:/

I had to try and refrain from naming the title of this post ‘Ha ha.’ It seems the Murphy’s law fairies are particularly aware of my blogger habits, and so whenever I take especial glee in a holiday, nice weather or having heaps of time (I think a previous post was called ‘Beating Time’) they rain shit and gloom upon me until I have anything but a smile on my face.




Hence the above expression.



Therefore, this post will be written in the most even-tempered of manners.



I have a few points of general ‘fond’ feelings today.



Firstly, it is Friday. This day of the week takes my heart to accelerated heights and gives me thoughts of a fantasy-like nature.



Secondly, it is the last day of Winter. Hence, tomorrow the animals begin to nest, amongst other natural-occurring and temperature-improving happenings that infer a more pleasing time of year. (Hold back throwing arms in air, hold back throwing arms in air…)



Thirdly, I have a 3-day weekend. This is most satisfactory to my life situation, and gives me time to – tee hee – NO. Stop that. It is very pleasurable.



Lastly, this morning I believed it to be Thursday, if only for 5 seconds. This sensation is on par with waking on a Saturday morning, thinking it to be a workday, and then discovering with gladness that it is not. This too, is encouragingly good.



These 4 points give me an above average level of ease. This is nice. This is most delightful.



Lovely.

I'm so weird

This is a completely random post.




I woke up at about 4am this morning to discover I had no top on. It took me a bit to get my head around it – it would have been longer had it not happened the week before, only then I vaguely had the recollection of having ripped it off me in my half-asleep stupor. Only this time I couldn’t remember anything. And I would have had to actually sit upright to get it off of me with the layers of sheets and blankets on top.



So as I fished around for my top in the darkness, I mumbled to Hubbie, “I took my top off,” and he was like “sleep, just sleep.” And then somehow he said to me that I’d been snoring, and he had to nudge me to make me stop. I was like “what? seriously?” Apparently he was. He even imitated the noise I was making. I was like “far out.” As much as he shit stirs he wouldn’t do so in the middle of our sleeping.



I don’t snore. I sleep-talk. However now it appears I’m waking him up from my night noises. And apparently now I’m also in the habit of dis-robing, and I find that funny considering I could have just taken the covers off.



Weird.

Monday Morning Brilliance at its absolute Mother F&^@ing best

I’ve just come back in to work after 2 weeks of glorious and relaxant mind-altering leave, to THIS:




Annoying prick (who I refuse to grant with an esteemed Miss S. blogger nickname because I hate to even think about let alone speak, or write about him) is up to me within minutes before I’ve even logged in and started previewing my 600 + emails, whining about fixing his shit work which he is incapable of even attempting to learn after his 20 years here.



Fellow no-show boy has called in sick. Notified via email.



And here I find myself doing work and fixing other people’s business before I’ve had a chance to finish my coffee.



How things don’t change.



But it’s ok, as Tony Montana says. It’s ok.



“Back to reality, if only temporarily, because everyone deserves to live their permanent fantasies...”

Imagination can drive you to Insanity

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.

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…

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.

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.