I’ve come to a very unhealthy conclusion. My imagination is both my greatest strength as it is my Achilles heel.
I haven’t been writing creatively (as in story book writing) for a couple of weeks, as I try to leave my work alone, letting it stew in my head as I continue to get slow trickling feedback on my book via the few people who are actually reading it (more on that later). Apart from my blogging and other journaling, this removal from writing and thinking about my characters, the absence of being in their world and constantly thinking up inventive ways to make the work interesting, has given me TOO MUCH TIME TO THINK. Waaayyyyy too much time. And it’s not good. Not good at all.
Shit happens when I think too much. I over-analyse. I create bullshit scenarios in my head that aren’t true. I imagine how much better my life can be, when there is actually no problems in it (minus Motor-Mouth – there’s a name you haven’t heard in a while – but I’m just learning how to completely ignore her shit so all is relatively good there).
Just last week, I was talking to Densley on our morning coffee walk, and he mentioned a FB status of mine where I mentioned something about finding myself. He said to me “why would you be upset? You’ve got everything anyone could want in life!”
He completely stumped me there. Both for his frankness, and for apparently knowing me, or perceiving my life better than I was doing myself. I replied with a smile “maybe one day we can talk about it, I’ll tell you then.” Of course I was referring to my book, my upsets over work, and other projects Hubbie and I have going on in our personal life at home, but I didn’t wanna tell him that, as it’s all very private right now.
Yet I felt such a sudden awareness, a selfishness overcome me with his words, and I had to think “am I creating elephants out of ants as I usually do?” Am I really upset for no good reason at all?
It’s my freaking head. I need to write. I’ve had so many creative stories running through me for over a year now, that upon completion and failing to continue to use that now-trained part of my brain, I’m finding myself looking to create dramas and angst in my own life, when there is no reason to. There is no need to, but try telling the overused part of my head that, the part that like your mother wants to cook for you even when you have moved out of home.
The findings? Well I need to try and stop thinking, or start channelling these creativities into my next book, before I completely screw up my life and everything in it with my magical fixed-ness to unbroken things. I have sent off an email today to a prospective agent (everyone is prospective to me) hoping that they will like what I tell them about my story and ask to see some at the very least of my manuscript. I’m putting off checking my email for a response for as long as possible, trying not to get far ahead of myself. Maybe I should be putting my energies into writing up a good synopsis. Yet the thought terrifies me. Shudder.
On a partially connected note, I have been completely blown away by my sister’s response to my story. She is one of the busiest people I know, and I’m grateful just for the fact that she has agreed to look at it. But no, she’s gone further. She’s already read 3 chapters and is constantly giving me chapter by chapter feedback, despite her unyielding manic family schedule. And she likes it, she actually likes it, and no, she wouldn’t lie to me.
My sister is giving me what I thought Red would. As besties, Red and I have been inspiring each other about our respective passions for over a year now. It took her a week to actually pick up my manuscript and start reading from the day I actually gave it to her (she messaged me on Friday night when she said she turned the first page) yet I haven’t heard a thing from her since. I absolutely refuse to message her and ask what she thinks, in a kind of fear of what she’ll say, but I also feel it’s not up to me to say anything. I just can’t believe she hasn’t: this is so unlike her. I completely expected her to be all like “it’s good” if not “I love it!” but nothing. Is it that shit? Has she been busy? Did she start reading and then have to stop, and doesn’t want to give feedback on the first chapter until she’s finished it? But she would have messaged me that that was what’s happening! That’s the confusing thing!
It’s been going round and around in my head all weekend, and even Hubbie agrees it’s weird of her not to messaged me by now. She’s not the jealous type, and she has been so supportive through all of this, excited for me, telling me “I can’t wait to read it Miss S.!” And now… NOTHING! Nothing at all! I’m sticking to my guns and refusing to message her, and I will hold out for a long time (until I need to get my hair coloured which will be about a week and a half from now so until then I can’t message her…)
My sister and Red have had a complete role reversal. I didn’t expect my Sis to give me as much feedback as she has, and to be so enthusiastic as she has been because of how busy she is, and yet she has. At least I’m getting SOME positive feedback…
And then my other bestie, Blonde – I don’t even KNOW where in the world she is. I love her to bits, but I think she’s travelling somewhere in Europe, and I don’t know where or for how long. I want to tell her about finishing my book and catch up on her life, and she’s virtually in-contactable. (Apparently that’s not a word, but screw it).
Both my besties are MIA. And I have a head full of imagination to contend with. Just great.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
R-E-S-P-E-C-T sings Aretha, I sing…
A-P-P-R-E-C-I-A-T-I-O-N.
Well they’re kind of the same difference aren’t they? They both have the letters R, E, P, C, and T in them. Ooh make a new word, it spells CREPT.
But no, I’m not thinking of creeping. Appreciation is the key. It’s something I’ve been thinking of a lot lately. I hate jumping on these negatively geared bandwagons when it comes to my current work, but honestly, it’s so hard not to.
My boss had to go on sick leave like a gazillion months ago. Before you say anything, I AM sensitive to her situation, but the way the powers-that-be handled it, I am most definitely not.
Then her little man, let’s call him the second in charge, 2IC if you may, went on leave himself for over a month. That left the reigns to myself and the rest of the team, and without blowing my own horn here, let’s face it, I and I alone was the one thrown with the crap and responsibility of taking-care-of-business duties.
As with last year, when the same boss was on sick leave, and the same 2IC went on leave (it was only a week then, but I was petrified of failing somehow in my job the entire long 5 days) I had pretty much no assistance or guidance THE ENTIRE TIME. The team were of course brilliant. Sometimes they pissed me off, but only when I had to practically spoon-feed some to the point of “when I send an email saying do A, please do A, rather than X which is what you’re doing now. Or else I’ll cut off your hands.” (I really did think of sending an email about dislodging hands, no joke).
