Wednesday, 25 June 2025

DIVERSITY AND WHY IT MATTERS SO MUCH


On Facebook today, I saw a post describing how one high school in Canada holds a dance every year where the students invite old people from low-income housing to be their partners for the evening. It's a dinner dance, and the food is also catered by the students who take cooking as a subject. You can read all about it HERE

I was more impressed by this than I can say, and not just for the obvious reason. Yes, of course it is lovely to give poor old people a fun night out, it's kind, it's generous and all-around a marvellous good deed. But I'd like to talk about the benefits to the children themselves. The ones attending the dance with their ancient partners. Because whenever we perform an act of kindness, there is nearly always a reciprocal benefit.

The first thing that occurred to me was that many of them will probably get taught some of the older, more formal couple dance styles. That's a great thing; dancing used to be considered a necessary social skill, but nowadays, well I wish I had $10 for every young man I've seen sitting at his table all night at the dance parties I go to, just because he doesn't know how to do any of the dances and lacks the confidence to ask for help. And the corollary, the young women lacking partners because let's face it, there are never enough men at these things, and I'm sure it has been like that for hundreds of years. 

But then I thought, some of those kids will probably form an ongoing friendship with their partners. That's more of a benefit than it might seem at first. Why is it so, you ask. And I will tell you.

In all of the most toxic situations I've experienced in my long and occasionally useful life, the worst ones always seem to involve a relatively homogenous population. Consider the average nursing home - the entire population is usually very old, and they're not the place you'd want to be in, are they? I'd rather die, myself. Another one that springs to mind is typing pools. Where everyone is young, female and from the same socioeconomic background, toxicity flourishes like weeds in rich soil. The same thing happens in groups of soldiers and sailors. We've all read about the atrocities soldiers have committed. And I'm not going to point the finger at any country, because my own country has far from a clean record in this respect. With my own ears I have heard Australian soldiers happily boasting about murdering civilians, under the approving eye of their sergeant. And that is a culture that developed in our military back in the Vietnam days, where soldiers on active service were all male, almost all of Anglo-Celtic heritage, and nearly all of a similar age (because conscription harvested our boys at a particular age.) 

What's the probability of seeinig some toxic behaviour in a group like this? 99%? 100%?

On a less dreadful note, consider the average Protestant Christian church. You can look out over the pews and see what has been poetically described as 'a sea of silver'. I'm not saying that those churches are toxic; many are wonderful places. But those congregations that include some younger people, some children, some people from other lands, and so on, always have a more living, vibrant feel to them.

In anciant times, and we can still see this today in people who live a more traditional lifestyle, humans were mixed together in villages, in tribes, in extended family groupings. This charming video gives is a hint of the interconnectedness of neighbours in a Ugandan traditional village. This one makes the point even more strongly. In our own European culture, until the twentieth century got under way, with its so-called 'nuclear families', we saw much more of this interconnectedness, and we see the benefits of it even today in how successfully immigrant families establish themselves. Peoples such as our Italians, our Greeks and our Vietnamese help out their compatriots and relations, and they do better, I think, than we would do if we emigrated to their countries in similar circumstances. They have come from countries less tainted by American notions, and so their sense of family is a broader, deeper thing than it typically is to those of us with a more Anglo-Celtic heritage. You give your cousin a job, his children run errands for your sister, Nonna looks after the little ones and lives in her daughter's house. Hardly anyone gets forced into a 'home'. Everyone is useful, everyone is valued, and the interpersonal connections are as strong as steel cable. And that interconnectedness supports the diversity that sees their social gatherings populated by everyone fronm 96-year-old Nonna to the new baby, and these peoples flourish in new lands, quickly building up the cash reserves that enable the starting of businesses and general prosperity, because each new couple can fall back on the assistance of the wider family, both financial and social.

Italian immigrants quickly established themselves, and civilised us into the bargain.

My own belief is that these effects of diversity are far deeper and more wide-ranging than the current view of DEI, which tends to be seen merely as a push-back against bigotry. In reality, it is the foundation of finding our way to a better, kinder, more truly human society.

 



Saturday, 24 May 2025

Surprised by Joy - the Happy Accident

This morning, while engaging in the time-honoured pre-work ritual of my people (browsing mindlessly on social media) I came across a video so beautiful, so perfect, that it has lifted my Saturday, already my absolute favourite day of the week, to the sublime height of perfection. I'll share the link HERE.

Just why these things make me so happy, I can't say. But they do, and this one is one of the best from this creator. I'd give him or her a plug if I knew who they were. But the reason I'm sharing it here (other than it's beautiful and everyone can use a smile in his day) is to illustrate the awesome power of the accident.

C.S. Lewis titled his book about becoming a Christian Surprised By Joy. No, I haven't read it - it's on my list. But I know it will be awesome, because all of his other non-fiction books are. Who hasn't enjoyed The Screwtape Letters, and the audiobook of it read by John Cleese? But the title highlights something that's really a feature of the world, and that is that so often, joy can catch us totally by surprise.

So much of my life has come about through accidents. I got my first Deerhound by accident. I looked at him, VERY much didn't want him, opened my mouth to say so, and out came 'Okay, I'll take him.' Still not sure what happened there, but I'm very grateful for it. I can't imagine what my life would have been without Fionn. You can read about it in my novel, Where The Heart Is. It's fiction, but the part where she gets the dog is taken directly from my life. You can get it HERE.


Anyway, bringing Fionn home caused a major lifestyle change for me, and in the process I more or less became rather a different person. And I wouldn't go back for the world. Not just for the joy that Fionn brought me, but the ones who came after him. Ogre. Beau. Emily. And now my little chaos beast, Chips.

