I've Created an Addict...

I've created an addict, a book glutton, a wordaholic... and I am unapologetic.

I started spoon feeding him books when he was barely 6 weeks of age. Truth be told this was not done out of some teacher notion of what would benefit him, but out of pure desperation. He was unsettled and I was...unsettled. Something about the language in books was soothing. A rocking chair by the window and a handful of board books seemed like good things to have when he was screaming and I was crying.

Then I discovered another use for all the picture books I'd religiously collected during my five years teaching the under fives. My son loved them. Two before nap time was not enough. So we increased the dosage to unashamed levels. Books when he woke, books while he ate finger food in the high chair, books in the car, books if he went potty, books before bed and then just books for the sake of books. We shared them together, under rugs, by lamp lights, next to the beach and, on one occasion, while he was getting a needle at the doctors.

By three he had such an affection for The Poky Little Puppy, that we all thought we might be physically ill if we heard him recite it again.

By four he wanted to 'read' every written thing we came across. Shops signs, street advertising, junk mail, words on the side of cereal boxes, even the tags on his clothes were not exempt.

By five he discovered that words were reliable little things that said the same thing, in the same way, every time you read the same sentence. He exploited this knowing and without my knowledge taught himself the alphabet and enough sight words to render the prep teacher's job (kindergarten if you are in the USA) a task already completed.

By six we had a problem. Picture books didn't cut it any more. Take home readers from first grade were read too quickly and that left, what....? Beginning chapter books? Enter reading suggestions from a friend with older boy children who are also book addicts.

Zac Power has come to live with us this year. Don't know him? He is saving the world people! One word, sentence and chapter at a time. He is not, however, saving my money. My son loves him and his adventures... a whole lot. And is chewing those books at the rate of one every three days. We have come to an agreement. One new book each Friday....if he behaves himself at school. So there might have been a few occasions where he had to re-read last week's book. (Are we the only parents using books to bribe, um, reward our child?!)

In short, I have created an addict. A boy who loves to read... almost as much as he loves to kick his soccer ball up on our roof.

I think on the whole, my work here is done.

What about you?
Got any budding little addicts in your house? And if so, what are you currently reading them?

Waiting

I am waiting.

Waiting to creep out from under my parent’s words that rain over me like hail. For the finger prints of their holding to be released and the bruising to heal.Waiting for the cocoon to open, for the wings to emerge, for the wind that dries them and for the hope that strengthens their veins.

I am waiting for the boy I have met to become the man I will marry.

Waiting for the years we will travel. The years when no place is home. The times when the only place that is home is the blueness of his eyes and our hands entwined.

I am waiting for the day we decided the two of us should become three. Waiting to be blessed. Waiting to be told I cannot. I should not. What sort of a mother would I make? Waiting to tell those doctors they were wrong. I can. We did. I will be.

I am waiting to hold him. Little fingers wrapping around mine. A glimpse of his father and touch of me. The breath of my future when I am long gone.

I am waiting to take him home. To wrap him close beside me on the plane as we travel the millions of oceans back to Australia. Waiting for his daddy to join us. Waiting to go back to the place where the two of us started, and the three of us will make a life.

I am waiting for his first words, first steps, all his firsts and my firsts, and together, our firsts. As a mother, as a family and as us.

I am waiting for the music that plays when he’s asleep and we have just each other to hold again. Waiting for the father’s day when I tell him we are expecting another. Waiting for the Christmas morning when we find out that our baby will be a little brother.

Waiting for the night we almost don’t make it to the hospital, and all the days after that I struggle with two boys and no sense of me.

I am waiting for the year I do not cope. Waiting for the unraveling. For the year I finally curl around myself and say enough, I need help.

I am waiting to find her. That voice like surging water that speaks into places others have not. For the ears that finally hear what I have been screaming my whole life. Waiting to peel back the times and memories.

I am waiting for the woman inside me to emerge, and for the man who lays beside me to stand.

I am waiting for the day we lay in bed, quietly tangled in each other’s arms, long after the storms of that previous year and look back and say, “Not everyone has this, do they? What we have… not everyone has this.”

I am waiting for that feeling of flight that comes when you finally see those wings hanging on the end of you bed. Waiting for the morning I get up and know how to put them on. Waiting to be me.

I am waiting for the day I look at my sons and can say with pride in myself, “I am their mother.”

I am waiting for the moment I realize we have had our last baby and our family is complete.

I am waiting for the words I write to be birthed into this world. For the things I feel to have meaning for someone other than me.

I am waiting to see my family holding my writing. I am waiting for the day my little ones can read it. Can understand for themselves. Can see how long the fight was, how trying the anticipation, and how determinedly I said, “I am waiting.”

What about you? What does waiting look like in your life? What are you waiting for? And why do you bother?

But, I have an excuse...

Here's why I haven't been revising my manuscript...honest!

I am the Queen of Excuses when there is a task looming that I don't want to do. Yeah, I know some of you out there are probably thinking, "No, I am the Queen of Excuses." But you are not. Sorry. This is my kingdom created by the hands of my own procrastination and perfectionism and thus you might be princesses, but I AM THE QUEEN.

I have a memoir in desperate need of some re-writing. But I am in love with it's sister the sequel and, I am just going to come out and say it, I don't want to go back to the first one. Oh, I will...eventually.... After I work my way through the following list of excuses.

1. The planets are not aligned correctly and it is not a leap year. You can't expect me to start work in an odd numbered, non-leap year with incorrectly aligned planets now can you?

2. That black cat just crossed the street... or was that next door's budgie(bird) ? Should the budgie walking across the street bother me? It does. I think I'll go have a little lie down.

3. The ice-cream truck is here. I have to have ice-cream. Why can't I have ice-cream? Why do you want to make me cry? I'll start straight after the ice-cream...

