Life in bullet points.

This morning I went to the local TAFE college to speak to a Women’s Education class about being a writer. They were a lovely group of women, and they made me feel very welcome. I admit, giving them all a lollypop may account for some of the goodwill, (ah yes, the old “bribe ’em with candy” trick) but even so, they were a nice bunch of people. Hey, they gave me chocolate, which proves my point. (Sorry darling, there was only enough for me.) Preparing what I had to say proved to be an interesting exercise. I did a little resume of my life – particularly my various educational and career paths – and I must say, I was surprised. When your life is in bullet points it’s amazing how good it looks. Yep, if I ignore the...

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Patience personified.

I’m waiting…waiting…waiting… The manuscript is with another agent. This writing business isn’t all champagne launches, movie rights and dollars flooding into the bank account. (What bank account!?) For most of us, it’s not like the writers on T.V. I often find myself dreaming about being a female Rick Castle. I could even cope with being described as “ruggedly handsome”. sigh. The majority of writers have a day job, or, like me, have a very supportive, generous partner who thinks that one day I’m going to make it big so it’s worth the investment. (Stay deluded, darlin’.) What drives us to keep setting ourselves up for failure? How many rejections do we take before we say, “I get the hint,...

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Safety first…

I had an unfortunate experience in the bathroom a while ago, which taught me an important life lesson and reinforced an old one. I’d stepped out of the shower and as I towelled myself dry I thought, “While I’m here I might as well tidy up the old eyebrows.” So far, so good. I opened up the drawer, took out the tweezers and leaned forward over the counter so that I could see myself in the mirror. Without my glasses I’m nearly blind, so if I don’t lean in the face is just a murky blur. It’s an interesting artistic effect but not helpful when one has to do some pruning. Halfway through the first eyebrow I realised I’d left the drawer open. (This explained the strange pressure on my abdomen every time I went in for a...

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