#200: Documentary
I’m still working my way through Ben’s suggestions of awesomeness. I’ve chosen to interpret this one as requiring any visual media – not necessarily film. So I have created the following two pictures, which I call: “The Writing Life”. It really tells you everything about my daily life.
1. Morning.
2. Afternoon/Evening.
In other news, I’m almost ready to send “The Princess and the Pirate” to Publisher D, which means I have no urgent writing to do (I estimate they’ll give their final yes or no in 6-12 months, given I’m only sending the first chapters). My only polished book not on someone’s desk is “Farting My ABCs” and the publisher I want – H – is currently closed to submissions. So I can slack off now, if I want to.
It’s been almost two weeks since I arrived back from the recent schmoozefests, so I’m pretty well recovered. From tomorrow, I’ll be eating properly again. It’s good timing in terms of my womanly cycle, how much stuff is happening with work and family and friends (ie not much), and my writing (I write MUCH less without chocolate). I’ll be visiting my extremely pregnant sister in early October, so that’ll ruin everything, but fluctuating weight is better than a continuing increase.
I rarely get nightmares from my writing (one reason I don’t write much horror). But I had one the other night about a giant Japanese robot spider. Then Ben sent me this, from http://xeai.com/public/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/l08_5072.jpg
#40: Steal Flowers
If there’s anything this blog has taught me, it’s that crime is awesome*. Technically, this item on my pre-existing list read “pick flowers” but since I own exactly 0 flowers at present (some of my plants are dead, and some. . . sleeping), I chose theft once more.
I’m still recovering from schmoozing in Melbourne and Brisbane, and I’m still physically recovering from Indonesia in January (and a vitamin D deficiency). It’s reasonably difficult to get up in the morning, or be enthusiastic about. . . well, anything.
And this is where crime comes in. I stole these flowers from five different locations (my friend Ann may find the daffodils eerily familiar, but the other victims of my crime spree were all neighbours and/or strangers), generally leaving my car running to assist in the fastest possible getaway. I inadvertently collected several ants (both large and small) in my guilty haste, but since none bit me and the fuzz hasn’t come a-knocking, I feel I can confidently declare that crime pays.
And, it’s fun.
My heart rate is up, my house is all pretty (I put some in every single room), and a smile is tugging at my lips.
In other news, I took these two photos of my cat Ana spying on our neighbours (neither was posed, and the look in the second picture was a response to my picture-taking – after which she went back to work. . . watching. . .). I also had a nightmare about a killer robot last night. That was odd.
I call this second one, “Here’s looking at you, meatwad.”
*There’s been fountain frolicking, herb hustling, and guerrilla gardening thus far.
S#40 and #82 – Silly hats for the deaf
s#40 is to learn sign language.
#82 is to wear a silly hat.
There are a lot of different sign languages, so I learnt the Australian sign alphabet. The vowels are the easiest – you just touch your right index finger to each finger of your left hand – “A” is the thumb, “E” is the index finger, and so on.
Play along at home: If your name is Ioueueoa, you already know how to say your name! Great work!
You’ve seen this silly hat before, but I think this is the last time I’ll wear it this year. I was invited to a picnic by an optimist (you can tell they’re an optimist, because they invited me to a picnic in Canberra in September). The weather was like this:
There was also an icy wind.
Now, my beanie is famous on three continents, but on this particular day I was outdone by a sheep/monkey suit, as you can see:
Kids these days.
And here’s today’s killer robot, from (I think) geekologie:
There’s more writing stuff today and tomorrow at https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com.
#75: Leave lights/heater on
My “study” is located in the corner of our (large) living room. In Summer or Winter, I try to take my laptop to our (much smaller) bedroom to save on heating and cooling. Yesterday I glanced over my entire 66,000 word realist novel (in case Publisher K requests it this week, which is fairly likely), and as a treat I stayed at my usual desk and turned the big heater on.
It was niiiice.
Here’s a short story, since my exuberant heater use doesn’t make an especially thrilling blog entry. (Writing tips are a-happening today and tomorrow at https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com if you’re into that sort of thing.)
“Why stars are the way they are”
Missy Myway was the sweetest of the starlets, and her soul was as great as the ocean. Fans were charmed when she wore bunny slippers to her first award ceremony, peeking out from under a designer gown. Her face was as expressive as her music, grinning as her blonde hair fell across one eye, or sweetly calling attention to the successes of her favourite charities. People called her the girl of a thousand smiles.