My point is this: when so much of life's joy comes to us by accident, why is it that we try so hard to avoid them? I'm not talking about road accidents and the like, obviously, but those little joys that we never looked for. Like the time I went for a walk in a foreign country and got lost, and stumbled across an amazing park where the whole neighbourhood seemed to go to play at night. They had a beautiful fountain that danced in co-ordination with the music that was playing. I bought an ice-cream from a vending cart and watched all the children playing on their roller skates and so on, and the old people meeting their friends on park benches, and just the happy family ambiance of it all. It was balm to my soul. If I had planned my walk that night, set out with a map and a sensible destination and all, I'd never have spent that enchanted evening. 

There are small accidents, like coming across that video this morning, and then there are the great, big ones that change your whole life, like accidentally adopting Fionn. But every one of them brings, in its measure, a cargo of joy. So as we go about our life, it's good to be open to them. Time management is great, but don't have your whole life rigidly scheduled. And don't be always staring at your phone. When you're out having coffee, instead of texting or doomscrolling, watch the other people. Look up and out as you go about your day. It's truly amazing what you can find.


Wednesday, 21 May 2025

Random Acts of Kindness

On Monday, I posted about mood management. One of the things I mentioned for possible inclusion in a mood toolkit was acts of service. That got me thinking about the RAK movement.

I first came into contact with this at one of those little craft markets. Among all kind of bric-a-brac one vendor had a small wall plaque, with the words 'Practise Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Beauty.' I found this so beautiful that I bought it and hung it in my kitchen. It had a dreamy quality that appealed to me.

Years later, I realise it's a real social movement. Lots of people do RAKs. Some people even make it their principal hobby. There are groups dedicated to it. I actually joined one on Facebook for a while, but left it because I was't comfortable posting about my own RAKs. It felt too much like bragging. I felt I wasn't contributing to the group at all, so I left again. But I still love the concept. I wish I did more of them myself. I'm sure I don't do enough.

Over the years, though, I've done a fair few. I'm still not comfortable talking about them, so I'm not going to do so here. What I would like to do, though, is to share a few of those of which I've been the recipient.

Some years ago, I was walking back from the supermarket with my dog when we were caught in heavy rain. I had no umbrella, and as I stood at the lights waiting to cross I was getting more and more drenched. A handsome man in a beautiful red sports car waved to me and called me over. Now I'll stress that I saw nothing wrong in this. When you are out and about with a Scottish Deerhound, you get used to this. So I didn't suspect him of anything sleazy; I assumed he just wanted to ask about my dog. We went over to speak to him. And he handed me an umbrella. How will I get it back to you, though, I said. He replied, that doesn't matter. Keep it. You need it. 
I had plenty of umbrellas of my own at home, and this was a beautiful one - the expensive kind with a beautiful turned wood handle and everything. I convinced him to take my address and said I would leave it out on the porch to dry and was going out again shortly, and when I got back from my second outing it was gone, so he must have come and collected it. 
This disinterested kindness just made my whole week, and I will never forgt that man.

Earlier this year, I was in church with my dog. It was high summer and it was super hot, even in the church. The few small fans we have were not doing much. During the sermon, the lady in the pew behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked if my dog was allowed to have an Icy Pole. I said yes, not understanding the relevance of it, and she promptly walked out of the church and returned a few minutes later with a lemonade flavoured icy pole, which she held for Chips as he licked it. He enjoyed it very much. 



Another time, I was out having coffee with my dog. An elderly man came out of the nearby butcher and asked me if he could give my dog a bone. I was surprised, but of course I said yes. He produced a beautiful lamb shank, which he had apparently bought for the purpose. He gave my dog a hug, and said his own dog had died recently. I think about that man often, and the way he found solace for his grief in kindness.

It seems to be all about my dogs, I know. But I guess that's what people see when I'm out and about. People tend not to notice you so much when you are with your deerhound. But it's not all been dogs. Once, I went for a job interview and I had arrived at the building with half an hour to spare; I do this with interviews, both to avoid any possibility of a delay making me late, and to check out the environs. There was a cafe on the ground floor and I had a cappuccino, only to find to my horror when I was leaving that I didn't have my wallet. The waitress didn't miss a beat. When I told her, she just smiled and said she would pay for my coffee. I'll come straight back tomorrow and give you the money, I told her. Don't worry about it, she said. I'm happy to buy it for you. Hopefully it'll bring you luck for your interview. Of course I did go in and pay her, but she clearly hadn't expected it.

As I've mentioned, I'm not terribly comfortable recounting my own RAKs. I will say, though, that whenever I do one, it tends to make my day, every bit as much as when I am on the receiving end of one. That's why I mentioned it in the context I did on Monday. But the RAK has a wider use; tiny bit by tiny bit, it makes the world a kinder, more beautiful place. And who doesn't want that?



Tuesday, 20 May 2025

When Friendships are Over

 


The fourteenth of December, 2022. Early in the morning, I looked out of my office window and saw this rabbit, sitting up all neat. I took this photo.

I'm not all that fond of rabbits, myself; to me, they are food, but I had this friend. Wesley was extremely fond of rabbits; he felt about them the way I feel about dogs, and cats. He had some in his family that he loved very much, and so when this presented itself to me, I snapped the picture to send to him; I thought it would give him a kick to see this wild one, sitting up in Australia, on the other side of the world. 

I never sent him the picture, though, because when I logged onto Facebook, Wesley was quarrelling with me. I can't remember now what it was about; I don't think I even knew what it was about, back then. 

Anyway, it all ended badly. I didn't pursue Wesley trying to recover our friendship. It's never a good idea to do that. If a friend has decided you're no good, you are not going to change his mind, and trying to will only hurt you more and cost you self-respect. You can't argue someone into liking you. I think I asked a mutual friend if she knew what the trouble was, and she said she didn't. So I just let it go.

