Dancing with Dragonflies

If You Really Want To

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 14 May 2014 10:12:00 +0000

This week, my sister Sophie turned thirteen. Amongst all the excitement about it being her birthday and about the fact that she is now a teenager, one of the things that she excited her most was the fact that she was now old enough to have her own Youtube channel. Sophie wants to be a vlogger as well as a blogger. With all the practice she’s had a making other videos (such as her ‘Show and Tell’ feature on her blog), she’s got all the skills to make the videos. But to me, who’s so camera shy that I won’t even listen to my own recorded voice, this idea sounds crazy. Who would willingly sit in front of a camera and talk to the world? It’s far easier to hide behind the written word.

But Sophie really wants to be a vlogger, and the fact that she has to sit in front of a camera and talk doesn’t seem to worry her. Nothing is going to stop her from having that shiny new Youtube channel she’s been dreaming about for weeks. I can understand that. For a long time I wanted to start a writing blog and talk about characters and plots and writers block and share the things I learnt about the craft of writing. But, for a long time, I held myself back, because after all, who would want to listen to me? It’s not like I’m the most experienced writer in the world and there are so many other writing blogs out there. Who would notice one more?

I’m sure there are a lot of vloggers out there too. Youtube is filled with so many different kinds of channels, from musicians, to Youtube shows, vloggers and those who make videos for businesses. Sophie could easily have said, ‘what’s the point of making that Youtube channel I want when there are so many others out there?’ But she didn’t. She went ahead and started her channel because she really wants it. And after all, what’s to stop her? The only thing that would stop her is herself, just like I was the only thing stopping myself from having a writing blog.

If you really want to do something, then the fact that there are lots of others doing the exact same thing shouldn’t stop you. Sophie has her Youtube channel now, despite the fact that there are other vloggers, and I finally made that writing blog I wanted, even though lots of other people have them. If there’s one thing I’m learning, it’s that, if you really want to do something, then you’ll find a way to do it, no matter what. No one can really stop you, except yourself.

Do you have a vlog channel? Have you ever wanted to start one? Or are you camera shy like me? What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do?

Camp NaNoWriMo, a Blog, and a Dog

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 04 May 2014 23:00:00 +0000

I don’t know about you, but to me, April means Camp NaNoWriMo. I’m never one to let a NaNoWriMo event pass me by. Come April 1st and I was in my virtual Camp Cabin, chatting with my fellow writers and frantically typing away. Camp NaNoWriMo is always a month filled with frenzied writing, bursts of inspiration and unexpected challenges and this April was no exception.

My first challenge came in the form of RSI (Repetitive Stress Injury) in one of my hands, which reduced me to typing with one hand. Of course, being the stubborn writer I am, I refused to admit defeat and strapped my hand up in a wrist brace, bought an ergonomic keyboard, and soldiered on. While it made writing tough for a while, I wasn’t about to let it bring my Camp to an end early.

The next distraction came in the form of a brand new blog, this time about writing. For a long time I’ve wanted to start a blog about writing, but it wasn’t until this April that I actually got around to starting one. And so, Gossiping with Dragons was born. Of course, I started it in one of the busiest months of the whole year, but after all, that is what Camp NaNoWriMo is all about, the challenge.

Finally, we adopted a puppy from the animal shelter. A dog is another thing I've always wanted. So, just after Easter, right at the end of Camp when I needed to be catching up with the word count I got behind on during Easter, I was playing with a six month old puppy with a big nose and masses of curiosity. Nora is a bitzer, a bit of this and a bit of that, all combined to make a puppy that is a bundle of energy and endearingly friendly.

At the end of April, after all the challenges and distractions, what have I got? I have a Camp NaNoWriMo win, a brand new novel (in the form of a terrible first draft), a dog, and a new writing blog. To me, that equals a successful month.

How was your April? Like to come and visit my new blog? Did you take part in Camp NaNoWriMo? Anyone else got a dog with a nose like a vacuum cleaner? Any tips for avoiding RSI?

Embassy: Strange Worlds and Long Journeys

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 06 Mar 2014 04:06:00 +0000

My two favourite genres of books are fantasy and sci-fi, so when I got the chance to read the recently released science-fiction novel Embassy by S. Alex Martin, I couldn’t pass it up. I had the very great honour of critiquing his first chapter a couple of times when he was editing the book, so I was especially excited to read the rest of it to find out how the story ended.

Back Cover:

THIS IS A JOURNEY. Arman Lance wants nothing more than to join the Embassy Program and fly across the galaxy. He wants to find Ladia Purnell, a girl who visited his planet years earlier. They had fallen in love, but their time together was short. Arman has become determined to find her again -- to the point of obsession. He believes his happiness, and future, depends on it. Arman expected people in the Embassy to think he'd follow his father's footsteps. He also expected to slip into a simple routine, a path that would take him straight to Ladia. But he never expected anyone to stop him, especially not the ever-smiling adrenaline junkie Glacia Haverns, who decides it's her job to show Arman there's more to life than chasing desperate dreams.