4. I need to bath the kids. Then I need a bath. Really. I'll be ready to start work after a bath. The hot water is very therapeutic and then after the bath.... and painting my toe nails and a glass of wine, oh and cheese, cheese goes nice with wine... do I have any cheese? I'm just going to check. What was I saying I was going to do after the bath?

5. The dishwasher needs emptying. I should really empty it before I start writing. I mean what if husband wants, say, a nice clean cup, but it's still in the dishwasher? Hey? What then? I'll just go empty it... and re-stack it and put another load on and mop the floors and, goodness, look at the mess the boys left after dinner...

6. Is that the time? Oh, I can't start that late in the evening! I mean, I'd get tired after one measly hour of re-working that writing and, gosh, I feel tired already. My eyes will be fresh in the morning. I'll start then.

7. Well, I didn't mean first thing in the morning. I have to take my son to school. Then straight after I'm going to open up that file and...

8. Did I feed the dog? She looks hungry... that file can wait just a second...

9. Speaking of hungry...when did I last eat? Breakfast seems like ages ago.... I'm just going to have an early lunch and then after lunch...

10. Is that a cat across my keyboard? Oh, so cute! I couldn't possibly wake it up. I'll just wait a little bit longer...


So, the long and the short of that one is, feed the dog, move the cat, take lunch to the keyboard, put toddler down for a nap and START WORK TAB!

PS- It's not my cat. It's not my photo. My uncle sent it to me. Cute though. I'll get to writing after this blog post. Or maybe I'll just go read your blogs first... What did Suzanne post about? That looks interesting. Just a quick comment.... I have time for a few quick comments....

So, princesses or princes out there... ever, ever felt this way???

A Book in Times of Need?

Now before I say more, I am not a counselor. I never have been and, as far as I can see into my future, I never will be. But I was a First Grade and Kindergarten teacher (Prep and Year One teacher if you are Australian :) and I do know a thing or two about little ones. Children are amazing, but they are not miniature adults. And life often throws up difficult, frightening, confusing or even terribly sad events. Children lack adult powers of reasoning, they don't see cause and effect the way we do and if they can't explain or understand something they often blame themselves. They also often struggle to explain what they are feeling or thinking or just embrace the fact that they are feeling anything at all. This is where the secure nook of a parent's arm and a trusted listening ear can make all the difference. Books are wonderful things. Period. But have you thought about using them with the intention of opening up conversation and speaking into difficult life events that your child might be going through?

The circumstance doesn't need to be particularly stressful in the eyes of an adult for it to rock you little dude's world. While you may be over the moon about another baby on the way, your child may have distinctly different feelings. Now if there are any psychologist/counsellors etc who want to weigh in on this issue then by all means, please do.  My point is simply that books provide a wonderful and gentle world for exploring feelings and events that may be completely confusing or even traumatic to a young child. 

Helpful Books

So I thought I'd list a few favourite books that I have read to both my own children and classes I have taught over the years. Beware... oh the wonderful and heartfelt discussions you may invite :)

Expecting a New Baby?

There's a House Inside my Mummy by Giles Andreae and Vanessa Cabban (Australian picture book)

Laugh out loud stuff! If you have ever wondered what a mother's growing belly and the experience of waiting and preparing for a new baby might look like  through the eyes of a three year old, then this is the book for you. Your children will love it too.

If I had a Dragon by Tom and Amanda Ellery

Having a new brother can be a difficult adventure. And perhaps a dragon would make a better play mate? So far my boys are enjoying being the 'dragon brothers' and I don't breathe fire too often!

First Day of School?

Starting School by Janet and Allan Ahlberg

A must read for tentative children and perhaps the odd tentative parent??? :)

Loss of a Grandparent or Other Relative?

Old Pig by Margaret Wild. 

Heartbreakingly gentle tale of the death of grandma pig. A beautiful story celebrating living, yet honoring the sadness of loosing a love one.

School Yard Bullying?

Just You Wait By Megan de Kantzow

A tale of standing firmly on your own two feet. I read this to my son when he was afraid of a particular boy at his school. We used the characters in the book to role play what he could do or say if he felt threatened.

Don't Fit In? Feeling Just a Little Bit Different?

Stellaluna by Janell Cannon (Australian picture book featuring fruit bats)

A fruit bat raised as a bird naturally feels a little displaced. This story embraces friendships across the boundary lines of differences. And along the way lovable Stellaluna learns to both accept and challenge her limitations.

Recovery from illness?

How do Dinosaurs Get Well Soon? by Jane Yolen and Mark Teague

A playful tale that might open up discussion about taking medicine, visiting the doctors or just a great story to cheer up your little one when they are unwell.

Feeling Something, but Not Sure What?

How are you peeling? Foods with Moods by Saxton Freymann and Joost Elffers.

Funny stuff that could lead to serious conversation surrounding feelings. Identifying the various feelings of the different foods might be a non-threatening way to broach the topic of what might be going on with your child. My son enjoyed talking about why the various foods might be feeling the way they were feeling and what things in his life have made him feel that way. Great discussions :)

Tough Boris by Mem Fox

Yes boys can cry! Even pirates cry... and so do I.

Augustus and His Smile by Cathrine Rayner. One tiger's search for 'happy' and the simple things Augustus finds along the way that make him smile. A beautiful book of hope that might open up discussion on what it means to be happy and look after ourselves.

Of course there are so many other situations that arise in life and the titles I have listed are really just a few books off a much larger bookshelf, if you get what I mean :)

So, What About You? 

Any experiences with your little ones and a beloved book to share? Got any other great titles to suggest?

imperfectly perfect

This is dinner at my house...

"Boys! Dinner!" Me with polite first request. The term 'Boys' includes husband.

Hear nothing in response and yell sweetly again, "Boys! I-SAID-IT'S-DINNER!"