But otherwise when I asked, they helped, which was great, seeing as no one else helped me. My boss’s boss (who I’ve previously referred to in this blog as the grand-daddy boss – ew) wasn’t on leave though, as with last year when we had the same circumstance. And once again, he completely blended into the background to just sit and watch everything unfold.
You might say ‘but you need to speak up.’ On the ONE occasion this time that I asked him something, he responded very coldly, and I reminded myself to never ask him a question again. It was about whether I was required to attend a certain meeting. These meetings are pure bullshit, and just an excuse to step out of the work area and do NOTHING, as most work meetings are, right?
I thought I could stop attending, because our boss who was on sick leave was now participating in these meetings via phone conference. And seeing I was attending in her absence, and now she no longer was absent… I thought I’d give it a shot to see I could be given the kind privilege of being excused and doing some actual work with so many people in our department on leave and sick leave.
But no. I was told I should still attend. Very briskly if I might add. I thought this quite irritating, and also very amusing in some offended way of mine. He barely acknowledges me in the meetings and around the workplace. I felt this made even more apparent yesterday when he walked by me to deliberately talk to some other team members, advising them of some technical issues we’re having. He was addressing them, when I was right to his side.
I don’t believe he does it deliberately, but I do believe he has no fucking idea how to speak to women who are straight. I’m sorry to offend anyone out there, and I’m definitely not going to stereotype and project this to all gay men, because I know some who actually can speak to women normally, but this grand-daddy has no female-sensitive bone in his body.
No problems talking to the gay guys. Hey, give them a pat on the back, laugh and find excuses to talk, even organise your gay parties for gay-only employees and decorate your house with penises and other phallic instruments, because hey, that’s not considered unethical in any way or workplace sexual harassment especially when you tell these gay men they have to come because you’ve changed the date of the party so they can come.
No, not weird at all.
Even the lesbian chicks. Yeah, they’re cool, they get it. They like chicks, but it’s different, you don’t have to compete with them, true grand-daddy?
But the straight girls? Heaven help me work out why he can’t speak to me, especially when I’m married, and he’s told me he wants me to step up and become my boss’s right-hand person. I’m the best fucking worker he’ll ever lose when I say sayonara to this place and embark on my fantastic passion-fuelled writing career, and he won’t even realise it until I walk into his office and say “do you have a minute?”
I don’t mean this to become an issue on sexual orientation. I know there are people out there who don’t base their work relationships and friendships on a person’s preference to how they wish to live their life – hell I don’t, some of the people I best get along with are gay/lesbian. But unfortunately, and I’m not the only one to see this around here too, grand-daddy does. Whether he is in acknowledgement of his preferential treatment or not, I don’t know, but it’s still not fair.
I know had I been a lesbian, or a gay male, or even just male, he would have been doting all over me while I was in charge. He would have made sure I was ok, checked in to see how I was going, and offered advice in some troubling situations (and there were many). Instead he barked orders at me the few times he did realise I was there, and completely ignored me the rest of the time, to the point that I believed if I didn’t turn up to work, he wouldn’t even know, because apparently, I’M INVISIBLE.
But of course, in accordance with Murphy’s Law, the mofo would have realised, and I would have gotten in trouble, of course. Because I’m straight.
It makes me feel sad, because everything I do at work is to the best of my abilities. I don’t want to brag, but I’m a great worker: I care about my work, and I’m a perfectionist. I know I plan on leaving this place (how sweet that day will be) but while I’m here, I would like to be acknowledged. Appreciated. Respected. I didn’t really expect an all-round pay-rise, but hey, maybe a pay rise/bonus during the time I was in charge would have been really good. It would have made me feel that my contribution here is worthwhile, that I am noticed. But nope nothing. And you know what? Even my team thinks I should have gotten a pay rise. Quite a few of them have told me that individually, and it’s even good knowing that SOMEONE – albeit not the guy who gives out the cash, but still – thinks I’m worthy.
No money though. Not even so much as a thank you from my boss who came back from sick leave. I understand she has her own stuff to deal with, being sick and all, but all I would have wanted was a thank you. Instead I got a joking thank you about her now going to the dreaded meetings instead of me, and I think her joke was in response to an angry status I put on my FB about the importance of appreciation. I don’t care if she thinks I’m having a dig at work, at grand-daddy, at her even. Because I am having a dig. And what they did was just wrong, wrong, wrong.
When I’m running my own business, I’ll never treat my employees this disrespectfully. I’ll say, please, thank you, and appreciate them for every day of work they do. And give them days off for their birthdays.
That’s the problem with big corporations you see. They get so big, that they can’t see the ants at the bottom turning the massive wheel. They don’t even care when they ‘accidentally’ step on them with their humongous boots in the process…
Well they’re kind of the same difference aren’t they? They both have the letters R, E, P, C, and T in them. Ooh make a new word, it spells CREPT.
But no, I’m not thinking of creeping. Appreciation is the key. It’s something I’ve been thinking of a lot lately. I hate jumping on these negatively geared bandwagons when it comes to my current work, but honestly, it’s so hard not to.
My boss had to go on sick leave like a gazillion months ago. Before you say anything, I AM sensitive to her situation, but the way the powers-that-be handled it, I am most definitely not.
Then her little man, let’s call him the second in charge, 2IC if you may, went on leave himself for over a month. That left the reigns to myself and the rest of the team, and without blowing my own horn here, let’s face it, I and I alone was the one thrown with the crap and responsibility of taking-care-of-business duties.
As with last year, when the same boss was on sick leave, and the same 2IC went on leave (it was only a week then, but I was petrified of failing somehow in my job the entire long 5 days) I had pretty much no assistance or guidance THE ENTIRE TIME. The team were of course brilliant. Sometimes they pissed me off, but only when I had to practically spoon-feed some to the point of “when I send an email saying do A, please do A, rather than X which is what you’re doing now. Or else I’ll cut off your hands.” (I really did think of sending an email about dislodging hands, no joke).
