Shameless Advertising
One of the concepts new writers struggle with is self-promotion. I don’t. (*gasp of shock from the crowd*)
Here are some of the blogs I’ve snuck this blog address into (most belong to writers, and are well worth visiting):
WARNING: Blogs are the property of their writers and might not be G-rated.
http://ripping-ozzie-reads.blogspot.com/
http://terrytaylor.posterous.com
http://onzeproductions.com/Site/Home.html
www.susancrosswrites.blogspot.com
http://antiquityoaks.blogspot.com
http://jaijoshiz.blogspot.com/
http://writingwonder.wordpress.com/
jentropy.com
If you love me, follow me on twitter.com (and if you love me a lot, make your friends follow me).
Prequel
Here’s a present to while away the long minutes (over 15,000 to go) until the TwitterTale begins. This story features the main character (though unfortunately Salty’s name changed to “Sol” after publication), and is effectively a prequel.
It is NOT NOT NOT okay for children. Contains child and other abuse.
Title: TAR
http://drolleriepress.com/news-and-commentary/needles-bones-2/
I have written the first seven days of the tale – they took about an hour each, and range between 1 and 3 posts each day.
Flashmob Launch
Always wanted to be part of a flashmob? Or join a pirate crew?
To help “launch” my twitter novel on Saturday 1 August, dress in your most piratical gear and relax calmly in/around Tilleys Devine Cafe (Lyneham shops, Canberra, Australia) or browse in/near the excellent secondhand bookshop next door. Attempt to arrive/don pirate gear at 2pm (park at the nearby schools if necessary), and vanish or change into an ordinary citizen at 2:30pm.
Bonus points for speaking as a pirate.
Yes, there will be candy and free flash (under 1000 words) stories. I and my minions will be randomly handing them out to any pirates we see/hear.
Extra candy for children. Because pirates care.
Flashmob Launch
Always wanted to be part of a flashmob? Or a pirate crew?
To help “launch” the twitter novel on Saturday 1 August, dress in your most piratical gear and relax calmly in/around Tilleys Devine Cafe (Lyneham shops, Canberra, Australia) or browse in/near the excellent secondhand bookshop next door.
Arrive/don pirate gear at 2pm (park at the nearby schools if necessary), and vanish or change into an ordinary citizen at 2:30pm.
Bonus points for speaking as a pirate.
Yes, there will be candy and free flash (under 1000 words) stories. I and my minions will be randomly handing them out to any pirates we see/hear.
Extra candy for children. Because pirates care.
One Canberran who is prepped and ready to go.
Yo ho ho!
Hello and welcome (you scurvy landlubber with the face of a rotting dog). It’s almost two weeks until the tale begins, so here’s a few things to think about in preparation: ADD. Pirates. Tropical sunsets and a blind first mate. Do parrots tweet?
If you want to join, write a comment and I’ll automatically get your email and go from there.
Angry!
According to my certificate (which makes me certified insane) I have anxiety and depression. I almost always disagree with the depression part – I think I have rational reasons to be unhappy a lot of the time (namely, my anxiety – and things not going swimmingly on the novel-writing front).
When things are worse than usual, my reaction is not to curl up and vanish into an emotionless existence. It’s anger. I MUCH prefer anger. It’s an active emotion, and therefore often a helpful one. Unfortunately this means I’m angry pretty much all the time – at my SO, at anyone driving on my road when I’m in my car, at my students (some of whom are as young as eight).
My basic strategy is to recognise I’m really angry at myself. (Of course, there are certain limitations to constant self-loathing. . .) I deal with THAT by expressing my anger – with chocolate. It’s a (relatively) benevolent form of self-harm, and it gets me through most days.
So right now, on limited chocolate intake, I’m a nasty person to be around.
Rarr
Weighty Matters
Maltesers weight about 2.3 grams on average.
Natural confectionary dinosaurs are about 6.5 grams, or 3.3 grams by the terms of my plan.
Creme brulee squares weigh about 5.8 grams each, while the equivalent portion of caramello square is just over 6 grams.
Jelly belly jelly beans weigh under 1.1 grams, which gives them a Felicity-weight of half a gram.
But who’s counting?
Superheroes of 2009: Paranoia Girl wins the day!
Is it paranoia if you’re right?
I’m housesitting a two-storey townhouse for a friend all this week while she and her family enjoy a jaunt in sunny Queensland.
It’s part of a row of identical townhouses in which there are sets of two mirror-image houses. Pairs of balconies face one another over a tin roof, under which both households park their cars (so the result is balcony, two-car shared carport, and another balcony). The cars face the bathroom windows, which have sills.
