Superstition
I hate praying for things, because I’m always startled (and hurt) when prayers aren’t answered. Also I cry a lot when I pray (and also swear a lot, but that’s another story).
Perhaps the difference between faith and superstition is that faith is calm. (I’m not calm.)
Church is often difficult to endure, because there’s a lot of people and a lot of emotions. Yesterday was an especially bad day. I sat in the car crying, hoping that if I sat very still no-one would notice I was there.
Every so often with my writing, I get to a point where I think I can’t endure another day. Unfortunately, my storytelling nature immediately concludes that I won’t have to – I’ve reached the critical moment of my autobiography, and everything’s about to get good.
Yesterday was one of those days. I know life doesn’t work that way – apart from anything else, I’ve endured many years beyond what I thought was my maximum – but I still felt sure Harper Collins was about to call me (on a Sunday afternoon) and say, “It’s brilliant! Sublime! I’ve made an executive decision to publish every snivelling line you’ve ever written!” Even though I knew better, and was mostly annoyed at the whole sensation.
Did I mention almost 50% of writers are mentally ill?
Companion to Day Seventeen: Girl Pirates Part 1
8:30am
A man muttered something to his crewmates while Sol was out of sight. I crept up and grabbed his arm.
He shrieked – EXACTLY like a girl.
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I know what you’re all thinking: “We SAW Keira Knightley in Pirates of the Carribean 3 – women don’t look like women just because they wear pants. It’s silly!”
It’s also a historical fact.
The two best known pirates are Anne Bonny and Mary Read, both written about in considerable detail in my ultimate pirate book, “A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates” (published 1724 by an anonymous author who was almost definitely a pirate himself – or herself).
The author himself writes that the story sounds made up. However, there were thousands of Jamaican witnesses at their respective trials, so the stories are from the women themselves.
It all starts with Mary Read’s mother, who gave birth to a son, then discovered her husband was lost at sea. According to the book, “Nevertheless, the mother, who was young and airy, met with an accident, which has often happened to women who are young and do not take a great deal of care; which was, she soon proved to be with child again.”
Oh, what to do, what to do?
First she visited friends, to hide the fact she was pregnant. It was there she gave birth to a girl, and stayed several years.
By sheer chance, her son died. At this point, being poor, she came up with a cunning plan. If she could switch children, she could get her rich mother-in-law to give her money to raise her “grandson”. So that’s what she did.
Unfortunately, the mother in law soon died, so Mary worked as a footman from a young age.
All in all, by the time little Mary Read was fully grown, she was extremely well practised at acting in every way like a boy. She became a trooper, and was well known for “his” courage, although it was thought rather odd that she’d always volunteer for any fight involving her comrade (with whom she shared a tent).
Her comrade just thought “he” was a great friend. Until she “accidentally” blew her cover one day. Then he thought, “Even better! I got me a free woman, all to myself!”
He was very startled when Mary resisted his advances, despite clearly being in love with him. Eventually she won him over (as all women do in the end), and they were properly and honourably married. Both were very poor, but they pooled their money and Mary finally wore a dress.
Cue media furore. It’s not often soldiers marry each other. The pair was so popular they were given financial help from their fellow soldiers. They were very happy, but the husband died very young.
At that point Mary did what was necessary to live. She dressed as a man again, and became a sailor – which, when it didn’t go well, soon became piracy. She continued to be very well known for her bravery – and to reserve herself for marriage only (although there weren’t any ministers available to make her marriage official).
On one occasion her lover (whom she very seriously considered her husband) challenged another pirate to a duel. Mary showed her love and courage by arranging ANOTHER duel with the same pirate – two hours earlier. She killed him, saving her own life and possibly the life of her partner.
During the battle that ended in her capture, she was one of only three “men” still fighting on deck. She “called to those under deck to come up and fight like men, and finding that they did not stir, fired her arms down the hold amongst them, killing one and wounding others.”
She denied that particular charge, but was certainly on deck when most of her pirate shipmates were letting her risk her life to save them.
Not surprisingly, all the pirates were brought to court, having lost the battle. Some were let off, but Mary was not. She was sentenced to death. The court that heard her was so sympathetic they might have let her off, except that a conversation was repeated in which she had said she supported the punishment of hanging for piracy, because otherwise everyone would turn pirate (rather than just the desperate, like herself). Since she was pregnant, however, the hanging was put off. She might still have been pardoned after some jail time, but she died of a fever in prison.