Her only foible was that she did not like having her picture taken. It was a phobia based on the beliefs of certain third-world cultures that cameras could steal a person’s soul. She sat for painted portraits each day, and passed them out to photographers as gifts, hoping to discourage their professional enthusiasm. They merely photographed her handing out the pictures.
Even as she retreated back into restaurants or behind gates, her sharpest rebuke was to say, ‘I don’t want my photo taken, you drip.’ Young girls began using the word ‘drip’ as hip new slang referring to anyone wielding a camera.
Missy and her high school sweetheart were married. The drips were greeted cordially by Missy’s manager, and invited to leave their cameras at the door and enter. The ceremony was performed in the backyard of Missy’s childhood home. Most of the town attended, but they were still outnumbered by photographers, twitching frustrated fingers as Missy sparkled like never before.
As Missy and her husband were permitted by reverent order to kiss, cameras appeared from under seats and inside handbags. The flashes pierced her closed eyes. She broke the kiss and stared around as if caught in a deadly trap. That iconic look of interrupted innocence appeared on the cover of no less than three major magazines within the week.
Something changed in the press that day. They followed Missy in taxis and unmarked vans, taking pictures of her at the beach, with family, and through the windows of her home. Photos appeared of her getting drunk as she sought anonymity by any means. Soon there were pictures of her fighting with her husband, and both of them trying new and harder drugs. A photo of Missy with another man made the photographer’s career. The man went on to star in a hit reality show. Even in the sealed courtroom, as Missy wrangled with her soon-to-be-ex-husband, someone managed to secretly take photo after photo after photo.
As Missy left the courtroom a hoard of paparazzi caught her on the steps in a blaze of light. She shrieked and swore and swung at the nearest. The drip grabbed at her, and snagged a handful of fabric.
‘You want some?’ she shrilled. ‘Take it!’ She tore at the shirt, bursting the buttons, and threw it in his delighted face. Her bra followed, and the respectable skirt she’d worn to court. Famous undies matched the bra on the ground. The flashes were like an electric storm. Missy shielded, not her face or her nakedness, but somewhere near her heart. Soon there was nothing left to take.
Missy Myway was the sweetest of the starlets, and her soul was as great as the ocean. Even the ocean can be emptied, drip by drip.
THE END
And, today’s killer robot (from geekologie, I think):
S#33: Haiku
My friend just gave birth
It’s not real yet; not quite yet
Is it real to her?
When I grow up I’ll. . .
Be rich. Be nice. Be happy.
Mostly eat bacon
I don’t like waiting
Snow falls, then sun, then more snow
Stupid publishers
From geekologie
(She says, not really certain)
A killer robot:
S#22: A Boxoffice Night’s Dream – Inception Review (with Shakespearian flavour)
There’s been much ado about “Inception” – a movie about what dreams may come, and how they can be shaped. I’ve heard people are seeing it twice in order to figure out the darn plot – and that’s fair. But I would posit that (after the opening flash forward) you always know what’s going on and what’s at stake (which is all you need), and personally I plan to see it again just because it’s so excellent (and yes, I’ll enjoy understanding it a bit better the second time around).
This is a startlingly good thriller. The idea is trippy and fun – our minds are a very opal. There were moments of great emotion when I realised I would have been crying except that I was so thoroughly caught up in the action that I was too stressed to cry. I’ve heard it said that it’s really fantasy, not scifi, and I do recommend you take it that way – the ideas are fun, not realistic – and instead of technobabble they have a button and some coloured water (what more does one need? Personally, I’m grateful to avoid lectures and just get into the story.)
The acting is exquisite, and the writers manage a big-name ensemble cast without losing sight of who the true main characters are. This is a movie that does special effects seriously well, and doesn’t let them overwhelm a tense story. It’s also very funny, and bleeds sheer coolness from every pore. It also has the quality I loved in the first “Lord of the Rings” and the relatively recent “Italian Job” – intense, understated male camaraderie. Oh brave new world, that has such people in’t!
People who seriously dislike speculative fiction (especially the speculative/mind-bending parts) may not like it. I think everyone else will, especially those who like a thoughtful and/or well-characterised and/or funny thriller. I get bored fast when people talk about feelings. I love it when their feelings are going to GET EVERYONE KILLED.
