Blogoff post - VICTORY

It's not if you win, it's how you play the game.

So they say. But there is still a joyful sweetness in victory, in being the best, that isn't matched by the taste of being runner-up.

My short story Beyond Happily Ever After won second prize in the Mid North Coast Writers Association short story competition which was fantastic. And I still thought how nice would it have been to take out first prize.

Still, if it hadn't been for Carrolline's encouragement I would not even have played that game. I wouldn't even have entered the competition. I hadn't written a short story with any intent for nine years (not counting homework and exercises with the writers group) and was convinced that I couldn't even think of a story that could have a beginning, middle and end in less than 2000 words. Holding the 'I can't do this' thought firmly in my head led me to thinking about fairytales and their short, succinct nature and I started wondered about Cinderella and what happened after the happily ever after. Once I combined the fairy tale traditional nature of the story with the perils of being a modern princess dealing with the tabloids and the pressure to produce an heir, the story practically wrote itself. I've just sent the story off to an anthology...we'll see what happens.

There was a time when I hated losing because my livelihood was depending on it. It's never fun to find out that you came second out of 150 applicants for a job. Then it becomes a what's wrong with me? But there are times over my career where I have applied for jobs that have been totally out of my league, and been hired for a secondary position that wasn't even advertised. I suppose it shows, you've got to be in it to win it. Even if it's not clear what the actual prize is.

One of the ladies at my writers group mentioned last week that she's become a competition addict. She's had a few highly commended but hasn't actually won anything as yet. But I can tell that she's enjoying the journey and in that process, she has her own sweet taste of victory.

Because when we set ourselves a goal and achieve it, we are victors in our own life. Far ahead of the couch potatoes mindlessly flicking the channels. There may be no prizes attached, unless you've bribed yourself with a box of chocolates or a dinner out, but it is the self-fulfillment that is the prize, that gives the sweet taste of victory. Maislow had it right with his heirarchy of needs - self-actualisation is the best. And being victorious does not necessarily mean beating other people. There is enough sweetness of victory for all of us to share...if only we are willing.

This is the final blog-off post in this round of the blogoff. Funny we talk about victory in this post, because yes someone will win and take home the pot of money, perhaps! Or maybe as in the last blogoff, the winner will donate the winnings back to Courtney's fundraiser. The victor is in the list on my sidebar under Blogoff Participants. Who do you think this round's victor will be?

Oh, and my post a little early this week as I'm off to Byron Bay Writers Festival tomorrow morning. Whoopee!

Blogoff Post - Breasts

When I was a teenager I really didn't have any.

Poached eggs maybe.

Bumps that completely disappeared when I lied down on my back.

Even the saying 'More than a mouthful is a waste' couldn't make up for the little I had.

But I ate as much as I wanted and couldn't put on weight. And without any extra body fat my tiny little breasts just weren't going to grow, no matter how many arm exercises I did, chanting 'I must, I must improve my bust.'

And when I got out of hospital four weeks after a car accident, having dropped another dress size, I thought there was no chance.


However, the next three months sitting around watching videos, unable to participate in my usual daily activities (e.g running up three flights of steps with two large pizzas and four bottles of coke) and my less frequent activities (sex!) saw my metabolism began to slow down.

The metabolic effect combined with the side effects of contraception and eating more because I was bored had a noticeable effect. I started to grow breasts, much to my delight. Suddenly there was something to push up with a push-up bra. I developed cleavage. I became voluptuous. Not quite Rubenesque but much more cuddly than skin and bones.

But my new voluptous curves were not just confined to my breasts. I had become curvier all over, curvier stomach, bigger thighs. I had meat on my bones. And I felt healthier. Much more healthier than when I was 48 kilos.

Of course the medical profession doesn't agree. I was mortified when I was told by a doctor doing a health check for my work place that I was obese. I don't feel obese. Sure, it might not always be fun shopping for clothes because designers still design for women with the shape of a fifteen year old boy, but I feel confident in my own skin.

But I get the lectures about the health factors, the need for exercise, the risk of diabetes, stroke, heart attack. And I wonder how unfair is the actual process of losing weight. Can someone explain why the first place that a woman tends to lose weight is her breasts? After all this work! And no matter what I do, I can't seem to shift that spare tyre!


Check out the 20 other bloggers competing in Courtney's blogoff in my sidebar. I'm sure they all have a thing or two to say about this week's topic, Breasts. If you'd like to make a donation to Courtney's three day walk for breast cancer, click on the link.



Other bloggers have talked in previous posts about serendipity. I received the word prompt on Tuesday. On Wednesday I got a call at work from a University. I was curious because I've had nothing to do with this university at all. Apparently they've been trying to locate me for a while for a breast cancer study because of the family history. Not quite serendipity, but certainly interesting timing!

Disappointed there's no photos? You want to see them. Tough titties!