The fact a friendship has ended, though, doesn't negate its value. In some measure, you are who you are now because of that friend. The fact that Wesley propped me up through a late night mood crash, when all my world had turned to icy darkness that time, isn't changed by his subsequent rejection. It is, indeed, quite possible that I wouldn't be here now, without Wesley. I was pretty low that night. He gave me a lifeline, a little thread of text and light that got me through the dark hours. He was a dear, good man, well of course I expect he still is, and I'll always cherish him for that, although we are no longer friends.

What is my point, you ask? I'm sure you do. I would have by this point. Well, I think it is that you don't have to turn on people. You just don't need to. If someone who's been a good friend suddenly doesn't want you in his life, you do not have to revise your opinion of him, turning your affection into dislike, turning all his good points to failings in your mind. Your friend is still exactly the same person as he has always been. The only thing that's changed is that he just doesn't like you any more. And you can accept that, and go on with your life, without spoiling everything that went before.

If this makes you go 'well duh', then please excuse me. But I see so many people turning around and changing their liking of their ex friends to bitter hatred. I have even known people to take down, or change, their reviews, if the friend is an author. It happens more than you would think. And it's bullshit. Not even to mention the fact that basing a book review on anything other than the book is wrong and evil, the thing is that when you read that book, or opened that gift, or shared that special joke, that friendship was true and real, and it isn't any less so just because it has ended. So don't do this. Don't hurt yourself some more, just because someone else got a whack in. Life's too short. 

Monday, 19 May 2025

Mood Management - The Toolkit

Remembering past happiness is a mood lifter, but it can be a two-edged sword.

Today, I want to talk about mood management. This is my term for what we do when we consciously try to alter our emotional state. Generally, nearly always, it involves lifting our mood when we are depressed - although it can also be about calming anxiety. There are other applications - coming down from berserker mode after a fight, for example. But I would guess that at least 90% of mood management that people attempt is to relieve depression.

Now, when I say 'depression', I am not talking about Clinical Depression, a psychological disorder that is serious and can even be life-threatening. I am not a medical person. If you have been diagnosed with Clinical Depression, if you even suspect you may have it, get to a doctor or psychotherapist. Don't mess with this. It can ruin lives. 

What I'm talking about here is 'small d depression'. It's what we are generally talking about when we say we are depressed. Really I think it's a shame the psych people couldn't have come up with a new word for the clinical disorder. It might have avoided a lot of confusion. Perhaps not, though. There are plenty of parallels for this. We all know someone who never gets a cold - it's always 'flu. They never get a headache - it's always a migraine.

That aside, small d depression strikes us all sooner or later, and, like the common cold, it can be a real bitch. And unless you're Aunty M (we've all got one in the family right? That person whose hobby is suffering, who appears to live to collect pity? M for Martyr) - then you will want to get rid of it as quickly as poss, because let's face it, there's no point in suffering if you don't have to.

This is where Mood Management comes in.

So, as with any endeavour, there are two components to Mood Management. There are the tools, and the skills. The skills aren't anything special - they are basically the self-knowledge that enables you to recognise that you feel bad, and the determination that lets you decide not to put up with it if you needn't.

The tools, now that brings me to what I want to say today. This is something that almost never fails to help me lift my mood. What you do is you make a list of things that lift you up, that inject sunshine into your day, that make you smile. You might sit down and write it from scratch, or add things ad hoc when you notice their effect. For me, it's a combination.

Some things on my list are easy. No scratch that, they're all easy, although they aren't always all available. For example, huffing a cat. Now my old cat Ferret died last year, and I haven't been able to get another because I am keeping that spot open for the feral cat I have been befriending. She is not yet at the stage where huffing can be a thing - she'd take my face off if I tried. She already sent me to the hospital once. The nerve damage will heal completely, I'm told. One day. So, no huffing for me just now. 

Getting outside is one of my main ones. Just outside, under the sky. It doesn't have to be sunny, or fine, or even daylight. It is the sky that does it for me. I feel instantly a little better. 

That may not work for everyone, I don't know, but exercise, I am very sure, will. A walk is always a good idea. You use your large muscles, driving oxygen to your brain, and if you take a dog with you, you are at the same time making someone happy, and that brings me to my next point.

Acts of service, however small, if they bring some joy or comfort to anyone, will generally do so to us as well. I'm not sure of the mechanism of it - perhaps it releases some chemical in the brain, perhaps it's God's reward for kindness, who knows? I'm neither a doctor nor a priest. I just know it works. 

Then there can be technological tools as well. There's a Youtube video that a friend sent me one night when I was plumbing the darkest depths. It's a silly little cartoon, but for some reason it makes me feel happy. I watched it for hours that night, and it has never lost its effect. You can watch it HERE. Thank you, Neil. You were a good man and I'll never forget you. More recently, I've discovered a mob that makes AI cat videos that also have this effect for me. Check out Purrallel Universe

There are certain pieces of music that do it for me too, and I have a playlist of those. Anyway, I'm sure you get the idea. The list is going to be different for everyone, of course. The adventure is to create your own. 

Thursday, 15 May 2025

Inspiration Files 001 - Not the Worst Cleaner

 Today I'd like to share something that I find very inspirational. In the interstices of my day, I often like to procrastinate by looking at reels on facebook, or shorts on youtube. And recently I stumbled across a series that just stopped me in my tracks.

