Not meaning to nag....

I know this is the third time I've told people I've moved, but apparently some people slip through the cracks with blogs moving during the holidays...

Here I am!

http://dancingwithfrogs.com

Come and see what's been going on.

Just in case you missed it...

Apparently some people reading this through feeds may miss the big announcement that I've moved.

Yep.

I've upped stakes and gone to Wordpress.

http://dancingwithfrogs.com is where I live now. Come and see what's been happening. I've missed you.

Dancing with Frogs dot com.

I know it's been a few days since I posted, but I've been really busy. Moving.

Yes. Frogdancer has now moved across to here.

I'm now a dot com! Not bad for a technophobe.

http://dancingwithfrogs.com for those of you who want to update your blogrolls before jumping over. There may be a few organised souls out there like that... who knows?

For the rest of us, come straight in. There's a Welcome mat at the front door I put there especially for you. See you over there.

Mojo, baby!!

Phew! I think that last post really took it out of me. All of that heartfelt sentiments stuff....

It's taken me days to get back my blogging mojo.

Plus I've fallen into a very seductive trap over the last few days. A trap that those fiendish devisers of Bloglines have delicately set up, and to which I fell. The trap of hopping on and thinking, "I'll just catch up on the blogs of others before I get started on mine."

I've discovered that it's not a good move to do that. The blogs of others are a diverse mix of all sorts of things, much of which is written very well. Or photographed beautifully. Or (to be honest) simply far more interesting than what was vaguely on my mind to write about when I got up that morning. Then the boys appear before me, tousle-headed (because they actually have hair to tousle) and the day swings into gear. Before I know what's happening, instead of writing, I'm standing in front of the stove frantically flipping pancakes. Or eye-droppering the dog. Or whatever. And so my peaceful writing time has pretty much gone for the day.

Being the proud owner of the huge intellect that I possess, it has dawned on my mighty mind that perhaps I should go back to my old routine, born of the Time Of Work, otherwise known as the School Year. Where quiet personal time is sparse, so I have to get up, grab a coffee and start blogging before we have to race off to work. If there's time before 7am to check out the blogs of others, I do. Otherwise that's what the computer at work is for. (What? You thought it was for educating the young kiddies? No no no. It's there for my personal use. But I'm a professional. I'm more than willing to fit in the odd spot of teaching around my internet surfing. It seems a small price to pay for internet speeds that are far faster than at home.)

So here I am.

6.46am.

Blogging.

(I wonder what's happening on the blogs of others?)

I can hear a magpie. Maris is outside doing that weird cat growl that means there's another cat around. She's staring fixedly at the side fence. Someone just slammed a car door.

(Has Kim updated? Or Jane? Has Stuntmother reconsidered? Has that really funny teacher guy continued his post about the drunken train ride? )

The pidgeons have started cooing. I love this time of day. So calm and peaceful...

(Has Steph fixed her computer? Is it still snowing in America? Has Boo slept through the night?)

This is worse than being addicted to Days Of Our Lives....

Ah well. No point fighting it. I'm off to refill my coffee cup and enjoy a spot of reading. I'll catch up with you at your blog.

Cheers!

100 posts already?

According to my dashboard, this is my 100th post. Although I'm normally a traditionalist, I'm not going to go down the path of the '100 things about me for my 100th post'. There's not enough things about me that are even vaguely interesting enough to make reading or writing a list like this anything more than an exercise in endurance. And quite frankly, a list like this would take ages and I don't want to waste precious holiday morning time on it. I'm a very busy woman, albeit a dull and boring one.

Why blog at all? What have I received from blogging that encourages me to keep doing it? I'm certainly no masochist. I'm not going to keep coming back to an activity that gives me pain. I signed off from that when I left my marriage.

That was a joke.

Well, sort of....