This time mummers come from the six-year-old who is busy writing Australia's next best novel or working on some mathematical equation he isn't supposed to come across until eighth grade. I'm joking. He's bright, but he's more likely to be drawing Ben-10 characters over and over again. You know Ben-10 right? Course you do!

Husband appears at the back door with a sodden toddler tossed over his shoulder.

"What happened?" I ask. I shouldn't have.

"He might have found the hose and wet the dog and then buried the..."

"Okay, okay, I changed my mind. I don't want to know."

"Should we bath him before dinner?"

Me looking at dripping sand and diaper hanging down between the toddler's knees...

"Yeah, that could be a good idea."

I sigh because I had high (if not naive) hopes of a hot dinner served straight to the table.

But I see the grin on the toddlers face and the smile on husband's.

Imperfectly perfect.

"Cool, does that mean I get to draw for a bit longer?" six-year-old head appears from the office.

"No, go have a bath with your brother."

"Ohhhh! I don't..."

"I don't want to hear it!" I finish for him, re-guiding the misguided sentence that was about the leave his mouth.

Fifteen minutes later the oven dial is still switched to 'keep warm' and when I peak in dinner is looking dry and more unappetising then it was prior.

But I hear the gleeful squealing as the dog joins the splashing in the bubble bath... and close the oven door. Even though I don't think husband has a lid on the bathroom shin ding...

                                                                                                       Imperfectly perfect.

Twenty minuets later and the bathroom floor needs mopping. Two boys are running down the hallway butt naked and Matt

 (husband I included with yelling for boys earlier) is chasing their giggling right down to their bedrooms and all the way back again. I am wondering if we are ever going to eat tonight.

But I see the chubby little legs running faster than they really should be, followed closely behind by the gangly boyish pair and their daddy chasing them with  arms snapping like a crocodile... and I smile.

Imperfectly perfect.

Then the phone rings. It's my mother. No, it's not a good time right now. Can she ring back later? 

When the toddler finally has his footsie jammies on and the six-year-old has the buttons on the front of his shirt nicely mismatched we attempt dinner. But I don't get the first bite in my mouth before a child dying of thirst needs his drink refilled. The dog takes advantage of me turning my back and eats the food the toddler was offering and the six-year-old delights in showing us how milk can come out of his nose. But we are all laughing. Even me.

Imperfectly perfect.

Eventually, food is eaten. Well, Matt and I eat, we bribe the toddler with the promise of ice-cream and the six-year-old takes the last piece of meat off my plate while I retrieved the toddler's spoon from the floor for the hundredth time. But the dinner table is full of cute toddler mispronunciations in attempts to talk that make us giggle. It is full of school day recounts involving a sand castle that Jimmy knocked down. How dare he?! And a rather teary tale of  losing a ball over the fence, yet again.

Imperfectly perfect.

"Glass of wine?" Matt asks when they run off to play until bedtime.

But he doesn't need to ask. I'm just getting up to find a bigger glass.

Family. 

Imperfectly perfect.

Self included.

Just the way I like us.

What about you?

What's imperfectly perfect in you life?

When I am not writing....

I hit stuff. Which is fun. But I like it better when they let me in the ring with actual people. I have fallen in love with a leather punching bag and sit ups. I even accept the push ups and and other torturous ab work. Cause I fell in love with boxing.

Yes, boxing. In a real gym with real sweat and real gloves on. So far there hasn't been any real blood. But I am waiting...

Hopefully I will have my first fight later this year. I can't wait. I am serious. I find the sport a massive stress release, which is ironic being that if you're focus drifts and your head isn't in the game you may very well find that, um... your head gets knocked off. Boxing kinda wakes you up. So perhaps it is not going to be every one's idea of relaxing:) But the training is awesome for fitness and strength... and it is a thinking sport (yes, you have to think, it's not just 'beat crap out of opponent') ...all the more reason to keep you head connected.

I heard somewhere that it's what writers do when they are not writing that brings life to our words. 

I am not thinking about writing when I am in that gym. Surprisingly. I am thinking about hitting before being hit. I am thinking about rounding my shoulders, protecting my face and watching for the breathe of a moment when my partner lets his or her hand lower. I am watching the twitches that give away my opponents intentions before the punch is thrown. I am noticing which hand she favors and which punch combinations she uses. 

In training I am wondering if I am going to survive another lap jogging around the gym floor, another twenty push ups or if I have any more energy left to put into speed work on the bag at the end of a session.

And if that's all I thought about I'd never come back.

It's not the boxing. Okay, it is, but it's also about the people. Isn't is always about the people?

I am laughing with the guy who wears a shirt that says, "I don't do anger management classes." And hoping I don't get paired with him.

I am silently cheering for the overweight dude who manages to survive every session and comes back for more. I want to hold his boxing bag for him while he punches and tell him I think he can do it.

I am smiling as I read the quote of the day on the white board just above our training schedules that says, "When you're going through hell keep going."

I wonder how Ali felt hitting white boys in the ring. I am imagining my own villains, and wondering what ghosts my sparing partner Steven is hitting out at when his eyes are drawn together and he is clearly somewhere else. We are all there for our own reasons. 

And I am wondering how it is that my female coach with chocolate black skin has a name like Vanilla. She is five foot tall on a good day, but hits like a Mac truck. The Power of One said it first and I'll say it again, 'Little' can beat 'Big'. There is nothing too sugary or sweet about that woman in the ring. Yet she greets me with a bear hug every time I arrive.

Dave shaved his head recently revealing a nice scar down one side of his scalp. But he his fierce proud of his newbie fighters. He has never once made me feel like a beginner, even when that's exactly what I was. Even when I tangled the wraps around my hands after being shown a million times how to do it properly. Even when I hit myself in the head defending a punch.

He laughed with me when a beautiful left hook that I aimed at my boxing bag completely missed.