I love the amount of world building that went into this book. Each planet is distinct from the others, with different climates, landscapes and customs. The descriptions of the scenery are vivid and really brought these places to life in my mind and created a fitting backdrop for Arman's story to play out in. One of my favourite parts of the world the story is set in is the game Hologis, which reminds me of a futuristic game of knock-out paintball played with massive groups of people.

Hands down though, the characters are the very best part of the book. My favourite character was Glacia, who is an avid Hologis player, and a lively girl who is determined to make Arman enjoy life. The other characters were also really likable for the most part. I would have loved to have gotten to know the other young recruits in the Embassy program a little better, but I hear there's to be a sequel, so maybe we will see them again there.

There are a few things in the book that I didn’t like so much, such as the population control system, where parents are killed when their grandchildren are born. However that may just be my personal taste, and it certainly didn’t take away from my enjoyment of the book.

Overall, I liked this book, and I especially appreciated the descriptions and the explanations of the sci-fi world that really helped to bring it alive. I definitely want to read Embassy again in the future. If you’re looking for a sci-fi book about space, journeys and the enjoyment of life, you should definitely check out Embassy by S. Alex Martin.

Connect with S. Alex Martin

Buy the book: Embassy (ebook version)

Facebook: S. Alex Martin - Author

Twitter: S. Alex Martin

Blog: Get it Write Tonight

Building Fences with Brothers

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 04 Mar 2014 00:59:00 +0000

With four sisters and two brothers, I usually spend a lot of time with my sisters rather than with my brothers. There are just so many more opportunities to do things with my sisters, from watching Jane Austen movies together to dedicating whole days to art projects. Spending time with my brothers is far rarer, usually confined to watching a superhero movie together in the evening, or taking the occasional trip to the beach on a warm day.

Sometimes however, I get the chance to do something unusual with my brothers. My older brother Callum has been building a fence. It involves big sheets of metal, steel posts, large amounts of concrete, power tools and no little amount of fun. I very much wanted to help, but sadly assumed that no self-respecting fence builder would want a younger sister hanging round attempting to help...

Read the rest of the post here: Building Fences with Brothers

In Fear of Interviews and Interviewing

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 19 Jan 2014 07:23:00 +0000

This week I interviewed one of my friends for an article I’m writing. I love writing articles, putting the words together in the right order and polishing it until it flows perfectly. But I’m terrified of interviewing people. The very thought of asking someone a bunch of nosy questions fills me with fear and dread. What if I do it wrong? What if I forget to bring my notebook? What if I can’t use any of the material in my article? Or worse, what if I have to redo the whole interview? Going through all that again would be a nightmare!

For a whole week before the interview I write and rewrite all the questions, right up to the very day. Should I write the bare questions? Or should I try to write them in such a way that I can read them straight into the conversation? I decide to record the interview with my phone so that I can listen to it later. But then I worry about whether it has enough memory to record a whole interview and whether it’s going to pick up the voices well enough. This preparing for the interview is hard work.

The day arrives. I’ve got the name of the café where I’m meeting my friend. I check my bag about fifty million times. Am I sure my pen’s going to work? I’ve got ten of them, just to be sure. Phone? Check. Notebook? Check. I make sure I leave the house extra early. What if I’m not able to find the cafe and end up being late? That would be terrible! Instead I turn up at the café a whole quarter of an hour early and have to sit in the hot sun outside, waiting. Well, better safe than sorry, isn’t that right?

In my head I rehearse how to start the interview. It needs to be just right. My friend arrives just as I get it worked out. We go into the café together. I don’t think I’ll have coffee. I’ve got enough to think about without trying to have a drink at the same time. What if I spill it all over my phone or notebook and mess everything up? It’s time to begin the interview, time to pull out that perfect start I prepared. Help! I’ve forgotten it completely. I stutter the first question out. What a great way to begin.

A street performer plays the guitar right outside the café. Cars drive past every few minutes or so. What if they block out the sound of our voices on the recording? Every few minutes or so I inch the phone closer and closer to my friend, hoping she doesn’t notice. My sweaty hands slip on the pen and dampen my notebook pages. And then, finally, it’s all over. I sit back, turn the phone off and take deep breaths of relief. I’ve done it! I can stop worrying. Until the next interview at any rate…

The Fun of Blogging with Family

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 07 Jan 2014 05:32:00 +0000

Most of my family have blogs. My mum writes on several blogs. My three younger sisters all have their own blogs. Even my older sister Felicity, who lives a long way away, has a blog. But, in all the time we’ve been blogging, we’ve only ever written on our own, personal blogs, except for the occasional guest post on each other’s blogs. Until now.

This year we’ve started a new blog, Mother, Daughters, Sisters, where all us Elvis girls will be blogging together about our lives and the things that interest us. The blog has been going for about a week so far, and already it’s been amazing fun. This past week has been all about introducing ourselves, and it’s interesting to see how each person has introduced themselves in a different way, from Sophie who interviewed herself, to Felicity who wrote a heartfelt post on why she is different and it doesn’t matter.