But otherwise when I asked, they helped, which was great, seeing as no one else helped me. My boss’s boss (who I’ve previously referred to in this blog as the grand-daddy boss – ew) wasn’t on leave though, as with last year when we had the same circumstance. And once again, he completely blended into the background to just sit and watch everything unfold.
You might say ‘but you need to speak up.’ On the ONE occasion this time that I asked him something, he responded very coldly, and I reminded myself to never ask him a question again. It was about whether I was required to attend a certain meeting. These meetings are pure bullshit, and just an excuse to step out of the work area and do NOTHING, as most work meetings are, right?
I thought I could stop attending, because our boss who was on sick leave was now participating in these meetings via phone conference. And seeing I was attending in her absence, and now she no longer was absent… I thought I’d give it a shot to see I could be given the kind privilege of being excused and doing some actual work with so many people in our department on leave and sick leave.
But no. I was told I should still attend. Very briskly if I might add. I thought this quite irritating, and also very amusing in some offended way of mine. He barely acknowledges me in the meetings and around the workplace. I felt this made even more apparent yesterday when he walked by me to deliberately talk to some other team members, advising them of some technical issues we’re having. He was addressing them, when I was right to his side.
I don’t believe he does it deliberately, but I do believe he has no fucking idea how to speak to women who are straight. I’m sorry to offend anyone out there, and I’m definitely not going to stereotype and project this to all gay men, because I know some who actually can speak to women normally, but this grand-daddy has no female-sensitive bone in his body.
No problems talking to the gay guys. Hey, give them a pat on the back, laugh and find excuses to talk, even organise your gay parties for gay-only employees and decorate your house with penises and other phallic instruments, because hey, that’s not considered unethical in any way or workplace sexual harassment especially when you tell these gay men they have to come because you’ve changed the date of the party so they can come.
No, not weird at all.
Even the lesbian chicks. Yeah, they’re cool, they get it. They like chicks, but it’s different, you don’t have to compete with them, true grand-daddy?
But the straight girls? Heaven help me work out why he can’t speak to me, especially when I’m married, and he’s told me he wants me to step up and become my boss’s right-hand person. I’m the best fucking worker he’ll ever lose when I say sayonara to this place and embark on my fantastic passion-fuelled writing career, and he won’t even realise it until I walk into his office and say “do you have a minute?”
I don’t mean this to become an issue on sexual orientation. I know there are people out there who don’t base their work relationships and friendships on a person’s preference to how they wish to live their life – hell I don’t, some of the people I best get along with are gay/lesbian. But unfortunately, and I’m not the only one to see this around here too, grand-daddy does. Whether he is in acknowledgement of his preferential treatment or not, I don’t know, but it’s still not fair.
I know had I been a lesbian, or a gay male, or even just male, he would have been doting all over me while I was in charge. He would have made sure I was ok, checked in to see how I was going, and offered advice in some troubling situations (and there were many). Instead he barked orders at me the few times he did realise I was there, and completely ignored me the rest of the time, to the point that I believed if I didn’t turn up to work, he wouldn’t even know, because apparently, I’M INVISIBLE.
But of course, in accordance with Murphy’s Law, the mofo would have realised, and I would have gotten in trouble, of course. Because I’m straight.
It makes me feel sad, because everything I do at work is to the best of my abilities. I don’t want to brag, but I’m a great worker: I care about my work, and I’m a perfectionist. I know I plan on leaving this place (how sweet that day will be) but while I’m here, I would like to be acknowledged. Appreciated. Respected. I didn’t really expect an all-round pay-rise, but hey, maybe a pay rise/bonus during the time I was in charge would have been really good. It would have made me feel that my contribution here is worthwhile, that I am noticed. But nope nothing. And you know what? Even my team thinks I should have gotten a pay rise. Quite a few of them have told me that individually, and it’s even good knowing that SOMEONE – albeit not the guy who gives out the cash, but still – thinks I’m worthy.
No money though. Not even so much as a thank you from my boss who came back from sick leave. I understand she has her own stuff to deal with, being sick and all, but all I would have wanted was a thank you. Instead I got a joking thank you about her now going to the dreaded meetings instead of me, and I think her joke was in response to an angry status I put on my FB about the importance of appreciation. I don’t care if she thinks I’m having a dig at work, at grand-daddy, at her even. Because I am having a dig. And what they did was just wrong, wrong, wrong.
When I’m running my own business, I’ll never treat my employees this disrespectfully. I’ll say, please, thank you, and appreciate them for every day of work they do. And give them days off for their birthdays.
That’s the problem with big corporations you see. They get so big, that they can’t see the ants at the bottom turning the massive wheel. They don’t even care when they ‘accidentally’ step on them with their humongous boots in the process…
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Every freaking shade of grey possible.
I’ve been under the humungous naïve preconception that the writing of my book was going to be the hardest work out of all hard-works in the entire process to publication. Hence my highly premature and over-excited recent posts. Well look, I’m allowed to celebrate that part, it is exciting. But I just thought the greatest toil and turmoil was over…
How wrong I was.
My purchase of, subsequent thinking-of-when-to-read, followed by my starting-to-read Fifty Shades of Grey, has coincided with the research of all things that will get me on the road to getting published.
As I stared at the book on the coffee table, thinking I should read it when I finish my King one, I was in the midst of looking into agents/publishing houses/solicited manuscripts vs. unsolicited manuscripts: and I didn’t feel good about what I was reading at all.
Then I would go back to staring at the Grey book, and the thought of it made me sick. I couldn’t work it out. Why was the thought of reading it making me feel wrong, unhappy, unwell, repulsed even? It had nothing to do with the content of the book – hell I thoroughly enjoy sex and think it an exceptionally vital part of life. It wasn’t that, I was very well aware of the content, as advised by Blonde.