I figured out more or less instantly that I would, at some point during the week, lock myself out. It’s kind of what I do. My friends weren’t comfortable with the idea of me leaving a spare key in the carport or letterbox, so I came up with a cunning plan: I left a key on the balcony. I was confident that climbing up the balcony would be a breeze – because of the bathroom window sill. Like a convenient step up to the roof, which is as good as being on the balcony.
My friends accepted the terms (foolishly thinking I was too smart to lock myslf out), and my SO (who knows me better) asked me to call him (if possible) before attempting the climb.
Sure enough, I locked myself out today while checking their mail.
My attire: pajamas (with a hole in a fairly important area); limited underwear; unbrushed hair and teeth; thongs and brilliantly-striped toe socks.
My useful tools: no money of any kind; no phone. Possible fire-starting or lock-picking glasses (if I broke them, and could pick locks).
My surroundings: a park. a carpark. Friendly neighbours who’ve never seen me before.
I took a wheelie bin and moved it between my friends’ parked car and their bathroom window. I removed my thongs and socks for improved mobility and grip. I tucked my ankle-length skirt up into my undies (my pajamas include an ankle-length skirt) for improved ability to move (ie so I didn’t attempt to swing my leg up, get tangled, and fall to my death). For some reason, this made me think of Indiana-Jones type movies (probably because of the traditional ripping-of-the-business-skirt trick).
I achieved the bedroom window in three steps: ground, car, wheelie bin –>window. I’d never noticed that the window sill isn’t flat, but at about a 45 degree angle.
There’s roughly half a metre between the bathroom wall and the inside edge of the carport roof. Unfortunately, the roof was high enough that it was above the level of my chest – definitely above my centre of gravity. I spent a significant amount of time holding myself propped against the carport roof, shivering and barefoot, wondering if I could actually jump high enough to get enough of me onto the roof to be able to get at least one leg up – or would I simply dangle off the roof until I fell?
The SO’s workplace is about an hour’s walk away. My nose began to run in the freezing wind. I couldn’t help but notice that the near side of the carport roof was rather sharp all along the edge facing me. A bus drove past, and I hoped they couldn’t tell that my skirt was tucked into my undies. Several cars also drove past. I examined the picture windows of the row of identical townhouses directly across from me (no significant plants, just carpark – a plain of bitumen only a few metres across). As far as I could tell, I was not being watched.
I imagined my SO and friends’ reaction if I tried to push myself up off their security light, breaking it (and possibly myself) in the process.
Had to jump. Had to scrape leg. Better than walking an hour in Winter to show up at my husband’s work while not wearing shoes, underwear, or intact clothing.
I ALMOST jumped.
*repeat* *repeat* *repeat*
I tested the security light with my foot. It was bolted on pretty good. I tried to push it. It didn’t budge.
Took a breath. Pushed off the security light and landed on the roof. Got my left leg up, and the other leg was easy. I vaulted the balcony fence, found the key just where I left it, and let myself in!
No one will ever know. . .
And for the record, paranoia DEFINITELY pays.
Australia’s most important book?
I’m a fiction reader, so my most chilling “experience” of historical trauma is through books such as “The Doomsday Book” by Connie Willis, and “The China Coin” by Allan Bailie.
Yesterday’s book was far more horrifying, because it was historical fiction set right now, and in Australia – and the atrocities detailed are both preventable, and still happening. (I believe comedian Ahn Do has written an autobiographical book on his own family’s journey, which will probably be read by more people – and no-one can claim he’s being implausible, since he was there.)
MORRIS GLEITZMAN
Boy Overboard
Girl Underground
These books are very funny and action-packed, with boy/girl-next door characters that every kid will relate to. Boy Overboard has some extremely scary scenes, while the second book’s emotional core comes through letters (which strike hard, because Gleitzman is a world-class writer).
I love Australia, and – like anyone who’s travelled elsewhere in the world – I am proud of belonging here. A huge chunk of my mind still struggles with the concept that we – the good guys – are putting refugees in jail. YES, some are rich (rich people can still be killed for having the wrong religion). YES, many are delusional about how great Australia is (is making Australia worse really the best way to combat this?). YES, many don’t talk English more gooder enough (shockingly, not everyone who’s desperate is educated). YES, there are millions of others who would come here if they could (and I’m sure that OUR kids are more important than THEIR kids).
An Indian aquaintance of mine was held for three months because he’d screwed up his paperwork. (And of course he wasn’t told how long it would be – which is particularly worrying, since he had serious anger issues before he went in.)
One of my best friends (from Kenya) was deported with two weeks’ notice because, despite driving herself to top every other recorded score on a (required) computer skills course, and despite being brilliant, beautiful, and compassionate (with perfect English and an ambition to join the UN), she also screwed up her paperwork. When someone that smart can’t make sense of the system, something is wrong.
Another close friend of mine married an Indonesian, and had to struggle for over two years (usually separated) to get permission for her to live here. This one’s the happy one, because eight years later, they and their kid are loving life.