Yesterday it was my turn to introduce myself on the blog. Somehow I find introductions very difficult to write. How does one manage to write an introduction that tells people about you and at the same time make you sound like an interesting person? Well, I don’t know if I managed to write an interesting post, but my attempt involves Jane Austen’s heroines including a previously unknown one...

There are lots of great things about blogging with my family. There are lots of people to share the posting with. It doesn’t matter if no one reads the blog (though of course we would love it if people did), because we’re sharing our posts with each other. It’s a way to keep connected with Felicity, who lives on the other side of the country. And most importantly, we’re all sharing a passion for writing in a personal way that connects us, no matter how far away we are.

Have you ever shared a blog with friends or family? Would you ever consider being part of a shared blog? What do you think is the best part about blogging with other people?

Interviews and Unschooling

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 11 Oct 2013 04:50:00 +0000

Image by popturfdotcom here

Yesterday, Mum and I made a movie together. We settled down in the living room and set up out tripod, a dining room chair with a pile of out-of-date encyclopedias sitting on. I sat in one of the big armchairs. Mum set up the camera on the 'tripod'. Today Mum would be interviewing me about being unschooled and about studying at university.

I glanced at the list of questions I had sitting in my lap. We discussed what I was going to say. Was this a good idea? It felt a lot like public speaking, which scares me. I'd much rather sing to a crowd than speak to them. Taking a deep breath, I waited for Mum to start filming. The little red light appeared on the camera. I smiled at my non-existent audience and began to speak.

Once I got going, it wasn't too scary after all. Every so often we stopped the camera, discussed what I was going to say in the next segment. Mum took a rest from holding onto the camera.And then we carried on. I talked for what seemed to be ages before we finally got through all the questions and finished filming.

Then Mum took the video to her room, downloaded it onto her computer and started editing it into something acceptable for other people to see. As I passed her room occasionally, I caught snatches of my own voice, babbling on about one thing or another, and winced. There is nothing so humbling as hearing your own voice. It didn't take long for Mum to have the movie finished though.

"Do you want to see it?" Mum asked me.

I shook my head at once. "No thanks. I don't like listening to myself talk."

But even though I didn't watch it, other family members told me that it was good. It seemed that me sitting in front of a camera and attempting to talk about my experiences unschooling and now studying at university had ended up with a fairly good video. Already we're thinking about the next movie. Now that I've been interviewed once, I wouldn't mind too much doing it again. My brothers and sisters might have a turn too. Who knows what we might come up with next?

If you're interested in hearing what it was like to be unschooled, and what it's like to study university over the internet, then please check out my interview. You can find it here: Imogen Talks about Unschooling and University

Feeling Like a Jane Austen Heroine

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 03 Oct 2013 09:48:00 +0000

Photo by Ben Sutherland on Flickr

Right now I feel like one of Jane Austen's heroines. Except not quite so witty and elegant. Or maybe Cinderella, except I have both my shoes and I don't go around covered in ashes. Why? Because one of my kind friends has invited me to go to a ball. I've never been to one of those before, but I've read enough Jane Austen to know I'm in for a good time.

Finding accommodation, shoes and jewellery is the easy part of getting ready for the ball. I exchange a few emails with the college holding the ball and hey presto, I have a room reserved for me. No, the real challenge is trying to find a dress for a five foot something girl who's rather interested in having at the very least, thick straps on her dress.

We search for a dress. Many hours hunting on internet shops and walking round real shops tells me two things. Ball gowns with sleeves or thick straps are hard to find. How on earth would one ever be able to keep a dress with no straps on? And finding a ball gown that fits a short person like me perfectly? That's impossible. By the time we find a dress, I felt about three feet tall. Surely I am not that small. It is only thanks to my amazing mum that we find a dress at all.

The dress arrives less than a week later, and I try it on. It's a pretty silver blue, with three layers of shiny, slippery fabric and jewels around the neckline. And it's long. Very long. To even walk I have to hold up huge handfuls away from my feet. Just one look at the dress and we can all see, it's going to need some serious altering to make it short enough for me to wear. We measure it, fold the hem, measure it again. Finally, after hours of work, we reach a decision. I have to have exactly half a foot lopped off the end of the dress. And with such a complicated dress to turn up, we have to get a professional tailor to do it for us.

But the hard parts are done, and the ball is looming closer and closer. Soon my beautiful ball gown will come back from the tailor. Soon I'll be able to try everything on properly and see exactly what it all looks like. Soon I'll be off to a ball with my friends, dancing, having a good time, and feeling rather like a Jane Austen heroine.

My mum has also written a post about me going to a ball: Wanted: One Prince Charming. Please pop over and share her humorous post about finding a Prince Charming.

Family, Fun, and a Bush Run

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 26 Aug 2013 09:05:00 +0000

My family loves to run. During the winter we take turns pounding out a few kilometers on the treadmill every morning. During the spring and summer we get up early and go for a run along the bush track before breakfast. We also love to spend time together as a family. So what would be better than to go out on a run together as a family outing?

