Deborah Kalin's Blog, page 32

mad concentration skills, i — ooh! shiny!

For the past couple of days, prompted by the fact that Glenda Larke is racing to write 30,000 words in 15 days, and finding it inspiring, I've been pondering all the ways we trick ourselves into writing, and staying focussed thereon.

And I've come to the conclusion that lately, my bag o'tricks is empty and my focus is shot entirely to hell.

So, tell me: how do you keep at it? What lies do you tell yourself, what rewards do you promise yourself?

outlining, damselfly-style. (with footnotes.)

I don't talk about my writing process overly much, or with a great deal of specificity when I do — mainly because every time I contemplate the topic, I always trip over the "what (barely, if at all) works for me won't necessarily work for anyone else" hurdle; and if I manage to make it past that one there's always the "I'm hardly an expert!"

But it occurs to me I should, mainly because I like hearing about how other writers work. So, you know, share and share about and all that.

So, given I've ...

why didn't i think of this before?

Ugh. I am suffering all kinds of inability to manage my time this week. This has not been helped by a decision to revisit all my account passwords and make sure there isn't any critical overlap happening. I have A LOT of internet accounts.

Neither has it been helped by Australia Post's fine efforts, which included directing me to the wrong branch to pick up my parcel, the staff at the wrong branch first telling me the parcel had not yet arrived and please to come back tomorrow and then, when I...

turns out they're not just at the tram stops

First up, a brief announcement for the livejournal crowd: I've changed the settings in the crossposter, so now you should be able to leave a comment on the livejournal site, should you so desire. Previously I had it set so you could only comment on my website, mostly because that made my life a touch easier, having all the comments, and therefore the entire conversation, in the one spot. But it occurs to me impermanence and fragmented conversations are the foundations of the internet, and...

my plan is to go (quietly or not-so-quietly) mad

Can you believe it's only Thursday morning? This has been the longest week known to mankind. Ever. No, really.

Perhaps it's because the weekend is staring me in the face, my already-double-booked weekend with no days to myself, and I am pre-emptively weary.

More likely it's the fact that the faerie novel hates me — no, wait, I hate it. We hate each other!

I've hit the patch in the alpha draft where it's all just an enormous muddle in my head, and I feel like I can't possibly wade forward with ...

we interrupt this blog for a brief melbourne-centric announcement

Listen up, Melbourne, I will say this only the once: VIGILANTELOPE.

The stand-out show of this year's comedy festival is back for the fringe festival, and if you like your comedy raucous, absurdist, whimsical, tongue-in-cheek, and with a narrative throughline that involves interpretative dance,1 YOU MUST SEE THIS SHOW. Actually, no, let me rephrase that: YOU MUST SEE THIS SHOW. These guys are the next big thing, and trust me, you're going to want to say you saw them "before".

More than one...

it's your turn of phrase that gives you away

What to do after a comedy fringe festival show?

Out to a nearby pub for a drink, of course!

At which pub, you venture up the narrow and rickety stairs, although those who've been here before swear said stairs lead only to the toilets — and at the top there are toilets, but there is also a series of hidden rooms, so thick with smoke your contacts seize your eyeballs like claws and your lungs ponder the wisdom of collapsing as a viable method for forcing your escape.

But there are tables, and...

saved (not)

"Excuse me, miss…"

He's proffering something, a small pamphlet barely larger than a business card, so I take it. It's a reflex, nothing more; I don't look at what he's given me.

It's in the same manner — a reflex, nothing more — that he adds, "You look like you've been miserable lately."

This, I think, is presumptuous, even for a standard marketing hook. I am, after all, sitting at a tram stop on Bourke St, temporarily alone, surrounded by strangers. Supine on the seat behind me is a resident l...

rain down on me

The blackbirds fall silent as I step out the front door.

There's three of them, one perched on the wall that hides the garbage bins, another on the low-hanging power lines, and the last is crouched inside his own fluffed feathers on the strangely purposeless arch that adorns the mouth of the driveway.

They hold their silence as I pass, three cocked black heads twisting to watch my progress, tiny black eyes tracking my every step. I watch them in turn, but if it's a staring contest they're...

tell me i'm having a bad dream

Happenstance of the day: a flash car with the personalised plates DRWOLF, parked by the tram stop where I'm waiting…and sitting in the car, in the driver's seat no less, is a malamute.

I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, the expensive car, the personalised plates, the well-groomed dog…it all speaks of pretension, of a carefully preened image to be maintained. I suspect (I don't know, but I suspect) that the owner of that car and I would perhaps not have too much in common...