I think that if we were honest, we'd have to admit that when we first heard about blogging, very few of us instantly hopped on and started pouring out our innermost thoughts to the world. My initial reaction was pretty negative. Why on earth would someone want to do that? Hasn't the good old locked diary hidden under the mattress been a perfectly acceptable way to investigate thoughts and feelings for the last however many thousand years? What sort of pathetic wanna-be's are out there anyway? And most importantly, who on earth would want to read someone else's outpourings about their life unless they personally knew them (which would then be slightly stalker-y.) Yuck.

You can tell from this that I'm a very tolerant, open minded person. However, I kept my thoughts to myself, nodded and smiled and moved on with my life.

It wasn't until I hopped onto a blog via a link left in a thread on the Simple Savings forum that I realised that there could be something in this blog thingy. Rhonda Jean writes about simple living, a subject that tickles my frugality kick. She writes clearly and positively, and most importantly, she writes well. I'm pretty sure that if my first blog experience had've been a goth, emo or leather-clad bondage kitten one, then it would've been my last.

I found myself popping back to have a look. And so it goes....

I love my blog. I call it my new toy. I love the way that it has me writing again. I used to write an awful lot when I was at home with the kids ( and most of it was pretty awful, too) but once I began full-time work then the writing pretty much fell by the wayside. I enjoy the way that the blog has me shaping the experiences I have, instead of just living them, then forgetting them. I've always been a bit of a storyteller and this is just another way of sharing. (The people in staffroom 1 will be glad I have another outlet. They prefer a deathly serious working environment.) I've always liked to play with words, to muck around and get a laugh. I especially don't mind making myself look like an idiot, because in the interests of accuracy that's often what ends up happening in my life anyway. And comments! I don't know about anyone else, but I love getting comments. I haven't had any trolls leave their slimy negative thoughts yet, so that might explain it; but it's nice to hear that you struck a chord with someone, or tickled their funny bone.

However, if anyone has noticed the huge list to the side of this post, you'd deduce (correctly) that I don't just enjoy writing my blog, I also enjoy reading. At first, all I could find were craft blogs and mummy-with-baby blogs and I thought that maybe that was all there was, but gradually as I kept blog hopping from people's lists, a wider world opened up. There's a lot of puerile garbage out there, but every now and then you find a nugget of gold. I began to see how creative some people were.

The photos on some blogs I read are extraordinary, which has started an interest in photography in my two youngest boys. (Plus I've realised that I really have to lift my game.) I have seen the most incredible nature shots from the other side of the world, as well as some truly glorious shots of the most everyday items you could name. It's all in the way a person looks at things and instead of just glancing at them, really sees them...

Other people make the most amazing quilts, clothes and toys, which has inspired me to branch out and attempt things that I vaguely thought I'd like to try 'one day'. I'm in the throes of quilting 3 different quilts and knitting not only the the biggest afghan in the history of the world but also socks and maybe mittens. I'm having so much fun, and my brain is buzzing with new ideas and colours and combinations. As Mum said to me yesterday when we were in a quilting shop looking at the hundreds of different fabrics, "There's really no excuse to be bored in this life, is there?"

Other people simply write beautifully. Write so well that I could cry, if I was a maudlin self-pitying loser. Instead, I simply enjoy. There's nothing so fine as a well-turned phrase, or a piece of writing that makes an experience sing in the reader's mind. I've always been a reading addict, so words are the thing that really do it for me. (Trust me, I've been out with some absolute bastards in my time, but I kept going back because they made me laugh, or had a way of describing things that hooked into my brain with their originality. Words are dangerous beasts in the wrong hands....)

And some people are brave. There's no other word for it. Simply brave. They write about their experiences with autistic kids, or their grief at the loss of their kids, or whatever disease or event that has happened to them or their loved ones, and they write with stark honesty, with grace, with (often) humour and with a dignity that I can only stand back and admire. They open my eyes to conditions and situations that (thank God) are outside my personal experience and fill me with awe at how the human spirit can rise and thrive. These people are strong, loving and so much bigger than me, which doesn't do me any harm at all to realise. Perspective is a very valuable thing.