Blogoff ver 2 - post 2 - HOPE

I've never really subscribed to the concept of HOPE. When I was young, perhaps! But I think it was something I grew out of reasonably quickly. Neither do I subscribe to the concept of hopelessness. In every situation, we have a choice of how we react. We are never hopeless.

I did some personal development courses in my early twenties. Somebody in one of those courses defined hope as a 'turd with a cherry on top.' That image, funny enough, has stuck in the back of my mind ever since.

Hope is just a vague fancy if there is no action behind it.

When I was in my twenties, I wanted to be a writer. Yet I only wrote occasionally. I did not write with any discipline and I did not write with any intent. I was busy living a life and dreaming of one day being a writer.

About ten years ago, I re-visited my dreams of being a writer with serious intent. I committed to my dream. And I took concrete action to achieve those dreams. I started to write. I took writing lessons and workshops. I joined a writers' group.

I no longer thing about being a writer or even hope to be writer. I AM A WRITER BECAUSE I WRITE.

I can chant my writer's mantra: 'I will be a published author...I will be a published author.' But I'm not just sitting back and hoping for it. I am writing. I am editing. I am doing the hard yards. And at the same time, I'm remembering that it's not just about the destination...it's all about the journey

One day I will hold my published book in my hand. But it's not something I'm hoping for. I've done the creative visualisation. I've done the actualisation by having a Lulu.com copy of one of my manuscripts printed for myself. No, it's not something I'm hoping for. It's something I'm striving for.

One last thing about HOPE - we can all hope that one day they will find a cure for breast cancer. But we can also do something about it.

I am.

I'm blogging in this blogoff along with 20 other great bloggers listed in my blogroll. We're blogging to help Courtney raise money and to raise awareness. If you would like to do something to help the cause, then follow the links. This is the second post in Blogoff version 2. To support Courtney in her fundraising for the Three Day Walk for Breast Cancer, visit her website at Five Second Dance Party or click on this link:

Blogoff post: Survivor

Welcome to blogoff number 2 - this time there are no eliminations, no voting off the island, everyone will survive. Just like the song!

I'm pleased about that. I hated the eliminations, seeing a friendly voice disappear each week. This blogoff is much more inclusive but with 21 people playing the game, we will have a lot of words to read each week. And its great to welcome new people amongst the now familiar bloggers. All the bloggers are listed in the menu under 'Blogoff Participants.' Please pay them a visit.

I was surprised that I was a survivor for so long during the last competition. I'm not known for my survival skills. Leave me on an island, and I'd probably starve, go bonkers or both. I'd be totally consumed by chocolate cravings, and would probably start hallucinating, imagining that everything around me is turning to chocolate... just like the Cadbury commercial. Maybe I'd come to my senses just as I start gnawing on the palm tree. But maybe not.

While I don't think I'd cope very well if I was alone on an island or in the jungle, its not the being alone bit that I would mind. I often crave solitude. Especially after a day at work where I've been surrounded by noise all day, the constant chatter, the voices raising, the endless voices on the end of the telephone. Sometimes I just want silence when I get home. A chance for my mind to rest, for my ears to relax, and for my tongue to be still. Perhaps that's why the internet is so alluring - I can converse with fingers on the keyboard, and there is no accompanying white noise.

All I need to cope with the solitude is pen and paper. Or a laptop. Although I guess a laptop wouldn't last long on an island - unless it came with a solar charged battery.

Have you ever felt that your life is just about survival? Each day blends into another, and you constantly get a feeling of deja vu, because you've done exactly the same thing the day before. My life is flashing before my eyes, and I have nothing to mark one day off from the next. I'm spending a lot of extra time at work, and the collage poetry is not happening, the writing isn't happening, I've barely got it together to even write this post. But I keep telling myself I will survive. It's a temporary phase that I'm going through. And in three weeks time, I'll be on holidays, and travelling to Byron Bay Writers Festival. Until then, I have to survive. I've already paid for the ticket.

This is the second blogoff organised by Courtney at Five Second Dance Party. Raising money towards breast cancer research, for four weeks we blog on a one word topic. If you would like to make a donation to the cause, click on the banner at the top of the post which will take you to Courtney's fundraising page.

The following is not a blogoff post

No blogoff post from me this week. I've been eliminated from the competition, leaving three wonderful writers still in the race. Check them out and drop them a line: Chris and Evey, Just Another Week, Write2B.

Courtney will be running another blogging competition in July, this time with no elimination but a cumulative total. Drop over to Five Second Dance Party and leave her a comment if you want to play the game.

I was actually surprised that I made it this far in the blog-off. Ironically, I was eliminated just as my chosen word 'dreams' was the topic of the week. I wonder if this has happened with any other blogoff participants. But I'm relieved in a way. This was a hectic week with a work trip to Brisbane and I probably wouldn't have had time to blog. The trip to Brisvegas and the workshop was so full-on, I even succumbed to drinking a coke that first afternoon (I so needed caffeine), and then two glasses of wine later that night. But I haven't relapsed - it was a one-off.

