#83: Go dancing
In days of yore – when giant beasts roamed the earth and even the trees had a hungry look – I was young, and inclined to go out dancing. A group of friends and I would prepare wonderful cocktails in our hipflasks, and dance away the night. One of the friends was a boy, very pretty in an anime way, who was short and slender with long hair. He pretty much always attracted attention before we did, and many a slightly-inebriated man had a moment of confusion about his life choices.
But I digress.
Last night, about 9pm, as I wondered how I’d be able to stay awake until bedtime, my sister-in-law called inviting CJ and I to go out on the town. We agreed with alacrity (and/or stoic endurance), changed out of our pyjamas, and went.
One of the side effects of dieting is feeling absolutely horrible about oneself physically (even as your clothes gradually grow less tight) so even after two Baileys I point-blank refused to dance in front of CJ (coz he’s the boy I like, and that’s just how it is). So we sent the boys outside and just us girls danced.
You’ll notice there are no photos. This night, like the nights of yore, is destined to fade into smoke-machine mist and the eerie creaking of the primeval forest.
Alternative title: Do something you really, really suck at.
. . . yay?
Tomorrow I’ll be posting photos and video of a bona fide magic trick – and giving you the secret (because a magician I’m not). Here’s a hint: It’s very, very easy, and looks cool.
#57: Speed Writing
Want to write a bestselling novel? There are three basic things you need to do:
1. Write a novel.
2. Write a good novel, probably by much editing of #1.
3. Sell a lot of copies of your novel.
(Or alternatively, become a celebrity and ghost-write a novel. But I digress.)
Today’s all about #1, which is surprisingly difficult. Personally, I almost always write extremely fast first drafts (my realist novel was written in three days). I recommend every beginner uses a similarly manic method in order to finish that first book. Later on, you’ll know your own endurance better and can develop your own equally peculiar habits. (It also helps to split it up – I think of each 2000-word chapter as its own short story.) For your first book, the hardest part is physically writing it. So don’t worry; you can make it good LATER.
That means you DON’T re-read from the beginning every morning (you’ll get caught up in either how fantastic you are or how horrific you are, and both will slow down the actual writing), you don’t obsess over individual sentences, and you definitely don’t give the first chapter or first fifty pages to someone else to read and comment on.*
Today I’ll be taking my own medicine and speed-writing a 2000-word chapter in the next two hours. My computer says 11.42. See you at 1.42.
Here’s the notes I’ll be working from (divided into 500-word sections):
***search for Mrs Sweeton [who was recently abducted by the baddie]. They walk the grid, in pairs, in the nearby bushland. Yol and mr Johnson are left behind minding kids. Amy [that’s the hero] is paired with another character, Mrs banks [new character],
who is poking rudely at her mind.
They mentally fight, and go deep enough to satisfy amy that it wasn’t mrs banks who took mrs sweeton.
Is danny [amy’s boyfriend, who just publicly fought with her] planning to propose? What would amy say? Amy’s only just getting the hang of him, and is afraid. Mrs Banks comments on their fight.
——-
Hi again. It’s 1:26 and my chapter reached about 2005 words. I have a wonderful buzz of achievement, and I’ll come back later and probably find one or two good bits that I never planned. That’s the magic of getting words on paper – good stuff is bound to spill out with the bad.
*Partly because it’s just cruel to that person, and partly because your creative and editing selves are located in different parts of the brain, and simply don’t work well together. Write now, edit later. Trust me on this.
#235: Christmas Decorations
December is here! Finally! Time to stop whining about how the shops have been decorating since October – time to stop beating them, and join them.
My mum collects nativities (yes, really) and has one in every single room in the house, including the toilet. Not counting the ones hanging on the Christmas tree, there’s at least half a dozen in the living room alone.
So I have a small tribute to her in the bathroom this year.
We don’t technically have a tree, but we make do (the first is a cat in a stocking).
I will be writing another sarcastic Christmas letter this year, and posting it on Christmas Day (or very close to it).
In the meantime, go thee and get kitch. Spend too much, eat too much, and wonder why, at 28 years of age, I still can’t get to sleep on Christmas Eve.