And he welcomes my six-year old son in the gym every Saturday morning to watch and never tires of his endless questions.

I guess I am finding that writing lives outside my office, away from the computer. Because when I get back to the screen I discover I have things to add. Not necessarily about my gym, although I am sure there are some interesting stories begging to be told, but because I have stepped away, lived, breathed, and done something else for myself, I have more to give.

Even if it's just stamina to sit another couple of hours and type.

What about you? 

What do you do when you step away from the world of writing? Does it 'add' to the words when you return?

Tab's Friday Fiction Pick- The Help by Kathyrn Stockett

The Help is a debut novel by Kathryn Stockett. A book that took up a firm plot of land in my heart due to its strong, if not defiant, female characters with their box-breaking, non-conformist, line stomping personalities.

"Three ordinary women are about to take one extraordinary step... they are suffocating within the lines that define their town and their times. And sometimes lines are made to be crossed."(quotes taken from the blurb)

Can I get a yeah from all the line-crossers out there?
"The Help is a timeless and universal story about the lines we abide by and the ones we don't."
Kathryn weaves the voices of three very different, yet single minded women together to create a story I could not put down. I read this book in less than 24hrs. Possibly a new record for me.

But you have to hear from the characters themselves...
Minny- "Standing on that white lady's back porch, I tell myself, Tuck it in Minny. Tuck in whatever might fly out my mouth and tuck in my behind too. Look like a maid who does what she's told... I yank my hose up from sagging around my feet- the trouble of all the fat, short women in the world. Then I rehearse what to say, what to keep to myself. I go ahead and punch the bell."(pg.30 The Help)

Can't you just hear her? I can. And I can picture her too, standing there swaggering in the heat fighting both her attitude and those panty hose. Love it! I dare you not to love Minny and I dare you not to care about Aibileen.

Aibileen- "Taking care of white babies, that's what I do, along with the cooking and the cleaning. I done raised seventeen kids in my lifetime. I know how to get them babies to sleep, stop crying and go in the toilet before their mamas even get out of bed in the morning."

The sentences in this novel just beg to be tasted aloud. Poor Matt (husband) got more than his fair share of my best deep southern American accent and nearly half the book in his ears before I was done reading it.

Miss Skeeter is the 'white woman' trying to find herself amongst her married girlfriends, her parents desires and Mississippi in 1962. In the days where degrees were what you got while waiting for Mr. Right and Wonderful to come along and make you a house wife.

Skeeter- "My childhood bedroom is the top floor of my parent's house. It has white-frosting chair rails and pink cherubs in the molding. It is papered in mint green rose buds. It is actually the attic with long slopping walls, and I cannot stand up straight in many places. The box bay window makes the room look round. After mother berates me about finding a husband every other day, I have to sleep in a wedding cake."

I feel the pain Skeeter. After one particular nasty fight with my parents I nearly painted my pink and green abomination a dead black. Now I really wish I would have done that! I had the paint. I was oh so close.

And to top it off, Miss Skeeter wants to write. I don't think I would have loved this book anymore is she had tattoos and boxed her brother just for the sporting fun of it.

Not your average novel. Not your average characters. Not average. Not at all.
Yeah, I SO recommend it. :)

And, I am wondering... (as I do)

What lines do you cross? What lines have you crossed and what lines would you cross again?

Stellar Query

Dear Mr, Mrs, Ma'am, who ever you are, what ever the heck title you want to be known by,

I am writing on this letter on pretty flower paper to ask if you are accepting queries at this time? On the off chance that maybe you are, I think I'll go ahead and query you anyway. After all, this is your lucky day!

I wrote this super fantastic book, okay, I haven't finished it yet, but it is going to be super fantastic. My Mum, sister, friend, neighbour, canary and the chihuahua next door all said that the first three chapters are wonderful and in need of no edits whatsoever. Yep, even the dog and bird said that!

I guess you are wondering what type of book it is? Um, well, it's kind of a chick lit, horror, YA, fiction novel with a twist of literary non-fiction and a drop of science fiction thrown in. Really. It would sell in any of those areas. It's got a bit of everything. You know, something for everyone.

It is 982984928374965 words long, well, I think it will be when I get all 3989 chapters written. People want value for money in these economic times, so I thought I'd write a book that will take them all year to read! Brilliant hey! And did I mention that I don't know how to use a computer, so the manuscript will be arriving hand written in purple pen. I love purple. It is so special, don't you think?

Now, I have some ideas about publishing. I want the book published in hard cover and I thought a fair retail price would be $49.99, after all it is the only book any one will have time to read this year. A bargain really. And I was wondering if we could push publication through, cause my Nan is visiting from Alaska next month and I want to give her the book in person?

Oh, and for my book launch, I will require a limo to drive me to *insert name of expensive restaurant* where I expect there will be red carpet, media, a movie deal to sign and a bottle of French wine for all my 2000 odd guests. You pay for that right? Sure you do!

Now, you will naturally want my phone number. So I will give you a call later this evening, after I have had my dinner and put the kids to bed, and give you my details. We can talk contracts and money then.

Aren't you so glad I wrote! You are the luckiest literary agent alive. Now, if for some random reason you don't think this book is right for you, could you please rewrite this cover letter (you'll save me paper and postage) and mail it over to Mr. Far Better Agent or Mrs.Higher Paying Publishing Deals Agent. Oh, and just cross out the names at the top and write theirs in instead.

Thanks (though you should be thanking me!)

lots of love and kisses,

Mrs. Crazy-Know-Nothing-Writer

PS- D0n't you just love the photos of my kids and puppy and trip to the beach that I included! So cute hey? Won't we just make a great team!

YEAH RIGHT!