I still love “Sherlock Holmes” most out of 2010’s films (I’m not all that big on mind-bending plots in general) but this is a movie I want to see again – as soon as possible.
And as the plot thickens in “Killer Robot Cat”, here’s another menacing look from one of my own killer cats:
#201: Blood (but no tears this time); or, Stop whining and go see a doctor.
The weather has it in for me.* Our bathroom has no fan, so our bathmats are forever getting wet and not drying out. Every so often I wash them (may as well) and hang them on the line. The trick is to do it first thing in the morning. Then, come late afternoon, they are bone-dry and delightfully fluffy underfoot.
I awoke to sunshine this morning. I washed and hung out the mats.
I collapsed back into bed in a state of existential despair (a predictable outcome of actually daring to venture interstate; recovery takes a long time).
I awoke to torrential rain.
Huh.
Too late to rescue the mats, I simply went to my scheduled doctor’s appointment. (I had some blood taken a month ago, and had received a non-urgent call that they wanted to talk to me about the results. I was rather nervous, since I’ve visibly gained weight since last visit, when the doctor advised me to cut down on chocolate***. She’s a daunting lady.)
I was kept waiting for almost an hour, during which time my anxiety grew.
Finally the moment came and I was called into the arena. My blood had revealed extremely low vitamin D levels – something that causes fatigue, muscle aches, and stomach cramps. She was kind enough not to bother suggesting radical treatment (such as going outside sometimes), but told me to take pills. That I can do. Everything else was normal. She advised me once again to eat less bad cholesterol, especially in milk and dairy, but rather than breaking down sobbing at the thought (which I did last time) I just said, “Not going to happen.” We repeated the conversation a few times, and I promised I might, someday, drink skim milk. She released me unharmed.
It is an indication of something amiss that I’d felt worse last time about being dishonest by omission (because apparently, in my mind, abject sobbing translates to, “Yes doctor. I’ll change my naughtiness at once!”) than about humiliating myself by crying. This time, I did neither.
So that was a great visit. I feel better, I didn’t cry, and I have a brand new genre of magic pills to make life all better.****
I then went to the shops to do various things. It was blindingly sunny, and I felt hopeful for the fate of my bathroom mats. Maybe they’d still dry out in time – or at least, enough to be brought inside.
I did the shopping, and emerged to another bout of torrential rain.
Like I said, the weather has it in for me.
But I’m getting my own back. I’m gonna take vitamin D tablets, and I NEVER NEED TO GO OUTSIDE AGAIN!!*****
I win.
Tomorrow: Bonus Inception review, plus awesomeness.
And from http://abstrusegoose.com/301, psychological proof (as if we needed it) cats are evil:
*too melodramatic?**
** nevaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr!
***Hah!
*****And again I say to you, hah!
*****Well, not if there’s a nice tunnel system built from my house to various crucial locations – and we finally buy that dryer we’ve been planning on.
S#30: Read outside (and, selling jewellery)
Today I took Garth Nix’s “Seventh Tower” fantasy series to a grassy area to read, adding to the gentle awesomeness with an entire backpack of lollies (I am in post-travel recovery mode at present, rather than jumping into a diet right away). I took Ana, who is a lot less confident when she’s outside.
She sat close by, her fur ruffled by the wind:
She ventured down and sniffed suspiciously at the unfamiliar grass:
She beat that scary grass into submission:
She courageously wandered farther afield:
And she bolted back to safety:
CJ and I have had my inherited jewellery valued (only in general terms so far – the more specific valuing will take a while). Here’s the good stuff, worth between $50 and $300 (can you tell which is which?) The plain silver ring is my wedding ring – all the rest is for sale, so if you are interested email me on fellissimo at hotmail dot com. I’ll tell you exactly how much it’s valued at as soon as I know.
The most valuable pieces are the sapphire and diamond ring on my index finger (I have the $200 receipt for it, so that wasn’t a surprise), the ring on the next finger with four real emeralds (and possibly small diamonds between them), the yellow pendant in my hand (worth at least $200), and the golden bracelet (which is actually gold, but dented and hollow – in perfect condition it’d be $800, but it’s worth much MUCH less than that now). The green necklace and bracelet are jade, the ring is a gold wedding ring (there’s another, broken one not pictured here which is good for someone to melt down). One of the rings on my wedding finger has five different gemstones in it – all real. The large stone is still a mystery. I also have a necklace made of large pieces of amber (which for some reason I didn’t photograph, but I can send you a photo if you’re interested). Most of these will end up on ebay sometime this year.
