Kick
My cat Ana came and sat on my lap today, all snuggled up against me as I was reading. Louisette kicked her through my stomach – right in the head.
As usual when Ana feels affectionate, she chose to ignore any hint of movement. Twice.
This marks the first interaction between our “kids” – human and otherwise.
Tomorrow: The first of seven “Narnia Chronicles” reviews.
Next week: Gory pics from this Saturday’s Zombie Walk.
Things my mum did right
Probably the two greatest things my parents did for me were having a stable marriage, and making vegetables part of everyday life. But three moments from childhood (very possibly the last three my mum would think of) stick out in my mind as meaning a great deal to me.
1. One day my mum took me out of school for a dentist’s appointment. After the appointment was done, I realised Mum wasn’t taking me back to school. I asked her where we were going, and she said we’d just hang out for the rest of the day – which we did. As I recall, we also bought a pair of shoes. It was a day of glorious, unexpected freedom.
2. One holiday, my whole family went and stayed with my maternal grandma and grandpa in Coffs Harbour. Coffs Harbour has a beach, which is pretty much the definition of “holiday” in Australia. My brother and sister and I all knew that we were expected to assist in either cooking or hand-washing dishes every day, and we’d long since grown used to the idea (at home we had a dishwasher, but we were used to daily food chores). One day my grandmother told me to dust.
At home I was accustomed to washing bathrooms, doing clothes washing, cooking, dishes, vacuuming, tidying up public areas, gardening, and various other chores – but dusting was unfamiliar (I imagine Mum did it herself rather than risk her bits of precious). Not only was it unfamiliar, but it was a hot day, I was on holiday, and my grandma was acting as if I’d done nothing to contribute to the household and should have already offered to dust for her. We both got narky fast. To my enduring surprise, my Mum stood up for me, pointing out that I was on holiday, that I’d been doing my share of the chores, and that I was taken by surprise by her demand. I felt respected (and did the dusting).
3. Way back in primary school, four deep holes were dug in our backyard. My siblings and I discovered them when we arrived home from school. “I wonder what they’re for,” said Mum. “Something must be coming. Something. . . unusual.”
Soon after that day, the four holes were filled with concrete. “Hmm,” said Mum. “What could it possibly be?” I don’t remember the ensuing discussion very clearly, but I think there may have been suggestions about dinosaurs and/or aliens coming to our backyard.
Some time later, we came home from school, all a-wonder, and – THERE WAS AN ENTIRE PLAYGROUND IN OUR YARD. It had a variety of swings, a slide, monkey bars, and so on. In short, it was brilliant. We spent many hours playing on that playground for years afterwards, but when I look back it’s the fantastic, magic-edged mystery surrounding the arrival of an unknown something that sticks with me. I still love that sense of wonder.
Hopefully my own kids will have a few incidents like those that stick out in their memories and hearts.
I am twenty-eight weeks pregnant today, which means Louisette is now medically a “baby” rather than a “fetus”. From now on, even if she was born tomorrow, she’d probably be fundamentally all right. My muscle pain moved to my back for a while, but now seems to be largely gone. I’ve felt a million times better ever since the second trimester was done. Here’s some pics from the Moulin Rouge party (“Cabaret” was the other costume option) CJ and I attended last Saturday (it looks like I’m sticking ym belly out; I’m not):
Moulin Rouge Party
I could talk about the conversation, the food, and the venue – or I could just show you what you missed:
You’re welcome, gentlemen.
Is that a zombie I see before me?
This Saturday is World Zombie Day, and Monday night is Halloween.
If you’d like to join my Zombie Walk (a small but piquant affair) either meet us at Canberra’s civic chess pit at 4:30 or email me at fellissimo at hotmail dot com for details about when and where to get your high-quality makeup on.
Here are some zombie-related news articles to get you in the mood (and I can guarantee our pics will be far more impressive):
http://au.news.yahoo.com/a/-/latest/10767429/record-gathering-of-zombies-in-queensland/
http://au.news.yahoo.com/thewest/a/-/national/10423303/police-use-zombie-day-to-test-web-page/
Steampunk weddings
Like many steampunks, I fell into the subculture because of the outfits (and stayed for the books). My own wedding had some minor steampunk characteristics – our wedding clothes were tailored by a friend of ours, and my dress had corset-style lacing added to the back. There were tophats and swords involved, too.
Other steampunks have gone all out and made amazing pictures. Here are two for your enjoyment:
http://blog.jadeandmatthew.com/?p=5862
And my friend Steff Metal:
http://offbeatbride.com/2009/10/new-zealand-halloween-wedding
Show and Tell
One of the best pieces of writing advice is “Show, don’t tell”. For a tiny example, here is telling:
Bob was sad.
And showing:
Bob swallowed hard, but the tears spilled over all the same.
The second shows character (he is trying to resist crying, and failing) and is unique to Bob. That makes it more interesting. It also draws in the reader with sensory detail (we see the tears).
The same principle applies on a much grander scale. Some examples of bad writing include:
Bob was tough. (No! Show him being tough with an entire scene. And then again whenever a situation is likely to bring out his toughness.)
Bob grew up poor. (Generally this is best shown by his actions – does he always carefully count and recount his change? Does he wear his Armani suits until they literally wear out?)
And so on.
You’ll notice “show, don’t tell” ups your word count by a huge amount (it’s very much something you fix in editing, rather than stopping every three seconds in your first draft to ask, “But HOW is he sad?”)