We've read about crisis cleaners, probably everyone has seen an episode of Hoarders and so on. But this woman does FREE cleans for houses that... well, can't be described. Most of the ones I have seen started out actually looking like a garbage tip. Or even worse. And this woman goes in there and fixes it up into a beautiful, clean state - for NOTHING. She even replaces things like mattresses, in some of the ones I've seen she provided a whole lot of electrical appliances. And it is all done free. And when she has finished and it is all sparkling and pristine, she doesn't stop there. She adds little gifts. Nice things for the bathroom, scented soaps and so on. A pretty rug for the kitchen. Little homely touches to make the client feel cherished.

I don't know how or why this woman got started on this but I have to say I find her absolutely inspirational. I've struggled with clutter in my own house for a long, long time. And today, I am saying, Enough. Enough rooms that just never look tidy, no matter what I do, because there is just no room to put everything away. Enough wasting of things I never use or even look at, when someone else could be enjoying them. Enough energy drained by the presence of clutter. Yes, it does drain your energy. And your health. It's so easy to keep a really uncluttered house dust-free. And I've let the sheer magnitude of the clutter overwhelm me for far too long. But if this woman can clean up something like this, I can do it. 

Here is the video that inspired me today. It's amazing and beautiful. Just the fact that a person wants to spend her life doing this for others is one of the most beautiful things I've seen this year.


Wednesday, 14 May 2025

Making it Easy

I'll never forget as a youngish adult realising that if you cut up a potato into little cubes, it only takes 10 minutes to boil it for mashed potatoes. When I was a girl, my mother used to peel these gigantic potatoes and stick them whole in a pot of water and boil them for FORTY MINUTES in order to mash them. We were very poor back then and she was always complaining about the electricity bill. We were so stingy about electricity that the only heating we had in our entire house was a single little one-bar radiator. And yet, such waste in the kitchen. Almost every night. And realising that if you increased the surface area you'd increase the cooking effect brought it down to ten minutes. 

That, I suppose, was a primitive life hack. And I've always loved that kind of thing. Having a Better Way. 

Now, of course, we see life hacks everywhere, and yet I am still being surprised by some of them. Today, I'd like to share a few.

Halving Cherry Tomatoes

We've all had to do this, for a salad, or for some fish we're cooking or whatever. It's time-consuming and irritating. But THIS MAN has a Better Way. I'm just in love with this!

Using a Recipe Book

We all have that one favourite recipe book that's all manky, covered in gross food stains that have happened while we cooked from it. Now, you can keep your recipe book nice forever! Just do this:


Making Space in a Tiny Room

When I moved into a share house, my bedroom was tiny. But I have low social needs, and I need my time by myself. So in any kind of shared living arrangement, my bedroom basically has to be a bedsitter, plus as a writer I need to have my desk. In this room, really all of the space was taken up by a pair of bunk beds and my desk, leaving no place to relax and read. My solution? I got my housemate to remove the BOTTOM bunk, and that left enough room underneath it for a little cave which I furnished with big floor cushions. I enclosed half of the length with my bookcase, giving myself a tiny reading den, a larger workspace, and a platform bed with a cute little ladder. Perfect! The picture below is a much flasher arrangement, but done for the same reasons. Doesn't it look great!


That's all for today, but there are loads more out there. I'd love to hear from readers with their own favourites.

Don't forget today is RooRoo Day. We do an act of kindness for an animal. Do it.

Friday, 9 May 2025

Pope Leo - a time of opportunity

The world is presumably as surprised as I am by the Conclave's choice this time around. Never before had an American been chosen pope.

I don't know anything about Robert Prevost, so I am hoping he'll be a good pope, wise and kind. It would not be going too far to say that I pray for that, as I am sure many, if not all, Roman Catholics are now doing. Not that it's exclulsively our business. He may only be the boss of Roman Catholics, but the papacy is a position of enormous influence in the world; it is hardly possible to overstate that influence, even today. So the type of man Prevost is will matter greatly to pretty well everyone.

My hope is that the cardinals were guided in their votes by earnest prayer, and not by any more political considerations. And I hope we've got ourselves a pope who will be as wise and kind as Pope Frances was. And I almost hate myself for what I'm going to say next.

Because I can't help wondering whether there is any connexion between this: 

And this:


I truly, truly hope I'm just being silly here, and that it's purely a coincidence that an American pope has been elected, for the first time ever, just a few days after Trump's very public remarks about how he would make a good pope and the White House's posting of this breathtakingly offensive picture. On the positive side, the Holy Father is a genuine priest, and he's had quite a history of posting the right kind of stuff on social media. He's supported refugees and so on. He's spoken out against some of the worst excesses of America's current administration. He certainly looks nice, if that's anything to go by, and he's a doctorate in Canon Law, so we know he is far, far from being stupid.

The only thing that raises a little worm of doubt, for me, is the startlingly civilised response from the White House to his election. For once, Mr Trump failed to embarrass himself, which suggests some positive feeling for the appointment - we already know he lacks the discipline to be courteous for its own sake. I'd really have felt more comfortable if Trump had railed against him, as he has been doing about Mr Buttigieg, but God forbid, and I mean that literally, I should start a consipracy theory. 

I suppose time will tell.


Wednesday, 7 May 2025

Cleaning up our language

 I am so sick of seeing nasty language everywhere I go. It's everywhere nowadays - social media mostly, but in the real world too - business communications nowadays are full of it, although it's mostly a different subset of nasty language than we see on social media, and I think for different reasons. 

It is said that profanity is the refuge of the uneducated, but I am not talking about traditional profanity here. 'Fuck' is a perfectly good Anglo-Saxon word; so is 'cunt', and we can find both in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, a book commonly acknowledged to be a great work of literature and one that is frequently forced upon school children.  Anyone who is still getting hysterical about these words is probably American, and would therefore do better to turn his attention to the deficiencies of his own country.