Shoes tied and water bottles in hand we headed out to try one of the local bush tracks. Together we walked from the car to the path. Together we set off. And together we hit the first hill. My muscles were already burning as we scrambled to the top and plunged down the other side. At the bottom we hit another steep hill. Up and down. Up and down. And up and down again. I puffed and panted, sweat rolling down my face as I worked hard not to fall behind. Somehow I kept up almost all the way to the end of the track.

At the end of the track it was time for triumphant photos, inspection of wounds where various family members had fallen over on the loose rocks, and a quick rest to catch our breaths. But then, we had to run all the way back. The track had led us deep into the bush, and our water bottles and picnic were 2.5km away, back at the car. I looked at the hills. I'd never make it all that way. 2.5km back, all up and down those hills again.

We split into two groups as we headed back. There was the slow but steady group, led by me, the tired, out of practice runner. And then there was the fast group, rapidly disappearing into the green of the bush way ahead of us. I looked round at my little group. 2.5km. We could do that together. I'd make sure of it. We set off after the quicker group, our tired feet carrying us steadily up and down the steep hills, heading ever closer towards the car, our drinks, and lunch.

"You can do it."

"Just a little bit further."

"You can make it to the top of the next rise."

"Careful, it's a bit slippery here. I'll help you."

My little team and I pushed each other up the hills, encouraging each other. I was tired, and my feet and legs hurt. But this was actually really fun. I had my team, and we were doing well. I looked around at my little group and had to grin. Even us really tired people were working hard and still going. No one said that they couldn't possibly run another step. And there was the end of the bush track and the concrete path back to the car. Why, we were almost there already.

"Ready?"

My team and I looked at each other. We grinned and nodded, then picked up the pace, sprinting past little old ladies, dogs, and children on bikes. Feet pounding, arms pumping, we flew towards the car, pulling up, puffing and panting. We collapsed on the grass, red faced, but triumphant. It might have been a long run, it might have been hard. I might have been a little out of practice. But we'd made it the whole way. I'd made it the whole way. And it was picnic time.

Looking around the picnic table not long after, I was very thankful. I had my family. I was fairly fit. And I'd had a whole day of fun. It might have been a tough run for me. But it was worth it to spend time with my family like this. Yes, I was very thankful indeed.

How to Make a Colour Splash Photo

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 23 Aug 2013 08:03:00 +0000

I have always admired other people's photos. How do they manage to compose the photo so perfectly? How do they get the lighting just right? And how on earth do they manage to edit those pictures so spectacularly, like that great effect where just one thing in a black and white photo is coloured? Obviously they must use some extra special editing programs that are incredibly difficult to use. Normal people couldn't do it. Or could they?

The other day my clever mother found out how to make these colour splash photos, and she taught me how to do it too. You only need a photo and some simple, free, online photo editing software. It's so easy that even I can do it! I'm going to show you how you can make these fantastic your photos, even if you know nothing about photo editing.

Step one is to find a photo to use. You can use one of your own, or, if you're like me and aren't any good at actually taking photos, you can use a free one. Most of my photos come from Morguefile, a creative commons photo resource website. I find that using a photo with a strong subject in a strong colour makes the photo more striking. This is the photo I've chosen.

Now go to Picmonkey. It's a free online photo editing program, and it has all the tools that you're going to need for this. If you need to play with the colours and brightness in your photo, now's the time to do it. Make sure that the part of the picture that's going to be coloured is just how you want it to look. Once you've started the next step it's difficult to go back and fix colouring. My picture already looks ok, so I'm ready to move on to the next step.

This next step is where the magic happens. Go to the 'Effects'. It's in the left sidebar, and looks like a bubbling flask. Scroll down and click on the black and white effect. Now your whole picture should be black and white. Do not click on apply. You should see a floating window with slider bars sitting near your picture. This is the paintbox, and it's going to help you make your amazing photo.

Make sure that the 'original' button is clicked on the paintbox. Hover your mouse over the picture. It should be a little round circle. Click and drag across the part of the picture that you want to colour. The black and white effect will disappear. Use your paintbrush to colour the subject of your picture. This might take a while, and can be a little fiddly. If you make a mistake, just click 'Effect' on the paintbox and rub over the mistake and it'll go away.

Once you're sure that you've got the picture right, click on 'apply'. And there you have it, your black and white picture with a splash of colour. Isn't it awesome looking? And you didn't need anything special to make this effect.

If you're feeling like the black and white is too harsh, you can use the slider bar in the left sidebar, where you clicked on the black and white effect, to fade the black and white, like I've done in this picture. This lets a little colour into the picture, but keeps everything except the painted area very muted.

Isn't my mum clever to know how to do this? And now you can do it too. Why not give it a try? Then leave me a link in the comments so I can go and see your masterpiece. I'd love to see what you come up with.

Critiquing Fear

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 31 May 2013 04:21:00 +0000

It’s the first day of a new study period for university. I click eagerly through the university website, glancing through the course outline. For my introduction, I have to introduce myself as a character. Well, that’s different. And then…

I have to critique someone else’s introduction.

