Why, Why, Apple Pie?

I had a piece of apple pie for my lunch dessert today. I have appetite issues at the moment, which is a strange thing to experience after a lifetime of gutsing down heaps of whatever come rain or shine, so if I'm even vaguely interested in some food or another, it's on the menu.

For years, when working in hospitals with dieticians, I spent a lot of time at bedsides trying to entice ill folk to eat and finding ways of talking them into consuming calories, so it's strange to find myself applying those old tricks of the trade on myself. Mind you, back in those days, before the massive budget cuts that made hospitalisation an even more miserable experience than necessary, food was viewed as an important restorative, hospitals had their own kitchens and legions of cooks bustling about whipping up meals on a daily basis, and one could pop down to the kitchen staff and request special meals for patients who were having a hard time with eating. Now, substandard, lacklustre food chosen for its toughness rather than tastiness gets trucked from distant processing places, and trolleys full of already set trays are shoved into giant microwave ovens for reheating. The results are not inspiring, and there's not much, if any, leeway for those who can't force the stuff down.

Anyway, this post is not about the good old days (we even used to place doilies on the trays to make it look nicer!), but customer service, or rather lack thereof, as with modern hospital catering.

Take my slice of apple pie today. On the way home from the movies on Sunday, a roadside sign advertised freshly made apple pies. It was the right sign and the right time. We turned back, and ordered two pies. So far, so good. Then we took two tubs of light sour cream from the fridge.

"Is that for the apple pies?" demanded the woman at the counter in amazement.

Yes.

"Really!" she squealed. Honestly, she squealed. Then again, even louder, "Really?"

Yes.

"Really?"

We exchanged looks. Yes. We still hadn't changed our minds. We still couldn't see what the problem was.

Believe it or not, she kept loudly repeating 'Really!' and shaking her head to the point where I was so embarrassed on her behalf that I had to back out of the shop and wait outside. And apparently, she'd kept it up like a demented thing. Apparently, whipped cream and ice cream are the only acceptable products you may have with an apple pie. This fact is etched in marble somewhere. Except, our family has always gone with crème fraiche or sour cream for fruity pies. Which is none of her business. Each to their own. And she certainly shouldn't have made such a huge song and dance about it. As you can imagine, we won't be going back there anytime soon.

But this is not our only bad apple pie experience in this area. Just around the corner from that shop, last year at the local Applefest, another maker of pies was exceedingly rude. All we did, since there were no instructions on the bag, was ask how long they should be heated in the oven. The woman turned into a demon, shrieking "I don't know! I just sell these things!" Maybe it was the end of a long hard day, but still, it was a massively unwarranted response. That was our first and last, local Applefest.

Unprofessionalism in any walk of life gets my goat. I don't care what product or service you're selling, you should always act with courtesy and common sense. You don't have to mean it, just do it. Be an air hostess. Don't vent your personal judgements. Otherwise, if you can't adhere to the basic requirements of your trade, find another line of work.

I worry that my apple pie eating pleasure may have been compromised by bad customer service :) Hopefully, I'll get over it. I'd hate to think that from now on, whenever I eat apple pie, because of two bad-mannered vendors, I'm going to have flashbacks each time, and question my culinary habits.

I know I did today.
        

Moving in a Direction that isn't Backwards

After a week of hot weather, fire horror stories, commuting problems, a major Arvo Job drama, hospital crap, a general queasiness pervading my days, and bulldozers razing a lovely, old garden to create a blitzed landscape up behind my house and across the boundaries of the two properties on either side of me, which has, by the by, completely changed the micro-climate of my backyard, I had a surprisingly lovely Sunday.

There was peace, there was quiet, there were cool breezes wafting through the house, there was much reading done (The Man Who Loved China by Simon Winchester), and after a couple of hours of sustained effort, there was a brand new story all finished on my hard drive just waiting for a polish in a week or two. And I submitted a story as well. I haven't done any submitting for quite a while, so I hope I've now reset my habits.

So there, I think I can get through next week now.