Others are experiencing the same things I am. Inner life vs outer life. Family. Work. Friends. Finances. Joy. Sadness. It's great when you read something and think, "Oh yeah! I know exactly what that's like!!" It's a connection thing that I think we all need.. that feeling that we're not alone, that we're all in this together.

Except for the crazy winter weather that all of those wild and wacky Americans willingly live through year after year. Oh. My. Giddy. Aunt. I can feel chilblains popping out on all my extremities at the the mere thought of living in all of that snow.

I read blogs every day from all different sorts of categories. Book blogs, Knitting blogs, Mummy blogs, Quilting blogs, Humorous blogs, Savings blogs ... the list goes on. I love the fact that I can feed so many different aspects of my life in this way. I've gained so much from my few short months of experiencing this world and I look forward to all of the further things I will learn about, laugh at and cry about as time goes on.

I'll finish my 100th post by thanking all of you who write so well, who take pictures that make my heart sing, who make me laugh, who slap me across the face with your life and make me empathise and those who open my mind and make me think. I feel very fortunate to have stumbled across this whole world of sharing that I had no idea about. So thank you all. And now I'll wave goodbye and go back to my life that, while not dramatic, glamorous or full of nobility and self-sacrifice, nevertheless is full of the people and events that enable me in my own small way to join you all.

My name is Frogdancer, and I blog.

Interviews begin....

The afghan is growing. This means that the story is not. I woke up at 5.30, and knew that I should toddle off to the computer like a good girl and churn out some more drivel. Instead I knitted 3 more rows. I'm kidding myself that I'm still being productive, and indeed, it's exactly the same sort of obsessive activity as NaNoWriMo. One has a word count, the other has 30 rows of pattern before you can change onto the next pattern block. (I'm up to 21 rows on the current block. Did that since Tuesday. Word count: 18000.) It's not a good sign when writing on my novel.... my beautiful child of the imagination..... is less enticing than doing a few rows of glorified stocking stitch. But here's why I've been writing as much as I have:

Today is the day we start interviews at work with all of the year 10s. Me being a year 10 student manager (Oh bow down before my awesome power) I have to be there at them all. Hmmm, let's see. 250ish kids @ 15 minutes each + intense discussions of which subjects will get them where they want to go in two years time = my life being sucked away by these students and their maniacal ambitions of qualifying for high status courses and ultimately ruling the world.

Whatever happened to the three R's? Don't these selfish adolescents know that I've got a novel to write? (Or an afghan to knit?) Actually, once I'm embroiled in the whole process it's interesting, and it's good to touch base with every kid. Some of them have done brilliantly, and it's lovely to be able to congratulate them on how they've done and rubber stamp the courses they've chosen. Then there's the bulk of them, who have done ok and are really nice kids, but who may lack direction and need some help tailoring their courses. Some of them want to do subjects that blind Freddy could see are beyond them, so there's a bit of negotiating involved. Jack is in this group. He's done far better than last year (straight C's.... and C = crap.... so boy did he get into trouble. One of those kids who should be getting A's, especially in Maths and Science, but took things a bit too easy.) He's lifted his game, but not enough to be in the first or second round of interviews.

Then there's the group of kids that are heartbreaking. They're the ones who have either slacked off during their whole school lives, or who just don't have the wattage upstairs to be able to cut it in VCE. Actually, the 'low wattage' kids aren't so much of a problem. By the end of year 10 they know that a glittering career in rocket science is beyond them, and they don't care anyway. Their interests lie in other, usually more practical areas. They're fine with that, and so are we, as long as they're happy. It's the smart kids who haven't lifted a finger for 11 years and have nothing but shocking marks and bad behaviour on their records. They swish in with their high falutin' list of subjects they want to do, and the look of absolute shock in their eyes when they're told that they can't do Chemistry or Maths Methods or whatever is awful to see. They've finally run up against the brick wall of consequences.