Her partner, however, was one of those who was pardoned. She “commended the justice of the court before which she was tried, for distinguishing the nature of their crimes; her husband, as she called him, with several others, being aquitted; and being asked who he was, she would not tell, but said he was an honest man and had no inclination to such practises, and they had both resolved to leave the pirates their first opportunity, and apply themselves to some honest livelihood.”
The freedom of her husband gave her some comfort in tha last months of her life.
Companion to Day Sixteen: Swordfighting
3:00pm
My back and wrists ached. The sword tutor asked, ‘Will this island have women then?’
‘I suppose.’
He cheered and toasted Sol – with my rum.
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I’ve had precisely one swordfighting lesson, and I know enough to know it takes more than one lesson. And the wrist angles just feel wrong. Sorta like when your PE teacher teaches you how to hold a cricket bat properly.
The song in my head
I’ve had the same song in my head, on and off, since early 2006. It’s “Blow up the Pokies” by the Whitlams (about gambling addiction). At first thought, it seems like a weird choice. But then I look at the words of the one small section I remember (I’ve only seen the song played once, on “The Panel”), and it all makes sense:
And I wish, I wish I knew the right words [what writer doesn’t think that every day?]
To make you feel better, walk out of this place [the mental space of the unpublished writer is very dark]
To help you in your secret battles [something addicts and the mentally ill have in common]
So that you can be your own man again
So that you can be your own man again [don’t I just wish I could stand on my own two feet]
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Plus it’s a pretty tune 🙂
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I’m taking votes for the style of the next twittertale (which will begin sometime in October and end December 31) here:
http://twittertales.wordpress.com/2009/08/15/companion-to-day-fifteen-vote/
Companion to Day Fifteen: Vote
I’ll be writing another twittertale after “Worse Things Happen at Sea”. Some possible features are below for you to say “Yes”, “Maybe” or “Please No!” to. (It should be noted that I may ignore all votes, depending on what ideas work at the time.) Further suggestions are VERY welcome.
The length will be between 2 and 3 months, so it’ll end on 31 December.
Please add your suggestions below – but I won’t be using any other writer’s characters, world, or magic (so no vampires, people).
Genre/setting:
A) Crime
B) Romance (definitely combined with another genre)
C) Fantasy on Rahana (same world as “Worse Things Happen at Sea” though not necessarily same characters or historical period)
D) Different fantasy world.
E) Canberra (works well with using Christmas as a part of the tale – sarcasm guaranteed)
Plot:
A) Something heroic, eg rescuing a people group from a tyrannous leadership.
B) Quest
C) Household renovation
D) Plague/Pandemic
E) Solving some kind of crime (probably murder)
F) Invasion of giant bugs
Characters:
A) Sol and Ulandin
B) Oldy
C) Characters from my realist novel (including religious and/or homosexual characters)
D) Characters from “Stormhunter” (set in Rahana, but 200 years later) – probably including Ani, who lacks the usual instinct for self-preservation but definitely keeps herself entertained.
E) Kelvin Redd: the PM with a secret superhero identity.
F) Princess Ana (Sol’s optimistic and naiive relative)
G) Traveller (a feelsmith – effectively a psychic – from the world’s edge.
Sugar and Sauce
If I exercise tomorrow, I’m back on track for exercise (according to my “Fifty Grams” plan). If I eat 30 grams or less of chocolate tomorrow, I’m back on track for chocolate consumption. I’m not actually losing weight, but at least I haven’t failed my plan. At the moment, that’s enough. I have a stronger beginning-point when I get more serious about weight loss.
Today was a long day, preceded by a long fortnight. I had three red tags today (red for dangerous levels of emotion). Usually one is pushing it.
Tag 1 was my last day as nanny. One kid refused to go to school, the other dawdled slightly. I resisted urges toward violence (successfully) but should have threatened Kid 1 with his mother’s displeasure. Mark: D+
Tag 2 was a schmoozefest – or, as some people call it, a “networking” lunch. I behaved well socially and found two new lines of networking to follow, but didn’t gain any twitter followers. Mark: B
Tag 3 was a new tutoring job – that just always freaks me out. It went great, though I probably helped a little TOO much with the assignment. Mark: A-
Came home and immediately began drinking creme de menthe. It might not taste good, but it has sugar, alcohol and colouring. Bring it on.