No, it was something else. When I was reading Twilight, I was thinking of writing, thinking of what to write and where to start, however I still allowed myself to be absorbed in the story and become captivated, even a bit obsessed by it.
This time, I’ve started reading Grey following the completion of my story. Following Hubbie having read the 1st four pages of it, and having Mum read the entire thing (in one go, see previous post). Also following the fear of seeing it in hard copy, following the antagonism of realising I can edit more of it, and following Hubbie telling me “look, I don’t read, but there’s a lot of explaining in here…” … following from comments like that, intense DOUBT creeping in.
I was so consumed in the world of my book for such a long time. Hearing about Grey's author supposedly earning 1 million a week for her series, hearing about the book continuously on the radio, and having people I know read and like it, and recommend me to like it, has left me feeling…
Crap. Sick. A bit jealous? Gosh I hate that emotion. And a little part of me is scared. Terrified even.
Why?
Because I don’t want to get obsessed about another’s work… even though finishing chapter 3 of Grey last night I feel I well and truly am on my way. Getting obsessed in another's world, when I should be in my own… does it mean my world’s not good enough? Who will be enthralled by the world I’ve created, when so many are currently consumed by Grey?
Ahhhh! I hate the way I’m thinking! I HATE IT! But unfortunately, I can’t stop the feelings.
I coach myself. I say “Miss S., you can’t compare your book to Grey. It’s a completely different genre.”
“Miss S., there are no limitations in this world, only the ones you impose on yourself. There are enough authors and stories to go around.”
“Miss S., you don’t over explain. It’s called establishing. Hubbie would know that if he read books.”
But none of those arguments hold any weight. I know that because the same sick, heavy feeling remains. Unmoving, just sitting, THERE, in the pit of my stomach.
Deep breath.
Throwing oil on the flame is the fact that apparently:
Many publishers don’t accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Many agents only accept writers with a contract (which you get through a publisher) or writers who have been published before.
And the ugly circle of being screwed in the middle with no place to go begins.
I have neither of the above. The only light I get from the above info - which I gained from another blog - (which in its sum was actually quite positive about the publishing process, inspiring hope and all) was the operative word in both statements. Most. There are publishers that accept unsolicited manuscripts, and there are agents that are looking for new, raw, undiscovered talent. And every undiscovered writer in Australia wants to be that one needle in the haystack, that unpolished gem that’s found by a hard-nosed and passionate agent/publisher.
I’m part of that passionate (desperate almost, even?) bunch of undiscovered writers that wants to be published. Fuck yeah I am. I’m freaking shitty with myself now for even writing the previous doubt-inducing, sad, woeful sentences that came before this.
Mofos, I will do this. I will succeed. Yes there is work to be done, research to be had. Yes there are no rainbows shooting out of my book to catch the expectant and hopeful eye of some passing agent/publisher. But if they’re not shooting now, I will make them shoot, and shoot far and wide they will.
And I refuse to belittle myself with jealousy games. I will read ALL 3 Fifty Shades books, and I know I will enjoy it. I will not reduce myself to stupidity because I had a momentary moment of feeling threatened. I’m NOT threatened: Grey writer deserves the success, the attention, and the money. She isn’t the first, and she won’t be the last.
She WON’T be the last. Because I’m coming mother-fuckers.
How wrong I was.
My purchase of, subsequent thinking-of-when-to-read, followed by my starting-to-read Fifty Shades of Grey, has coincided with the research of all things that will get me on the road to getting published.
As I stared at the book on the coffee table, thinking I should read it when I finish my King one, I was in the midst of looking into agents/publishing houses/solicited manuscripts vs. unsolicited manuscripts: and I didn’t feel good about what I was reading at all.
Then I would go back to staring at the Grey book, and the thought of it made me sick. I couldn’t work it out. Why was the thought of reading it making me feel wrong, unhappy, unwell, repulsed even? It had nothing to do with the content of the book – hell I thoroughly enjoy sex and think it an exceptionally vital part of life. It wasn’t that, I was very well aware of the content, as advised by Blonde.
No, it was something else. When I was reading Twilight, I was thinking of writing, thinking of what to write and where to start, however I still allowed myself to be absorbed in the story and become captivated, even a bit obsessed by it.
This time, I’ve started reading Grey following the completion of my story. Following Hubbie having read the 1st four pages of it, and having Mum read the entire thing (in one go, see previous post). Also following the fear of seeing it in hard copy, following the antagonism of realising I can edit more of it, and following Hubbie telling me “look, I don’t read, but there’s a lot of explaining in here…” … following from comments like that, intense DOUBT creeping in.
I was so consumed in the world of my book for such a long time. Hearing about Grey's author supposedly earning 1 million a week for her series, hearing about the book continuously on the radio, and having people I know read and like it, and recommend me to like it, has left me feeling…
Crap. Sick. A bit jealous? Gosh I hate that emotion. And a little part of me is scared. Terrified even.
Why?
Because I don’t want to get obsessed about another’s work… even though finishing chapter 3 of Grey last night I feel I well and truly am on my way. Getting obsessed in another's world, when I should be in my own… does it mean my world’s not good enough? Who will be enthralled by the world I’ve created, when so many are currently consumed by Grey?
Ahhhh! I hate the way I’m thinking! I HATE IT! But unfortunately, I can’t stop the feelings.
I coach myself. I say “Miss S., you can’t compare your book to Grey. It’s a completely different genre.”
“Miss S., there are no limitations in this world, only the ones you impose on yourself. There are enough authors and stories to go around.”
“Miss S., you don’t over explain. It’s called establishing. Hubbie would know that if he read books.”
But none of those arguments hold any weight. I know that because the same sick, heavy feeling remains. Unmoving, just sitting, THERE, in the pit of my stomach.
Deep breath.
Throwing oil on the flame is the fact that apparently:
Many publishers don’t accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Many agents only accept writers with a contract (which you get through a publisher) or writers who have been published before.