Because No Pain is a Huge Gain

So this was a week of heat, rejections, reluctantly leaving the cool environs of the Arvo Job to trudge the hot city streets in the middle of the day because of hospital crap, and, of course, the actual hospital crap. Now, the heat has passed, the rejections I've filed away in my head to deal with another day, and the hospital crap (I even had to go into the city yesterday! On a Saturday! What a waste of precious weekend time!) has paid off because I stayed drug free today, and tonight, for the first time in a couple of months, cross fingers, I'll be off to bed without taking any pain killers. The downside is that, aside from a few must-do chores, I slept away most of today. But now I feel good. And did I mention that there's no pain! Major win.

So let me tell you this very simple truth, which those with chronic conditions will already know, but which you will not be aware of if you're fortunate enough to be as bouncing fit as I was up until two years ago: any day without pain is a good day. Most people don't appreciate that fact until it's too late. Take my advice, and take a moment to enjoy your body if it's humming along nicely. Savour the feeling. Revel in it. Really.

Anyway, hopefully after two more trips this week, I'll be good to get active and productive writerlywise again. And I'll appreciate it, believe you me. I will savour it. I will revel in it. J

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

This week was one of those just-get-through-it times with me trying to pace things so as to not to slide back into the Cold that Came for Christmas, negotiating an ad hoc transport system while they do maintenance on the train lines, and making it to the Arvo Job as much as possible (which turned out to be not very much at all) between a stretch of let's-start-the-year-with-a-round-of- hospital-crap. I made it to the weekend relatively intact, but no writing was done, so I'm catching up on bits and pieces today so as to set myself up for a more organised next week.

I did, however, get to see two writerly movies. After hospital crap late Friday afternoon, rather than head home during peak hour traffic, I treated myself to fried noodles, ice cream, and a movie no-one else I know wanted to see -  Saving Mr Banks - which still has me thinking about many aspects of storytelling. Australian born PL Travers ditched both her nationality (so crass) and her childhood name then reinvented herself as a British writer, used aspects of her own life to propel her Mary Poppins stories, then struggled with the idea of handing over her creation to someone she was convinced would rewrite the character. She knew the Disney populist version would swamp her rather stern and non-coddling nanny and turn Mary Poppins into a singing, twinkling, more sugary individual, and she was entirely correct. These days, when anyone thinks Mary Poppins, they think of Julie Andrews. And for the record, I adored that movie as a kid. But I feel for Travers and her loss of creative control. Unfortunately, Travers was broke. Backed into a corner, and fearful of poverty, she did the deal. Once more, penury forced an artist's hand. Still, she got to keep her house and was set up for life, which isn't to be sniffed at.

Anyway, I liked the idea of a movie about two creative people battling it out for their own version of a character, about popular entertainment versus literature, and all the layers of wondering how much of the real Walt Disney and PL Travers made it into movie and their various biographies, how much their own life stories informed their work, and how much they both used their work to redress the deprivations and wrongs of their childhoods. With the real lives and subsequent industry based on other writers' and filmfolks' interpretations of two such strong-minded individuals, there's much to sort through, and a lot of storytelling of both the truthful, not so truthful, and purely exploitative kinds to negotiate.

The other movie was The Book Thief, which also had many scenes to warm a writerly heart. I was told after the movie that I meaningfully aaaahed in certain places, which I don't usually do (how annoying!), but I'd say it would have been caused by me identifying with a young person who loves books and writing, and uses them as a calm focus to steady herself amidst the chaos and often cruel twists of our mortal existence.

If you're not one of those people who haunted libraries as a kid in search of Answers to Life's Mysteries and who views books as portals to other, often realer than Real Life places, then my behaviour is not something I can explain to you.

