Friday, July 29, 2011


I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I have a plan. I have a story on little cards waiting to be written, but when I look at it, all I think is “BLEAGH”.
Which is pretty much my while mind set at the moment.
I just don’t care about writing. I don’t care about this whole media support services thing I’m supposed to be working on. Of course that attitude would change if I had clients, but oh well, you can’t force people to do what you want them to do.
Pretty much, pretty much (Listening to Kate Miller-Heidke’s Politics in Space)
I tried to work on this new story and I didn’t get even into 100 words in before I thought that I didn’t want to write it.
It’s a re-do of a story I began writing back in high school. I stopped writing it when I realised it was becoming a little too “Buffy” in terms of certain scenes. Don’t get me wrong, I love Joss Whedon’s work, but I’m not going to rip it off.
When I began the re-write, I got halfway through when I realised that it had become “Dollhouse” instead in a lot of ways.
That could be why I’m just not caring about writing it because if I can draw these parallels then other people, much smarter than I will also be able to.
Back to the well.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Only broken if you say so

I have a self-destructive personality, I know that. I accept that there will be times where, when things get bad (or my perception thereof) I go into panic mode.
As I’m writing this I’m listening to Garbage’s song “Fix Me Now”... Timing?
Back to what I was saying.
I thought I lost my wallet and immediately I went into thinking about where I had put it last. That didn’t help because I realised that the last time I used it was at the supermarket. Okay, so go to the phone and start making calls. Three calls later (waiting for the office girl to get in) and I’m nowhere closer to my wallet... Heart starts racing a bit more and I tug at chunks of my head, tight enough to loosen attached hair, but not enough to leave me with bald patches. I start writing self-abusive facebook statuses, reminding myself that I’m really a stupid person (or at least one that needs a bit more adult supervision). I kick the couch (that hurt my toes a little), plus aiming a kick at the storyboard which hasn’t been restored yet to its upstanding place near the shelves.
I beat my hands against the bed, knowing that as I do it, that I look much like the child I am.
All this for a lost wallet, and the acknowledgement that I don’t have the money to replace all my cards and licences...
All this for a lost wallet that, it turns out, was not lost at a supermarket or left in a trolley in the first place.
All this for a wallet that was sitting under a blanked that was on the bed.
Immediately upon finding it, I picked up my gear and headed out to do what I needed to do.
Feeling foolish? Yes.
Feeling a bit on the destructive side? I was.
But I’m only broken if you say so.
Or I say so. I’m not sure.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Ferris Wheel e-store link

It's the link for the e-store... I'm getting a little excited I know, but it all feels like it's coming together

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Reality of a self Published Author

So it’s all becoming real.
I’ve just ordered the proofs of the books. All 3 of them. One for me, one for mum and one for dad. But they won’t get theirs until after the Ballarat launch because I’ll need them in Red Brick and Australian Active Aim to help promote it.
I’ve still got a lot of work to get done. I have to organise a promo flier (which is a tomorrow job). I need to rework my budget to allow for extra book purchases and promotion costs.
It’s all just beginning to feel very real.
There are no excuses on my part for not getting the work done, because what else should I be doing? At the moment I have no clients (I also need to rectify that) so I have the time.
It’s just the waiting for the books that’s going to be the hard thing. I’ll be checking the mail for those ‘while you were gone’ slips that the postman leaves whenever they come and you’re not here. That’s if a postman delivers it at all. It might come through courier. I have no idea. Plus I have to place the order for the actual books tomorrow (when I get paid again) and then that’ll be another day of waiting added to the mix. Thank the PTB that the exchange rate is in my favour at the moment. Makes it easier to handle the costs knowing what is on the screen is higher than what I am to pay.
So the date is set. But what if I don’t get the books in time. I know that I probably will but there’s a little voice in my head pointing out that it might not happen. I’ve paid for the 33 day delivery. Which makes it August 23 at the earliest by my count. Or September 4 if they don’t count the weekends.
I need a plan B.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Tell Me A Story... No Wait, That's Supposed To Be My Job

I need a new story to tell. Seriously. I don’t know where to go from here when it comes to novel writing. In a week I will be done with Ferris Wheel as it is. Wait, that’s starting to sound like the last blog. Okay. Letting go.
I’ve deleted a lot of files recently from my computer. Most of which never really amounted to anything saleable. I felt nothing in deleting them, no sorrow for work lost or missing hours. That probably means something deep and insightful, but I’m pretty sure I just don’t care about those stories anymore.
The only one that I couldn’t delete was Dark Destinies. That was my first novel attempt based on a script I wrote for screenwriting back at uni. Back then it was titled Calling up the Dark. Over time and many re-drafts, it became the story it is now. I can’t let that one go yet. One day I might do something with it, but it’s going to be a long time coming I feel.
So, as usual, my thoughts go back to Death. More specifically my death character M’Alice (I’m considering renaming her). I deleted all her old stories so I can start again with her and Candy (her exorcist friend). Zombies, Death and Demons, Oh My. (Hey, that could be a great title of the next book...)
So yeah, I’m hitting the planning stage again. Going back to the beginning. Meanwhile, just writing that makes me think of Lessons (Buffy episode 1, Season 7) where the First changes into all these incarnations of past big bads describing how things are going back to the beginning.
Oh my indeed.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