And the ugly circle of being screwed in the middle with no place to go begins.
I have neither of the above. The only light I get from the above info - which I gained from another blog - (which in its sum was actually quite positive about the publishing process, inspiring hope and all) was the operative word in both statements. Most. There are publishers that accept unsolicited manuscripts, and there are agents that are looking for new, raw, undiscovered talent. And every undiscovered writer in Australia wants to be that one needle in the haystack, that unpolished gem that’s found by a hard-nosed and passionate agent/publisher.
I’m part of that passionate (desperate almost, even?) bunch of undiscovered writers that wants to be published. Fuck yeah I am. I’m freaking shitty with myself now for even writing the previous doubt-inducing, sad, woeful sentences that came before this.
Mofos, I will do this. I will succeed. Yes there is work to be done, research to be had. Yes there are no rainbows shooting out of my book to catch the expectant and hopeful eye of some passing agent/publisher. But if they’re not shooting now, I will make them shoot, and shoot far and wide they will.
And I refuse to belittle myself with jealousy games. I will read ALL 3 Fifty Shades books, and I know I will enjoy it. I will not reduce myself to stupidity because I had a momentary moment of feeling threatened. I’m NOT threatened: Grey writer deserves the success, the attention, and the money. She isn’t the first, and she won’t be the last.
She WON’T be the last. Because I’m coming mother-fuckers.
A conversation with Mum – Part 2
(The following happened yesterday. One week after the first conversation with her; 1 DAY, read me, 1 DAY, no less, and definitely no more, after I gave her my actual manuscript to read over.)
Mum gets into my car.
“I told your Dad I’d go in with you.”
“Oh yeah.”
“I read the book.”
“You read it?”
“Yeah.”
“All of it?”
“Yeah.”
“The whole thing? The whole book?” I’m wondering if she means she read one chapter, simultaneously thinking if she did read the whole book, how in the hell did she get through 240 pages in one day?
“Yeah – I did it in two parts though. Half-way through I got up to make a tea, I was sitting in the chair, the sun was coming through the window…”
As if it’s the most natural and normal thing in the world.
My Mum freaking rocks.
Mum gets into my car.
“I told your Dad I’d go in with you.”
“Oh yeah.”
“I read the book.”
“You read it?”
“Yeah.”
“All of it?”
“Yeah.”
“The whole thing? The whole book?” I’m wondering if she means she read one chapter, simultaneously thinking if she did read the whole book, how in the hell did she get through 240 pages in one day?
“Yeah – I did it in two parts though. Half-way through I got up to make a tea, I was sitting in the chair, the sun was coming through the window…”
As if it’s the most natural and normal thing in the world.
My Mum freaking rocks.
A conversation with Mum – Part 1
Ring Ring.
Ring Ring.
“Hello, (insert media dep’t here) Miss S. speaking.”
“Miss S., this is your mama.”
“Oh hi Mum.”
[Insert small chat about work, Hubbie, and just general randomness]
Slight pause.
“Oh, I finished my book. Printed it for Hubbie yesterday.”
“Good. Now you’re done. Leave it for now, you’ve done plenty.”
Trying to suppress my amusement.
“Mum, I kind of want to do this for a living. So I will write another book, and more, when I know what’s happening with this one.”
“Ok, ok.”
LOLOL.
Ring Ring.
“Hello, (insert media dep’t here) Miss S. speaking.”
“Miss S., this is your mama.”
“Oh hi Mum.”
[Insert small chat about work, Hubbie, and just general randomness]
Slight pause.
“Oh, I finished my book. Printed it for Hubbie yesterday.”
“Good. Now you’re done. Leave it for now, you’ve done plenty.”
Trying to suppress my amusement.
“Mum, I kind of want to do this for a living. So I will write another book, and more, when I know what’s happening with this one.”
“Ok, ok.”
LOLOL.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Half a ream, and a full ink and a half cartridge later…
… and 275 pages came out of my printer last night. Well actually 277, including the front cover and the… ‘other’ bit. No actually, it was definitely more, because when the ink started running out I had to cancel the print job, so I had a couple of scratchy looking pages that I had to re-print…
So let’s just say 280+.
It took a while let me tell you. I don’t have the newest printer, but those pages were coming out fast, and I was trying to make sure they dried (very slightly) whilst keeping them in order, which kept me constantly checking page after page. In total it took up 45 minutes of my time.
Stapling all the chapters together was like ‘wow.’ First seeing my work, my words on actual paper… it was weird. I don’t know how to describe it. It was just different. I this weird sense of ‘this is it?’
When I finally handed the bundled papers to Hubbie, I was feeling ecstatic, nervous, happy and very emotional. Emotional evident from the fact that after I gave it to him I burst out into tears, turning into a crying, sobbing mess.
Even handing it over… it was so odd. I’ve been wanting to do it for so long, to finish the story and have someone I love tell me what they think. But I had this sense of not wanting to give it. Whether because it’s been MY story for so long, and now it becomes someone else’s… whether it’s because I feel it’s a part of me, and it’s like I’m giving away a part of myself… or maybe because I’m just bloody nervous about the critiques I’ll get.
I think it’s a combination of all these things.
Hubbie did lighten the mood though. When I gave it to him he was like “What? It’s ALL this? This is one book?”
LOLOL. I’m chuckling to myself now just remembering his reaction.
He thought all the different stapled parts which I’d sectioned to create the chapters was actually ONE COPY EACH, and that I’d made several copies to give to family and friends.
“No, this is one book. You think I’ve been working for over a year on just this?” I flipped through the pages of one chapter, roughly 20 pages worth.
“Far. It’s massive.”
“You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to…” (as all good wives do I set the test, the challenge…)
“I want to.” (and he passed with flying colours).
I’m going to make a document where there is slightly smaller font though, because it ended up looking bigger than I expected on page. And there were so many bloody pages! I’ll use this doc to print further copies for my sister, Red, my Mum if she wants to read it…
I need to get me some more paper and ink.