And seriously, we are going to end the blogoff next week (I presume) with the topic SHAMPOO. So glad that I'm not tackling that one.

I feel like I've already won no matter how far I got through the rounds of the blog-off. A new word topic every week challenged every writing muscle I possessed, and probably a few I didn't realise I had. I've discovered I can write on just about any topic presented to me. (still not sure about that 'shampoo' and glad I'm not going to find out.)

One of my big dreams since I first started conjuring up stories was to be a writer. And I have achieved that dream over the years by the mere act of writing, being an active member in my writers' group and participating in writing challenges such as this one. My dream now is to be a published writer (not just published in group anthologies or self-published) and to take a step to achieve that dream, I am now going to log off, turn off the internet, take the laptop out to my front verandah, and work on my Diary of the Future competition entry.

Blogoff Post: Camping

I really don't like camping. I'm just not into the whole pitch-a-tent-thing, sleep on a bit of foam or inflated mattress and commune with the mosquitos. I'm even less enamoured of the communal toilet/shower block or (shudder) the toilet tent or find a tree to hide behind.

I'm a comfort kind of girl. I don't have to have five star luxury, but just the basic necessities to make me feel comfortable - a hot shower, a warm bed, and a toilet that flushes properly.

So it was probably a shock to everyone when I opted to do a three week 'rough tour' of Egypt. I didn't want to see the country from a gilded hotel room and sail down the Nile on a cruiser. No, I wanted to experience the real Egypt so I booked the tour that included camel safaris, camping in the desert, and climbing Mt Sinai. Yes, it was rough and it was dirty, but it would be a big adventure.

We climbed Mount Sinai at sunset, armed with some duty free liquor with the intention of sleeping the night on the mount. Only twenty minutes into the trek I realised that my fitness regime (or lack of) had not prepared me for the climb, so I bought a camel to carry me most of the way. However, my friendly camel had a distubing habit of walking very close to the edge of the trail and it was a long way down - it really didn't do too much for my fear of heights.

Finally we reached the end of the track and the beginning of the steep steps to the summit. Already wobbly from the inner thigh workout that the camel had provided me, I huffed and puffed up the steps thinking I was on a giant stepper machine. What an aerobics workout! I was glad that I had elected to sleep on the mountain for the night because there was no way I could've stumbled back down in the dark.

The night on Mount Sinai was amazing. Bloody freezing, but amazing. Once the sun went down and the sky turned black, we were surrounded by the light of a million stars. So far out of reach of any city lights, the sight was majestic. A little shop sits at the top of the mountain and the enterprising Bedouin stay up there a month at a time, selling tea and hiring out mattresses. (sidenote: the price of bottled water increases as you get further up at the mountain at the little kiosks on the side of the trail - wonder if that is called inflation or ascendation?) Oh, I waited. I asked. But there were no more commandments that night.

There was no chance of sleeping in on Mt Sinai. The next horde of tourists started arriving, chattering, alive at an ungodly hour of four o'clock the next morning. Soon we were surrounded by numerous languages and nationalities. But with a glorious sunrise illuminating the world.

Our next camping adventure was the Camel Safari into the desert with the Bedouin, my second camel ride in two days. We met the group of Bedouin men in a makeshift camel 'carpark' and I can't remember whether we selected our camels or if the camels selected us. I don't think I'd ever get used to a camel getting up off the ground with me on its back. Our mattresses were slung over the camels' backs and we journeyed deep into the rocky desert.

When we arrived, we slung out our mattresses on the ground and the Bedouin entertained us with camel races. That evening, they cooked us food, danced with us, and sang 'That's the Way, aha, aha, I like it, aha, aha.' yes it was KC and the Bedouin band.

I started to think of my Egypt experience as the Sunrise -Sunset tour as I was awake for every sunrise (very unusual for me) and every sunset.

Then we went on our 3 day felucca cruise on the Nile. The boat's captain was also our chef. And our mattresses on the deck were also our day beds, and our dining room. But I tell you, despite the search for somewhere appropriate to ablute when we stopped at shore, I have never been more relaxed in my life. Bliss!

Of course, I didn't mind sleeping out in the open but when I had a choice of pitching a tent or upgrading to a hotel room for 10 egyptian pounds, I always opted for the four walls and the bed.

So, if you ask me if I want to go camping in the Aussie bush, you're very likely to get a resounding 'No thanks' - but if you were to say, let's go and camp out in Egypt, I'd be there again any day. I'll even put up with the 'long drops' just to experience that amazing country again.

This blogoff post is brought to you by the word 'camping'. We are blogging to raise funds for Courtney's 3 Day Walk for Breast Cancer. To make a donation to a great cause, please click on the banner.

