too, ah, tired. And then I shall relax and think it fortunate this day only comes around once a year, while playing with the loot.

Actually, I have no idea if I'm getting any toys this year. I've poked and prodded and fondled and shaken and rattled, but none make any noise - damn it.

So. Happy Christmas everyone. Be calm in the face of the weird relatives, be understanding of the irritating children and be ferocious in protecting your own toys. Remember: all that happens this season is grist to your writing mill.

The Australian version of the 12 Days of Christmas:

Twelve possums playing,
Eleven lizards leaping,
Ten wombats washing,
Nine crocs a-snoozing?
Eight dingos dancing,
Seven emus laying,
Six sharks a-surfing,
Five kangaroos,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

'Tis the season...

Yes, a little writer's humour but it made me laugh. My sister mentioned it; a work colleague sent it to her and another staff member came in asking what they were giggling over. L. showed her. The reply? "So, what were you laughing at?" Which was even funnier to them.

Also on the giggle front is Allie Brosh's six-year-old view of the Nativity. All I can say is, 'poor Kenny'. I'm sure many a family has a tale of revamped Nativities.

Yesterday's Lunar Eclipse was as spectacular as expected:

Source: Gary Ramage, The Australian. My photos weren't nearly as amazing - the trees got in the way. Scientists say the colour is due to the dense atmosphere of the Earth; pagans will say it is a Hunter's Moon, or Blood Moon, where violence is sure to follow. A Solstice full moon is a Honey Moon and pagans pass around the honey cakes and wassailing - a ceremony of placing toast in a selected tree, as a representation of the Green Man, to scare away the evil spirits and pouring cider around the roots as a token to ensure a good harvest. 'Wassail' means 'good health' in Middle English, with the hope of a better year to follow.

And so, on to Christmas...

Long-range visitors

This is a White-throated Needletail, otherwise known as a Spine-tailed Swift. It is the largest of the swifts and we had a flock overflying the house this morning.

According to the book, What Bird is That? by Neville W. Cayley, they breed in Siberia, Mongolia and Japan making a migratory journey to the warmer climes of Australia during late spring and summer.

These birds rarely settle on the ground, preferring to eat on the wing and scoop water when they're thirsty. They're also harbingers of a change in weather. When I saw them, the sky was a clear, cold blue; now, a couple of hours later, it is grey and overcast. It's also bitterly cold, like mid-Winter.

I've never seen these birds here, which was why I was so interested in identifying them. They wheeled and whirled overhead, into a very chilly wind. I suspect they usually stick to the warmer inland areas, but the gale force winds have blown them to the coast.

They've come a long, long way for a summer holiday; shame summer has decided it's staying home this year.

Which will you be?

A reminder that the Solstice and Christmas isn't about denying yourself (an e-mail from my sister, who might just be going to hell for this one; and since that's where all the fun people are, I might just join her.):

This woman is 51.
She is a TV health guru advocating a holistic approach to nutrition and ill health, promoting exercise, a pescetarian diet high in organic fruits and vegetables. She recommends detox diets colonic irrigation and supplements, also making statements that yeast is harmful, that the colour of food is nutritionally significant, and about the utility of lingual and faecal examination.


This woman is 50.

She is a TV cook, who eats nothing but meat, butter and desserts.

So forget join a gym and eat more celery.

This Christmas, it's food and booze all the way.

And the only exercise you need is dancing and shagging.






I'd like to think I'd look more like Nigella Lawson by the time I turn fifty, but I fear I will more resemble the 'health guru' instead! Fortunately, I have plenty of time yet.

Just remember: this Solstice (Summer, like us down here, or Winter up there) and Christmas comes but once a year. Eat, drink and be damn thankful the relatives will only stay for a short time.

Plan A moving alone

Yay! I'm done with the Christmas prezzo shopping. The menu is nearly done, too. We have been setting aside a dollar a week into a jar so we can buy the more exotic seasonal stuff without spending any extra. I'll be picking up the tiger prawns on Christmas Eve; I already have the pork for roast (love that crackling) and the chicken. I'm still thinking on desert and the wine and I'll buy the veggies later on in the week.

I'd be dashing around cleaning up, but whenever I do, Canine the Destroyer finds something else to chew - usually in a different room; and yes, I know he should be outside, but I doubt the neighbours would thank me for all the howling and whining and barking and general mayhem he wreaks. I'm hoping the plants will recover from being trashed...

So, the skirmish around the house starts on Tuesday after the Destroyer returns home.

We're going to have full house for a week or so starting Boxing Day, with the teenagers staying for month or so to lounge around on the beach.

I am determined to spend some quality time with my new toys rather than cater to everyone's needs, every minute of the day. So there. I'm just saying. Now, I have to go rescue the seat cushion from the Destroyer...

A pain in the...

I've been having a few problems with the internet connection, so posting might be spotty until the ground dries out - it only happens when we've had buckets of rain; go figure.

I have a new exercise bike; not new new, but new to me... actually, it's quite old. But. If it helps my poor, misaligned knees, I'm all for it - see what happens when you spend your younger years playing sport? The hockey field, the soccer pitch, it wears on the joints.