So let’s just say 280+.
It took a while let me tell you. I don’t have the newest printer, but those pages were coming out fast, and I was trying to make sure they dried (very slightly) whilst keeping them in order, which kept me constantly checking page after page. In total it took up 45 minutes of my time.
Stapling all the chapters together was like ‘wow.’ First seeing my work, my words on actual paper… it was weird. I don’t know how to describe it. It was just different. I this weird sense of ‘this is it?’
When I finally handed the bundled papers to Hubbie, I was feeling ecstatic, nervous, happy and very emotional. Emotional evident from the fact that after I gave it to him I burst out into tears, turning into a crying, sobbing mess.
Even handing it over… it was so odd. I’ve been wanting to do it for so long, to finish the story and have someone I love tell me what they think. But I had this sense of not wanting to give it. Whether because it’s been MY story for so long, and now it becomes someone else’s… whether it’s because I feel it’s a part of me, and it’s like I’m giving away a part of myself… or maybe because I’m just bloody nervous about the critiques I’ll get.
I think it’s a combination of all these things.
Hubbie did lighten the mood though. When I gave it to him he was like “What? It’s ALL this? This is one book?”
LOLOL. I’m chuckling to myself now just remembering his reaction.
He thought all the different stapled parts which I’d sectioned to create the chapters was actually ONE COPY EACH, and that I’d made several copies to give to family and friends.
“No, this is one book. You think I’ve been working for over a year on just this?” I flipped through the pages of one chapter, roughly 20 pages worth.
“Far. It’s massive.”
“You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to…” (as all good wives do I set the test, the challenge…)
“I want to.” (and he passed with flying colours).
I’m going to make a document where there is slightly smaller font though, because it ended up looking bigger than I expected on page. And there were so many bloody pages! I’ll use this doc to print further copies for my sister, Red, my Mum if she wants to read it…
I need to get me some more paper and ink.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Happiness Is…. #10
Happiness is….
Finishing my book! Need I say more? Oh yes, yes, yes, I’ve finished!
:-D :-D :-D
No one has read it yet, but even so I just need to stew in this moment of completion. Please let me sit here in happiness. It feels so good…
(fist pump!)
I actually did it!
Finishing my book! Need I say more? Oh yes, yes, yes, I’ve finished!
:-D :-D :-D
No one has read it yet, but even so I just need to stew in this moment of completion. Please let me sit here in happiness. It feels so good…
(fist pump!)
I actually did it!
I'm the missing Pointer sister…
Too right I am. I’m not sure if I’m the 3rd, or 4th, or even the 5th member (I believe they have had a number of various sisters part of their group at various times), but for popularities sake, let’s go with when they were at their peak. That would make me the 4th member then.
And I’m so excited.
It’s Monday, and I have a couple of hours ‘til I finish work. I can’t wait. I can’t wait to pack my bags here, I can’t wait to make the 15 minute walk to the car park. I can’t wait to drive home, singing and smiling to myself in the car. I can’t wait to prepare dinner, then eat it, and share catch-up conversation with Hubbie on his day today.
I can’t wait to give him a big huh, and a great big passionate kiss. I can’t wait for all of those things.
But one thing I can’t wait for most: I can’t wait to start print on my official finished copy of my book.
:-D :-D :-D
Last night I made the last minor additions. There are some things I had to very briefly research today, but it was so quick, that I don’t really have to add anything to the story, I just need to check one thing, and then press the P button.
:-D :-D :-D
I am soooo excited. I’m giddy, nervous, jumpy and happy. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, the moment when I can say to myself “I’ve done the best I can” and hand over a copy of it to someone I love to be critiqued. That thought makes me sick, as it does happy. I’m ready for it, and I can’t believe the day has come, 1 year and 4 months after starting the book, almost 2 years since having the idea of actually writing a book pop into my mind.
It’s such an arduous, mentally-draining process, and I loved it all. It was inspiring, it was thrilling, and I was amazed at how at times the book seemed to write itself. It was a magical, suspenseful, invigorating experience, and I can’t wait to start it all again.
This is only the beginning.
The thought of handing over my work, my pain, my toil, my passion…
I think I might just start crying tonight from happiness…
:-D
And I’m so excited.
It’s Monday, and I have a couple of hours ‘til I finish work. I can’t wait. I can’t wait to pack my bags here, I can’t wait to make the 15 minute walk to the car park. I can’t wait to drive home, singing and smiling to myself in the car. I can’t wait to prepare dinner, then eat it, and share catch-up conversation with Hubbie on his day today.
I can’t wait to give him a big huh, and a great big passionate kiss. I can’t wait for all of those things.
But one thing I can’t wait for most: I can’t wait to start print on my official finished copy of my book.
:-D :-D :-D
Last night I made the last minor additions. There are some things I had to very briefly research today, but it was so quick, that I don’t really have to add anything to the story, I just need to check one thing, and then press the P button.
:-D :-D :-D
I am soooo excited. I’m giddy, nervous, jumpy and happy. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, the moment when I can say to myself “I’ve done the best I can” and hand over a copy of it to someone I love to be critiqued. That thought makes me sick, as it does happy. I’m ready for it, and I can’t believe the day has come, 1 year and 4 months after starting the book, almost 2 years since having the idea of actually writing a book pop into my mind.
It’s such an arduous, mentally-draining process, and I loved it all. It was inspiring, it was thrilling, and I was amazed at how at times the book seemed to write itself. It was a magical, suspenseful, invigorating experience, and I can’t wait to start it all again.
This is only the beginning.
The thought of handing over my work, my pain, my toil, my passion…
I think I might just start crying tonight from happiness…
:-D
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
My continual – no, my CONTINUOUS obsession with the man formerly known as Zack Morris
In writing my story, I’ve been very obsessed over the correct use of words of late, (of course, I AM a writer): using the correct tense, grammar… I do want it to be perfect when I send it to publishers. And one of my recent obsessions was over the use of the terms continual and continuous.