Writing, shopping and addictions

Wow, I've survived another week of the Blogoff. There are only four bloggers left. This week we sadly bid farewell to Carly of With a Twist and a Turn. Our next topic is CAMPING and I will be bringing you more tales (and photos) of Egypt on Wednesday. I find each week harder and harder. Not the writing part. That's reasonably easy, especially when my writing muscles are exercised. It's the voting part - that is getting really hard, especially as we have to rank each other's posts. I don't like playing judge and jury.

I've been a bit slack in the blogging department, only blogging for the blogoff topics. I hope you'll excuse me. With workshops, AGM's and a heap of overtime over the past couple of weeks, I haven't been writing much. Now it's time to get serious. I have a competition to enter so need to polish 35 pages of Diary of the Future and write a synopsis. (yes - that bit I have been putting off.) And I'm doing a lot more than polishing the prose. I have rewritten the first scene completely to give much more power to Nicky - now she finds the diary herself, instead of her mother giving it to her. A few weeks to that deadline. I've been motivated by the writing workshop I did a few weeks ago - the tutor gave us one to one session on the Sunday, and was very encouraging about the project. So at the same time, I will be polishing the first three chapters to send to a publisher. Just have to get that synopsis done!!!

My Chickollage 365 Day Collage Poetry Challenge has stalled. It's been a few weeks since I've composed a poem. But I will get organised and I will get creative and I WILL get back to it. Just not today.

About six weeks ago, I realised I needed new jeans. My old faves are coming apart at the seams. So I went to the shops and tried many on. And got very depressed. And didn't buy a thing. At that point, I realised I was in the grip of that evil black liquid again and the sugar was not doing me or my thighs any favours. So April 24th I stopped drinking Coca-Cola again. And I havent' had one since. It's been water, water, water - with the occasional ginger beer thrown in for flavour.

On Friday, I realised I've replaced the coke addiction with a new addiction. I'm addicted to sushi. Not the raw fish type of sushi. But the chicken teriyaki, the sweet chilli prawn with Japanese mayo. Yum! I've been eating almost every work day, and the loyalty card stamps fill up very quickly. The great thing about this new addiction is that I have to walk to satisfy my craving. So I'm getting healthy food and exercise. And it's paying off. On Thursday night, after another bout of overtime, I went jeans shopping again, taking advantage of a buy one pair and the second pair is 50% off sale. I'm happy to report I took three pairs of jeans into the fitting room, and didn't need to try any more. A pain free shopping experience. At last. The jeans went on lay-by and I'll pick them up on payday.

I've become a member of Romance Writers of Australia. After winning second prize in the Mid North Coast Writers Association short story competition with my Cinderella story Beyond Happy Ever After, I decided to invest my winnings into my writing 'career'. I will be attending their conference in August in Darling Harbour. Two weeks after the Byron Bay Writers Festival. August is going to be one hell of a month for writing mojo!!

Blogoff Post: Regrets

Regrets...I've had a few....

but then again...

C'mon. Face it. Life is too short for regrets!

I'm not going to get all maudlin on you.

Sure, there's things that I could've done differently, experiences that I might choose to leave in the past, but I can't change anything now. So there's no point angsting about it. Just get over it, move on, move forward into the future.

I don't regret spending money on a trip to Egypt rather than putting a deposit on a block of land.

If I die not owning a piece of this earth, but with the sweet memories of standing in four thousand year old tombs and pyramids, and sailing down the Nile on a felucca, I die happy.

Too many people live in the past...regretting the dreams that they didn't live, the words they didn't speak, the people they didn't love. But they are so stuck in the past, they are not even present in the moment....and life is once again passing them by.

We all have a 'sliding doors' moment. A time where we wonder WHAT IF...I'd made the alternative decision. But we'll never really know the what if.... We can wonder, we can dream, but we still chose the path that we're now on, and turning back is not an option. And every decision you have ever made has led you to THIS place RIGHT NOW.

It's something I love about writing. I can explore the 'what's ifs'. I can 'choose-their-own-adventure' and if I don't like the outcome, I can rewrite it. Funny thing is, I rarely change the ending once it's in place. It's as if my sub-conscious knows the natural outcome of the story and once it is on paper, it only needs enhancing. Speaking of which, I need to go and do some enhancing of my current work in progress.

This was another entry in the Blogoff for Breast Cancer fundraiser. There's only a few of us left still blogging, and Courtney of Five Second Dance Party is the instigator of the fundraiser. Courtney wants to hold another blogoff in July, so if you're interested step on over to her blog, and let her know.

Blogoff Post # 9 - KISS

This is Blogoff Post #9. Each week, raising funds for Breast Cancer research, we blog on a one-word topic. We then vote on each other's posts and the person with the least votes is eliminated from the blogoff.

KISS

I was 16. He was 21.

I was the props girl on the pantomime. He had one of the leading roles.

