A Brilliant Procrastination

And so I’m lying on the couch, gazing up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of my story, trying (so) hard not to procrastinate, when it became extremely important to photograph where my gaze had fallen… yes, I must, as it is something, a thing, THE thing that will successfully take me away from my story.

Yeah, procrastination achieved.

On another note, my grandfather bought this chandelier in Italy years ago. I am proud to have it in my home.

2005: Wrapping It Up

Well, I guess it’s time to look back and reflect (in no particular order)…

• I became a wife
• I started publicly calling myself a writer
• I began work on my first novel
• I decided to change career directions and apply for a professional writing course
• My eyes needed glasses for the first time
• I changed web hosts after five years
• Hubby and I booked our tickets to go to Europe next year
• I discovered Absolute Write Forums
• I enjoyed perfume again — Bvlgari or Mugler, I am yours
• I’ve read more books than ever before
• I’ve bought more books than ever before
• I started taking photographs with artistic intentions
• I registered my name as a domain name

Thank you everyone for your visits throughout the year.

By the way, I did something similar for 2003.

And no, we still haven’t decided what to do on the 31st. There is a bit of an emphasis because it’s our first NYE as a married couple. What are your plans?

Eerie Evening

It’s been thundering on and off all day.

I went outside to water my plants and took this photo because it’s one of the more interesting, grey skies I have seen.

Not long after, the sun started performing some serious magic and everything turned yellow. And I mean everything.

But as the sun went down, the yellow faded and everything turned red instead.

As my title suggests – despite the magic – it was way too eerie for my liking.

Festive Thoughts Continued…

This morning, a blue-tongue lizard was making its way into our dining area. I was on the phone at the time and screamed my head off. It froze and then slowly crept backwards into our yard. There is no excuse for that kind of behaviour from outdoor creatures. Even if they are bringing a delayed Christmas cheer with them. Luckily, Arky didn’t see it. I didn’t want another gladiator fest but inside the house this time. Hubby was annoyed ’cause my tantrum interrupted his gaming session. He didn’t agree that it was a matter of life and death.

Yesterday, at a family lunch, I was able to drink a full glass of Moet, followed by a sip of my Dad’s wine and then some sips of Corona beer — all without getting a headache for once. Amazing.

I’ve taken a photo (above) of the Christmas present I received from my mother-in-law. She got it in Rome at a place called Il Papiro. I haven’t owned anything like that before and it makes me want to own more old-fashioned, writing-related paraphernalia.

And so I have just finished watching the movie Under The Tuscan Sun and such a flick is deadly for the hopeless romantic that I am. I declared to Hubby that we needed to sell our house immediately and move to Cortona. (Of course, the character had to have the funky writing room decorated in warm colours with the antique writer’s desk complete with breathtaking Tuscan view outside her window, didn’t she? I am so sensitive about this type of thing!)

I want our Christmas tree to stay up for a few weeks yet.

Okay, thanks for reading, and now — to knock down the wall and progress with my book…

Eva Cassidy And The Morning After Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone.

This morning, I woke up to the following song in my head — sung by none other than the beautiful Eva Cassidy. I was half-awake, and the sweet melody was lingering, as well as her spirit…

I wish I could wake up like that every morning.

Dark Eyed Molly

Deep and dark are my true love’s eyes
Blacker still is the winter turning
As the sadness of parting proves
Brighter now is the lantern burning
That lightens my path to him

No fiddle tune will take the air
But I’ll see his swift feet a-dancing
And the swirl of his dark brown hair
His smiling face and his dark eyes glancing
As we stepped up from Banbury Fair

If my waiting prove in vain
Then I’ll pack and track ever take me
And the long road will ease my pain
No jewelled mankind would ever make me
Whisper love’s words again

For in drink I’ll seek good company
My ears will ring with the tavern’s laughter
And I’ll hear not his last sweet sigh
And who’s to know in the morning after
How I long for his dear dark eyes
How I long for his dear dark eyes
How I long for his dear dark eyes

(Apparently, the original was by Archie Fisher. It’s not the words I have a connection with – though some of the phrasing is wonderful -, it’s Eva’s interpretation and the tune itself.)

Journey Of A Thousand Miles

I tried to resist buying Stephen King’s On Writing and Robert Bly’s The Copywriter’s Handbook last night but couldn’t! I’ve wanted both books for a while now.