The centre of the large opal ring looks cloudy, and it needs cleaning. Other than that, they’re all in fine condition, and several of the bands are gold.
Like I said, if you’re interested in buying any, send me an email on fellissimo at hotmail dot com, or simply make a comment on this entry (and I’ll automatically get your email address without anyone else seeing it).
And here’s another terrifying true story making “Killer Robot Cat” look like a mild-mannered documentary:
http://www.facebook.com/l/a0bb3;www.wired.com/underwire/2009/07/military-researchers-develop-corpse-eating-robots/
#199: Stay in a backpacker
The Sydney YHA (directly across from the central station) has boys-only and girls-only rooms. That was cool. I slept in a four-person room that had two other girls: one of whom was unconscious when I arrived (at 11pm) and still unconscious when I left (at 6:30am), and the other one was reading when I arrived, and reading again when I left. We didn’t speak.
There are two awesome things about staying in a backpacker: First, you never know what you’re going to get. That’s always a thrill. Second, your life gets reduced way way down to a few basic things: Sleep. Minimal Personal hygiene. Cross-cultural manners. Getting to your next port of call. And ideally, some kind of food and drinkable water.
For me there’s a curious joy in living out of a single bag, and getting completely ready to go out while still in semidarkness. The previous night, I was stumbling so much with tiredness that people on the Sydney train system glared at me. But I woke up psyched, and was dressed and mostly ready before I even went to the bathroom (including “breakfast” of a Cherry Ripe).
My train to Canberra left at 7am, and was almost completely deserted. “Excellent,” I thought.
Moments before departure, a loud voice announced, “THIRTEEN! Why’d they have to put me in THIRTEEN!?”
Sure enough, the loud person sat in the seat directly in front of me, still talking. There was no one else in sight, so presumably he was talking to me.
At that point I had a choice – I could engage in conversation, which would probably make the train ride faster (or excruciatingly slow) – or I could pretend to sleep, and pretend hard.
“So,” I said, “Where are you from?”
He was a 71-year old wannabe Buddhist with a whole lot of superstitious beliefs. The woman in seat 11 (so there were others on the train after all) was a encephalitis survivor.
Encephalitis is a brain disease that takes over the brain from front to back, removing motor function and your ability to think as it goes. At one point she was unable to walk, and lay on a table in agony as doctors made jokes and refused to give her painkillers. At another point she was unable to figure out how to make a sandwich – but if someone placed the ingredients in front of her, she could do it.
98% of encephalitis sufferers die. She is fully recovered – except she needs to nap in the afternoons.
That is what I call awesome.
We also passed a steam train at Queanbeyan station, as it was preparing to depart (the blue is the reflection of my train’s seats on the window glass):
I gently re-emailed Publisher B today. They may reply today, or tomorrow – or not. I’ll let you know when they do.
I arrived home safely around noon on Sunday, and actually had tutoring that afternoon. Mercifully, my cold hasn’t reappeared (although I’m severely hanging out for the weekend). Other than around $1000 in transport and conference fees, my recent adventures cost me 5 kilos (at least). Being brave and pro-active is always costly. The worst is over now, but it’ll take me months to fully recover (both financially and weight-wise). On the other hand, the contacts I made will probably set me right for several years and/or make the difference in getting me published. So it was worth it, I think.
Here’s another pic of a cat modelling to become a killer robot:
She’s watching you. . .
#198: Endure until Awesome
We’re still on our journey through last Saturday, at the CYA Later, Alligator writing conference in Brisbane.
Kids, I’ve been to university. I know what it’s like to pay loads of money to sit in a room listening to someone’s monotone and ultimately learn nothing except how to sleep sitting up.
. . .
I swallowed my tears to stay at the conference, and – to my Shock and Awe – I learnt stuff. Probably the most interesting tip was from Rebecca Johnson (who writes for those Steve Parish picture books*) who checks her stories for fatal flaws by telling them aloud to her family.