Plum Job

So, I'm back after multiple failures. Firstly, I was clobbered by my Christmas cold. It seemed to be getting better at one point, then returned with a vengeance. Alas, not much writing got done during my holidays, but I did prod a couple of dormant stories back into life. I napped a lot, watched movies, ate ice cream, and sat a lot in the backyard on the swing with Gus (the other cats were too busy doing their own thing) just enjoying the weather and wrestling with a few story ideas. This blahness only started to turn a couple of days ago, so I stayed home from the Arvo Job today just to make sure I didn't push myself into a relapse.  Secondly, I had internet problems. No connection for daaaaaays and daaaaaays. It was awful, but I survived :)  Now, thanks to my older little brother's emergency dash across the countryside, things have been fixed and upgraded and I'm speedier than I've even been before.

In the category of country produce news, I beat the birds to the plums in the front yard this year. I made sure to be quick after last year's catastrophic non-jam making happening. This is just half of my so far plucked haul - the rest is on the floor - and there's just as much fruit still on the tree that isn't quite ripe yet. Hopefully I'll manage to nab the rest too, but even with what I've got, there'll be plenty of plum jam for the year. Now I just need to get a truck load of sugar. And clean jars. And cut up the fruit and...

 In even further country produce news, in case you were wondering, the Chook today presented her eleventh egg. One more, and she'll hit a respectable dozen. So there you have it - I'm practically self-sufficient when it comes to plum jam and eggs.

One Minute to Midnight Sale

It looks like my dark and sad little story Sassanid Sands has found a home, which is both a lovely end to my writing year as well as a welcome just-in-the-nick-of-time-to-count-as-a-2013 writing statistic to boost my less than spectacular sales tally.

With only a day of the year to go, I'd say that a few projects that were scheduled for 2013 but haven't happened yet will now be booted to 2014 (I hope so!) - such is the publishing industry - which will make my number of publications for this year take a sudden nosedive and give next year the appearance of being positively stuffed with stories (if more are sold, naturally).

It's been a slow year for me writingwise, but much crappy crap occurred, including another operation, treatments, and lots of energy leaking into the ether. Sometimes, to just keep moving is about the best you can hope for, and you have to make sure that you remember to be grateful for the fact that you are indeed capable of moving. I was mostly still able to do my Arvo Job duties, though with reduced hours, occasionally go horse riding, head off for a movie each week, get out and about to a few special events, visit friends, pat cats, read, and take care of day to day life. I only wrote four new stories from scratch this year, but have almost finished a few biggies that have been simmering a goodly while, and sold 5 stories.

For now, that's good enough.

What I Got for Christmas...

...was a whopping great cold.

Thank you, public transport, and all those caring, sharing, unmannerly individuals who apparently never learnt to cover their mouths whilst coughing up their lungs. I just knew they were out to get me.

This lurgy was sneaking up on me those last days at the Arvo Job, slowed me down the first few days of my holidays but thankfully behaved itself for our family Xmas celebrations, then felled me on the Thursday.

Ah well, the worst of the coughing seems to be over. And books have been read rather rapidly, lots of movies have been watched, pots of tea have been drunk, and copious amounts of ice cream have been consumed, so it's not all bad.

Still, I had plans, other plans, big plans, do-worthy plans, admirable plans...

Tomorrow. It's another day, they say. We'll see.

Horse Riding Cures Almost Everything, Maybe.

I've had a few aches sneak up on me lately, and wasn't sure how well a day of horse riding would go down with my body, but being a great believer in not knowing how things will turn out until you have a go, I headed off with a pocket full of pills to meet my sister for a whole day of riding in Daylesford, just the two of us. If worse came to worse, I thought, I could always bail on the afternoon ride.

Good thing I did go. A couple of panadols was all I needed - which is, strangely enough, a lot less than I down to get through a far less physically exerting sit-still shift at the Arvo Job (go figure) - and a great day was had. My sister sneakily snapped this fab photo of me contentedly moseying along through the forest on my old friend M. with her phone, and I'm glad she did. See, you can miss out on much good stuff if you overthink what might happen. I actually feel really good, though tired, and I will, no doubt be sore tomorrow, and the day after. However, it's important, I think, to do things that make you feel strong when you're not well, even if you have to push yourself a bit - the positive feedback loop is worth a truckload of pharmaceutical products. My sister and I have vowed that we'll be getting back into our regular riding schedule again next year. We're over pottering along the laneways like old ladies and want to be hellions on horseback once more. It's our thing.