Hot beverages and arduous journeys don’t really go together, but I bought my coaster (below) – which sits on my computer desk – ’cause it was kind of inspiring. On Writing is loaded with excellent advice from Mr King; makes me feel even more prepared for the arduous processes to come.

Big Christmas Dollars

If you ever want to torture me, stick me in a room and tell me to wrap your presents. Ugh.

This year I got smart though and have been wrapping as I buy.

Thank God that I work in the city as I don’t know where I’d be without the specialty stores. It has made spotting decent gifts easy and painless. And it has made me want these gifts for myself! I’ve so far kept one – hehe. (Gawd, I sound so materialistic)

I’ve also been able to buy here and there, each day, on my lunch break and consequently I am nearly finished! And Christmas is more than 5 minutes away! Yes, I’ve been that mad shopper next to you on the eve of Christmas every other year.

It’s unsettling to think of the number of times I have swiped my eftpos card this week…

Bond-less Characters

Nope, I’m not talking about creations that lack a 007 flavouring in their blood, but rather two nuisance characters in my story – male and female – that just refused to bond with me.

They wouldn’t get real. Like, they didn’t want to be or weren’t supposed to be. Curious.

So, I thought it was a patience thing. And Lord knows I have been patient. But, uh-uh, the two of them remained undeveloped. A deep voice has been telling me they are useless yet another voice has been promising me good things. (Note: a groovy name is not a reason to keep a character alive! I’ve at least noted it down for a future character though.) (Why must I, as a novice, do novice-y things?)

They say a writer needs to be prepared to “kill their darlings”. Tonight, that had to happen — as I’d had it with both of them.

The strangest thing happened after that: I can now see the direction of the story clearer. No kidding.

Consequently, the word count looks less-attractive. Damn it.

Momentary Deepness On A Sunday

I read this interesting question on Jackal’s site: Which of the following words stands out to you as being most important and why?

hope, faith, choice, belief, truth, reality

Here was my answer:

Belief: by believing in yourself, it doesn’t matter if you seemingly make the wrong choice; and by believing in yourself, you will always have hope and faith. Consequently, truth and reality will be easier to accept.

And another way to say it: by believing in yourself, you are believing in hope, faith, choice, truth and reality.

To Add To The Lunch Break Series…

He was the littlest, cutest and smartest kid I’d seen in a long time. He had olive skin, sun-bleached hair and he was missing a front tooth. And he was madly in love with his ice cream sundae.

His guardian, a female in her late 30s, looked like a washed-out surfer girl. Her skin was darker than the boy’s, her hair was unruly, she had loads of cleavage and a small tattoo on her shoulder. She wore a singlet top and a wrap-around skirt as though she was heading to or coming back from the beach.

They were sitting next to me in the food court (yeah, the food court is where it’s at) at lunch time. I accidentally tuned in when the little boy (who was 6 or 7 years of age) said the word “available”.

There was something intriguing about their conversation. She started off by saying:
“I can’t wait to get to Sydney.”
“Me too.”
(Pause)
“And I think we should announce it at Christmas dinner. What do you think?”
“Yep, ok.”
(Pause)
“So, who do you think will be the most excited?”
“I don’t know…”
“I reckon Nonna will be.”
“Why?”
(Long pause, before the woman says:)
“Well, I’m excited.”

I raised my eyebrows as soon as I heard her say ‘Nonna’. I would never have guessed the Italian background.

She continued:
“I’ll have to stay at Richard’s two nights a week. Ok?”
“Ok.”
“He’s about an hour away.”
“Ok. I’ll be with dad anyway.”
(Long pause, before the boy says:)
“An hour is about the time it takes to drive around the city two times isn’t it?”

Whenever there was a pause, I wondered if it was because she was taking care with what to say to the kid, or whether she was preoccupied with her own world; zoning in and out between the kid’s world and hers.

I admired the way that she spoke to him as though age did not matter. I hoped that she didn’t load everything onto the kid though. He’d be one traumatised soul when he’s older if that’s the case. Maybe she had no one else to talk to. Maybe he listened to her more than “Richard” did. Maybe she and the kid had made a pact to tell each other everything, no matter what.

Maybe my imagination is more powerful than I thought. (Isn’t that fabulous?!)

When they first approached the spot next to me, the woman went to order her lunch while the kid hit it off with the sundae. I glanced at him quickly and gave him a smile.

When she went to pick up her lunch, I observed her only motherly-like action: telling the kid not to move from the seat or else.

I even speed-walked back to work so I could unleash all of this in a Notepad window.