I am not talking about the kind of swearing that's sourced from religion, either. If you're a Christian, as I am, then you ought not to take the Lord's name in vain, and I have no problem with this, although I still struggle with it myself. If you're some other religion, I bet they have a similar stricture too.

I am talking about words that by their sheer inappropriateness, their monumental idiocy, are more offensive than traditional swearing could ever be. 

I have a selection of these words to look at today. They are arranged not in order of precedence or offensiveness, but in alphabetical order, because I'm a nerd.

F-BOMB

You can see this everywhere. I believe it originated in America, but it has tainted the speech of my own country, too. The reason it is so offensive is the complete failure of elementary logic it embodies.
Consider. If the word 'fuck' is too offensive to say, that can only be due to its meaning. It cannot be the sound of it, for no one has a problem with 'duck', 'tuck', 'buck' et alia. It therefore follows that it is the reference to the act of coitus that is offensive. How, then, is 'f-bomb' not equally offensive? It refers to the word that refers to the act of generation. So, if you find copulation so dreadfully offensive, just don't talk about it. The same applies to deliberate misspellings such as 'f*ck'. 

PASSED


This one always makes me want to scream. The only situation in which someone passes are if he is taking some kind of test or exam. When the verb is used transitively, it refers to something being excreted in a bowel movement. For the quibblers, getting through a military checkpoint is a kind of test. He DIED. He is DEAD. 

UNALIVED

I really think this is the most stupid of them all. It is used in place of the simple 'killed' We also see 'unalive' in place of 'dead'. It is offensive for exactly the same reason as 'f-bomb'. What is this lunacy? If you genuinely believe that your audience is so delicate that it will be traumatised by the very notion of death then don't talk to them about it.



Monday, 21 April 2025

YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG

 I was noodling around on Facebook today, looking for something I could write about for my blog, when I came across a short video. It was an attractive, thirty-ish woman, talking about an experience she had on a train, where another woman had warned her to keep her little girl away from the window because the sun would make her 'dark skinned and ugly'. What this woman was talking about was the presumption that darker skin is ugly, apparently rife in India. It's not just racism we have to deal with, it's the old prejudice against a tan, which in Western countries has been extinguished for a long time, but which persists in some cultures, presumably based on the idea that it indicates one has been working outdoors and is therefore a peasant, rather than an upper-class person who can stay out of the sun. The woman in the video was expressing a view that such prejudice is outmoded, and in a country where everyone is some shade of brown, deeply silly. If you want to see the video for yourself, HERE IT IS.

I've no argument with this. She spoke well and articulately and I agreed with every word. What caught my eye, though, and made my ears go back, were some of the comments people had posted.

I'm not talking about racism here. I wouldn't waste my time writing about that kind of pathetic nonsense. There may have been some racist comments, but not that I saw. I didn't read all of the comments. The comments to which I'm referring had nothing to do with the content of the video. 

They were about fruit.

You see, as she talked, this woman was cutting up a large fruit. I don't know what kind of fruit, it looked like some kind of melon, no doubt something they have in India. I think this woman is Indian, based on her accent, although she could have been Pakistani, Bangladeshi or so on. The thing about this fruit, though, was that several people were jumping all over the comments complaining about the way she was cutting it up and saying that it was wasteful.

Now, this wasn't a cookinig video, it was a social comment video. There was no clue as to the purpose  for which she was cutting up the fruit. For all I know, it was to make some curry or something. I mean, I say fruit, but it might well have been one of the many fruits that we treat as vegetables. You know, like aubergines, cucumbers, tomatoes, capsica, and so on. Or perhaps she was going to make jam, or chutney or something. We will probably never know. And personally, I don't care either, any more than I care about her hairstyle, her dress, or what I could see of the decor of the room she was in. 

The thing that bothered me was the way people seized on the one thing they could take issue with and jumped all over it. 

It seems to me that this is indicative of something we see a great deal nowadays: the keenness of so many people to nose into whatever other people are doing and correct it. Or chastise them, or whatever. I'm not talking about things that are illegal, like littering, or antisocial, like not picking up your dog's poo (I'm sure we can all have something to say about that). You know, things where the person's action is actually going to affect us in some way. I'm talking about things that are purely none of anyone else's business. Like the clothes a person has chosen to wear, or the kind of collar they have on their dog, or what they are eating for lunch.


And we see such rage! I have seen people lash themselves almost into hysterics because someone called their dogs furkids. Honestly. 

Where does it all come from, not just the rage but the sense that one is somehow entitled, that it's even meritorious, to dictate to other people how they live? I suppose the prevalence of social media could be a factor. But to me that seems overly simplistic. I think social media, like drink, just makes people express more of what they really are anyway, and that the driver for this Karenesque behaviour must be something more sinister. I would love to hear from readers, so if you have an opinion about this please do tell me in the comments. Meanwhile, my challenge to everybody for today is to mind our own business.

In other news, in the park this morning I saw a man attempting to get his dogs to go to the lavatory by showing them what to do - lifting his leg against a tree, and later, squatting. No, I did not say anything.




Monday, 31 March 2025

RUOK



In recent years we've been seeing this cropping up - RUOK Day. When we are all supposed to check on each other's wellbeing. Is it purely a mindless trend, like the Karen Cut and the Full Sleeve? I thought so.

A while ago, though, when I was writing Barefoot Tango, I realised I was deficient in the area of suicide attempts and getting one's stomach pumped, etc. It was necessary to the story, and I never, never skip my research. As a very wise person, I wish I could remember who, once said, 'Time spent in reconnaissance is never wasted.'