So yeah, beautiful weather, scenic countryside full of rolling hills, happy, green forests full of colourful parrots, good horses, fine food, fun company, a much appreciated lift home (thank you, Cindy) AND I snapped a few pics for my much neglected Foalwatch:

Oh, What a Tangle of Cords We Weave

Today I recharged me with a sleep in and a couple of naps so I won't conk out at the Arvo Job over the next couple of days, and added some power to my iPod to prevent a catastrophic inability to access sanity-saving, mind-expanding but gentle-on-computer-strained-eyes audio books during my breaks. Strange to think I once scoffed the notion of listening to books.

 I also juiced up my mobile phone, mostly so I can receive texts as I hate talking on the thing in public, and topped up my notebook lest I find myself working away on a story on the train, tapping words in a rush of inspiration only to have the dreaded 'battery low' warning pop up, bringing on a mad scramble for old fashioned paper and a pen so I can capture a few shiny sentences before they disappear into the ether. And to think that once upon a time, I could only write in my non-moving study at my very own keyboard with no-one in the room and absolute silence around me. What a wuss I was.

 Last, but not least, I uploaded a new collection to my e-reader, and left the device to siphon energy so I can keep up with my now habitual daily intake of short stories (usually 2). It's turning out to be a real gem that e-reader. I'm getting a real feel for the work of different writers, and love the way I can now easily access collections I'm curious about.

So, I'm all powered up (and I'm a relative Philistine compared with many device-dependant people I know) and ready to hit the commuting trail again tomorrow.

Aaaaaah, only 2.5 weeks to the Christmas hols....

Getting Stuff Done

I'm busy getting focused. I finished one story on Monday  - just a shortie, but it's done - and almost completed another today. I know how it ends, and it's not an epic saga either, so it should be done and pretty much polished by Friday after two lots of commuting-writing on the way to the Arvo Job. Then I've got two more stories lined up for completion. I'm feeling productive writingwise again :)

Alas, I've also had to fit in a lot of napping and sleeping lately. I hope it's a passing phase, but if there's one thing I've learnt over the past 2 years, it's if I need to rest, I MUST rest. Obey the body. It's busy doing stuff too. Give it what it needs to get on with the job.

So writing + Arvo Job + normal daily stuff + napping = not much blogging. For now.

Bedtime :)

Stack Attack

Around about Monday midnight, two cats came hurtling into my study, the one chasing the other, and sprang high onto my big worktable, but not high enough.

Bang! Cat number one (the chased) kicked back against a particularly precipitous pile of "really important stuff"and sent it spilling onto the floor. Followup bang!  Cat number two (the chaser) got into a twist trying to avoid the avalanche and sent what little remained also onto the newly-formed island of paper below. Ah, the joys of sharing a house with felines.

There was no way I was going to tackle tidying it up then. It'll have to wait until Wednesday, I thought with a weary groan, and spent the next day and a half skirting the messy mound. I was mightily tempted today to not do it, but being a grown-up, I did, both to clear the room and my head - and I must say my worktable looks a lot less cluttered now. I suppose I almost owe the cats a thank you. Then I wrote for 3 hours. Afterwards, once I'd had a nap, I set aside thirty minutes to attack a few "garden stacks" aka weeds, so the patio also has a more streamlined look, and gave myself a stern lecture about not letting things that tend to pile up get out of control. Weed a bit each week. Tick off an arduous (boring) everyday task or two each day. Clip and file articles, and write notes as I go. Don't procrastinate. Don't stack.