At once the panic starts to rise. Help! Critique someone’s work? But I’m not very good at writing myself. I don’t know how to give a good critique. I don’t want the other students to hate me for pointing out faults in their work. I’m having a panic attack and I haven’t so much as clicked the mouse yet.

It’s a funny thing, but no one seems to like giving critiques. My course is a creative writing course, and yet everyone is saying ‘Oh your work is wonderful. I love such-and-such about it’, and nothing else. Which is all very nice to hear. I can’t help smiling and feeling just a little bit clever. But at the same time, comments like these aren’t going to make me into a better writer. They’re just going to give me a big head.

So, if I realise that this is not the way to help people, why do I feel bad when I post a critique that both praises and criticizes a piece of writing? I might not have a piece of paper that tells me I’m qualified to help other people with their writing, but I can tell them what didn’t work for me. It’s an opinion, nothing more.

I think that this fear of critiquing someone’s writing comes from fear that I’m going to hurt the other person’s feelings. Even when I’ve spent an hour writing and rewriting the same hundred and fifty words over and over trying to phrase the critique in a way that I hope won’t offend, I’m still worried that I’m going to be making them feel like their work is terrible. I’ve had enough bad days of my own where I think that my writing is terrible to want to give anyone else a day like that.

But saying that everything is perfect, that’s not the way to help anyone improve. If we were all perfect already, why would we be taking this course? So I write and rewrite that critique over and over again, trying to word it just right, trying to gently show the other people where they might improve their writing and make it stronger. Not to say that I’m any good at this. It’s true, I’ve never done this before. But if I truly want to help the other person, I need to show them the good and the bad, in the nicest way possible. Critiques, they don’t seem to be easy things to write, but they are necessary if we're to grow as writers.

April Adventures Successes

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 14 May 2013 06:29:00 +0000

Before April started, I wrote a post about all the adventurous things I was taking on in April. And honestly, there were a lot. I looked at my list and couldn't believe how many things I was doing. What was I thinking? Well, to tell the truth, I wasn't thinking. Not until it was too late.

Still, I had signed up for all those things, and I wasn't about to give up now. So I went to it with a will, determined not to fall behind in anything. Surely I could manage that? Well, maybe...

April Camp NaNo was the easiest of the challenges. Even aiming for a higher goal than the usual 50 thousand words I found it fairly easy to keep up with the required minimum of words. Writing first drafts of novels is the best part of novel writing to me.

The A-Z challenge was harder. Being me, I wasn't prepared at all. I didn't even sign up until a few days before. I had no idea of what to write. Every evening I sat at my desk and tried to come up with something interesting to say, with varying amounts of success.

And then there were university assignments that had to be written and submitted on time. Music practices to be done. Family to attempt to see more than just at meal times. So many things to do in a day.

And did I manage it? Yes I did. I didn't miss a day with the A-Z challenge. I completed my April Camp NaNo word count. I did my music practices, submitted my assignments, and even managed to remember I had a family every once in a while. April was a huge success.

After all that hard work in April, I took a blogging break for the first two weeks of May to recharge. Which means I'm terribly behind with the lovely comments that people have left me. My apologise, and thank you to everyone who has left a comment. I'm working moderating and answering them all as fast as I can.

Zippers and Homemade, Hand-Me-Down Skirts

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 10:51:00 +0000

It was beautiful fabric. Thick, blue denim, with a pink pattern on it. I could just see it as my newest skirt. Oh, I could't wait for Mum to make it for me, to work her magic with the sewing machine and turn it into a skirt. It would swish around my ankles, long and elegant. It would be amazing.

The sewing machine whirred and hummed. I stood outside the door, listening to the buzzing of the machine, and the puff of the steam iron as Mum worked to turn that fabric into my skirt. Not long now.

"It's all done. Why don't you try it on?"

I flew to my room, skirt clutched to my chest. Done at last! Now I would ear it. I slid it on, and reached for the zipper. And then stopped. Where was the zipper tab for me to pull it up by? I groped around. Where was it? The zipper was there, but the tab wasn't

No, wait. There it was. On the inside of the skirt! The zipper was inside out. It was a perfect zipper, the best zipper in a homemade skirt I'd ever had, but it was inside out. Whoops!

Not that it mattered to me. I didn't mind sliding my fingers down the inside of my skirt to undo the zip. It was one of my favourite skirts, and I loved wearing it, inside out zipper and all. It was a sad day when I handed it down the line to the next sister to wear.

A few weeks ago, the time came to sort out the winter clothes. Large storage boxes sat in the hallway and clothing strewed the house. And then, out of the piles of clothes, came the skirt with the inside out zipper.

My second youngest sister, Sophie, pounced on it with a cry of delight. "I remember this skirt. Do you think I'd fit it this year?" Much to her delight, it did fit. She put it on, and danced around the room in her new, hand-me-down skirt with the inside out zipper. It didn't matter to her about the mistake. She just loved the skirt.

So really, it doesn't matter about little mistakes like those. Because a skirt with an inside zipper can be just as well loved as any other skirt, especially when it's made by your mother with love.