It's a delicate subject, and so I reached out on Facebook, trusting that among my many friends and followers there would be someone who could help me. I posted asking that if a person had been involuntarily admitted to a psychiatric facility, or had had his stomach pumped, and if he felt comfortable doing so, he contact me privately, in strict confidence, to share his experience. I wasn't very sanguine about this; I wasn't aware that anyone I knew met these criteria, and didn't really hope for a response.

When I checked in the next day, though, I was overwhelmed. The response was staggering! The sheer number of my friends who had lived through a suicide attempt astounded me. Others had had psychiatric illnesses and been hospitalised. The other thing that overwhelmed me was the utter generosity of these people in sharing their experience. A great deal of the conversations took place in the comments on my post, a lot of people didn't even take advantage of my offer of privacy. I was humbled at the sheer generosity of my friends in willingly reliving those dreadful times to help my work. It was almost as if people had been relieved at the opportunity finally to talk about it to someone. 

The thing that stays with me, though, apart from gratitude of course, is my horror at the sheer number of my friends, people I thought I knew well, who had been through this stuff in their pasts. There is still such a stigma around mental illness, such an incentive to hide it. Or injury; many psychiatric problems, I think could be classified as injury, when they stem from a traumatic event. PTSD springs to mind, and many instances of depression or anxiety disorders. They are common. They are everywhere, and largely invisible. Someone you know is probably struggling right now. And psychiatric illness is just as debilitating, just as detrimental to quality of life, and just as potentially fatal, as a bodily illness.

So let's all remember this. Don't wait for some social-media-inspired Day. RUOK is a principle to live by, every day. It's a habit we all should have, to look for signs that a friend may be in trouble, and to make the opportunity for a conversation. You just could save a life.




Sunday, 16 March 2025

 There's an interesting debate going on just now about the definition of antisemitism. You can read The Conversation's piece HERE. And, being me, of course I have an opinion about this. 

Actually, I don't. Both definitions seem fine to me. We ALL know what antisemitism is. We know it in our bones; you can hardly grow up in our times without knowing this, in the developed countries, anyway. But I don't think what it is is really the important issue at the moment. I think we should rather be focussing on what it it not.

We all learned in primary school the difference between the definition of a square and that of a rectangle, didn't we? For the sake of argument I'm going to assume we did. Maybe some of you were gazing out the window that day, thinking about your new puppy. Whatever. You can look it up if you really aren't aware of it. But the important thing is that although all squares are necessarily rectangles, not all rectangles are necessarily squares. And, just as the larger set includes, but is not limited to, the smaller, so the set of Israelis is not coextensive with the set of Jews.

I'm willing to concede for the sake of argument that every Israeli is Jewish, although really I very much doubt this is the case. It would be a rare country indeed that had a truly homogenous population in any demographic. But I'm willing to grant that we may consider Israelis as all Jewish, if we find that helpful, although personally, I don't think it is really relevant to anything in the news just now. But it is far from being the case that all Jews are Israelis. Good heavens, Jews are everywhere. We have Australian Jews, and those people are Australians, just as the English ones are English, the French ones are French, azo azif. Jews are not all Israeli, any more than every dark skinned person is African. It is a nonsense.

Having got that out of the way, I'd like to direct your attention to the definition endorsed by 39 Australian universities. It's quoted in the link I gave you above, but the thing I want to focus on is that it explicitly includes Holocaust denial as an antisemitic act. 

I don't have any quarrel with this. The Holocaust was arguably the most terrible and shameful event in human history, and it continues to cause intergenerational trauma today. Even those of us who were not born at the time of it still feel its horrible effects. The cold, sick feeling you get at the sight of a swastika. The shyness and almost embarrassment you feel visiting a synagogue, if you're not Jewish yourself. Our acceptance that although our church invited everyone from the synagogue up the road to our service, not a single person from that congregation came, even though lots of us had been to their events and met people there, even though their rabbi was being our guest preacher that day. No one was surprised, although we were a bit sad. 

So yes, denying the Holocaust is antisemitic. I feel it in my bones. 

Given that, though, there have been claims that criticism of the Israeli state's actions in Gaza are also antisemitic. Many claims. And this strikes me as somewhat hypocritical. We are all encouraged to remember, and to condemn, the Holocaust. But our reason for condemning it is not because Jews were the victims of it. It is even bigger than that. We condemn and regret the Holocaust because it was wrong, evil. And if Israel's actions in Gaza are also wrong, they are just as deserving of condemnation, and it doesn't make any difference whether the perpetrators are Jewish, or Americans, or little green men from outer space. If it's wrong, it's wrong. And condemning evil qua evil cannot be antisemitic. To argue that it could, would be to argue that Jews were evil, which in itself would be practically a poster child for antisemitism. 

So let's all take a deep breath and reach for whatever tiny rudiments of logic we managed to take away from primary school. 


Sunday, 9 March 2025

It Was You All The Time.


When I logged in to Facebook this morning, I noticed a number of American people saying things such as 'I no longer identify as American'... 'I plan to move to [insert person's favourite foreign country]'... and of course the old favourite, 'not my president'. 

My kneejerk was to feel approving. In a democracy, surely it's a good thing if people in general realise it when their country is being badly run. It is a good thing, right? Just as personal outrage can fuel large, scary life changes, such as leaving an abusive spouse, so societal outrage can fuel large political movements. We need the energy that righteous anger gives us to drive our actions, when those actions are daunting.