I am sure I don't have to say 'I am joking', but 'I AM joking'. (I'm sorry, but I have always wanted to write a very bad query letter and break all the rules:) I know little about the querying process, but I do know that this is NOT how to go about it. Unless of course you want and iron clad form rejection email in under 10 seconds. (for those who don't write, a query letter is one you would send to an literary agent to see if they would be interested in representing your work)

Of course there are other far more innocent mistakes one can make when querying. Got any to share? Have you sent a query letter and later learnt that you just committed 'Query Sin #987?

Got any horror stories of queries gone wrong? What agent/ editor blogs have you found the most helpful?

Blog Award

Massive thank you to Lynnette from Chatterbox Chit Chat blog for this award. My third, yah me!

Here are the rules for the award:

1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.

2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.

3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award.

4. Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting. (see below)

5. Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.

6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.

7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they have been nominated.

Okay, 7 possibly interesting things about me...

1. I speak conversational (means I have limited vocab!) French and Cantonese.

2. I scrapbook... I'll admit it... I. SCRAP. BOOK. There. I said it. I am out of the closet.

3. Occasionally I take a cup of tea and my Thesaurus to bed and just flick through words lists. I know. Sad. But words intrigue me.

4. I have a sister, four years younger than me, who I have not seen in over a year. I don't know where she is. Very sad. Makes me very, very sad.

5. Once I owned a chihuahua called 'Wiggie'. Don't ask my husband Matt to back that story up, he refuses to acknowledge the chihuahua we currently own, much less one from years before. I got 'Wiggie' when I was four years old and I was nineteen or so when she died.

6. Heights scare me silly, but I love to climb. One day I would love to walk over the Sydney Harbor Bridge. On one of their tours people, I am not scaling random infrastructures at will :)

7. Poetry is a good friend of mine. I write and read copious amounts of it.

Next... 7 Kreative Bloggers... in no particular order.

1. A Walk in My Shoes- Susan Mills

2. Another Gray Day- Kristin

3.White Platonic Dreams- T. Anne

4. Random Lunacy- Jenn

5. Megan Rebekah Blogs- Megan

6. Katie Ganshert- Katie

7. Comfort writer

But Why?

I want to know. I have always wanted to know.

Why can't I see all the stars in the sky? Where do the birds go when it rains? How do I draw a box so it doesn't look flat on the page? Why can't I climb onto our roof? Who decided dogs should bark and cows should moo? Why do storms bring thunder? How does a photo get into my camera? What would clouds feel like if you could hold them? What makes honey sticky, lemons bitter and sugar sweet? Do owls have eyelashes? How do planes stay up in the sky? Why does my sister have curls and I have straight hair? How did the picture get into our T.V? Why do books have to end? And my favourite question when I was little, why is it bedtime?

Now I am older, I still want to know. What I want to know has changed somewhat. But I still have to ask. Where does gentle live? How many days do I have left to kiss my sons? Will I ever know all there is to know about my husband? Does love really get better after 50? Will I find beautiful when I look in the mirror one day? Will enough ever be good enough? Why do children have to grow up? When are they ever going to grow up? Is happy moving into my heart on a permanent basis? Why do men find their farts funny? Will my book ever be published? What's up with my chihuahua obsession? How much longer before I feel like a whole person? Can anger be embraced and not be destructive?
I still want to know if I will ever be able to see all the stars in the night sky and no, I can't believe it is bed time yet.

A woman I admire told me once that she likes questions because without them there would be no answers. And she asks the best questions of all. What does the pain look like? What do you not want to talk about? What would anger say if it could speak?

I started writing because someone asked me what I would do if I knew I wouldn't fail.

What about you?
Ever wondered Why? What? How come? What questions have rocked your world? What questions have shaped your writing or transformed who you are?

Who do you ask? What do you want to know?

Good Thing, You Make my Heart Sing, You Make Everything Groovy.

Too many Pears! picture book by Jackie French

Pamela likes pears... the way that fish like water, mosquitoes like to bite me and the way that I like to read books. Only she's a cow who has found something better than the grass addiction so common to her kind.

One pear is good. Two pears is twice as nice.

A library is lovely, a book shop is fun and an open credit limit is priceless. Debit is not. It has a cost. So does overindulgence.

Pamela is about to find that out. She's a pear glutton. Pamela likes pears even more than Amy.

Pamela likes Amy's lunch pears, her picnic pears, her dessert pears and the pear pie she baked to replace the dessert that Pamela ate. Poor Amy.

I like books. Books in the bath, books before bed, books before morning and books with dessert. Books in the bath with dessert is even nicer. Books, bath, dessert and a glass of wine... heaven!

Poor my husband Matt. When I was not at uni, not at work and not out with friends, I was reading. I had yet to discover writing. Matt did not know about my reading. We had only lived together for a short time before we were married. Not long enough for him to discover.

Pamela liked pear picking. Poor Amy's pear tree. Amy picked lots of pears. Pamela picked more.

Matt tried to get into the reading thing once. He read one book, yah him. When he finished, I'd read three.

Grandpa fenced off the pear tree. Pamela crawled under. Who knew cows could crawl? See why I love to read. The things you learn.

Grandpa tried tying Pamela to another tree. Pamela learnt to pear pick with a tree dragging behind her. Amy bemoaned ever getting another pear to eat in her life.

Matt tried ignoring my reading. I didn't notice. Matt rolled over when the bedside light was still on. It was still on at 2am. Matt had fallen asleep. I had finished yet another book.

Then Amy had an idea. She laid on a pear feast for Pamela's pear fetish. Chocolate pears, baked pears, cream and pears, pears and cake, pears of all varieties and colours and shapes.

Matt had ideas too. He found my library card. I wondered where it was! He came with me to borrow books. We were newly wed. We had no cash. We were saving money. Then he watched me pay the replacement fees on all the books I lost. Now we were not saving money.