Companion to Day Fourteen: Textnovel
“Worse Things Happen at Sea” is displayed in a nicer format at textnovel.com (search by the story title and you’ll see it). Each “chapter” is one day, and you can actually read it from begining to end (rather than having to read from the bottom up).
You do have to sign up to view it, but you don’t have to post anything yourself (unless you want to). And, as an extra bonus, I’m just 20 votes off being in the top 20 most popular stories in the competition (first prize is $1000, plus probably publication and more money). Click on the thumbs-up icon to vote (don’t worry, you won’t skew results – there are impartial judges for the final stages).
COMING SOON: pictures drawn by the illustrious Mel P! They will be here on the blog, and of course on textnovel.com.
Companion to Day Thirteen: Silence
A man is dead.
This is one of those rare moments when twitter actually helps the story – because nothing else happens until tomorrow.
The story dictates a moment of silence.
The Future
My dreams have changed a lot in the last few years. Until relatively recently (certainly well into my adult years) my idea of the future involved hopes of finding a dirty but community-oriented slum in which to live somewhere in Indonesia. (Believe it or not, I’ve been to some pretty nice slums. I planned to work as a volunteer teacher in Indonesia, and prepared for it for twelve years before I got mentally ill – then eventually realised I didn’t actually want to go even if I still could.)
So anyway. . . I got married in January this year – to an Australian who’s never visited anywhere overseas (we will be visiting Indonesia and China next year, but just visiting). At about this time last year there were three main things I wanted:
to be married (I really wasn’t sure my partner was serious, but clearly he was – as he told me all along)
to be out of debt (it was impossibly large, and was later cancelled by family friends)
to have a book accepted by a major publisher (hasn’t happened yet)
The reason I mention those things is that I would have put them in the reverse order. Book publication was the most important, because it represented a purpose in life, and an identity (something that’s still sorely lacking after giving up on a twelve-year dream to move to Indonesia). It would also help with getting out of debt – debt is something that has an absolute immoral quality to it in my value system (excluding mortgage and hecs). And yes, I know debt is common. Not for me. Never again. (Mental illness = major debt. I still don’t think I could have done anything better.)
Now that I’ve been married a little while, I know it’s much better than any kind of publication, and will have a greater impact on my life. It’s funny, because being married was never an important part of my self-image – it was always a luxury extra to life (and one that was pretty unlikely for me). But of course I like being a Mrs, and in a few more years my single years will look like a foreign country.
This does all kinds of strange things to my brain (like suddenly wanting matching plates – which, incidentally, I have. A set of twelve). Most importantly, it means I’m safe in all kinds of ways. Marriage isn’t especially hard, but everything else in life is (almost always) easier.
And this marriage thing means I’ll most likely have children. (Side note: I’m at the house of the babysitting kids right now, but was unable to write this entry until the kids were asleep. They’re just too scary when they’re conscious.)
Friends will know that I generally express my desire for children by boasting of how much time my kids will spend with their grandparents. It’s not that I don’t like kids – I’m just freaking terrified of them. I’m scared of their effect on my mental state, of passing on my crazy to them, and so on and so on.
But I keep having these dreams that my partner and I have just bought a house. They always feature a kids’ room. I really like these dreams.
Also, interestingly, the dreams tell me I’m not ready – every single house I’ve dreamed of has been the same size or smaller than the flat we now rent in. It’s clear my subconscious just doesn’t have the guts to dream big enough.
Yet.
But it’s fun all the same – the dreaming.
My nephew
Every dog. . .
So I’m doing a bit of overnight babysitting. It’s been fun playing house, and I get paid. The household has two small dogs, but they haven’t bothered me.
One evening I bought a pack – 150 grams – of unshelled pistachios. (Unshelled so they’d take longer to eat, and distract me from the lack of multiple kilos of chocolate.) I ate about half that night, felt a bit sick from eating so much (and licking the salt off the shells), and eventually stopped shovelling them in. I folded over the top of the pack and placed it on my bedside table (the opening facing down so its own weight held it semi-sealed) to eat during the rest of the week.
The next morning I took the kid to school and left the pistachios beside my bed.
When I returned later that day, the pistachios were gone – as if they’d never existed. Not a crumb remained on the table or floor. The plastic packet had also vanished – so thoroughly that I looked around for it (and found no trace of it anywhere). All that remained of the entire pack was two pistachio shell halves – both licked clean of salt.
Felicity Banks 