When I think about it a little more, though, I find it deeply disturbing. Looking at America today, from outside as of course I do, I see so many, and so strong, parallels to prewar Germany that it just isn't funny. I have been seeing this for a long time, of course, but these days I am finding myself among the mainstream. One can hardly go online without seeing someone comparing Trump to Hitler. And there's a part of me that still feels pleased that at last people are starting to see it, but there is a much bigger part that shrinks from the fact that I believe they are seeing the wrong thing

The thing is, however short it may fall of the ideal, America is still at least attempting to present itself as a democracy. And in a democratic government, it's not all down to one person. That's basically the whole idea of democracy, right? You don't have a king, or an emperor, or a dictator or whatever. You have a president, and that president is elected by a (however flawed) democratic process. And the moral result of this is to spread the responsibility right out through the populace. It is the American people who made President Trump possible, just as it was the German people who enabled the rise to power of the NSDAP. The Trumps of the world, the Hitlers, the Duttons, the Abbots, are not the disease; they are the symptom of our societal sickness. And just as these individuals are not single-handedly responsible for their rise to positions of power, we have to face up to the fact that is the people of each nation who helped them to achieve those heights, and we must accept our share of the responsibility for every stupid, vicious thing they do.

So, Americans. Let's not hear so much about your disapproval of the mess your country is in. It's been in trouble for a long, long time, getting worse every year. Let's rather hear about what you plan to do about it. Because this is not something that was done to you, of which you are the helpless victims. No, this is something you did, yourselves. You did it, not just with your votes on election day, but with your compliance, for years, decades, with your culture of greed, of fear, of celebrity worship, of dehumanising Blacks, gays, women, children and other groups, of 'rendition', of torture of prisoners, of grabbing everything you could get regardless of who then went without.

It was you all the time.


Friday, 21 February 2025

50 Ways to Lose your Reader

OK, not 50. But I do feel like venting a bit about all the ways that indie authors shoot themselves in the foot. And here are my top three.

I've written before about what will stop me from buying. That was largely packaging issues, though, Cover, blurb, first page, basic competence in the language, and so on. First impressions. Today, I want to talk about content, and some of the ways you can ensure I will never again download anything by you. Even if it's free.

1. Books about murder, pointlessly coupled with food porn. For some reason this always seems to be confectionary and baked goods; it's never Beef Wellington, or Pad Thai or anything. There are so many of these series, and not once have I ever read one that was any good. The one I'm currently reading even has complete recipes at the end of every chapter. For nasty weird American novelty biscuits. I so do not want to read this. Because let's face it, if I were interested in baking, I'd have bought a cook book. Probably one by Nagi Maehashi, because she seriously rocks.

I digress here, but if you buy one cookbook let it be one of hers. It's due to her that I can now make authentic Fried Rice that is as good as, and often better, than you get in a Chinese restaurant. She is a legend.

Be that as it may, a murder mystery is really not the place for recipe after recipe. I feel as if they've been put in just to up the wordccount to justify a higher price for the paperback. There is a reccipe at the end of nearly every chapter, sometimes even two or three, and I suspect the recipe wordcount in this book is higher than the story wordcount. In fact, the story seems like a bit of an afterthought, put in to proved excuses for these rather nasty-looking recipes.

So that's one thing, but it leads me to my next point, which is... 

2. Fiction A La Bandwagon.

Fiction, like everything else, has trends. Fashions come and go in every field of human endeavour. Not just food and clothing, but the big stuff. Architecture. Medicine. Even politics. We're seeing this on the world stage right now, actually. Fascism is making a comeback, almost everywhere. It's disturbing and unpleasant, but it's particularly unappetising in the novel. Honestly, if I read ONE more book about a band of plucky teenagers on a quest to save the world, while meanwhile beneath a mountain an ancient evil stirs, I shall probably throw up my breakfast. That goes double for darkly erotic vampires, hordes of zombies that want to eat your brains, and secret high schools for training witches. Oh, and of course, cupcake bakers who just happen to solve murder after murder. Nearly all of the examples of these things I have seen are in no way original, but appear to be seeking to cash in on the success of people like Rowlings, who actually did do something new. 

There's nothing really wrong, in my view, with having these things in one's work. I wrote about vampires myself in Bloodsucking Bogans, and I even wrote about zombies in my short story Danse Macabre. I don't mean to seem hypocritical here. I won't rule out a book just because it has vampires or zombies. But the question I ask myself is, was the vampire/zombie/dragon/pastry shop/secret school necessary to the story? Or has it been added just to push the story onto one of the current popular trends? Chloe Hammond's Darkly series, and Joseph Picard's Lifehack series are both examples of the former situation, not to mention being both really good reads, but far too many books are just porn, or teenage high school stories or whatever, with a werewolf pack, or vampires or something shoved in. And you can really tell the difference.  

3. The third big no-no for me, and one doesn't see it all that often, is the Soapbox Book. The novel that's been written to push an agenda. Ayn Rand's books are good examples of this. Now I don't mean to diss the activists among us. The late great Sheri Tepper's books nearly always carry a cargo of activism. Her thing was greed, and treading lightly on the earth. Mercedes Lackey, in her lovely Valdemar series, works hard to combat negative stereotypes of same sex relationships. There's nothing wrong with doing this. All novels are, au fond, about people, and good and evil are the parameters within which people interact, and a really good book will in my opinion always be extended at some point into the moral dimension. But Tepper, and Lackey, and others of their ilk, provide a really good story to carry their little cargo of light. A story that has its own presence, its own weight, that could, if necessary, hold its own without the moral content, although I do think that when done well, it enhances a work. Rand, on the other hand, either was unable to write well enough or couldn't be bothered to try, and so her books are a trial to struggle through, even without their often distasteful ideological content.




Wednesday, 12 February 2025

Terza Rima and All That

And now, for something completely different... a man with two - no, no, not that. Today I want to talk about education, and in particular, something that has an enormous influence on whether educational activities will be successful.