Continual suggests something ongoing with interruptions over a long period of time, whereas continuous means a long duration without interruption.
Now that I’ve given you my prologue, back to my main point. I don’t know if I’ve written about this before in my 140 + posts; as you can imagine it’s hard to keep track when you get to that number.
I don’t even know exactly how many posts I’ve done – just guessing from my work email over here (:))
But about a half hour ago I finished watching a TV movie, called The Princess and the Marine. And I was very pleasantly surprised to find Mark Paul Gosselaar, and his name, come up first in the opening credits.
My fascination and love for Zack (sigh) began in a galaxy, far, far away… hold on wrong story. My fascination with Zack began, let’s count… shit about 20 years ago. Does that show my age? No, I believe it was 18 years ago.
Running home from school and eating in front of the TV was an everyday ritual for me, and when I discovered a new after-school show at 4pm, called Saved by the Bell, I was well and truly SOLD. I loved it. I loved the characters, the storylines. I loved the friendships, the sometimes serious, yet eventually light-hearted way they solved their problems. I thought Jessie was funny. I thought it’d be great to have a wardrobe like Lisa’s. I thought A.C Slater was cute. I thought Screech was goofy and weird. I wanted to BE Kelly Kapowski – so gorgeous, friendly and loved by everyone. And I wanted to be with Zack Morris.
Sorry, again. I wanted to BE with Zack Morris.
Sigh. I’m getting all giddy just thinking about it.
And so started my fascination. It wasn’t just a cute, dote-on-him crush thing: it was something FAR more than that.
Up until that point I had liked a couple of guys at school (yes I started young) – not that anything actually happened. But I did notice the opposite sex IN THAT WAY, when I was the ripe young age of 5. So by about 10, when I started to obsess over SBTB (that’s how us old-school 80s kids speak, you know?) I wasn’t new to the whole crush thing. Even so, Zack Morris became, from that moment on, my staple, my benchmark, say it my dream, of THE perfect guy.
I swear. It wasn’t a really conscious thing, but I found myself being drawn to those kinds of characters in my life, for years to come. And I still am. Whether they were in the media (like Pacey from Dawson’s, I LOVE Pacey from Dawson’s) or guys from school, and eventually, ahem, like my HUSBAND (!) Zack Morris’ character made a huge impact on what I wanted in a mate.
Maybe it was the cheeky humour. The outrageous confidence. The prankster qualities that always got him into trouble. His boyish good looks (well that definitely helped, thank you Mark ). Maybe it was how he was a ladies man – we all know as women that we love a challenge, we want to tame that wild boy. Or maybe it was his undying loyalty to his one and only first love, Kelly.
***SPOILER ALERT!***
If you haven’t seen the very end of SBTB, and by end I mean AFTER they go off to Uni, you would be pleased to know that Zack and Kelly did FINALLY get married in a special TV movie. YAY! :-D
All is good in the world.
***SPOILER ALERT OVER – COMMENCE READING***
Over the years, as SBTB dropped off the screens, I fell into infatuation with other boys, both on-screen and in real life. I guess I kind of forgot about Zack as other guys just took centre stage.
For example, two men I have repeatedly (other than my hubbie) spoken about here is David Boreanaz, and then more recently Bryan Greenberg. Well they are just hot aren’t they. You can’t deny it. David is older now, yes, which means Bryan has taken centre stage in the number 1 spot, clearly going by the looks category. And over the years that I’ve seen MPG in TV movies and other series, I’ve thought to myself “eh, you looked better.”
Beat me up, I know. I’m being a bit cruel. But he was just so cute and adorable. And then he turned into a man. And sometimes the man, doesn’t live up to the boy. I still appreciated him, and I completely recognised that he was just older. Hey, we’re all gonna get older, so will I, and although I hope like hell I’m hot at 40, I’m sure I still won’t look the way I did when I was 16.
BUT!
But. The TV movie I just saw, the princess marine one? (Well he’s not a princess marine but you know what I mean)
I started off like “right, yep, Mark is pretty good looking here, yep.”
The movie was shot in 2001, so a while ago. Still, he looked good.
And then I let myself start watching it and get sucked in.
I swear, Mark was BORN for these kinds of roles. Maybe it’s because he is really like that. And if he is there is a serious problem here… it means he’s even more perfect than I previously thought. He’s a marine in the movie, on duty in Bahrain, a Muslim country, when he falls in love with a Muslim girl there, and she for him. But she’s not just a girl, you see, she’s a princess.
And there’s the catch:)
It was a great movie. Watching Mark (Jason Johnson) jump hurdles and get into all kinds of illegal behaviour just so he and his future bride could escape to the U.S (yes bride, he proposed in a shopping centre – it was actually very sweet and romantic!) made me tingle in nice ways all over. That devoted, loyal, loving “I’ll do anything for you” look in his eyes was there, and I found myself going back to that 10 year old girl I used to know… and I melted. And as I watched, he grew more, and more, and MORE attractive.
Sigh.
This movie was actually based on a true story. This story did happen in real life – unfortunately, the real life princess and the marine ended up divorcing in 2004, I think. (I almost wish I didn’t find that on IMDB – it’s slightly ruining my Mark-story images right now).
But I just couldn’t help thinking. I couldn’t help getting excited over Zack Morris all over again.
It made me realise. My love for him never stopped; it was never interrupted. It was always there in the background, waiting to be re-discovered, again and again, like an old friend you haven’t seen in years, or the house you grew up in, where you hold all your life-changing and cherished memories. It’ll always go back to Zack. No matter what his age, or whether he’s doing movies or not, it’ll always be him. Because it started with him, and it’s because of him, that I fell in love with the hilarious, gorgeous, friendly, very silly, and completely loyal and dedicated (and very cheeky) man that is my husband.