He would give me a lift home after rehearsals, which was dangerous, because I was developing a huge crush. And who could blame me? He was absolutely gorgeous. Picture Harrison Ford of the Han Solo era, but with blonder hair.

Our theatre group was staging three performances in one day at the local RSL club, the weekend before Christmas. I had no sleep the night before. I had baby-sat for my next door neighbour and she'd arrived home at 7.30 in the morning. Being a dutiful and responsible babysitter, I had stayed up all night. I went home, had a shower, got dressed and caught a train out to the venue.

It must have been my lack of sleep that made me so brazen. Between matinees, I gave the object of my desire a Christmas card. I signed it 'XXX. These kisses can be collected at any time in person.'

After the last performance, he collected.

Blame my lack of sleep. I seized the moment. I didn't let this gorgeous man get away with a peck on the lips. No way. I went for a full-on pash. Never let an opportunity pass you by!

He pulled back in surprise and said, 'Hang on! I'm sweet and innocent you know!' And I smiled. Yeah, right! Then he said, 'That was nice, let's do that again.'

Yummy. It wasn't my first kiss, but it was one of the most memorable. Probably because it fuelled my fantasies even further. He was so handsome, and a nice guy. But in the end, he was also the perfect gentleman. I would've been willing to go anywhere, do anything with him but he never once took advantage of me. So now he's just a very fond memory.

Blogoff Post #8: Friendship

I'm a really slack friend.

Seriously.

You ask my friends!

I hardly ever ring my long-distance friends because the last thing I want to do when I get home from work after being on the phone all day is to get on the phone again!!

So I'm slack. I occasionally email. Or I ring on public holidays or weekends when I haven't had a chance to develop a phone aversion.

But you know the great thing? For most of my friendships, it doesn't matter. We have such a strong connection that when we finally catch up we pick up exactly where we left off.

Other friendships have not lasted the distance because they were built on random and arbitary factors such as location and schooling. It turned out the only thing we had in common was our high school - no shared interet, nothing strong enough to sustain an enduring friendship. Sometimes I reach out to the old days and contact someone through schoolfriends.com only to find that we still have nothing in common.

Leane and I have been best friends since 2nd grade when she turned up on the swing in my neighbour's yard and I recognised her from school. Her house backed onto bush and we had many great adventures exploring the river at the bottom of the bush. Later we were to have lots of adult adventures including the time we placed an ad in the paper, and then double-dated the guys who answered. My nana had a friendship that lasted 50 years - wonder if we will make it that far?

As we become older, we can pick our friends by shared interests. My writing friends are a great bunch of people and I love spending time with them. And I also believe that every person enters your life jst when they're supposed to. We all influence and motivate each other in different ways. And every year, I really look forward to our pilgrimage to Byron Bay Writers Festival.

My friends have contributed to my development as a writer. They have encouraged me, motivated me, inspired me - sometimes they have even pushed me. Beyond Happily Ever After, my short story about Cinderella, would not have been written without Caz's encouragement. And I hope that I do the same for them - encourage, motivate, inspire. After all, isn't that what friendship's about?

Blogoff Post: Blood

This is blogoff post #7 - blogging to raise money for Courtney's 3 day walk for breast cancer. We started with 17? bloggers, now we're down to 8 as each week we blog on a one-word topic and then vote for each others' posts. Like the concept? Support the cause. Give if you can - a donation, a comment.

They say the first time's the hardest. Well, I never really found out. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I just couldn't think about inflicting pain.

I was a teenager at an agricultural school. That education was such a waste on me. Much to my mother's disappointment, I didn't meet the son of a rich grazier (do they exist anymore?) and I couldn't bring myself to give an iron injection to a piglet. I couldn't stick a needle into an animal. I couldn't even jab a pin into my own finger to draw blood for testing. I have no idea how junkies do it. At least my mother didn't have to worry about me getting into drugs. And if it comes down to it, and I have to give my partner insulin injections because he can't do it, I don't know how I'll do it. I guess I'll have no option.

So at the age of 20, I was working for a pizza place delivering pizzas. One household ordered their second lot of pizzas for the night and that phone call changed my life. After delivering the pizzas, I drove back to the store. A familiar road, so familiar I barely remember that drive. But I woke up two days later in intensive care.

The nurses kept asking me if I knew what day it was. I thought the constant questions were stupid. There was a digital clock in plain sight with both the date and the time. I didn't realise they were testing to see if I had brain damage. There was no brain damage, but I had a broken femur, a broken pelvis, broken ribs and a hole in my tongue. I was 'lucky' to be alive everyone kept telling me. With my leg in traction, and barely able to move, I didn't feel lucky.

I'm alive because numerous kind souls gave a part of themselves to my recovery: their blood. A fantastic gift only surpassed by the selflessness of organ donation. I'm also alive because of the magnificent efforts of the emergency department where I spent five hours while they tried to find a hospital to admit me, and for the wonderful dedication of the nursing staff.