It IS possible, however, to show too much. It’s unlikely anyone cares exactly what colour your heroine’s hair is (you can say “mousy” instead of “brown” if you like – or leave the hair colour to the imagination), especially if you’ve just spent a paragraph each on the exact shade of her eyes and the exact shade of her dress. It’s very unlikely anyone cares about the history of the taxi driver who takes her to the airport (unless he’s integral to the plot, interesting, AND the taxi conversation shows the heroine’s character or brings up a central conflict).
Today’s article link is to Lynn Price at the Behler blog, who writes:
The biggest problem I see is authors who don’t know when and how to use show. There are plenty of times when a character can simply cross a room without it taking up five paragraphs. Same for the piece of cake. The trick is to utilize show at the right time…when the scene allows for it.
“Goliath” by Scott Westerfeld
Yes! I haz it at last!
“Goliath” is the final book in Scott Westerfeld’s young adult steampunk trilogy (I reviewed the other two here). Since it’s set in the early days of World War One (a very alternate reality, in which “Clanker” technology – all metal and gears – is pitted against “Darwinist” technology – genetically altered beasts including the enormous flying airship “Leviathan”), it’s technically dieselpunk.
The rest of this review has been moved to Comfy Chair, where I get paid for it.
Strange Binge
While buying milk from our local shops, I caught sight of a pot of hummus.
Mmm, hummus.
Then there was some beetroot dip next to it.
Mmm, beetroot.
Next to that, some basil, cashew and parmesan dip.
Mmm, basil-cashews-parmesan.
So I bought them all, and ate about half of all three pots in a single afternoon.
Then I didn’t want them any more, and fed them to guests at the baby shower.
And that represents most of the vegetables I ate last week.
Baby Shower
As of today, I am in my third trimester (27 weeks), and have just squeaked under the three-months-until-the-due-date line.
Most people have their baby shower in the third trimester (to give themselves something to look forward to), but I had mine last Saturday (so I’d be in the best possible shape for it; so it was far away from Christmas; and so I knew where I stood in baby supply terms as soon as possible).
My nephew and I:
The weather suddenly turned perfect, and it was an idyllic scene on the covered deck of my parents’ house (this is my dad and dad-in-law):
The decorations were made by my sister, and one of my friends arranged games and prizes.
One game was that we each had a bracelet made of paperclips, and if you caught anyone saying “baby” you took one of their paperclips. Another was thinking up A-Z baby names (two points for every unique name), and the third game – by far the most popular – was decorating cupcakes. Much experimentation was had, and it worked really well for all ages.
Out of respect and pity for the older generations, the shower started with a game-free hour and devonshire tea. It was very pleasant. We had three relatives from out of town, so it was particularly good to have the opportunity to talk to them before the rabble arrived*.
Here’s my breakdown of the purpose of a baby shower, and how successful it was:
1. To celebrate something wonderful, and include friends and family in the happy event.
Highly successful.
2. So people you don’t necessarily see all that often can witness the mum-to-be’s giant belly (otherwise the entire birth thing seems highly implausible and, for Doctor Who fans, frankly suspicious).
Highly successful.
3. To give the mum-to-be something to look forward to when she’s feeling oh so pregnant.
Successful (although I was very sick for days beforehand in nervous anticipation, because that’s how I roll).
4. To help the parents-to-be financially.
Mildly successful. I had been telling everyone who would listen for months that we had enough baby clothes, but clothing still made up three-quarters of the gifts. Clothes ARE at least a practical present – but we honestly did have rather a lot already. (I had realised a lot of people wouldn’t recognise how desperate I was for certain non-clothing items, and had taken aside several close friends and not-so-subtley suggested specific items – so I had quite a good haul overall.) Three cheers for the various gifts of lotions, baby soap, nappies, etc – and a rousing huzzah! for the friend that did actually read the wish list I’d carefully prepared, and bought me a nappy bucket without me having to have an awkward “Please buy me this specific item” conversation first. Once I have a little girl to dress up in dozens of brand-new beautiful outfits, I won’t care that there are a few minor items we don’t have. I just wish I could make some kind of contribution to our finances, instead of swallowing them up on a daily basis. Still, I suppose I’m doing my bit to contribute to the family in a very literal sense 🙂
Today I bought two dresses from the Salvos that will hopefully see me through the next few months (my current wearable clothing is somewhat limited, and increasingly uncomfortable). That was a lot of fun. I also acquired a swiss exercise ball to help with muscle pains.
Great news – my hip and leg pain is definitely diminishing. According to my midwife, it was caused by a CHANGE in hormones, not a steady increase (which would have meant it was going to continue getting worse until the birth). So I’m in pretty good shape this week.
Random bad news: I received my final rejection from my American literary agent experiment. This particular agent came relatively close to taking me on, and gave me extremely balanced and useful comments – so after a day of self-pity I’m happily editing the steampunk novel ready to send it to agents in Australia.
Random good news: One of my best friends is moving to Canberra for at least a year, starting in June! She is several months ahead of me in baby terms, so it is an especially good time to have her around. It’s hard to think of any good event that could outdo her presence in my home town.
*You know who you are.
Do not ask for whom the fluff falls
It falls for THEE!
At around this time every year, parts of Canberra are inundated with flying fluff as hundreds of white poplars do their pollination thing. It represents torture to allergy sufferers, Christmassy delights to snow-lovers, and a dire warning to students at the Australian National University (since it coincides with the beginning of the final term of the year).
This incredibly silly article sets out to disprove the myth that “If you haven’t started studying when the fluff begins to fall, you will fail at your exams.”
Yes, clearly, some people don’t particularly need to study (English major, anyone? I speak as one who knows). Hard-hitting journalism indeed.
It is a time in Canberra that is particularly peculiar and thus particularly enjoyable. Here’s hoping Her Majesty (who’s popping by her most distant colony this week) doesn’t suffer from hayfever.