This is why I really hate the state of affairs when kids are automatically promoted every year. It's a really hard one, because to be kept down does nothing for them socially or emotionally; but when year after year a bright but bone lazy kid gets put up in the next year level when his results are mediocre he gets to believe that having a good work ethic is a waste of time, because you get what you want anyway. It's like seeing a kicked dog when they get the look in their eyes that says "oh shit. I can't get out of this one."

Sometimes they cry. Sometimes the really smooth talkers negotiate a position where they get at least some of what they want because they're going to reform and become saintly. Sometimes that actually happens, because usually it's all a maturity thing. By the end of year 10 they're well on the way to growing up, and over the next two years there can be an enormous change in kids. Or not. We've got to have a crystal ball to peer into the future to decide....

So my life at work over the next month will be full swing boogie-woogie. It's interesting, because I really love the kids we have at the school, (well.... most of them, anyway....) but it's tiring. And today I say goodbye to my year 11 ESL class. I've had these kids for two years now, and they're fantastic. They don't know it yet, but they'll be getting another teacher for year 12. There's only one class of year 12 ESL next year for 20 students (don't get me started on the stupid state government and their pathetic cost-cutting measures for education), so the teacher who has taught this level of ESL for years naturally gets them. That's not me. I'll be sorry to see them go. I've trained them up beautifully in the art of sarcasm as humour, the Aussie vernacular and an appreciation of Vegemite.

I'm lying about the Vegemite. You really have to be born here to appreciate the glorious taste. They call it 'kangaroo poo.' I'm going to miss the little horror-heads.....

YouTube - Bonds Kaleidoscope Ad

YouTube - Bonds Kaleidoscope Ad

This is a little something to show why we get up and go to school in the morning. How could we not, when we're teaching such twits?

This is one of the clips that the year 12s put together for their end of year assembly. It makes me laugh every time I see it.

And in other news...
I wrote my fingers off yesterday. 12000 words...
That's the overall word count; not the amount I wrote yesterday. If that was the case I'd be drooling and banging my head against the floor. Though I felt like doing that at some points.
I'm so sick of looking at the keyboard. (I'm a two fingered typist.) All the kids except Jordan were at their Dad's, so I knew I could kick it along when the house was quiet. Every now and then he'd want to get onto the computer for irrelevant boy things like Limewire and research for his Science homework, so I also made 6 cakes, knitted a bit more of the afghan (mmm, the afghan. It's as long as my arm now) and had a twenty minute nanna nap. I was planning on sleeping longer but I got an idea for the novel and had to get up and start writing it before I forgot. (I'm a bit over it.... luckily Meg is coming over this morning, and I've got to take Jordan to piano this afternoon. I can have a break.)

We have a long weekend in this house. Tomorrow is Melbourne Cup day ( I love living in a city that gives everyone a day off because of a horse race!), and today is a teacher PD day. I must make sure to think of something educational as I drive Jordan to piano.

If I could turn back time....

Why do these things happen to me?

Yesterday was the day our year 12 kids had their English exam. Every year when it's time, all the teachers wait outside, and when the kids come out they all swirl around and debrief. There's people everywhere, all clustered around their teachers, smiling and waving their arms around (or quiet and downcast if they felt they botched it... one of my girls didn't finish and she was nearly crying). However, apart from that, it's a good time. They've finished 13 years of English classes, it's the first and most important exam behind them, and we all touch base and connect. I had one of my students give me a hug and say that this is the first year of English that he's really enjoyed, he thanked me and that he felt he'd nailed the exam. It was a lovely moment. So what could possibly go wrong?

The media, that's what. Those cameramen and their all-encompassing lenses. We had the minister for education at the school opening a big computer centre that we've built, so tv cameras were there to shoot her making a speech, and to show our kids writing their exam and celebrating afterwards.

When I got home last night from taking the boys to their Dad's place for the weekend, there's a message from my friend Meg on my answering machine. She's laughing so hard I can barely make out the words.

"Frogdancer. I've just seen the most hilarious thing. I was just watching channel BLEEP news and saw you kicking a student."