So Matt bought me books for my birthday, books for Christmas and books for Easter. Then he bought me books because he loved me, books because it was the weekend, books because it was Friday, then Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. It was no longer fun to buy me books. So I bought myself books. Just because. And I read.

Pamela ate and ate.

I read and read.

When Pamela got to 600 pears she turned a nice shade of green.

When Matt and I had been married about a year he turned a nice shade of green too. And I noticed the widening gap between us. I didn't know how his day was, didn't see him come home, didn't see him go to bed. We chatted at the dinner table, but then I went back to reading. Okay, it might not have been this bad, but it was not much better.

Pamela wasn't smiling anymore.

I wasn't either.

The very next day Grandpa took Pamela out into the garden to show her the pear tree. Pamela wasn't interested.

Matt bought me another book. I bought me another book. But I also wanted to share me with the man who still ventured to buy me books. These days I am just as likely to read to 2am as I am to talk to Matt until the wee hours of the morning. We know each other. Very well.

Pamela discovered apples.

Matt read another book. His second. Yah him. Again.

Then I discovered writing...

We'll work it out.

To purchase your copy of Too Many Pears, a must read for anyone who understands the belly aches of an overflowing, slightly out of balance life... or anyone who just wants to laugh with their kids about crawling cows that turn green after consuming 600 pears, click here.

To read more about author Jackie French and her whacked sense of humor, click here.

Of course there are libraries... for those of you who know where your cards are and would spend less in library fees than you would just buying the book outright.

Whatever. Enjoy :)

Words Between Us

You slipped into my life sideways. Into the backseat of a conversation I’d been having with my parents since the day I was born. Words with broken glass edges that severed threads inside me. Empty words like drift wood on the  silence in ocean divides within my family. I picked up the glass pieces of those words, desperately searching for my reflection. There was nothing, and I hung my head in hopeless disgust.

But when you spoke I tasted laughter. And something else that I had no words for then. We were young. Very young. But the words were there. And slowly I lifted my head.

I was unprepared for you. What did I know about how good it would feel to be heard? What did I know about how to hear you? But you stayed. You spoke and it resonated inside me. You looked and you saw.

My own words were the rust on your hands, the cut from a barb, innocence mixed with brutality. And sometimes there was nothing to say. Nothing you could say. Nothing that would make anything better.

Words began to pass between us. Ripe words, bursting with the seeds of our future. New words. Words I had never spoken and never dared dream I would.

Some words were still spoken in darkness, others ventured their toes into the cool spring that ran between us.

Something flowed in the delicious scent of those words, good things we rolled around inside our mouths and sucked on like candy.

And marveled as I heard my own voice beginning to join yours.

How many words since then have passed between us?

Will you marry me?

Want to hold our son?

Can you hold me?

I love you.

And finally, when we realized we could each speak the words we need to hear for ourselves and for the other we whispered, I need you.

Happy Birthday, Matt.

The man who spoke my first giggle. How far we’ve come. May we speak, even as wrinkles fold their lines upon our faces and time eventually takes us with it.

 

 

Simple Things

I made a monumental error in mummy judgement. In my defense, I was tired and the boys (2 & 6), were happily watching a DVD.... time for a short rest on the bed?

( I know. I know.)

And for five minutes there was silence.

I was just stretching out when sounds of rustling and cupboards banging reached my ear. And then came the giggling....

And I discovered that...

1. when two boys are playing, silence means they have discovered something.

2.when two boys are playing giggling means you should quickly go discover what it is that they have discovered.

AND

3. Happy is made up of simple things.

My boys found a roll of trash bags and... well, the photo tells the rest of the story.

I thought I'd share, because today sucked, and I need to remember where happiness lives.

So here's my list of five simple things that take me straight to happy every time.

1. butterflies, dragonflies, things that fly...

2. been awoken by rain in the middle of the night

3. the silence of snow falling ( I haven't always lived in sunny Australia :)

4. letting myself be held

5. and my giggling boys...yes, even when they unravel the trash bags.

What about you? Where does your Happy live?

So Over The REAL World

EVER FELT THIS WAY?

This is what The Real World showed up with today:

Toddler meltdowns: 5

Six-year-old dramatic fits: total 989346

Shopping trip to hell with Nan to witness: 1

Loads of dry washing wet in afternoon rain shower: 2

Dog poop clean ups: 3

Moments I questioned my sanity and desire to be a mother: 90394203847923 (a conservative estimate)

Hours of writing completed: 0

What's Really Going on Out There in the Cosmos.

(no, that's not a question, I'm a gonna tell ya :)

Is it going home soon? The Real World? Because there are days when I am so over reality. Like today. Like right now. The Real World is my dinner guest that fell asleep on my sofa with wine glass in hand, then woke up with a hang over and refused to go home.

If The Real World was my husband, then today I just filed for divorce.

BUT THEN... I found a couple places to ditch The Real World for awhile. Cause you were wondering right. Your glad you're reading this aren't you. Your wondering how long I am planning on being absent from The Real World. I know. I can hear you :) But I don't care. Did you see what The Real World showed up with today? Sometimes I like being absent.

I don't want to completely abandon The Real World. But today I should have got up, said my good mornings and then escorted him to Pluto so I could go back to bed.

Pluto's a nice enough planet. As planets go.

Cold.

But then he is a gazillion light years away from the sun. And he has nothing better to do then just spin out there. All alone. And Pluto has feelings you know, (you knew that right), it's tough being the last planet in the known system of things that spin around our sun. So it stands to reason that Pluto might really like the company of The Real World.

Or maybe The Real World could take a spin with Saturn? Now there a planet with something original going on. Rings. Niiice. He's the only dude doing the 'ring thing' and all the other planets are jealous. So Saturn has no friends. A bit of a loser really. So Saturn might like The Real World too.