I ended up in a ward of 24 old senile women. They gave me the best bed in the house, where I had a view of Sydney Harbour. At 2am I would watch the red light on the bridge go off, and I'd block out the demented mutterings of my fellow patients with my earphones blasting Aussie pub rock. Every morning I asked the nurse if they had transferred me to the psychiatric hospital, because I truly thought that I was going insane, and that my ward mates already were. They would joke and laugh at me and assure me I was still in the normal hospital.

I craved normality. I craved my friends. I just wanted to get up and walk out of the place. My orthopaedic surgeon told me I didn't have a leg to stand on. Haha! My shoulder turned into a pin cushion as I surrendered daily for the nurses to take blood tests. I dropped my practical subjects in my degree, and finished the bare minimum of subjects by correspondence, the lectures sent to me on tape. I didn't want to defer my course because of the actions of a drunk driver. Because that's what put me there. A drunk guy had driven straight through the red light as I was travelling through the intersection. Ploughed straight into the driver's door of my mum's car with such force that my car spun around, and ended up resting against the traffic light with his car hitting the left side.

For that little adventure, I think he lost his licence for three months. I couldn't walk unaided for four months. I spent four insane weeks in the hospital before I was allowed to go home, and started the gruelling task of physiotherapy and rehabilitation. I had a pin and plate in my leg that had to be removed again twelve months later.

That was nearly half my lifetime ago. And it taught me several things. Life is short. You don't know what is going to happen any day of your life. And nurses are the most incredible and amazing workers in this world.

Blogoff #6: CLARITY

The following is a Blog Off Post - raising funds for Breast Cancer, and organised by Courtney of Five Second Dance Party. Each week we blog on a different one word topic. This week's topic is CLARITY. The complete list of bloggers is in my sidebar in the Blogoff blogroll. Please pay them a visit and see what they have to say on this week's topic. We vote for each other's posts and the blogger with the least votes is eliminated from the blog-off. To donate money towards Courtney's fundraising efforts, please click here.


Usually my thoughts spin through my head like Whirling Dervishes.

But occasionally I have a moment of CLARITY as I did last week when I created this collage poem.

I was collaging, creating two poems at the same time. The second poem was almost forming itself. The words kept leaping out of the pile of random verbiage, wanting to be heard.

Finally, the planet
abandoning its
dramas of religion

paying attention to an already distorted situation.

A common dilemma

Name calling

Name-of-God-dropping

Hate crime.

WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

choose responsibilities or simply act now.

discover what we have in common

oddly enough,

it's the myth of FEAR.

It is wishful thinking.

That humankind would realise that WE ARE ALL HUMAN, that we all have emotions, and that we are divided by fear. If only everyone could find the common ground. If only everyone could have their moment of clarity.


Today is ANZAC DAY in Australia. On the anniversary of the landing at Gallipolli, we remember the soldiers who have fought for our country, we remember those who have made the greatest sacrifice.

Too many lives have been lost.




Too many lives are still being lost.




In previous wars the word PROPAGANDA was used. Of course, it always referred to the material being produced by the enemy to rally the troops, to win the support of the nation, to foster patriotism and support for the cause. I haven't seen the word propaganda used in recent times. Although we are bombarded by propaganda - the skewed perspective of the images on our television, the mass weapons of destruction that didn't actually exist, the headlines in the newspaper decrying the culture of the unknown, the religion that is different to ours. We are caught in a mass media hysteria and nothing is going to change until we stop the verbal garbage and clarify the situation.


We need to REACH OUT not lash out.


We are caught in a paradox of being human. We need our ambition and patriotism to keep the world turning, yet it a double-edged sword that creates competiviness, greed, mistrust and misunderstanding.


We need less hysteria and more CLARITY in our world.


Because we are all human.

Blogoff Post: Golden

It's funny, I think I 'm starting to measure my life in Blog-off Posts. Yes, another week has passed and it's time for the weekly blog-off. This week the one word topic is 'golden'. Courtney is raising money for the Breast Cancer walk and we're blogging off in support.

All things golden have been a pursuit of man since they struck their first gold vein.

The pharoahs of Egypt were incredibly materialistic. Not only did they believe in surrounding themselves with gold in their lifetime, they did not subscribe to the saying 'you can't take it with you.' They were certainly going to do their best, even if they couldn't prevent the tomb robbers from stripping the valuables of their afterlife.

I wonder if that's where it all started. This obsession with gold, the idea that this element is more precious than anything else on this earth. It's a catalyst for greed, and has caused fights, battles and wars. Government and churches hoard it, and people lust after it.

The legend of the Midas Touch is created around the lust for gold. Pity for Midas that everything he touched turned to gold. Now it might be grand to have a gold toilet seat but when you can't eat because your food is rock solid then you have problems.