98% of what was in that toppled stack ended up in the recycling bin. Throwing stuff out is always the quickest way to get such jobs done. Amongst all the old magazines and forgotten printouts, however, I found a folder full of critiques from the spec-fic novel writing course I did a few years ago with Paul Collins. I reread the submissions and the kind comments, and wondered why I haven't done more with this novel, why I'd almost forgotten about this great opus that I was once so fired up about. I've written most of it, and it's been sitting on my hard drive for long enough. Of course, I haven't really been up for a longer project over the past couple of years of medical crap, but perhaps it's time to see if I can scrounge enough energy and head space to finish it.

No point putting it off any longer. Life will be much neater with it done.

Whether it makes it out into the world, of course, is an entirely different matter altogether.

Midweek Pause

My energy levels in general are still lower than normal and annoyingly unreliable, and I suspect my immune system is also presently battling the resident Arvo Job bug which has horribly felled far healthier folk than I over the past few weeks and reduced them one by one to disgusting, mucusy messes. I really hate being trapped in an office when there's an epidemic on the loose! You hear the rattling of diseased lungs all around you and know it's just a matter of time... :)  I'm phlegm-and-cough-free as yet, but am feeling incredibly flat, so today was most definitely a catch-up day. Hopefully my midweek recharge will zap any sickness-inducing blighters that have breached my system back to the plague pit from whence they came.

So yeah, lots of napping and reading with the cats, broken by a walk in the bug-killing Spring sunshine, but I did manage to do a line edit and okay the galley for an upcoming story (yay!), hit the Internet for a market search followed by subbing a story (cross fingers), and listlessly shove around words about cyborgs for an hour or so - not my most inspired work, but I think I got one really good paragraph out of it, so the exercise was not a total waste of time.

Some days, one good paragraph is the best you can hope for.

I'll Have The Quote She's Having

I must, I must (sorry) pass on certain incredibly wise words from Lauren Beukes that I read in the paper this morning, just as I must, I must haul The Shining Girls from my TBR stack ASAP and read it, because the quote not only mentions three of my top twenty most favourite topics, namely writing, keyboards and cats, but it's the essence of all those secret-to-becoming-both-a-blockbuster-writer-and-a-respected-literary-darling theses on offer everywhere (for quite reasonable prices) reduced to a single tweet:

"Formula for a successful writer: 90 per cent avoiding the internet, 1 per cent writing, 9 per cent persuading the cat to sit somewhere other than ON your keyboard."

:)

This sterling career advice hits close to home. At the moment, Jenny, my usual keyboard cat, and Gus, the cat who would be the new keyboard cat, are tussling for lap supremacy. I'd rather Jenny wins this particular battle. She's smaller, stays still and mostly snoozes while I work - good company without any bother. Augusta is a stocky girl who squirms a lot and wants pats all the time. Jenny knowingly walks around the keyboard while Gus stomps on it. Time will tell how this titanic, feline struggle turns out. I know better than to try and tip the outcome in my favour. Never ever get involved in cat sleeping place politics.

Also, I'm trying to reduce my internet time and convert it to writing time, especially on Wednesdays, when I'm prone to giving in to my sooky  'I'm not well, and this is my R&R day, so it's okay to "rest" in front of the computer and recreationally read all this interesting stuff because, hey, maybe I can turn it into a story, besides which, I'm looking for new writing markets too' excuse. No more. Today I wrote for over 5 hours (alas, my cyborg story is not advancing, but I finished my expanded story that might already have a home - it just needs a polish now), resubbed two rejected stories, read, and reluctantly took care of some official boring stuff of the type that makes the world go round. And, of course, napped.

Although I did inadvertently catch a glimpse of the Miley Cyrus scandal...

Back From The High Country

Yawn.

My sister, her friend W and I spent the weekend horse riding with others through the High Country . That means a lot of uphill work. If you've never stood in stirrups while the horse beneath you tackles a steep, never-ending incline and groaned because your calves are burning with pain, then, of course, you have no idea what that simple phrase means. Still, I feel surprisingly good today, but ever so tiiiiiired.