I haven't ridden a bike in years, but I'm enjoying riding away while watching the teev. And I'm sure the old buttski will get used to the seat... soon; please, make it soon!!!. Also that the jelly-leg syndrome once I'm done, will pass...

Yes, well, I'm sure it's all good for me.

So Writer's Digest have an article on 17 writing secrets. Every one of them resonates for good reasons. Of course, this close to Christmas, the Solstice and the New Year, writing isn't really on the list of things to do, but bookmark it anyway. New Year = New Goals.

Now is the time to think carefully on what those goals are going to be. And you have time to change them. I'm still thinking, but a plan is forming.

Work beckons; the last newsletter of the year for the moozeum and I think a retrospective is due.

Short and sweet

Prezzo run done and I now only have two more gifts to get - go on, hate me.

I'm also dog sitting for a week or so and Canine, the Destroyer, is so far behaving nicely; he's collapsed on the carpet, 'zausted after the trip down and a walk. Hopefully, he'll settle down and not trash the veggie patch. I'm sure he'll find a way around the barriers I've put up.

Now, I'm off to finish wrapping, then putting my feet up.

Oh, and welcome to Australia, Oprah; have a time!

Window to the past

I admit it. I've been watching the Sharpe Series again. I wasn't going to, honest, but I saw a piece on Napoleon, with an actor reading from Captain Mercer, an artillery officer who wrote of his time during the conflict, and I had to revisit a more stark period in history.

The Regency era is noted for heroism and romanticism, with language that beautifully brushes over the brutality of war. The politics, the militarism, society, is all so different from what we have today. When aristocratic men bought their commissions, where noble sacrifice was the ultimate honour and ordinary soldiers were the 'scum of the earth', flogged or executed for misdemeanors and still fought for the King's shilling.

Life for ordinary folk was hard and brutal, poverty rife, and yet many men saw the army as a better option - if they survived the battle, then the loot was theirs to spend as they wished.

Even at the aristocratic level, women's rights were what their husbands gave to them - unless they were independently wealthy - and gossip was considered sport.

It's a fascinating part of history, of astonishing bravery. Standing in line, one-shot rifles facing an enemy in a similar formation, waiting for that bullet, the soldiers must have prayed very hard indeed for luck. It seems madness to march 'in good order' towards the enemy like that, into the teeth of cannon and hot lead. To be briefly mourned by colleagues and then buried quickly, without the accolades and respect soldiers of today receive was simply... the way it was.

The Industrial Revolution was yet two decades away (although some would argue it began in the late 1700s), classes were distinct between the aristocracy and the rest, politics was all about favours and royal connections more than what the politicians could do for the poor and the working class; and yet moves were afoot to change the face the industry even as class warfare was waged in Europe.

I suppose every 'Age' in history has its attractions for various reasons - at least, for me it does - but the modern era is more global and more difficult to distil because of the vast wealth of information combining to affect us all. Pre-20th century, individual nations' history is more easily understood because of the tyranny of distance and isolationism; post-20th century we are all interwoven politically, socially, economically, militarily - a global village where nations consult and act for a variety of reasons and makes the study of history that much more difficult.

History isn't simple any more, but for Richard Sharpe and those who, in reality, fought the Napoleonic Wars, his life is encapsulated by 'I do my duty, sir'. Concise and to the point. Not such a bad idea, even today.

Of droughts and flooding rains

It's so humid here, it feels like Queensland - and it's not. Thunderstorms, buckets of rain and, sadly, the cancellation of the Santa Ride.

While the northern hemisphere freezes, we have humidity and rain and flooding rivers; makes a nice change from heat and flies and drought.

I love a sunburned country; (one of the highest melanoma countries in the world)
A land of sweeping plains, (in the outback, you can see the curve of the horizon)
Of ragged mountain ranges, (which aren't so ragged really, being worn down)
Of droughts and flooding rains. (one or t'other, rarely in between)
I love her far horizons, (13,000kms of coastline)
I love her jewel-sea, (with the sharks, the crocs, the blue-bottles, jellyfish...)
Her beauty and her terror - (funnelweb spiders, taipan snakes, cassowaries, death adders, redbacks, stonefish...)
The wide brown land for me! (that's either the dirt of drought, or the muddy water of rivers in flood).

Two months ago, some of our dams were at crisis levels, as in less than ten percent full; now those dams are overflowing.

Here on the coast, we're getting a caning too. But at least we haven't flooded... yet.

Baking fail

With a freezer full of bananas, I made some cakes - yum...ee; they're back in the freezer now, three of them. I also made mince scrolls and mince pies; not so great.

This morning, for the first time in weeks, the sun is shining, the lorikeets are gossiping and the kookaburras are giggling and chuckling. I thought I'd make some banana muffins for breakfast.

Epic... fail. They didn't rise, they stuck to the paper thingies and they turned into nuggety, ah, nuggets. Tasted okay, but not what I expected or had ambitions for. I'll have to hunt around for another recipe. I'm a better cook than baker, but I think the more I practice, the better I'll become - I hope. Pastry is the bane of my existence, so hallelujah for pre-packaged stuff.