Or Jupiter? Who visits Jupiter? Sure, we spend millions flying astronauts to the moon, but what about the planet who has nine of them? Too far away? Too gassy we say. Well, we all have our faults. I think The Real World could over look these faults, since he has more than his fair share of crappy days following along behind.

Jupiter would love some adult conversation. Trust me. I know these things. Cause all she has for company are those nine little moons and dang it if she isn't over having to be the gravitational pull for all nine of them! The Real World would be very welcome. Especially if he brought coffee and a packet of choc chip cookies and some gorgeous new shoes he just picked up for her. Mmmm girl! Juptier was a woman in another life (I know that too- the moons give it away), and I tell you, if she isn't happiest drinking a Star Bucks and munching on sugar and chocolate while chin wagging over shoes and shopping adventures! The Real World could hang out there all day I expect.

Venus is a hot head, so I wouldn't send The Real World over there. He'd never cope and then I'd have to hear all about it when I was finally forced to rejoin The Real World.

I guess it's not The Real World's fault that sometimes I hate him. All things real and dramatic have to have somewhere to hang out now don't they.

I just need a break every now and then. Like all good relationships, space is important. The problem is that no one told The Real World. He just shows up every morning, right on cue with the alarm clock, and won't leave until I fall asleep that night.

Enter imagination. Thank God for imaginations. There is no need to let The Real World invade that space. That's my escape. Maybe that's why I write? To process The Real World and dream about what could be. Thank God for dreaming too. It's the ultimate holiday for all us mere mortals bound by the constraints of time and reality. Bound by The Real World.

Even if you don't write, imaginations are wonderful things to cultivate. And The Real World does have other friends to hang out with. Even just for an hour.

Okay, I've had my fun.

The Real World and I have made our peace. He had better show up with choc chip cookies tomorrow though.

What's your relationship with The Real World like? And where does it go when you write?

Can it get to your imagination?

Cows that Type?

Click Clack Moo. Cows that Type.

Picture book by Doreen Cronin

The importance of words typed by the right kind of cow...

When being a cow without a blanket seems like an unfair lot in life, comes a tale of communication breakdown, leaders who don't and cows that won't...

Farmer Brown has some intellectually frustrated cows with cold hides. They have made their request. In a typed letter no less. All day long he hears them.

Click, clack, moo. Click, clack, moo.

The barn is cold. They'd like some blankets.

I've visited a barn in winter. I can understand.

Farmer Brown is a bit of a traditionalist. Cows give milk. They don't type letters. Fair enough. Not very opened minded, but farming is fairly straight forward. No need for divergent thinking. This is the way it has always been done.

Oh, how many Farmer Browns I have met! They are in charge, but they aren't reading their letters, if you know what I mean.

Poor Farmer Brown. Being a leader is tough. It's lonely at the top they say... and lonely at the bottom when you feel like a cow with no blanket.

The cows go on strike. Farmer Brown is the only one who didn't see thatcoming.

They type another letter. No milk today. Reasonable really. What else do you have to withhold when you are a cow who isn't being heard?

Click clack moo. Yet another letter is typed. The cows have needy friends. Friends who can't type. The hens are cold too. They'd like electric blankets.

Well, you may as well go for broke when you are not being heard. If you are a cow with no blanket, you probably do know some hens who, though they come from very different walks of life, still suffer with the cold on a blanketless night.

Farmer Brown gives no response. Ignore the problem. It will likely disappear. How wise those at the top can be.

Click, clack, moo.

Yet another letter. Now the hens are on strike.

No milk. And no eggs.

Farmer Brown finds a type writer of his own. Milkless, eggless farms are a bit of a problem, even for the Farmer Browns of this world. You can't ignore the cows and hens when you aren't getting what you need.

All be it late, Farmer Brown is going to lay down the law. They are cows and hens. They WILL give him milk and eggs. This is his farm after all. Yeah... I wonder how they will work for him.

Duck gets involved.

There is always one isn't there? The on looker who feels everything going down on the farm is their business. A 'do gooder' who takes it upon themselves to 'do good' with alteria motives. Watch out

for the duck in the midst of a problem...

The cows hold an emergency meeting.

Click, clack, moo. They will exchange their typewriter for electric blankets. Simple. Brains at the top could have thought of this.

Duck delivers the cows' letter. How helpful...

Farmer Brown gives in. No more letters, and he will have his milk and eggs... he agrees to the blankets.

Beast and foul are now warm in the barn. The masses are appeased. All creatures are happy. Peace reigns. Right?

Click, clack, quack.

The pond is quite boring, the ducks would like a diving board...

Here's my take on life.

If your cows are a typin' better see what can be done before the ducks get involved and you end up with a diving board in your pond. Farmer Browns should realize that cows may eventually find a type writer. The desperate often find a voice.

Those who can write, should. Every hen needs a cow willing to type up their cause. Stories need to be told. Letters need to be written. Farmer Browns need to know. Effects of decisions should be explored.

In short, the world is full of ducks and cows and hens, and a few Farmer Browns at the top. But words are mighty little things with great potential in the ...um...hands of the right kind of cow.

PS- I'm a cow. What about you?

Full version of this picture book, minus my... um... 'insightful' input, is available at Amazon.com. Your kids will love it too. Although little ones will get a laugh, try reading this book to older children. Just think of all the cows and hens and farmers you could chat about...

Shout Out Some Loving

50 Followers Today!

Today I am sending out the love. I had another post planned, but I cannot pass up an opportunity to thank my followers. I am very new to the writing world; kinda fresh from the oven. Blogger enticed me with it's promise of a space all of my own to publish my thoughts on, well, books, bubs and writing. My first post went up on June 17, 2009 and since then I have been honoured and more than a little humbled by a growing following of talented writers and loyal friends. I would like to say a huge thank you. I now have 50 amazing followers!