(Now before you all jump onto the comments page and demand my immediate sacking... let me explain. It's true and it's not true. There was no mayhem or violence. But I did kick. I remember what happened, but I don't remember who the student was or what he actually said.

A lot of my mainstream English kids and I were mucking around and laughing, when someone walked past and made some sort of Smart-Alec comment. Nothing rude, but just cheeky, because he knew I'd see the joke. I laughed back and said "Why, you naughty rapscallion!" (or something) and as he raced past me I aimed a joke kick at him. I didn't connect with any portion of his anatomy, and I never meant to. You've gotta believe me....

As soon as my foot left the ground I remembered the cameras. I glanced furtively around, but they were all focused on our Assistant Principal as she was doing an interview. 'Thank God!' I thought, and then went back to debriefing the kids. Promptly forgot all about it until the phone call.)

Of course I rang Meg straight away. She is a cruel, heartless sort of person who thinks that my embarrassment on national television is a source of merriment. Apparently I was in the background of the Assistant Principal's interview. Our A.P is talking earnestly about how this is the culmination of 13 years of educational achievement, while over her shoulder Meg could see me laughing with the kids, and then the teacher brutality was there in all its glory for the world to see.

Fantastic. I'm going to be in so much trouble. The admin normally have a good sense of humour, but they're a bit sensitive about how the school is perceived by the community. I thought that maybe I'd be ok if I went in with the defence of
"He told me he'd mucked up the exam. What else was I supposed to do?"

But then again, that mightn't be such a good idea. It's not fair. Scott and Meg would never be caught on camera kicking students willy-nilly. Scott is too dignified and Meg is too crafty.

But hang on. I've just had a thought....

Since I've had this haircut Scott and I are virtually indistinguishable. Well, maybe not close up, but I bet we are from a distance. I was wearing long dangly earrings and a pink roll neck jumper, but if I swear that it wasn't me, I bet the admin will blame him. They're sure to overlook the fact that he's dressed like a girl, is at least a foot shorter, has aged 10 years and has make up on, (probably to disguise his rapidly advancing years). He'll be caught up in a world of trouble, unable to write his novel by November 30 due to the stress, while I can calmly type away and BEAT HIM.

It can't fail. Anyone who doesn't know what Scott looks like can jump onto his blog, (Scott's Abode... it's on the list of blogs on the right) and see. I'm feeling much happier now. And the best thing is that he'll never see it coming.... so ssshhhh... don't tell him.

Anyway, I'd better go and get started, because this novel won't write itself. I know that this is a scientific fact, because I didn't write a thing on it yesterday, and the word count is still 598.

Why I'm a technophobe.

Oh, I'm loving writing this novel. Here's a picture of me doing it.

I woke up at 4.30 with characters nibbling at me. (Well, I guess I should look on the bright side and be grateful that something was having a go at me!!) I lay there and drifted till 5.20, then gave up, got up and switched on the computer. Maybe I'm still a little sleepy, but a 5.20 - 6.10 ability to get onto the internet and onto Word seems a tad slow to me. Lord knows I'm no computer expert, but methinks the kids have downloaded something that has constipated my computer. By 5.40 I was swearing black and blue that I was going to dash down to the computer shop and get my own laptop. I'd hide it from the kids and dust it for their fingerprints every other day and laugh maniacally as I watch them cry in front of this bloody slow old crock of a thing. Then I thought maybe I could kill the kids, get a computer guy to give the computer an enema and then I'd save myself a couple of grand. (I'm on a frugality kick, remember?)

But now I'm happy. The kids can live. I can't remember what I was going to write, but that's ok. It was going to be brilliant and those words were going to live forever in the annals of Great Literature Of The World And Indeed The Universe, but never mind. I'm sure it'll come back to me. Meanwhile Scott has scooted ahead of me in his word count. I cannot let this continue....

My year 12 kids have their English and ESL exams today. Whoopee!!!!! Yesterday my office was wall to wall kids brandishing practise essays under my nose and having mini meltdowns of anxiety. They all left convinced of their genius. Without fail, the day before the exam, the words each kid hears is something along the lines of...

