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And the next day, too
Feb. 2nd, 2018 11:14 amI'm at Melbourne Airport, waiting for my flight to Brisbane. Tonight, the Novelist's Bootcamp begins, at the Queensland Writers Centre, The Resurrectionist as tutor. I very much like Resurrectionist's fantasy novels and short stories, and hope to learn much. I admire her work ethic, and her ability to come up with the plot and plan for a new novel every couple of years.
This is what I want to learn - planning. Whenever I've tried it before, I've felt like I've already told the story by the end of the plan, and I lose interest. I can scrape over the finish line for NaNoWriMo with a 50,000 word pantsed novel, but going back to read the book later, oh my, what a load of old pantsed cobblers.
I'm putting a good face on myself, so that I can be in the world today. Necessary for travel, and bootcamping tonight. Necessary to check into the airport, to order food, to be on the plane with others.
But inside, I'm still dragging. Oh, I'm doing all the right things to hold myself together. I went to belly dance class last night, walked the dog in sunshine yesterday morning, ate well during the day. I pre-packed to save panic, and I rattle with vitamins, minerals, and potions.
I keep pausing to ground myself, imagining a giant egg of light cracking open and pouring over and through me, then flowing out the soles of my feet into the earth. I try to make sure I'm not flustered.
I thought I'd take time here to talk to myself, as a sort of cocoon in the food court of terminal 4. I can disappear into words here.
Today, I hope, PizzaBoy will send off the billions of dollars required to our solicitor, so she can hire a barrister, to apply to the Supreme Court so that we can make a living will for TwentiesPerson. Because TP is under a VCAT guardianship order, they come under an obscure piece of legislation in regards to wills. We have to prove, with documentation that they are incapable of making a will for themselves. Happy days.
But, forward movement is forward, and I hope this will be out of the way by the end of March. Another thing off the list.
My next thing to source is an educational poster of the human body, the organs, so that we can start educating TP about their own insides, and how it uses food as fuel. That will have to wait until Tuesday, when I'm home again. Unless the State Library of Queensland, or the Writers Centre have said posters lying about for the taking.
On two other notes:
My body hurts after my first Tribal and Tribal Fusion belly dance class last night. Whose good idea was the lifted posture, the lifted arms, and those wrist floreos. Holy Jamilla, things creaked and cracked last night!
Haigh's Chocolates announced that they are opening their 7th Melbourne store. How about some regionalisation, Haigh's. Chadstone? Eastland? Knox? How about some service for Perth, Adelaide, Brisbane, Hobart?
I also the refute of some dickhead's comment on the Haigh's facebook page that Melburnians don't know quality when they taste it. You, sir, can fuck off. Haigh's Lime Creams, and their chocolate bullets reign supreme.
This is what I want to learn - planning. Whenever I've tried it before, I've felt like I've already told the story by the end of the plan, and I lose interest. I can scrape over the finish line for NaNoWriMo with a 50,000 word pantsed novel, but going back to read the book later, oh my, what a load of old pantsed cobblers.
I'm putting a good face on myself, so that I can be in the world today. Necessary for travel, and bootcamping tonight. Necessary to check into the airport, to order food, to be on the plane with others.
But inside, I'm still dragging. Oh, I'm doing all the right things to hold myself together. I went to belly dance class last night, walked the dog in sunshine yesterday morning, ate well during the day. I pre-packed to save panic, and I rattle with vitamins, minerals, and potions.
I keep pausing to ground myself, imagining a giant egg of light cracking open and pouring over and through me, then flowing out the soles of my feet into the earth. I try to make sure I'm not flustered.
I thought I'd take time here to talk to myself, as a sort of cocoon in the food court of terminal 4. I can disappear into words here.
Today, I hope, PizzaBoy will send off the billions of dollars required to our solicitor, so she can hire a barrister, to apply to the Supreme Court so that we can make a living will for TwentiesPerson. Because TP is under a VCAT guardianship order, they come under an obscure piece of legislation in regards to wills. We have to prove, with documentation that they are incapable of making a will for themselves. Happy days.
But, forward movement is forward, and I hope this will be out of the way by the end of March. Another thing off the list.
My next thing to source is an educational poster of the human body, the organs, so that we can start educating TP about their own insides, and how it uses food as fuel. That will have to wait until Tuesday, when I'm home again. Unless the State Library of Queensland, or the Writers Centre have said posters lying about for the taking.
On two other notes:
My body hurts after my first Tribal and Tribal Fusion belly dance class last night. Whose good idea was the lifted posture, the lifted arms, and those wrist floreos. Holy Jamilla, things creaked and cracked last night!
Haigh's Chocolates announced that they are opening their 7th Melbourne store. How about some regionalisation, Haigh's. Chadstone? Eastland? Knox? How about some service for Perth, Adelaide, Brisbane, Hobart?
I also the refute of some dickhead's comment on the Haigh's facebook page that Melburnians don't know quality when they taste it. You, sir, can fuck off. Haigh's Lime Creams, and their chocolate bullets reign supreme.