I very carefully paced myself by taking Friday off to sleep in and pack (it's cold up there in the Victorian Alps this time of year, so much warm and waterproof gear was required even though the predicted snow and rain did not eventuate, and we had quite glorious weather), travel across the state and stay at my sister's so we were ready to head off early to get to the Mansfield area in time for our 9.30 start. Today I stayed home to recharge my drained batteries, but all in all, I'm exceedingly pleased with myself for getting through the two days without any dramas or fuss. This is the ride I was supposed to have gone on over eighteen months ago, but the first of my three operations got in the way, and since then ongoing slicing and dicing and medical crap has kept me off the mountains, so it's been well over two years since I last rode amongst those peaks. There's been many a time, mostly when I've been flat on my back with tubes coming out of me and had machines that go beep by my bedside, when I've worried that I might not ever get to enjoy slogging up muddy slopes and sliding down hillsides on horseback again :) But I did it! And I'm most grateful that it happened.

Anyway, much fun was had, challenges were overcome, the silence of a starry night far from civilization was enjoyed, stunning scenery seen from horseback on the high trails was oohed and aahed over, our horses were compared and much talked about, breakneck gallops up long tracks were done with exhilaration, and details were rehashed with much enthusiasm on the drive home yesterday.

Now I'm eager for another dose of this goodness.

Been Busy

Hallo, blog. Sorry about the break. There was a birthday to cater for and celebrate (mine, he-he) and a neglected house to clean so my weekend guests weren't too overwhelmed by dust bunnies, and emails with pictures of overly cute cats and kittens wearing conical party hats to read, and ponderous buses to catch to the Arvo Job instead of speedy trains both last week and this week (this yearly fortnight of track maintenance is another reason why I usually take my Annual July Winter Writing Break around now, but alas, I've already had lots and lots of time off from the Arvo Job, and I'm still not sure if I'll need more this year), and a new, dark, bird-based story that suddenly appeared whole in my head to write for an upcoming deadline, and since I can't write on buses, it had to be beaten into shape here at home (done, and pretty close to dusted after I cannibalised parts of a flashback from an old story that I rather liked but never used), so something had to give.

Anyway, I've got a post about dialogue on the boil, inspired by a couple of tiresome gents who sat behind me on Tuesday's bus ride to the Arvo Job. I was going to finish it today, but Wednesday R&R (some of it spent on finishing up that bird-based story) got in the way. I'll try to finish it ASAP.

Heigh-Ho

...it's off to hospital we go. Yep, it's one of those weeks.

Fortunately, I've become an expert at ignoring the chaos around me and writing in waiting rooms. Sometimes, I'm even annoyed when a nurse comes along and disturbs me for medical crap. Then there are the train trips in and back, which are worth a couple of hours of wordsmithing, so I plan to have a decent amount of work done by the time I get home again.

And, of course, there's that book shop with the book sale between the train station and the hospital...

Playing Hooky Silver Linings

Staying home with a head cold last week turned out to be a good thing disguised as a bad thing. Getting a whole lot of submissions out and about again kick started my competitive nature and reminded me that if I want to come home to nice emails about stories being considered or accepted, well, those stories have to be out there, in the world, rather than languishing on my hard drive. A simple truth, but one often forgotten :)

Since I also went through my notebooks and lined up a few promising ideas I'd jotted down, plus pulled forth a number of stories that I remembered as being half-baked but which turned out to be surprisingly close to completion, I regained a sense of many works in progress all jostling for attention. Days of cocooning with my keyboard whilst blowing my nose got me back into pushing those almost-dones to their thrilling conclusions. Organising the notice boards over my writing desk gave the place a more bustling vibe that adds energy to whole feedback loop - things to do! deadlines to make! I wrote over the weekend, and when I returned to the Arvo Job on Monday, I found myself going over stories in my head as I walked across the park to work, and again in the evening walking from work. Aaaah - I felt so back to normal, and loved it!