Yes I Can

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 29 Apr 2013 08:34:00 +0000

I drag myself out of bed and down to the park with my sisters. I’m so tired. Maybe I could just do a little run. There’s no way I’m running 6km today. I can’t do that. Not when I’ve got a headache and I’m tired and everyone else seems to be running so much better than me. I’m not good enough> I can’t do this today.

Yes I can. Those words are magic. My feet feel lighter already. Yes, I can do this. The third kilometre is gone, and I’m heading up the fourth. Yes, I am good enough to do this. The fifth kilometre is a memory in the past. Yes, I can make it to the end. I’m strong, I’m fast, I’m a runner. And there I am, six kilometres run.

Where is that headache now? Where’s that tiredness? Wasn’t I supposed to be heaving my leaden feet around the track, bewailing every moment I had to spend out here? Wasn’t I supposed to be the bad runner, who wasn’t as fit as everyone else? Where did all that go? Was it all in my imagination?

I grin at my family as we stride home, our heads held high. Yes, I did it. I can be proud now. Just thinking those three little words, ‘Yes I can’, what a change it makes. I know what to do next time I go running. Can I run as far as everyone else? Yes I can.

X-Rays, Thumbs, and Writer’s Wrist

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 09:38:00 +0000

About two years ago, I dislocated my left thumb. It was really silly actually. Just a friendly game of soccer where the ball hit me on the base of the thumb and popped it out of joint. Admittedly, the recovery wasn’t very fun, and it was more than a month later when I finally had full use of my hand again. The doctor who x-rayed my hand to make sure I hadn’t broken anything thought I was pretty silly to have done that, and probably I was.

But it healed, and that was the end of it. Or so I thought.

Almost a year later, I took part in my first ever NaNoWriMo. Halfway through the month, my left wrist suddenly became a little painful. It’s nothing too bad. Nothing I can’t handle. And it goes away pretty quickly too.

But it comes back. Over and over again it comes back, normally right when I need a good wrist the most. Which is generally around the time I’m working on a novel. It’s annoying, and painful, but, until a certain point, not too bad.

And then NaNoWriMo last year came around and silly me wrote too much too fast. Hundreds of thousands of words later and my wrist hurt like I redislocated the thumb. Though I knew I haven’t done that at least.

A doctors trip later, and I head for an x-ray again, as well as an ultrasound. The x-ray is easy. Move my hand around into three painful positions and that’s it. Done. However the ultrasound took forever. The doctor watched the images on a screen, making notes and taking pictures. I stared up at them, anxious. Was there something badly wrong? What was she looking at? If only I knew how to translate the black and white pictures.

“You have writer’s wrist,” one doctor told me. “Lots of typing brings it one, though having it in the left hand is unusual for a right handed person. A shot of steroids will fix you up though.”

Writer’s wrist. I never heard of that one before. Does getting writer’s wrist make you into a proper writer? Does getting a steroid shot in your wrist make it big and strong and muscular? I wonder.

Well, the steroid shot didn’t give me a massively muscular wrist. But it did fix it. No longer plagued by writer’s wrist, I’m back to typing, just a little more carefully than before. Maybe writing so much in a month isn’t the best thing for me. So for all your writers, be careful. Or you might end up with writer’s wrist like me!

Welcoming the Wonderful Piano

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 09:21:00 +0000

A new piano sits in our house. It’s shiny black, with beautiful, white keys. It sits there, inviting fingers to press those keys and hear the notes ringing out, one by one, making music. It is by far the most beautiful piano that has ever been in our house.

This is my new piano. Many people get presents. Soap. Body wash. Books. Me, I was given a piano. I’m still not able to believe that someone would be so kind as to give me a whole piano. But there it is, sitting in my house, and I have to start believing it.

I sit down to play the piano. My scruffy black music folder sits on the music stand. It doesn’t look good enough for this wonderful piano. There should be something smarter sitting there. I put my fingers to the keys, take a deep breath, and start to play.

Is that my music? Is that really me playing those notes that boom out and fill the whole house? I’ve never heard my pieces sound as amazing as this at home before. Can this be me playing, on my piano? Is that my music ringing out? It must be, but it doesn’t sound like me. It sounds way, way better.

My new piano sits in the corner, gleaming in the light. I run my hand over its smooth surface, thankful for the wonderful person who was so kind as to give it to me. Piano practice will never be the same again.

Villains: Becoming the Good Guys

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 09:01:00 +0000

The best villains, in my opinion, are the ones who are smart and witty and not easily beaten by the good guys. They’re the ones who use their brains, and come very close to beating the hero, and who you can have respect for. They’re not your common or garden criminals. They’re artists, taking villainy to the next level.

But what’s better than a villain who’s amazing at being bad? Why, a villain that’s amazing at being good. I’ve noticed that a few of my favourite movies and books have this aspect to them.

My most favourite movie of all time is Megamind, about a villain with a giant blue head, who ends up fighting evil and becoming the hero. It’s all about turning the typical superhero story on its head. Megamind is smart, and funny, and at the same time, so clueless about being the hero of the story.

