brutus » Deborah Kalin

mr jekyll is wrestling hyde

Oct 152009

Last night, just as I'd switched off all the lights to hit the sack, the phone rings. (My family have impeccable timing — it's genetic.) So out I trudge to the living room to silence the thing.

"Hello?"

I am answered only by the sound of heavy breathing.

Luckily, I recognise that breathing, so I do not immediately panic and assume I am marked for a gruesome and grisly end.¹

Instead, I adopt that crooning, cajoling tone popular the world over among those who have ever been treated to phone conversations with ~~the vocally challenged~~ children. "Hello…..?"

Giggling from the other end, and then a SQUEAL TO BURST THE EARDRUMS. While I am still reeling, the story starts. I am not sure of the particulars because, well, did I mention the kid isn't so much with the talking yet? I caught "I makkit, makkit, mak…" and then it was interrupted by an angry yell and the bellow, "NAN! NAN! UGH! ARGH! NAN!"

Ah, I think. Nanna has rescued the phone, and soon I will be treated to rational conversation. She may even be able to act as interpreter, and tell me to what the makkit story pertained. Because I have to admit, now I'm a bit curious.

Instead…Nanna promptly hangs up on me.²

Although the breathing, if I am right, belongs to Brutus — whose namesake was rather into meting out grisly ends, now that I think of it. [↩]
Having since spoken to my mother, I learned that in the space of 90 seconds, Brutus managed to find her iPhone and make no less than 3 phone calls. Well, more actually, but those were the three that connected. We're all three of us suffering ruptured eardrums. That boy can squeal, I tell you. Sadly, I am still unenlightened as to the makkit story. [↩]

this is the bit where the brain starts to splinter

shadow bound 2 Responses »

Dec 292008

I keep losing days. Today is Monday, apparently, but I'm pretty sure yesterday was Saturday. This means I'm either going insane, becoming ever more inattentive, Sunday was totally and utterly exactly the same as Saturday and thus they blurred into the one day in my memory… or Sunday just vanished out the calendar.

I'm betting on the last one. For sure.

My inattentiveness and the sameness of my days would have nothing to do with the deathmarch status of the revisions, nosiree, why do you ask?

In other truly momentous news, yesterday (er, Saturday?), Spawn greeted Brutus with the phrase "Hey, Brutus!"¹

Wiktory! My work here is done.

For those who are curious, yes, I do actually call them Spawn and Brutus in person as well as on the blog, although expediency sometimes forces me to revert to their ~~real~~ christened names instead. Not often, though. [↩]

then there are the days you (almost) come out even

shadow bound, writing life 2 Responses »

Oct 292008

After much procrastination, both before and during the session, and some 1200 words revised, a particularly muddy section of the second novel of The Binding is now officially fixed. The first draft had Amalia¹ being evil, when really she's just impulsive and spiteful, so now all the evil occurs at her brother's instigation. This works much, much better, and quite frankly I'm not sure why I didn't realise that first time around. Who knows. Writers is nuts, after all.

Of course, 1200 words revised only puts me slightly over halfway towards today's have-to target, and only a smidge over one-third of the way towards today's would-love-to target. That would be because I still have lots of catching up to do.

Spawn and Brutus² are visiting, you see, and by golly are they timesinks. Yesterday while I sat writing, Spawn emptied the cupboard, one hairclip at a time, narrating each object all the while. Hair clip! Hair clip! One two many hair clip! Medicine, for sore! Soap! I never realised I had so much in that cupboard, to be honest. Once she'd done all of that she dug out my shoes and my bag and said, That shoe, that bag, find choo choo train now?

We took her to see model steam trains on the weekend, you see, and we haven't heard the end of it since. She was so insistent that on Monday night we found ourselves at the local train station, watching trains come and go, for over an hour. I suspect the people at the station were starting to wonder if we didn't have a television and this was our next best cheap entertainment option.

This pic is totally unrelated to the post. I just visited the zoo recently, and who doesn't love otters. If you can count three, there's nothing wrong with your eyesight

I realise that none of you, save for my beta readers, know of Amalia, but I have enough trouble as it is talking about books that have no titles [↩]
Incidentally, there's a new girl at the dayjob who, on hearing me talk of Spawn and Brutus, gave me a horrified look and said, 'They're children? I thought you were talking about dogs!' [↩]

an update in points

journal 5 Responses »

Jun 232008

Spawn turned 2 recently, so for the family party we took her back to the animal farm where she first discovered turkeys. This time, she got to bottle-feed week-old lambs:

Brutus meanwhile discovered the overpowering joys of cupcakes:

Who needs hands, eh?

Meanwhile, on a whim, the other day I decided to test how many push-ups I can do. To make it challenging, I tried the proper form, not the on-the-knees form for girls, which is oh so much easier.

Ready for the answer?

One.

That's right. ONE proper-form push-up had my arms shaking and me unable to do any more. Guess it goes to show that computing, no matter how fast I type, does very little for upper body strength. Whodathunkit?

So today, I started the hundred push-ups regime. Wish me luck! Maybe by the time I've finished the copyedits, I'll be able to do more than one proper form push-up!

I'll tell you all of the things that you'll never forget

away come away, cherry crow children, journal, writing life Comments Off

May 072008

Children. They are, in point of fact, germ manufacturing and distribution facilities.

Spawn and Brutus were up on the weekend and, lo and behold, I am lurgified. This circumstance would be more acceptable if it had occurred on a working day, instead of my days off.

On the other hand, my germ-addled mind did produce a short story idea today, which may yield words for the day and therefore as far as I'm concerned is more lovable than the novel.

If you can believe it, Spawn, at not yet 2 years old, knows how to use an iPod. This nearly broke my brain.

adelaide, in pictures

journal 2 Responses »

Mar 212008

Dropped in on Spawn and Brutus on the way to the airport, where Spawn takes her art seriously:

and Brutus has discovered it takes work to sit:

Quickly scoped out the local:

Which was fortunate, as the fortitude I found via the local allowed me to endure the small eternity I spent at that other local attraction, Spotlight:

Spent an inordinate amount of time taunting, teasing, photographing and generally scritching the cat:

Dropped past the house where "Aunty" Jean¹ raised nine children:

Enjoyed lunch on the river:

And, on leaving, successfully traumatised the cat back into his natural habitat, hiding:

In fact, she's my grandfather's aunt, if I'm remembering family history aright, but everyone calls her Aunt. Apparently it's a trans-generational title. [↩]

once, in flight school, i was laconic

journal, pre-crash 4 Responses »

Sep 292007

Hands up, who remembers Snorgle? She's all of fifteen months old now, and as of a week ago she has a baby brother.

I've named him Sproglet. Sprog for short. He doesn't have a bib yet, but maybe he can share his sister's, because allegedly he snorgles more than she ever did.

I feel it's important, you see, that they have equal and matching names.

Snorgle welcomes Sproglet

Snorgle hugs the cats the same way, only they don't always stay so obligingly still for her.