So writerly structure is returning to my life, in between all the hospital crap, which will, alas, go on for a while yet. Rather than dabbling, I'm re-establishing old habits like writing on the train instead of napping. I'm off all painkillers and am periodically feeling quite chirpy - my sister and I have even tentatively agreed to go for a short horse ride in 4 weeks. And today, setting myself a challenge (it was a bit of a brain check, really), I actually came up with an idea, then started and finished a brand new short story, which just rolled off my fingertips, so my confidence is up and my self-satisfaction levels are skyrocketing. I'll polish it and send off by the end of the month.

Anyway, the upshot of this post is that rather than being an uphill slog, writing is actually fun again.

End of the Month Report: May 2013

Submissions: 6
Rejections: 4
Acceptances: 0
Published: 0
Stories out in the wild: 8
New stories completed: 0
Mood:  Feeling much perkier after this past month of medical crap and ready to seriously hit the old writing keyboard again. I've been slowly getting back into the submitting game this week, and am presently rereading and mulling over the readers' feedback - which is always much appreciated and seriously considered - from the traditional Friday night rejection I received yesterday for a short story (2110 words only) that I'm particularly set on getting published some time this millennium. The first reader enjoyed this very much. The second reader reported that It's a great concept and the writing is brilliant - very clear and I got a real sense of the characters and the world they inhabit. liked the POV, but wanted more conflict and drama. The third reader started with An ambitious idea for a short story.  but, as the least enthusiastic of the group, then wanted more back story for the second non-POV character and possibly to make that character the "real story" rather than the old gent I have telling the tale, and was quite insistent that I provide a more in depth explanation of a certain belief system. 

So should I expand the story? Change the focus? Change the POV? Add a few dreaded infodumps? Whip up a religious thesis? Slip in some hand to hand combat and a spot of gunfire? Regale at length about my characters' lives up until the point where they meet? Have them argue more? Take another look at the ending? There's a line I could add that might ratchet up the tension... 

Hmm, things to ponder and honestly weigh up, always remembering, of course, that you can't please everyone, so ultimately...

But that will have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, there's a Dr Who Season 7: Part 2  Episodes 6-13 box set waiting for me in the lounge room. And the 2012 Christmas special, which I haven't seen yet because my ABC reception has been atrocious out here in the country ever since we went digital. Yay!

Because I Love A Good Writing Quote or Two (And Haven't Got Much Time For Blogging)

Here, over at SFWA, Larry Hodges has provided a bonanza of 50 quotes. Hastily skimming it, I especially like the obviousness of 13 & 35, and the Jasper Fffordeaness of 17:

13. "Writers never quit and quitters never write."

17. "Choose your words carefully because somewhere in there is a character who has to live with what you choose."

35. "If you write regularly, soon you'll have a lot written. If you don't, you won't."

Now I have to head off to the city for medical crap even though it's my designated don't-take-the-train-to-the-Arvo-Job-but-stay-at-home-and-do-stuff-like-reading-and-writing day. Toodles.

Flowers For A Mood Lift

I've been feeling a bit blue this week - I think the last month of medical mucking arounds finally caught up with me a couple of days ago - so after concluding some business in Bendigo this morning, I gave myself permission to take few hours off to indulge in a spot of op shopping (I scored a hard copy of Margaret Atwood's The Year of the Flood for $6) and to just walk about and wander and wonder and be. The autumnal greyness of the day suited my initial gloomy disposition, but there's nothing like strolling the streets of a goldfields town full of beautiful buildings that ground you with their palpable history to calm one's mind, and the gorgeous old parks reeking of the past also do their bit to soothe the soul.

Then there was this conservatory full of chrysanthemums that I came upon (a Mother's Day exhibition?) to gladden even the most down in the dumps heart, so all in all, my vagabond turn was time well spent.

When I got home, I squeezed in some writing, and was quite pleased with the results, and then retired for some cosy reading (I finished The Long Earth by Terry Pratchett and Stephen Baxter) with the cats sociably piled about me in my armchair. Now I feel a lot cheerier and ready to face the world again.

Walking and reading and writing - as far as I'm concerned, they're better than drugs. Oh, and purring cats to pat are good too.