I'm wondering what else I can fail at in the kitchen? Time to dip into more cook books. At least, if these less than perfect results happen now, I can be reasonably assured Christmas won't be too much of a disaster...

Harvesting

The Nano stats are in and results are up across the board from last year. Just a sample: Of the 200,530 people who signed up, 37,479 finished as winners; that's 18.6 percent.

Nano remains as popular as ever, regardless of the the criticisms.

I'm still a little weirded out that it's December, that I need to get on with some prezzo shopping and some baking (I've found some new recipes to try out on my sister, heh, heh). I've directed my attention to the kitchen and the garden to renew creativity. I have so many chores to do that I neglected during November and being away from writing is as good as a holiday.

I cleaned out the fridge and freezer and found I had way too many bananas in the freezer. They'll go back, but converted into banana cake and banana muffins.

The veggie patch needs a ferocious weeding, but with all the rain (in eight days, we've had two were it hasn't rained), I'm finding other stuff to do inside. The tomatoes and zucchinis are pretty fab and I think the garlic and onions are almost ready. Potatoes are in there and I have some slow-growing, out-of-season, why-are-you-still-growing, brussell sprouts. Maybe they'll be ready by Autumn...

I still have a towering tbr pile, too. I need to whittle it down, and gee, I think I'll go do that while the bananas are thawing.

Fritzing

Internet is fritzing, and has been for the last ten days. All the rain we've had sinks into the ground and affects the lines - happens every time we get a lot of the wet stuff. In fact, it's so humid we have a misty morning. Noice.

Not so good for my patience and I usually just say 'to hell with it, I'll blog tomorrow'. And that, probably, has something to do with having a Nano hangover.

The creative well has run dry, also on the fritz - for the moment - not a short story or novel idea in my head. I can't even remember three-quarters of the stuff I wrote for Nano; but I no complain. It's there, written down and backed up, waiting for January.

In the meantime, I'm working my way through the TBR pile and out prezzo shopping. And this afternoon, I'm taking the aged parent to HP. Should be good.

Reward time

I had a nice sleep in after all the early mornings and late nights for Nano. Gentle rain on a tin roof kind of stuff. Fourth day in a row we've had rain, so November went out as it came in, with lots of wet stuff falling from grey skies.

Today, I am taking it easy - well, apart from work - and indulging myself with... Indulgence In Death by J.D. Robb. It's the first on my TBR pile.

I also have chores to do, but they can wait until tomorrow. Although, I think I need to get out into the garden for some judicious weeding; all this rain has made them run rampant. The first zucchini has been plucked and eaten and it was delish, and there are more - somewhere under the broad, spiky leaves. I think there are tomatoes, too...

At the end of Nano, I'm happy with the first and second books of Nano, but the mooze pulled a muscle during the third, somewhere in the middle, but recovered enough for the end. It's not the best stuff I've ever written, but I suspect when I come to do revision, there'll be lots of dumping and 'what was I thinking?', and 'oh, that's crap'. Not a lot of gems in the third book, and it started off so well.

But that's Nano. It's about writing the bare bones of a book, laying the groundwork of the story for examination and expansion later. But you know that - if you've done Nano or written a book outside of November.

The best thing about finishing are the rewards, and I'm now going to indulge...

Over and Done

Go me! I Am Done! Three books, four weeks, 30 days, etc.

Oh, and a package arrived today from Amazon... I know what I'm going to do for the rest of the week.

And then in January, I'll look these books over and start the rewrites, the revisions, the edits; in other words, back to normal programming.

For now, I'm off to play in the kitchen and have myself a celebratory drink. Cheers to all those who tried and succeeded, and to those who tried and didn't quite make it - you made the effort, which is a lot more than can be said for those who criticised or dismissed the project as worthless.

It's not. Its about the words, it's about the social networking, the interaction and improving your talents from last year, or developing them; it's about becoming a better writer.

Congratulations to all who participated.

Last gasps of a marathon

Another rainy day with the addition of wind - the weather, not mine - so I had a pleasant day's writing while catching the NFL football.

Read some Nano-hater stuff and blew a raspberry - some people just don't get it.

So, last day tomorrow. And the last chapter of the book. It could be 5k, it could be more, but it will be done.

For some, tomorrow will be a marathon to midnight, for others, they've finished and doing their happy dance; for me, it's another three books in the bag to sit and rest until revisions, rewrites and edits in January.

Not that I shall be doing nothing in December. I'll take a few days off to let the keyboard cool down, but then, it's back to editing previously written works.

Twelve k. to the end.

It's been raining here, so I wrote quite a bit today.

Some of it is a load of carp, but I think it has solid undertones. I'm slipping into passive sentences and repetitive words, and I think I've managed to mix up a couple of the characters.

But that's okay, that's what re-writes are for and expected this late in the month when the creativity well is at a low ebb.

Tomorrow I'll be aiming at finishing the story and writing an epilogue on Tuesday morning. Then Nano will be over. I'm looking forward to not facing the blank page every morning and thinking on what to write for the day.

For this day, I am done and in a position finish the book and I'm ready for a nice glass of anti-oxidants; that would be the Merlot.