"Wow, these essays are some of the best things you've done this year. I'm so happy that you've peaked at just the right time. If you're writing like this now, you're going to cope with the exam just fine. Maybe there's a couple of things you could look at...(insert minor instruction here such as :add a little quote after your topic sentence to back up your opinion; use more emotive words in your persuasive piece; spell Hamlet's name correctly... that sort of thing), but they're easy to keep in mind. Go home, get a good night's sleep and I'll see you tomorrow." Big smile, couple of pats on the shoulder.

Translation from teacher talk is:

"Wow, I'm surprised to see you here. You haven't worked all year. It's too late to suddenly decide to learn to write an essay the day before the exam, but at least it shows you've hit a peak. I'm not saying how big this peak is, but you've written an essay of your volition, so good on you. The essay shows that you've at least read the text, or possibly just watched the movie, so you have a sporting chance in the exam of at least writing something that won't make a fool of both of us. Here's an instruction or two so that you feel the effort of climbing into school uniform and walking to school during swot vac wasn't a waste of time, but frankly at this stage of the year, you've got to go with what you already know. Go with God, my son/daughter." (put sign of the cross over them even though I'm not Catholic.)

All of my good kids have been in to see me, but they tend to be organised and come in before the hysterical brigade arrive. The best quote from a practise essay this year surprisingly comes from one of my best kids....

"When the ghost of Hamlet's father exposed himself to Hamlet...."

Phew! No wonder Hamlet was so traumatised for the rest of the play.

Nagging is good, isn't it?

I've begun! My evil friend Scott persuaded me with many wiles and machinations to join up to the NaNoWriMo challenge (National Novel Writing Challenge) to write a 50,000 word novel over November. Actually, all he did was dare me, but be that as it may, my current plight is all his fault. I woke up at 5.30 this morning in a cold sweat.

"It's the first of November!! Get up, you lazy cow and be creative. You have to start now... the year 12s will be beating down your door today because their exam's tomorrow... the kids have their music lessons tonight so you won't get home till 6.45, and by then you'll be too tired to think because I'm here waking you up at this ungodly hour of the morning to nag at you." Sometimes I wish my inner nag would take a chill pill and give me an extra half hours sleep.

But inner panic has a way of waking you right up. So by 5.36 I was sitting down at the computer, cup of coffee by my side, contemplating what lay within me, bursting to be expressed on the page. My inner panic had gone, obviously soothed by the fact that I was up and about. It had been replaced by not much, actually.

I hopped onto the Simple Savings website to see if any goss had happened in the forum. I posted something, and then realised I'd wasted precious keystrokes. The clock says 6.30. Shit. So back I hopped to My New Word Document.

Isn't a new word document such a pristine thing? Like fresh snow. I've seen snow three times so I know. It's almost a shame to walk all over it with my muddy footprints of novel writing. But disturb it I must.

Thirty minutes later I finish. I interrupted myself a few times to feed the animals and give Molly her eye medication. I also made another cup of coffee. But I was flushed with achievement. During that time I'd written 598 words of the worst drivel you've ever read. Don't worry, I'm certainly not going to post it here. Or anywhere. But it's scaffolding. Maybe. But the fact remains that after a break of three years, I'm back writing something that isn't for work. I think this challenge will be good for me. It'll put hair on my chest. Trouble is, the goal is to write 1600 words a day, so I'll have to jump back on at some stage today and keep drivelling.

However, the fact remains that I'm a lucky person, so now that I've started the process, the Great Australian Novel will undoubtedly reveal itself to my inner eye in all its glory. I've also signed up to the challenge where I post on this blog every day. We'll see if the length of the blogs is in inverse proportion to the amount of writing I do on the novel. (I think that's right. I'll have to ask one of my Maths kids today. 'Inverse' is Maths, isn't it?)

It's time to wake the kids now. I'm feeling a bit tired. I could do with a bit more sleep....