For a while, I felt that I had the opposite of the Midas touch where everything I touched turned to crap. It was extremely frustrating and as much as I strived the end result was not what I wanted. But life is turning around. While the astrologers may attribute it to Jupiter moving through my sun sign, I attribute it to something else. I've stopped trying to please everyone else. Now I aim to satisfy my own creative urge and with that focus, I am succeeding.

I haven't eschewed everything golden in my life. There's still one golden boy who is more precious to me than any number of carats. And here is Dorkus....

Blogoff Post: Shenanigans

This is a post for the Blogoff with this week's topic Shenanigans. Each week we post on a one-word topic and then rank each other's posts. So far, I have avoided the cull. But how long can it last?

Shenanigans? Let me think back. Mmm, yes, I remember shenanigans and it looks like I have a photographic proof that I used to get up to shenanigans.

with faces whited out to protect the innocent.

yes, I used to be a party girl. Erotica parties above, white trash parties below.

Rubik's Cube parties where everyone came dressed in six different colours and had to swap clothes until they were wearing the one colour.

I was a party girl.

Then there was the time in Adelaide when we placed an ad in the paper, hired a pub and threw our own singles party. Or when I got up in a room of 100 people and announced I was going to write a book called Getting Laid in Adelaide, and I needed to research it.

There was plenty of shenanigans when I was a pizza delivery driver. Friday and Saturday nights were our peak nights and going to work was like going to a party. We'd send the new drivers out to a very special address without warning them first that the walls were red velvet-lined, and the menu had more sexual positions than we had pizza toppings. They would come back bug-eyed from their first pizza delivery to the brothel. And then just for fun, we would give them a jalapeno to taste.

We'd stuff pizza dough in people's exhaust pipes and for the first anniversary of the store we ordered a special delivery for the two male bosses: a stripper!

Shenangigans indeed! I have 25,000 words of a novel already based on those wild pizza days. Let's just say that job gave me my education in sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.

So when did the shenanigans stop and reality set in?

Somewhere along the line, I settled down. I stopped partying. I became committed (or maybe should have been committed). I started dealing with bills on a scarily regular basis. I moved away from my home, away from my family and away from my friends. Now when I go to a party, it's usually a sedate, mild affair with a bit of booze, rarely any drugs, and lots of philisophical conversation. Rarely any shenanigans.

I remember my father's 40th birthday party like it was yesterday. His beetroot-faced embarrassment at the strip-o-gram. And then I remember that I'm turning 40 this year. I find it hard to believe. But then again, maybe not so.

I wonder if there'll be a stripper?

Maybe it's time for some shenanigans.

Blog-Off Number 3: PRIVACY

Blog-off Post Number 3 - We are blogging to raise money for the 3 Day Walk for Breast Cancer, with the blog-off initiated by Courtney of Five Second Dance Party. All the participants are in my special blog-roll on my sidebar and I have enjoyed reading their posts to date.Each week we have a one-word topic to blog about, and then we vote for each other's posts. The person with the least number of votes is eliminated from the competition and the blog-off continues. Last week, we said goodbye Yellow and Orange . This week?

Everyone is entitled to privacy. Including Nicole and Keith. Paris? Maybe not.

I don't know about you but my life isn't so vacuous and empty that I have to hang onto every image and rumour that the gossip magazines can churn out on a weekly basis. Why is celebrity such a commodity? Why do we need pictures of film star’s private vacations? Why do we need blurry out of range shots taken surreptitiously by wedding guests instead of the official released photographs? And who asked the glossy mags to pay stars exclusive rights for their honeymoon photos?

I’d hate to be a celebrity. Who made the price of fame forfeiting privacy? When you decide that you want to be a great actor, do you also decide that you want every minute that you step out in public photographed, reproduced in millions of magazines across the globe, dissected by a hungry public?

Even celebrities are entitled to privacy. They may be public figures, but this does not mean that we are entitled to own them, to stalk them every moment that they are in public.

In the golden years of Hollywood, the stars' public appearances were carefully stage managed and orchestrated by the studios to present the best public image. Today’s celebrities don’t know where the paparazzi may be lurking, or if Joe Citizen may decide to snap them with his hot new mobile phone camera and email the photos to a tabloid.

I no longer actively support the gossip magazine industry. Although I need magazines to create my collage poems, I buy them second-hand, compensating the poor sucker who paid full price for them. The stories are ludicrous and I’m not sure anyone with a shred of integrity can write the stories unless they are deluded to the truth. I’ve lost count of the number of times that Nicole has been pregnant (article complete with baby bump photos) since she married Keith, and the number of times have Angelina and Brad’s relationship has been on the rocks.

I’m pleased that my teenage dreams of being an actress did not come true. I’m happy that I can visit the supermarket without having to slap on the full dash of make-up for fear my face may be plastered over a magazine. I’m happy that I can live my life without feeling that I’m living inside a goldfish bowl. I’m happy that I have my privacy.