Yes, children are held in “detention” centres. Yes, our system is stacked against ANYONE who tries to come here (apparently, conducting a gay relationship in the detention centre does NOT prove that someone is really gay enough to be in danger in their criminally homophobic home country). Yes, this is really happening here – not in the wacky US of A – here.
The only moment in either book that didn’t ring true was the bit where the general public of Australia stands up and says, “Hey, no! Holding refugee children in jail is wrong.” Of all the things that happen in the book, that’s the only bit that hasn’t happened – and still isn’t happening. At that point I almost threw the book across the room, because I was so upset.
Rating: PG (very scary scenes) – G for Girl Overboard
Recommendation: 8 and up, definitely including adults – kids will laugh; adults will cry.
advice for the newly insane
This isn’t going to sound encouraging, but. . .
The first year is the hardest.
Nine pieces of advice:
1. If you’re able to keep working (in whatever work, to whatever extent), then do so. There’s nothing more conducive to mental illness than sitting at home doing nothing (so if you can’t do regular work, give yourself other things to do – as much as you’re able). But don’t push yourself too hard, either – you need to figure out what a realistic goal looks like in your new situation.
2. If you are really mentally ill, you WILL NOT wake up one day and realise you are better. You will probably improve a great deal over time, but don’t try to be extra-impressive to make up for lost time/money or you are likely to make yourself sicker than ever. The hardest thing to accept about mental illness is that change ONLY comes slowly – like year by year (not week by week). The problem is in your head, and no amount of major life change will help you (except with good sense and a great deal of time thrown in). This hurts, I know.
3. Whatever you do, keep up your basic personal hygiene – brush your teeth and hair, wash yourself and wash your hair and clothes. If you can pretty yourself up (neat clothes, makeup, shaving legs/face depending on gender and whether you think a beard is attractive), do it as much as you can.
4. Finances will probably suck – my debts peaked at double my yearly income (mostly because of rent). Keep in mind that you’ll probably be sick at least a year, so if you have savings you’ll need them. There are four things that you actually NEED in life:
a) Somewhere to live – if at all possible, move in with family or friends – make sure you are VERY respectful to all their boundaries, and that you set a specific date to sit down together and decide whether it’s better for you to stay or go – probably 3 or 6 months down the track. Otherwise, pick the cheapest place you can stand that doesn’t isolate you in terms of transport. If you own your house/apartment or have a spare room, consider renting it out.
b) Health – mainly groceries (and soap, toothpaste, and shampoo). You don’t need dairy products to live – you do need protein (cheapest is sausages), vegetables, fruit and starch (cheapest is rice – more edible if you fry it with sugar). Some health issues don’t need treatment (dermatitis, pimples) and some do. Learn the difference.
c) Transport – walking or cycling is brilliant, public transport good, and cars are expensive – but versatile.
d) Maintain human relationships – you’ll need a working phone (it’s unlikely that you need a landline), probably internet/internet cafe, and careful planning for social events (try to arrange parties at your house with people bringing things – you may end up with a free meal. For presents, try burning CDs, making biscuits, etc). Sometimes you may have to skip parties or simply admit, “I can’t come unless you pay for my share of the meal”.
5. Stay in contact with some of humanity – no matter how annoying they are. Be honest – but smart. In my opinion, you need at least three real-life, face-to-face friends who know most of what you’re going through (one is a lot, but three should help that one not to get overburdened).
It is vital that you are genuinely fun at least some of the time – whether it’s seeing a movie (if you’re too depressed to make conversation that’s a good way of hiding your true feelings) or simply lying that you’re having fun.
Be aware that the two most common reactions to mental illness are fear/embarrassment, and disbelief (sometimes from the most unexpected people – including those who are ill themselves). Whatever shreds of a sense of humour you still have – use. You can get away with a lot more honesty if you can turn your horrors into funny stories.
6. If possible, exercise. If you’re holding up particularly well, try to stay in the healthy weight range (but you’ll be very rare if you do).
7. Take prescription drugs. They’re AMAZING. (St John’s wort is a herb with some beneficial effects, so you can start there if you like – but don’t combine it with anything else.) So many mentally ill people don’t remember what it’s like to be sane – until they spend a week on drugs, and suddenly their thoughts get rational again. It’s like the sun coming out after months of blanket clouds.
8. Accept as much as you can (some friendships will fail, you won’t be buying that flatscreen TV, you’re probably not as good at your job, etc). Fight to keep the rest.
9. Give yourself a break. Be miserable, grumpy, lazy etc for at LEAST a day every week – more when things are especially difficult. I have a theory that our stressful, pressured culture causes mental illness. So you have to resist all the pressure telling you to work/clean etc. It’s not easy.
Felicity Banks 