The 'F'Word... No, not THAT one

I’ve been thinking a lot about fat lately. My own and the way we perceive of others.
For my part, I know that the weight I’ve put on is from laziness and self-indulgence. I make no excuses for it. I know what the bad foods are and I still eat them, assuring myself that roller derby will make all the bad calories go away. Hell, I ate half a tub of Caramel Cookie Madness the other night, reasoning that we had a 2 ½ hour scrimmage a few days later.
I used to be obsessed with my weight, to the point where I weighed myself every night and morning and wrote down every little fluctuation. At the time I couldn’t recognise the obsessive behaviour-ness about it all. I just was worried about those extra grams that had been added while I was asleep. Back then I didn’t define between the fat and the muscle mass. I just thought your weight was your weight.
I kicked that habit as soon as I came to uni because there weren’t scales available to me in the bathroom. Instead I focused on healthy relationships and my studies. When I went home in the holidays I’d weigh myself and compare it with where I was at the last time I had been home. Most of the time I’d remember.
I still weigh myself when I go back for a visit. It’s probably a more realistic view on my weight gain or loss because I’m an infrequent visitor. On average, I put on 5kgs a year if I go from xmas visit to xmas visit, with gains and losses unacknowledged between. If I see a rise in my weight I question if it’s fat or muscle (because thanks to derby it’s a realistic question to ask), but I don’t obsess over those little kilograms. I’m happy that I’m still in the double digits (albeit sort of high).
I call myself fat, but I don’t like anyone else calling me that. I know I have a weight issue, but I don’t make excuses or ask for sympathy for it. Most days I exercise because it helps me be more productive when I’m sitting at the computer for long periods of time.
Fat. I own it. But don’t call me it without knowing what made me the way that I am.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

The Creative Dork Within

I’m kind of a creative dork. Like, for instance, today, I sit at my laptop with a beret on my head. The only reason I’m wearing it at all if because I was wearing it when I went out earlier and I couldn’t be bothered with the removing it. Plus, my head might get cold.
The creative Dork is a part of all of us, waiting to rise up in some ways. She’s the one who makes us buy pens in all different colours, stacks of paper that we will probably never use and is comfortable looking like a cliché.
Actually I think I look cute in a beret but I probably should consider not wearing it in the house.

I have spent the last five days of my creative writing time contemplating Ferris Wheel, making sure that the text all fits into the createspace template (and boy was that a fricken hassle), then redesigning the cover art and making it all PDF only to realise that there are still some errors that need to be removed. So I get to make it a PDF tomorrow.
My aim is to have it all sent off to createspace by Thursday. That means no more rewrites or anything after that.
I am a little nervous. When I first started this I had thought that I’d need to buy three copies of the book, just for myself. One that I would keep as pristine proof of what I can accomplish, one that I lend out to people who can’t be bothered to buy their own copy, and a third that I would write all over, making little additions and corrections to it over and over again.
So it’s going to be a lesson in letting go. Letting go of what I think I need to do and instead just doing it and not complaining about it all the time.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

A little bit of honesty

Mental Illness is a weird thing. As soon as you reveal that you have one, people look at you differently. They try to work out what makes you snap or they whisper about you behind your back, calling you crazy.
I have depression. Plus some social anxiety aroung crowds. I tend to disappear into myself, not saying much but just watching the people around me. I join in on the occasional dance or pool game, but deny the opportunity to sing in public solo. I don't pretend that I'm having a ball if I'm 'just there' and I don't try to fill the void with meaningless conversation.
I question my worth, I question why I should feel the way that I do when nobody else around me appears to.
I sleep little and as a result I am constantly tired, running on less energy than the people around me. I chug down energy drinks and cut price cola to renew the little energy that I have.
I rarely let people see me cry.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011


I've come to realise that I write a lot of dark stuff lately, especially when I write poetry. I talk about the numbness, the overwhelming dark and trying to find a way out that doesn't lead to ultimate self destruction. Which is why, I guess, I write poetry in the first place, to find a refuge for that pain and the emotions that I cannot control or easily speak of.
It makes it easier to let these feelings go into cyberspace where people known or unknown to me can read them.
This is the way that I'm dealing with it for now. Who knows where my head will be in the future.
Until then I have my blog


Sometimes I feel hollow,
Empty of what makes me real.
Given instructions I have to follow,
None to set me free.
A ghost of what was once life,
I feel nothing.
I wonder if anyone notices at all.

If a tear falls and no one sees it,
Did it really happen?
If a woman screams out loud, but no one hears,
Does it really matter.
Alone, hidden in the dark,
Does it matter at all?

Have you done the right thing?
Or have you done what's easy?
Did you act because it felt right?
Or did you just do what you wanted to?
Was the voice whispering in your head your own?
Or was it an echo of another?
Were you free to make your own choice,
Or were you forced to choose?
Have you ever cried at night,
knowing that your choices were not right?
Did you scream out loud.
knowing that you were the one to blame?
Right or wrong,
A choice was made.
Now you have to live with it

Do you see what I see?
Black cloaked in colours of every hue
The darkness within breathes
It shudders from the cold
Yet I feel nothing at all

Kicking the war for the end of the world

Kicking my post-war story aside for the moment. It isn't coming together and it's just frustrating me that I have so much work to do just to make it make sense.
So I've hit my prompt kit and come up with THE APOCALYPSE. It seems like a reasonable path as we've already had one false end of the world prediction this year and we're due for another one this October...
(If it does happen and digital media survives and people are reading this post-apocalypse then my face is a little red right now)
But yeah, I think I'm onto something here. It's not going to be just one story. It's six people telling their last day on eath. I'm going to tie them all together with characters appearing in stories not their own.
Should get to it