No-one will read your 200,000 word opus and say, “I didn’t really like the main character, and I think the story should be set in China, not America” (well, Ben would). That’s telling someone to throw away their year’s work and start over. But they’d do it if you described the story verbally.
I also really enjoyed talks/workshops by Chris Morphew, Steve Cole (a manic Brit), and Gabrielle Wang.
But here’s the thing. Remember the girl I accidentally ran into in Melbourne? She’s from Publisher D. I knew another Publisher D person was in Brisbane, so when I saw her I went and said hello, and that I was about to send a book to the original person. They said, “Oh!” and let me know the head of the kids’ department was two seats away. So I talked to both of them.
That’s three useful contacts at one publisher (a big one, and one Publisher J specifically recommended for me at the pitch). Yay!
So, here’s how I stand with my top 12 publishers (letters are assigned randomly, although all the biggies are represented here):
Publisher A – I didn’t get into their editorama competition (not even the long list), but I DID meet a physical person from the company while in Melbourne. And I made her laugh. She’s not from the kids’ department, but she should be able to vouch for my personal hygiene and/or charm.
Action: These guys really liked “Stormhunter” (their freelance reader said, “I unconditionally recommend this for publication”) but rejected it because the marriage plotline was no good for YA. Now that I’ve cut that plotline, I plan to resend it – after Publisher B is done with it.
Publisher B: I’ve met the head of adult fantasy (through a pitching competition at a con in New Zealand, then again at a con in Canberra) and the head of the children’s depatment (in July, in Sydney). They still have both “The Monster Apprentice” and “Stormhunter” after 9/15 months. They still haven’t responded to my gentle reminder email on 11 August (usually they reply in 24 hours). Publisher B gives comments, so I’m not sending them elsewhere unless I get desperate.
Action: I’ll email them again tomorrow (their acquisitions meetings are every second Tuesday, so it’s hypothetically possible they’ll reply today).
Publisher C: Met one of the adult publishers in Melbourne, and asked for the email address of the kids’ department head, which he gave me.
Action: I just sent her the first three chapters of “Waking Dead Mountain”, making sure she knew who I’d met so he can vouch for me.
Publisher D: Met one of the children’s publishers at Sydney, and asked her for her email address for “The Princess and the Pirate” (the one book I haven’t already sent them). She gave it to me. I ran into her again in Melbourne, and said hi (and that the book would be ready soon). I ran into an adult publisher and the head of the kids’ department in Brisbane, mentioned I was sending the original person “The Princess and the Pirate”, and made them laugh.
Action: Finish editing “The Princess and the Pirate” and send it, mentioning all those I met along the way.
Publisher E: No actual contact, but they gave me comments when I sent them a book.
Action: Keep in mind.
Publisher F: No actual contact, but they always reply within 3 months.
Action: Keep in mind.
Publisher G: I didn’t win their editing competition.
Action: Keep in mind.
Publisher H: Chatted to one of their people in Sydney (I was moderately charming, if memory serves). Talked about “Farting my ABCs”. She said to up the word count by 3000, and submit it when they’re open to submissions again.
Action: Up the word count by 3000, but no hurry – they’re not gonna re-open for a long time. I may even send it elsewhere in the meantime.
Publisher I: Listened to a really cool publisher guy’s talk at Melbourne.
Action: Send something to him someday. Ideally this year.
Publisher J: Very literary and no fantasy. Met one of the two publisher people in Brisbane (a paid pitch, so she’ll definitely remember me, and she already knows I write well). Told her about the realist novel, and it sounds like none of the off-putting aspects are off-putting to her (but they’re closed to submissions).
Action: Send her the realist novel – but not until they’re open to submissions.
Publisher K: Rather literary. Listened to a really cool publisher girl’s talk at Melbourne.
Action: I just sent her the opening of my realist novel.
Publisher L: No connection.
Action: Keep in mind.
So! That’s my current status. It should keep me busy for the next few years. My most urgent jobs are editing “The Princess and the Pirate” (I’m very excited about that company) and the realist novel (K is likely to request more within a month).
Here’s another killer robot from the site I mentioned yesterday:
Tomorrow: Stay at a backpacker. . . is there room at the inn? Is the only bed available in a 12-person room full of drunken Norweigans making grunting noises? Was I killed in the train ride home? I will tell you that encephalitis was involved.
*And only gets royalties for the most recent ten or so! Arg!
Felicity Banks 