So for that Zack, I thank you. You are the constant in my life. YOU are continuous…
Continual suggests something ongoing with interruptions over a long period of time, whereas continuous means a long duration without interruption.
Now that I’ve given you my prologue, back to my main point. I don’t know if I’ve written about this before in my 140 + posts; as you can imagine it’s hard to keep track when you get to that number.
I don’t even know exactly how many posts I’ve done – just guessing from my work email over here (:))
But about a half hour ago I finished watching a TV movie, called The Princess and the Marine. And I was very pleasantly surprised to find Mark Paul Gosselaar, and his name, come up first in the opening credits.
My fascination and love for Zack (sigh) began in a galaxy, far, far away… hold on wrong story. My fascination with Zack began, let’s count… shit about 20 years ago. Does that show my age? No, I believe it was 18 years ago.
Running home from school and eating in front of the TV was an everyday ritual for me, and when I discovered a new after-school show at 4pm, called Saved by the Bell, I was well and truly SOLD. I loved it. I loved the characters, the storylines. I loved the friendships, the sometimes serious, yet eventually light-hearted way they solved their problems. I thought Jessie was funny. I thought it’d be great to have a wardrobe like Lisa’s. I thought A.C Slater was cute. I thought Screech was goofy and weird. I wanted to BE Kelly Kapowski – so gorgeous, friendly and loved by everyone. And I wanted to be with Zack Morris.
Sorry, again. I wanted to BE with Zack Morris.
Sigh. I’m getting all giddy just thinking about it.
And so started my fascination. It wasn’t just a cute, dote-on-him crush thing: it was something FAR more than that.
Up until that point I had liked a couple of guys at school (yes I started young) – not that anything actually happened. But I did notice the opposite sex IN THAT WAY, when I was the ripe young age of 5. So by about 10, when I started to obsess over SBTB (that’s how us old-school 80s kids speak, you know?) I wasn’t new to the whole crush thing. Even so, Zack Morris became, from that moment on, my staple, my benchmark, say it my dream, of THE perfect guy.
I swear. It wasn’t a really conscious thing, but I found myself being drawn to those kinds of characters in my life, for years to come. And I still am. Whether they were in the media (like Pacey from Dawson’s, I LOVE Pacey from Dawson’s) or guys from school, and eventually, ahem, like my HUSBAND (!) Zack Morris’ character made a huge impact on what I wanted in a mate.
Maybe it was the cheeky humour. The outrageous confidence. The prankster qualities that always got him into trouble. His boyish good looks (well that definitely helped, thank you Mark ). Maybe it was how he was a ladies man – we all know as women that we love a challenge, we want to tame that wild boy. Or maybe it was his undying loyalty to his one and only first love, Kelly.
***SPOILER ALERT!***
If you haven’t seen the very end of SBTB, and by end I mean AFTER they go off to Uni, you would be pleased to know that Zack and Kelly did FINALLY get married in a special TV movie. YAY! :-D
All is good in the world.
***SPOILER ALERT OVER – COMMENCE READING***
Over the years, as SBTB dropped off the screens, I fell into infatuation with other boys, both on-screen and in real life. I guess I kind of forgot about Zack as other guys just took centre stage.
For example, two men I have repeatedly (other than my hubbie) spoken about here is David Boreanaz, and then more recently Bryan Greenberg. Well they are just hot aren’t they. You can’t deny it. David is older now, yes, which means Bryan has taken centre stage in the number 1 spot, clearly going by the looks category. And over the years that I’ve seen MPG in TV movies and other series, I’ve thought to myself “eh, you looked better.”
Beat me up, I know. I’m being a bit cruel. But he was just so cute and adorable. And then he turned into a man. And sometimes the man, doesn’t live up to the boy. I still appreciated him, and I completely recognised that he was just older. Hey, we’re all gonna get older, so will I, and although I hope like hell I’m hot at 40, I’m sure I still won’t look the way I did when I was 16.
BUT!
But. The TV movie I just saw, the princess marine one? (Well he’s not a princess marine but you know what I mean)
I started off like “right, yep, Mark is pretty good looking here, yep.”
The movie was shot in 2001, so a while ago. Still, he looked good.
And then I let myself start watching it and get sucked in.
I swear, Mark was BORN for these kinds of roles. Maybe it’s because he is really like that. And if he is there is a serious problem here… it means he’s even more perfect than I previously thought. He’s a marine in the movie, on duty in Bahrain, a Muslim country, when he falls in love with a Muslim girl there, and she for him. But she’s not just a girl, you see, she’s a princess.
And there’s the catch:)
It was a great movie. Watching Mark (Jason Johnson) jump hurdles and get into all kinds of illegal behaviour just so he and his future bride could escape to the U.S (yes bride, he proposed in a shopping centre – it was actually very sweet and romantic!) made me tingle in nice ways all over. That devoted, loyal, loving “I’ll do anything for you” look in his eyes was there, and I found myself going back to that 10 year old girl I used to know… and I melted. And as I watched, he grew more, and more, and MORE attractive.
Sigh.
This movie was actually based on a true story. This story did happen in real life – unfortunately, the real life princess and the marine ended up divorcing in 2004, I think. (I almost wish I didn’t find that on IMDB – it’s slightly ruining my Mark-story images right now).
But I just couldn’t help thinking. I couldn’t help getting excited over Zack Morris all over again.
It made me realise. My love for him never stopped; it was never interrupted. It was always there in the background, waiting to be re-discovered, again and again, like an old friend you haven’t seen in years, or the house you grew up in, where you hold all your life-changing and cherished memories. It’ll always go back to Zack. No matter what his age, or whether he’s doing movies or not, it’ll always be him. Because it started with him, and it’s because of him, that I fell in love with the hilarious, gorgeous, friendly, very silly, and completely loyal and dedicated (and very cheeky) man that is my husband.
So for that Zack, I thank you. You are the constant in my life. YOU are continuous…
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