My mature response to a dare.

Big news, people!!!! My afghan has now doubled in length!!!! Yes, amazing as that may sound, it's now....wait for it ....... the length of my little finger. I can hear the sound of your rapturous applause now....

ok, it's not that impressive, but this wool is really thin. I took it to work, and during after school detention I took it out and was knitting away while staring disapprovingly at all the naughty kids. I felt like Madame DeFarge at the steps of the guillotine.

Imagine if every day I was able to post and say it had doubled in length,,,, it'd be finished in no time. Ahhhh.. the dizzy heights that my daydreams reach..... I really am impossibly suburban.

My friend Scott has written on his blog (Scott's Abode.... it's listed in the interesting blogs list on the right) about National Novel Writing Month. I haven't jumped onto the website yet, but apparently you sign up to start a 50,000 word (175 page) novel on the 1st November, and you have to finish by midnight on 30th November. It's all first draft/don't agonise over every word/just plonk them down and keep going until you finish kind of writing.

He's persuaded me to do it. Probably because he's evil. I'm kicking and screaming about it but I'm going to do it for three very good reasons.

The first one is that I haven't done anything creative with my writing since I started full time work. This is no good for me. It's making me weak and dull. So, in effect, doing this will put hairs on my chest. (In a purely metaphoric sense, of course.)

The second reason is that he dared me to. Maybe not in so many words, but I get the feeling that he's probably as competitive as me, so once the challenge has been put out there then there's no other option. This is why I said he was evil.

But then again, it'll be good for both of us. We'll egg each other on. The fact that I'll be frantically doing Year 10 interviews for their VCE courses during the day, whilst he lolls around in his office with PLENTY of time to spare for his novel is irrelevant. I'll still beat him. Maybe not in quality, but by gum! I'll beat him in quantity. (Is that a good thing for me to be aiming for? To bury my very good mate in a pile of illiterate crap? But then again.... how good will his novel be? He adores reading Isabel Allende, for God's sake! Maybe the bar won't be as high as I fear.)

The third reason is that he's a boy, and I can't let him saunter away believing that he's more creative than me. Even though he is. So I have to creative-ise my life, and make it appear as if this frenzied imaginative activity is perfectly normal for me. After all, I am a woman and a Virgo, and I can do everything perfectly.

After writing this, I think I want to kill him. But I'll get over it. (Connor's reading this over my shoulder as I'm typing, and he said, "If he dies on the first of December, will you be looked at?" My reply is.... "Only if I haven't finished this bloody novel.")

So that's my next challenge. Anyone else care to jump on board? Your stuff couldn't possibly be as bad as mine is going to be, so you'll be able to write with the comforting knowledge that your novel is scintillating next to mine.

Musing on blogs.

Here's a photo of Brennan in Bali last year. This was taken in a rice paddy when we were doing our bike ride. It poured for most of the day, but it was so warm that it turned out being really pleasant. Roll on Phuket! Only three more sleeps.

I'm going to change the name of this blog. I chose 'Smiling in the Suburbs' because I'm genuinely happy, and I wanted to get started on writing, and this was the best I could come up with at the time. But it's not a good sign when you're embarrassed to tell people the name of your blog...
It sounds really twee and old-ladyish, which would be fine if I was that sort of person, but I'm not. So I'm letting my subconscious twitter away with new names. Nothing's grabbed me yet, but it will eventually.

Another thing about starting a blog.... I was talking with my friend Scott at work, and he mentioned that he used to have a blog, but it got to be too much like hard work and so he deleted it. As a joke I said, "Did it make you realise your life was really boring?"
We laughed, but it got me to wondering....
what happens if your blog bores even yourself????

That hasn't happened to me yet, but how sad if it ever does. (It'd be kind of funny though; imagine the moment of realisation. The stunned look in the eye as you realise why people have been avoiding you for years. It wasn't your personal hygiene-it was YOU!!!!)

Let's hope everyone who reads this avoids this fate. :)