On my Chickollage blog, I have set myself a challenge of creating a collage poem every day for a year. So today's collage poem is an illustration of the above article.

Police - Blogoff Round 2

"Open up! It's the pi-igs!"

One of my favourite episodes of The Young Ones is Cash, when Rik, Mike and Vyvyan make hippie Neil get a job to support the household, so he becomes a policeman complete with baton and walkie talkie. He is called to bust a party at his friends' house and the scene where he knocks on the door, calling out 'Open up! It's the pi-igs!' and then half-heartedly raids the place, while warning his friends to flush their stash still makes me giggle now.



I had a run in with the police when I was nineteen. I jumped into the neighbour's pool at nine o'clock on a sultry summer evening and the sticky beaks across the road called the cops. I had permission to used the pool while my neighbours were away. But I guess that permission did not extend to my numerous friends at night. So the police turned up and asked us to vacate the pool but my then-boyfriend (who was much older) gave them a bit of lip, so they asked him for i.d and gave him the third degree.



It's funy how portrayals of police on television can influence your expectations. One evening I was home alone when I saw the police walking up my driveway. My partner was away interstate, so I immeicatly thought the worst -- that the police were coming to inform me that he'd had an accident. But no -- they were looking for the guy who lived next door, because he'd been up to no good. I was more relieved to know that my partner was okay than to worry about living next door to a potential fugitive.



One night I was delivering pizzas, and was pulled over for a breath test.
'Have you had a drink today?' asked the young constable.
'I'm working,' I replied. 'I don't drink while I'm working. What about you?'
(hah, I was a bit cheeky in my youth)
'No, I don't,' he said, and promptly breathalysed himself to prove it.
'Now it's your turn,' he said, after he replaced the pipe.
Lucky I was telling the truth!

This is Round 2 of the Blog-off organised by Courtney of Five Second Dance Party. Last week, we sadly saw Super Duper Fantastic and Motivated Motion eliminated. If you would like to make a donation to the cause, click on the link.

Laughter - Blogoff Post # 1

My mother knew how to laugh. Big belly laughs that could rock a whole row of cinema seats. Her chuckles were like a minor earthquake, measuring on the Richter scale.

I miss my mother so much. I miss her wicked sense of humour, her smile and her laugh. I'm ashamed that I was so embarrassed by her as a teenager because now I can think of no happier sound than my mother's laughter. Mum enjoyed and loved life, and wanted to share that enjoyment with everyone: check-out chicks, the neighbours she bumped into down the street, the cats, the dogs, the cockatoo and especially her family.

Mum didn't learn to drive until I was 13 years old. But once she gained her licence and her independence, there was no holding her back. She loved driving, deliberately weaving or kangaroo hopping down a quiet street - just for fun - and she relished the opportuniity to get lost, take the long way round and discover new places along the way.

Driving gave her the opportunity to try new things. She took up cooking classes and prepared culinary banquests in several cuisines. She took oil painting lessons for a few years but she found her talent in cake decorating, churning out wedding cakes, christening cakes, cakes for any occasion.

For Dad's 50th birthday, she made a pick-up truck cake with a 'load of hot cock' because that was one of his favourite sayings at the time. The tray was filled with chocolate penises, and a pair symbolised the wipers. The sight of the cake was a catalyst of laughter for the party guests and this photo is a permanent reminder of my mum's wicked sense of humour.


So now in my first blog-off post for boobs, I've mentioned breasts and hot cocks, so I guess I'll get a few hits from the raincoat brigade. So while you're here, gentlemen, show your appreciation for the female body and follow the link to make a donation for breast cancer research!

The Blog Off starts tomorrow

I'm back from the retreat and the result of taking my SLR camera means that I hardly took any digital photos. So posting of photos willl have to wait.

We had a fabulous, relaxing and creative weekend. The weather was stunning on Friday and Saturday, although overcast on Sunday morning. Maggie had a visit from a ghost named Fred on Friday night and swapped cottages the next night. We ended up with eight more 'Pass-the-Stories', I read my first monologue for the Monologue Project, and we exercised our writing muscles in all three workshops.

We wrote a five page letter to Jen, who is pining for us in Melbourne, and after telling her in the letter that I had not taken any collage stuff (words nor magazines) to the retreat, I discovered an envelope of words in the side pocket of my suitcase. They have been in there since my trip to Adelaide. And so I made Jen a collage to accompany the letter. It is always incredible in collage poetry that the perfect words are available at just the right time. Will post this to the blog early next week.

In the meantime, the Blog-off is about to start, and I have blogrolled all the participants on my sidebar. The first topic is LAUGHTER and the blog post will be up on Wednesday. As this is a fundraiser for breast cancer, I have used the first topic as a catalyst to write about my mother, who fought hard and long against the disease.

I better go - I need to find the photos to accompany the LAUGHTER post.