In books, I recently read a series of books about a boy in a villainous academy, where he was being taught how to be a villain. The name of the academy was amazing. It was called HIVE: Higher Institute of Villainous Education. And this boy, he might have been learning how to be a villain, but he was leaning to be a gentlemanly villain, fighting off the real bad characters. Again, it took the idea of a villain, and turned it on its head.

A villain’s a great character. And it’s even better when they can be turned into the good guys. Do you have any other examples of this?

University and Following the Right Dream

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 09:04:00 +0000

At the beginning of this year, I started my dream university course. I’d love to be able to say that it was what I had always wanted to study for, but sadly, no. You see, I used to have this mistaken idea that I wanted to be a doctor.

For years and years I kept up the idea that I was going to be a doctor. Ok, so I couldn’t name you a single thing about being a doctor that really drew me in, and I couldn’t think of a single area that I would work in, but that was a small matter really. Obviously I was meant to be a doctor.

Until I got to thinking. Did I really want to be a doctor? I spent my last school years studying chemistry (which I was very bad at), biology (that was ok), and advanced maths (which I found boring sadly, though I did ok). And I was pretty sure that I was ready to jump into this doctor’s degree.

Only, I suddenly realised that that wasn’t the right thing to do. Did I really want to be a doctor? I couldn’t be a surgeon. Even thinking about cutting people up made me feel sick. And looking after a person for more than a day was never my thing either. No, I was pretty sure that I didn’t want to be a doctor after all.

And that’s when I realised, if I didn’t have to be a doctor, I could be something else. Something exciting. Like, a writer, or an editor. Yes, for someone like me, who’s always working on some piece of writing, that sounded just perfect. Imogen Elvis, author and editor. That sounded pretty good to me.

So now I’m studying writing and publishing. I might not enjoy the sociology side of things, but I know that somewhere in the future, the writing lurks. And I’m working towards the degree that I want. And what could be better than working towards the right dream?

Tricycles, Four Girls, and a Steep Hill

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 08:26:00 +0000

We used to live in a house which had a steep hill down one side. The hill swooped down, down, down, before curving round the back of the house, and round a tree. It was a perfect hill for a billy-cart, or other sort of cart.

Not that we had a billy-cart. But what we did have was a tricycle. It was yellow and green and had two seats. And it was the perfect vehicle for flying down the hill on. Two girls would sit on the seats, the smallest girls of course, because they were the safest. And we two older girls hung one on each side.

Up to the top of that very steep hill we pushed that tricycle. At the very top we’d stop, and arrange ourselves. Then, ‘One. Two. Three!’ We pushed ourselves off the top of the hill and went flying down the side.

Faster and faster the tricycle went. Faster and faster, and all the time we shrieked and shouted with glee. And faster and faster the tree at the bottom of the hill came closer. Would we make it this time? Would we get round the curve without spilling over, or hitting the tree? Most often not. But sometimes, just sometimes, we’d go swooping round that corner and sail on down the garden.

Finally we’d coast to a stop, unclench white knuckled fingers, and push the tricycle back up to the top. Over and over again we flew down that hill. Until at last, one day, four girls was just too many, and the front half parted ways with the back half, ending our fun on the hill.

Shopping Trolleys and School Pick-Ups

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 08:08:00 +0000

Do you ever wonder what happened to shopping trolleys that went missing. Sometimes I've see them abandoned at the side of the road, or down a small street. Some even get dumped in water filled ditches. But I've never seen as many trolleys as are reported missing. But I might have found where these trolleys go. They go to school.

Once, of my dad’s school students was late in getting picked up from school. His brother was supposed to come and get him, but at the right time, no one turned up to get this kid. Which meant that my dad had to stay at school until someone came to get him and take him home.

A lot of time passed. This brother was very late. Finally however, he arrived at the school in a novel form of transportation. Other pupils came on foot, on a push bike, or even on a skateboard. Not this boy. He arrived...in a shopping trolley. And furthermore, he took his brother home in the same way.

Is this what happens to the shopping trolleys when they go missing from the shops? Is it normal for school kids to go wandering around the streets, riding in a school trolley? Does it make for a comfortable ride? I wonder...Do you know?

'R' Words and Rotten Sisters

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 20 Apr 2013 08:56:00 +0000

I sat down to write my post today. What ‘R’ word would I write about today? There were sure to be lots of ‘R’ words that would make great blog posts.

“You could write about Wabbits,” my sister Charlotte said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Or Winos, or Widiculous Sisters.”

“Or I could Wite about how you’re a Wotter,” I said. “I can’t think straight any more.

“Well I Wouldn’t Worry about that,” Charlotte said. “I’ve lots more ideas for you. Wice Pudding. Or Weading. Or even the Wotten Womans. How about Wunning Away?”

I shook my head. “None of those will do. I’ll have to come up with an idea of my own.”

Only, I can’t. My Wotten sister has filled my head with Wabbits and Wunning, and I can’t come up with anything sensible to say. So I’m afraid this has become a post of ‘W’ words. Whoops. I Weally am a Wubbish Witer tonight. I'll get back to you with the 'R' words when I've Wun away from this Widiculous speech impediment I'm afflicted with.