From artobserved.com, a Biblical Rembrandt – an appropriate pirate pic (since I’m typing hastily as we’re about to have a massive storm. The wind has dropped to nothing, the sky is purple, and the clouds are rumbling – but the first drop hasn’t yet fallen).
Muslim Headshawl
I am a Muslim.
Nine years ago I stayed at a Muslim boarding school in Indonesia. While I was there I wore a head covering (jilbab, in Indonesian), joined a religious fast, and avoided physical contact with boys.* None of that was required, and the girls I stayed with were constantly urging me to take off the jilbab because of the heat (I was fine, and so were they). The jilbab was part of the uniform, but it really came into its own as a flirtation device.
Here’s how it’s done (based on lots of observation):
1. Spot a boy you like.
2. Giggle as if you’ve never seen a boy before.
3. Watch carefully for the exact moment the boy tries to meet your eye.
4. Quickly hide your face with the side of your jilbab.
5. Giggle as if you are Shocked and Apalled that a boy would dare look at you.
6. Repeat.
Speaking of jilbabs, I recently saw the head of the Australian Muslim Women’s Association on TV. This is an organisation that represents and protects Muslim women (and the head is a woman, of course). Although she and her staff receive many calls for assistance from Muslim women, her organisation has never had a woman call to say that her husband or father is forcing her to cover her head.
It’s worth repeating: Women in Australia are covering their heads because they choose to cover their heads.
So if you respect women’s rights – let them.
To many Westerners, the jilbab or burka is a symbol of the oppression of women. To Muslim women, it is a symbol of a compassionate God, a symbol of beauty, and a symbol of personal pride in who they are.
So I’m proud to wear it today.
Since we’re here, here’s my one-minute lecture on what it means to be a Muslim.
The five pillars of Islam.
1. The creed (said three times in Arabic): There is no God but Allah and Muhammed is his prophet.
2. Giving to the poor.
3. Fasting (from dawn to dusk for up to forty days).
4. Pilgrimage to Mecca (for those who are financially able).
5. Prayer five times a day.
You’ll notice suicide bombs don’t feature.
I have read the Christian Bible, and an English translation of the Koran, and the Bible (rather embarrassingly) is much more violent. The Koran utterly condemns violence against innocents, and also condemns starting wars – a true jihad can only be fought in self-defence. Suicide bombs are definitely not allowed in the Koran’s principles, as any Muslim can tell you.
I have personally stayed in an entire town of Muslim refugees from a people group murdered and dispossessed by Christians.
So don’t you dare tell me Muslims are violent.
Obviously, killing and mutilating people of another faith doesn’t agree with the Christian faith, either (despite the disturbing parts of the Old Testament).
I am a Muslim because a girl at that boarding school in Indonesia cared enough for me to ask me to say the creed three times, which I did. That makes me a Muslim – technically. In reality, I am a Christian – mainly because I’ve met Jesus and after that he’s a bit difficult to ignore. (Side note: Muslims believe Jesus was a prophet, but not as important as Muhammed. Both religions trace their spiritual lineage to Abraham, so we have a lot in common.)
In my opinion, the only crucial difference between Islam and Christianity is that Muslims must earn their way to paradise (Allah mercifully forgives sins, which certainly helps), while Christians are given total forgiveness and a free ticket to paradise because of Jesus’ death – so we can just chill salvation-wise, except that we (hopefully) respect God enough to be good people too.
The commandments given by God and Allah are virtually identical – love your neighbour, help the poor, practise hospitality.
I sometimes wear a cross. Muslims sometimes cover their head. That is all.
Today’s awesomeness is Steffmetal.com’s # 45: Worship a new God.
Yesterday, Don Miller sang Christmas carols near what turned out to be a terrorist bomb. He wrote a blog today about terrorism and extremism far better than I could (this is G-rated, so go ahead and read it).
http://donmilleris.com/2010/11/30/the-war-on-extremism/
*Easy to do, since boys are gross anyway.
S#11: Paper Hat
Last night I took the entertainment section of the paper and made it more entertaining.
CJ was kind enough to also model for me.
