houseguests no more

 journal, pre-crash  3 Responses »
Oct 212006
 

So the possum which wasn't sick? Is now missing.

Which wouldn't be a problem except that her baby is not missing: he spent yesterday tucked up tight in their makeshift nest, curled up and pretending to be nothing more than a knot of leaves on the balcony, hoping against hope that the big frightening people wouldn't notice him until his mother returns. Except she was away all day yesterday, and maybe even all day the day before because no one checked on her.

So I spent last night trapping the little fella and taking him to the nearest wildlife shelter. Possums are extremely territorial, and by law must be released within 50m of where they're captured, so when he's old enough I guess he'll be released back near us again anyway. And if mother possum turns up a quick phonecall to the shelter will see baby brought back. But I'm not hopeful on that last score: still no sign of her this morning.

maybe if i cut down on sleep…

 journal, writing life  Comments Off
Oct 192006
 

I'm breaking the "I've been writing too much to blog" silence just to announce another one. Next week I'm off to the wilds somewhere in Victoria (I've yet to discover the precise location; I'm okay with that; I'll find out when I get there), and I don't know what internet access I'll have while there. I suspect little to none.

In between now and departure, I have to:

  • work — too much (I need a holiday)
  • pack
  • wash — preferably before packing
  • print out the story I plan to have critiqued while I'm away
  • finish the story I plan to have critiqued while away
  • prepare some kind of answer to the "what do you want for your birthday?" question
  • attend some kind of family birthday function, if all members of the family arrive as they are currently threatening to do

Not necessarily in that order.

 Posted by at 9:21 pm

today i wrote yesterday's words. only different.

 journal, pre-crash, the wages of salt, writing life  Comments Off
Oct 142006
 

So it looks like the possum is not sick or injured. She's just decided the corner is a neato place and thanks very much. She seems to wander away for food and whatnot during the night and just wants to spend the days sleeping there. H'm. Better there than trying to get into the roofspace, I suppose.

In inane slightly boggling news, yesterday I met a Parisian who informed me, with all the dignity that only a French accent can bestow, that he would call me Deborah rather than Deb. I didn't quite follow the reasoning, although it had something to do Australians being lazy with names and therefore you should never give them an already-shortened version of your name because then they'll shorten it again. But seriously? How're you going to shorten Deb? I suppose you could get all minimalistic on me and shorten it to D.

In other news, the short story? Well, let's not talk about the short story. Last night I tried to use a nifty little program called Dark Room, to help shut out the internets and help me concentrate. And all went well, until I came to the end. I copied the text from the Dark Room program, pasted it into the manuscript. Deleted it from Dark Room. Put it in order in the manuscript. Then pressed close.

And when the little alert flashed up asking Do you want to save the changes?

I clicked No.

Lost! Losst! The precious, my precious!

Ah well. They were probably crap words anyway. Let's hope so, eh? Because they ain't coming back.

houseguests

 journal, pre-crash  4 Responses »
Oct 112006
 

We have a houseguest: a mother and baby brushtail possum have set up camp on our balcony. It's not a particularly safe spot she's chosen: she's tucked behind some chipboard which covers a corner made by the joining of two external walls, so it's dark and it's cosy and it's out of the way and sort of enclosed. But it's certainly not safe, which makes us wonder if perhaps she's hurt and finds moving difficult.

We've given her some water to make sure she's okay through the day, and she's eating and drinking so she's not dreadfully sick, so for now we're just willing to let things lie and see how things pan out. She's not in the walls or the roof space (and the brushtails are too big to squirm into the roofspace).

The cats are wild to get out on to the balcony and teach her a lesson, naturally. I've tried to explain to them that, cat vs (injured) possum, there's only one going to be learning a lesson, and it's not going to be the possum. The cats remain unconvinced.

we now return you to your regular lunacy programming

 journal, pre-crash, the wages of salt, writing life  Comments Off
Oct 072006
 

The blasted short story wants to be written longhand. And it wants to be written a hundred words at a time.

Have explained to story that time is pressing and a hundred words a day will not cut it. Story remains unmoved. Have threatened story with never being written, but story is unfazed. You've written the ending, it points out. As if it's content with only the ending!

Must find way to convince story it does not have the upper hand.

Am not optimistic.

the people people

 asides, journal  Comments Off
Oct 062006
 

The People People, featuring my clarion south dorm-mate Evan Dean, have recently released their debut album. If you want a sample of their music (which entertained us all through the clarion camp), you can download a couple of their songs from their website, or a couple of different songs from the JJJ Unearthed website.

If you like what you hear, consider rating their songs on the JJJ site — a higher rating will gain them greater radio airtime, something an up and coming band could really do with more of.

some things never change

 journal, pre-crash, shadow queen, the wages of salt  2 Responses »
Oct 052006
 

Today's word of the day?

golem

  • noun (in Jewish legend) a clay figure brought to life by magic.
  • an automaton or robot.

— origin late 19th cent.: from Yiddish goylem, from Hebrew golem ‘shapeless mass’.

This is my novel's way of sneaking up on me. It wants revising, it wants out the door — and if I won't let it out except in clean, fresh clothes and unfractured bones, then it wants the cleaning and refreshing and the knitting of bones now.

I will be strong. I will not revise. I will write this new short story what has a title! and a plot! and setting! but has no words. Because right now, only short stories need apply for brainspace.

(Why, yes, I am loopy — what gave it away?)

life ain't easy for a boy named sue

 journal, the wages of salt, writing life  4 Responses »
Oct 042006
 

I sat down this morning to get words. On anything. I have a slew of unfinished short stories to choose from — I figured if I got words and finished any or all of those stories, that would be good. I could take one to the workshop at the end of this month (for which workshop I have, that's right, no story ready), I could get them all ready for submission.

Instead? I came up with a new story. And the beginning for it — not the words that start it all, oh no, nothing so easy, but I know where and why it starts. Just not the how. I also know the ending. It's the middle I'm kinda having trouble with, and that bugs me because for a short story I should be able to see that far ahead. (Maybe I can, and I'm doing that whole "ignoring the details in the middle because it doesn't seem enough even though it is" trick my conscious brain seems so fond of.)

But, and here's the kicker, do you think I can get words on it? No. Oh no. It kinda feels like week six at Clarion, with all those crit-voices camped in the back of my head, and nothing can stand up to that. The pressure, the pressure ;)

Okay, removing tongue from cheek now.

I've written down snippets, all of which wouldn't add up to 100 words probably, but that's not really a start.

Lucky there's nothing good on the idiotbox tonight.

today's goal is to write. anything.

 journal, pre-crash, shadow queen, writing life  3 Responses »
Oct 012006
 

I think I'm stuck in post-novel ennui.

Finishing was good. Finishing was effervescent. Then comes the realisation: this isn't really finished. This is actually 400 pages of revision notes rather than a story. And soon (in this case, November), I'm going to have to trawl through it again… That kinda takes the edge off the buzz. Not enough to kill it, oh no — just enough to remind me I have to work tomorrow, so best not get completely blotto and stagger home at 6 in the am.

What does kill the buzz? Not writing for a day or two. I'm itchy for words and too burnt out to write them, and have nothing to write them on if I did have them. It's a horrible state.

So instead, I went shopping. I'm not normally one for retail therapy, but nonetheless. Me. Shopping. And the good news?

We have satchel!

 Posted by at 1:46 pm