This really should have been my W post I'm sure. But my ridiculous sister interfered, so R has become W. My apologies. Charlotte is still unwepentant.

Quests and Saving the World

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 09:28:00 +0000

There are lots of things that I like about fantasy novels, both reading them and writing them. Characters can go to amazing places. There can be magic. Elves, dwarves and dragons are all commonplace. But one of my favourite things about fantasy novels is the quests.

Quests. Those epic adventures to find the solution to all their problems. Whether it’s a quest to kill a dragon, to find a magic gem, or, as in my novel, a magic tree made of living crystal. When a small group of people band together to go on a quest to save the world from a fate worse than death, how can we not cheer for them?

Frodo Baggins went on a big quest to throw the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. He and his small band of friends went across Middle Earth to save it from the powers of Sauron. One small band of friends to save the world. It seems impossible, but that just makes the end all the better when the small band defeats the mighty armies of the bad guys.

Quests, the perfect Q word for a fantasy lover like me. No wonder I write quests and read them. What are your favourite quests?

Perishing Pigeons

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 09:24:00 +0000

I knelt in church. The Blessed Sacrament stood on the altar, enclosed in the golden monstrance. All around me people knelt, their heads bowed in prayer. One hour of silent adoration of Our Lord. Everything was peaceful. Outside it was noisy, busy, and hot. But in here it was cool, silent and restful.

Maybe that’s what brought the pigeon inside the church, the coolness. Or maybe it wanted to come and see Our Lord too. At any rate, there it was, swooping through the church, heading towards the front. It shot upwards suddenly, and landed on one of the exposed crossbeams of the roof. Hardly anyone noticed the bird anyway.

Everything stayed nice and peaceful, just right for pray and adoration. I forgot about the pigeon in the room. Until it fell out of the air and landed on its back on the floor, near the altar, stone dead.

What made the pigeon die like that? Why did fly into a church, sit there, and then just perish? I still haven’t managed to work that bit out yet. Maybe it was overcome by the presence of God as it sat there in the roof. Or maybe it was something else. But, whatever the reason for its death, it couldn’t have chosen a better time, or a better place to die, in a church, before Our Lord exposed.

Outside, Inside, and Playing as a Kid

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 09:36:00 +0000

Even though I’m only eighteen, I always feel old when I think back to when I was a child, in those days before double figures. In those days, there were four of us, all running round, playing our imaginative games together. In those days, we all had fun together.

When I was younger, I led all the games, mainly because I was the eldest, and so, in my sister’s eyes, must obviously be able to think up the best games. So my games involved civil wars, pirates (there were some lovely trees on our driveway, just right for sailing the high seas on), American Indians, sword fighting, and travelling the prairies in covered wagons. Sometimes we rowed ourselves around the garden in a baby bath…er, rowboat. Every day was outside, playing with leaves, sticks, and lashing of imagination.

But one couldn’t play outside all the time. So we had our games inside too. My dad used to bring home lots of paper from work. It was printed on one side, but the other was blank and white. Just right for drawing on. But I wasn’t ever content just to draw. No, my pictures told a story, and always, for some reason, involved bunk beds stacked six beds high. Maybe they were just easy to draw.

Then there were libraries, with catalogues written in my sprawling handwriting and tape covered library cards. Or massive games with Barbie dolls that lasted weeks at a time. It was a convenient excuse not to clean my room. We simply couldn’t, or we’d mess up the game.

I compare what we did then with how things are now. Now there is only one little girl running around, imagining she's a pirate. Now there's only one little girl sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of toys and having a wonderful game. We've grown up and left her behind to play on her own. It's such a pity. Maybe I might forget that I'm so old and join on the floor with her toys and games and pretend I'm only nine again too.

NaNoWriMo, the Big Writing Challenge

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 09:46:00 +0000

A year and a half ago, I discovered an exciting sounding challenge called National Novel Writing Month, where writers from around the world set out to write a fifty thousand word novel in the month of November. It sounded very exciting. And so, with only a few days to go before the start of the month, and with not a single idea for a novel between us, my three sisters, my mum and I all signed up for the big challenge, the younger two girls setting their own goals through the Young Writer’s Program.

November first, and we sat down to write. What would my novel be about? Would I be able to make it to the end of the word count before the month was over? I hoped so, and worked hard to make sure that it happened. My novel was a mess. Everyone talked over their ideas and gave each other suggestions as to how to keep on with their novels.

And by the end of the month, every single one of us had crossed the finish line with time to spare, from my nine year old sister to my mum. On the last day, we celebrated our victories, laughed at the awful quality of our novels, and made plans to come back and do it all again the next year. After working on fixing these novels of course.

The next year rolled round, 2012, and five people turned up for NaNoWriMo once again. This time we had out novels a little more planned, had a better idea of what was required of us, and brought with us even more determination to win than before. And did we win? We sure did. Another five winners celebrated on the last day, just as before.

And this year? Are we planning on going for our third NaNoWriMo wins in a row? You bet we are. We’re a family of writers. Writing novels is what we do.