The heading reads “Disney’s Last Princess”. It was quite an interesting article, saying that little girls no longer want to be princesses (unless they’re under five). Apparently “look pretty and find a man” (or its corollary, “look dashing and find a girl”) is no longer considered a universal goal.
I can think of one obvious exception to that rule (in which “look pretty” becomes “have extra-tasty blood”) but let’s ignore that and be encouraged.
To my fellow writers: Please, for the sake of all that is good in the world, write interesting, active protagonists.
Your homework: Read “Sabriel” by Garth Nix (PG/M for gore and violence). In my opinion, it is the best book ever written.
#233: Jump in Puddles
I’ve been planning this for a long while, and since most of Australia seems to be raining at the moment, many of you can play along at home! Huzzah!
I put on my trusty crocs and ventured outside. After looking around shiftily at the neighbour’s windows, and pretending to check my mail, I ran and jumped in giant puddles all over the place, and under a broken gutter that was waterfalling merrily.
And then I was extremely wet, and I went inside and had a shower. Thus ends the tale.
Someone else has taken over the zombie plans, and it’s on for February 5. Double huzzah! Corpse-like makeup party at my place before we go!
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=169614359728376
From smileosmile.com, today’s piracy:
#232: Report
So today (two days early, but a full 7 kilos lighter) I finished the six weeks of no-chocolate-for-Louise.
Kilos lost: 7
Bouts of uncontrollable violence: Three (only one thing is still broken, although some bruises are still coming up*)
Ratio of days spent crying to days without crying: 1:4
Seasons of Gilmore Girls watched: 1 per week for all 6 weeks.**
Kilos left to lose to put me in the healthy weight range: 3
Kilos left to lose to put me in my normal weight range: 10
What we’ve learnt: Daily binges are bad.
Chocolate consumed today: 100 grams, and a Goodberries concrete with maltesers, peanut butter cups, and cookie dough.
Future plans: I’m going to try and lose three more kilos this year. I’ll have to be really really tightly under control to eat limited chocolate without bingeing.
I think I can afford about one binge a month in regular life, and once January comes I’ll start working out how much chocolate I can have in a day without gaining weight. Because there’s no way I can go without chocolate long-term. And if I want to start a family in the next few years, I can’t go back on anti-depressants.
Yarrrr.
But today and tomorrow I can have chocolate.
Image taken from theconnectedlawyer.com
*on me, not on any other person. So that’s. . . better than the alternative.
**And just found out there are seven seasons and FREAKED OUT. Watching season 7 as I type, and will probably finish it (like season six) in two days. I CAN’T TAKE ALL THIS CHARMING SMALL-TOWN TENSION ANY MORE.
I told my mum-in-law I’d watched six seasons in six weeks and she said, “Oh really? You know what’s really handy when you can’t sleep? The Gilmore Girls alphabet. A is for April, B is for Babbet, C is for Christopher. . . . . I never get all the way to Z.”
FYI
What do we want?
Braaaaiiiiiinnnns
When do we want ’em?
Braaaaiiiiinnnnnsss
Sadly, it turns out that the whole “if you want something done, do it yourself” applies to undead hordes just the same as the rest of us.
The organiser-lady of hundreds of zombies cancelled at the last moment. And then CJ was booked (through no fault of his own).
So, later on (January perhaps), I’ll be organising my own zombie walk. I’ll let you know when.
#234: Place an ad (or three)
I just applied to have these three classified printed in The Canberra Times in one week’s time. Given the limit of 60 characters, my twitter writing have finally paid off. Keep an eye out next Saturday, if you read The Canberra Times.
Time machine. Warranty good to 2950. Will only go backward
Pet dodo, slightly used. Answers to “Bobo”.
Pre-loved husband. Does dishes; cooks; slightly forgetful.
From spaciousplanet.com, some ladies who are not for sale:
For the record, CJ is NOT for sale. Not even for chocolate.
We’ll be dressing as zombies tonight, so the photos will happen here tomorrow.
#250: Dress up for a date
I dressed all fancy-pants for a date with CJ at 6pm tonight – I’m going straight from work. Tried on outfits and everything.
See you soon, CJ.
No time for pirate pics – I have a date.
PS zombie walk tomorrow!
Felicity Banks 