So here's my SHOUT OUT to pass on the lovin'. Here, in no particular order, are ten blogs that I like to haunt regularly. I'm going to include the links, just in case I stuff up and can't post working links to their blogs.

1. Katie Ganshert.

Blog: 'Katie Ganshert'.

Katie writes amazingly insightful posts about all things 'writing' and that bub of hers is adorable! One of my fav posts is this one titled 'Scars'http://katieganshert.blogspot.com/2009/08/scars.html

2.Suzanne.

Blog: 'Tales of Extraordinary Ordinariness'.

I think, I laugh, I cry. All the markings of a talented writer/blogger. Okay, I haven't cried yet. But her post 'Words Castles' definitely prompted something a little watery in my eye.

3.Karen Walker. Blog: 'karen... following the whispers.' Karen is the author of a memoir titled 'Following the Whispers' and her posts are often like a warm hug. One of my favorites is 'Fear of Failure.' http://karenfollowing the whispers.blogspot.com/2009/08/fear-of-failure.html

4.Carrie, better known as ckbh.

Blog: 'Heim Binas Fiction'

Carrie writes with raw grit and often posts something that fires the cogs inside my head. Her post 'Telling the Truth' will get you thinking. http://heimbinasfiction.blogspot.com/2009/07/telling-truth/html

5.Dan. L. Hays

Blog: 'Thoughts Along the Road to Healing'

Really got me with his post 'A Conversation with Dad.' http://danlhays.blogspot.com/2009/08/conversation-with-dad.html

6.Jeannie Campbell

Blog: 'The Character Therapist'

As she says, 'licensed therapist by day, writer by night.'

If your fictional characters need their heads read or you just need some professional insights into character motivation and plot feasibility this is the couch...um..blog.

http://charactertherapist.blogspot.com/

7. Megan

Blog: 'Megan Rebekah Blogs'

Laugh out loud post 'Wanted: New Plan.'

http://meganrebekahblogs.blogspot.com/2009/08/wanted-new-plan.html

8. Jody Hedlund

Blog: 'On the Path.'

This post should be apart of some sort of bible for bloggers.

'Ten Common Blogging Mistakes' (Part 1 & 2)

http://jodyhedlund.blogspot.com/2009/08/ten-common-blogging-mistakes-part-1.html

9. Erica Vetsch

Blog: 'On the Write Path'

While you may prefer death by chocolate, this post 'Death by Synopsis' is so worth the read.

http://onthewritepath.blogspot.com/2009/07/death-by-synopsis.html

10. Stephanie Farris

Blog: 'Steph in the City'

Loved her post, 'How NOT to Get your Book Published.'

http://steph5741.blogspot.com/2009/08/how-to-not-get-your-book-published.html

And there are more...

There are so many others who write blogs far worthier than mine. So thanks for the following. A special thanks to Shelly (who doesn't blog), but has tirelessly supported me in this blogging endeavour. She was my very first follower (even beating my husband to the follow button) and for a while there, my sole comment leaver. Your support matters girl. :)

Words from the Inside out: The Spoken and The Unspoken

People watching? Conversation watching?

Ever just sat and watched people? Not in a creepy sort of way, I'm just talking about being aware of how people interact. I find myself doing it all the time. Maybe it's the writer in me, but human behaviour has always fascinated me. What people say intrigues me even more.

I was at a wedding recently, which was fantastic, my new sister-in-law is stunning! But I have to say weddings are interesting little world's all of their own aren't they? Old meets young, business owner meets stay at home mum... a host of people, all with about two things in common- knowing the bride and groom. Eventually, as the night rolls on, people find they have more to say than they previously imagined. This is about the same point in the evening where people discover they can indeed dance or begin to question whether they should give up their day job for a promising singing career...might have something to do with the glasses of bubbly that have been passing their lips ...just a hunch.

Is what we say a reflection on us?

Most people at this wedding were well behaved. Not too many eccentric Aunties floating around the dance floor, but plenty of animated conversations. I may or may not have been apart of a few of these...and I found myself questioning how much of what was said was true to who those people really are. I know words we speak are only one part of the way we communicate. Body language, pitch, tone... all these things have great meaning. I can hypothesise about what someone might have really meant if their body language seems to disagree with their spoken words. But at the end of the day what is said is what is said.

Is what we don't say just as important?

I think what we say speaks a great deal about how we view ourselves and those around us, but I think what we don't say or what we allude to speaks even louder. I am always interested when someone purposefully changes a topic of conversation, or answers a question with a question. I like listening to how people describe what they do, their jobs, and their families, but I am even more interested in the information they glide over or let slip out then obviously cover up. I find the questions that people ask others are often more telling then the answers they give. I find myself wondering about the intentions behind questions or the motivations behind some self revelations. I am often amazed by the information that complete strangers are willing to divulge if you are willing to listening.

Writing between the lines.

As a writer I am often listening with a third ear. I want to hear what is said in between the words spoken. This is the sort of stuff that I use to build three dimensional characters or make my own perspectives in my memoir come alive.

What should I reveal and what should I purposefully withhold?

I make these decisions every time I interact with anyone and when I write I try to become even more conscious of what I am saying or not saying and why.

Behind every book is a myriad of just such questions and how skillfully they are answered directly impacts my take on characters and the quality of the woven threads of a book. Those books that I love most are ones that breathe humanity into written words and skillfully withheld dialogue.

I wonder about my own words.

If I paint characters through what I allow them to reveal or conceal about themselves in dialogue, how much more do I portray about myself through the words of my mouth? Just a side thought. Worth pondering perhaps...

What about you?

Have you ever been aware of purposefully withholding information when you write to serve the greater purpose of revealing character motivations or building on plot etc. ?

How do you use withholding of information to portray your characters?

If you don't write, how has something a person has said or withheld impacted you before?

I'm new to all this writing stuff, so these are just musings from my head. Feel free to add your own.