It's always been my hobby to take courses. I just love to learn stuff. I've done all manner of things, ranging from a two hour seminar on Shamanic spirituality to a law degree, all in the pursuit of my idea of fun, which many people have told me is perverse, but de gustibus right? Most recently, I discovered Duolingo, and for the last two years my husband and I learned Italian. Now, we often speak it to each other at home, although we're still not very good. I finished the whole Duolingo Italian course, but I'd got the habit, so I decided to resume learning German, so I'm doing that now on Duolingo, and brushing up my long-disused French on the side. My body may crumble as I age, but by God I'm determined I will not go senile.

Anyway, that's all good, but it really isn't terribly demanding, and lately I've started to feel a bit restless and cast about for something a little more challenging, and I came across this site: https://learn.modernstates.org/d2l/login

It seemed to be a bit like Open University, and they offer a number of free courses, so I signed up for English Literature, and I'm into the second unit of it now. And I feel as if I'm seeing double, or something. On the one hand, we have the set textbook, a beautifully written piece of erudition. On the other we have three to five minute lectures in which the tiny amount of content is so dumbed down as to be practically baby talk, and also contains errors of fact, and is delivered in a manner so patronising as to set one's teeth on edge, by a person who is evidently unable to pronounce basic English words. The set readings with each lecture have nothing to do with the lecture content, either. The only thing the lecturer seems to be interested in is the 'exam', which I bet will be multiple choice.


You can apparently apply for some kind of certificate after passing this course, which gets you into an American university, or gives you credit towards one of their degrees, or something. I'm starting to think the whole course may be a scam, aimed only at getting people into courses. Not that there's anything wrong with a prep course. A person's education may have gaps for many reasons, and it's great if there are ways and means for them not to be forced to give up. But I would have thought, for a prep course to be genuine, it would need to have a lot more content than this.

It's possible that my view is just jaded; these two units so far have been all about terminology, so perhaps the course will rev up shortly and be full of great content. And this is really the point I'm trying to make, and not doing a very good job of it today. But it is this - that once you embark on a course, it's better to just press on regardless, unless you find you're completely uninterested in the subject matter or something. 

Back in the days of my golden youth, I shared an apartment with a man who had dropped out of his Computer Science degree in the first semester. He told me about it at some length - because he already worked as a programmer, he said, the first lectures were too boring and elementary to be interesting, so he skipped going for the first three weeks, thinking he'd hop in when it started to be good. But alas! When he went back three weeks later, the course had moved on much faster than expected, and it was all so completely over his head that he couldn't understand a word of it. He was all sad because he had lost his opportunity to get a degree. 


A few months later, he enrolled again. Two years had passed since his first attempt. He talked a lot about his determination not to get caught like that again, and to attend every lecture. Nevertheless, the second week of the course I was surprised to find him at home on a Monday evening. Haven't you got your lecture, I asked him. And with a precious little head toss, he informed me that the material was beneath him, he knew it all and there was no point attending the early lectures. Reminding him of his previous failure, and his resolution, did no good, it never does with these people. Unsurprisingly, the following month, exactly the same thing happened, and he dropped out again. I don't know if he ever succeeded in getting his degree. Probably not; if you can't learn when it is so clear what you did wrong, there's probably no hope for you.

I started a Computer Science degree myself the following year. Seven years later (it was part time), I graduated. I don't suppose I was brainier, or more talented, than my flatmate. But the difference between us was that I went to every lecture. I did all the reading and set work. I handed in assignments on time. I paid attention during tutorials. Yes, sometimes I felt I wasn't getting much out of it - I too worked in the business, and at a rather more impressive level than my flatmate. But if I felt unchallenged in a tutorial, I'd spend the time helping someone who was struggling. Nothing fosters a deep understanding of a subject like helping someone with it. So yes, I didn't work all that hard, but I kept at it and ticked all the boxes. And in the end, I was rewarded. It's been like that with everything I've studied. Some things don't come as easily to me as others, but the old saying is still true - if you build it, they will come. If you build it by sticking with your commitment.

It's very easy to sneer at a course. There will always be something for you to criticise, although I do think a major error in the definition of a fundamental term is a bit worrying. Nevertheless, errors do happen, and get overlooked during proofreading and review, as we all know. I myself have learned this the hard way many, many times. So I'll be sticking with the English Literature course, and even if it turns out to be utterly useless, at least I'll still have the textbook, which is fascinating and beautifully written. And perhaps, when I get a little deeper into the course, I'll be pleasantly surprised. Just as one can sneer at practically anything, so too can one learn something from practically anything, and I've already learned how to construct a villanelle and a sestina, and who knows to what wonderful uses I may be able to put this knowledge?



Thursday, 6 February 2025

THE SHAME FILES

 I'm too sad and disgusted to write much today, but in this entry of the Shame Files, I am of course referring to Donald Trump's announcement of his plans to invade Gaza and undertake so-called 'ethnic cleansing'. I wish I could say I was surprised, but this is the individual (I am reluctant to say 'man') who advised people to drink bleach during the Covid pandemic. People died as a result of that, just as people have always died when American presidents got too big for their boots. The Vietnam debacle has evidently taught the country nothing.

I don't know what the solution is for America. Their whole country is in such a mess now that it seems to me to be unsalvageable, but if there is any hope for it at all, they need to remove Trump from office. I do not believe this will happen, unless perhaps a happy release takes him to his eternal reward. So, I might as well joke about it, and I'll leave you with this meme with which I cheered myself during the first Trump administration. 







Monday, 3 February 2025

RooRoo Day: A Living Memorial

 
This is RooRoo.

This is RooRoo. He came down off my roof one Friday night, walked into my house and never left. This is the first picture I have of him, taken a few days after he came to live with me. 

I did the right thing, of course. I put up posters, checked all the local notice boards, rang the Lost Dogs and the Lort Smith and the council pound in case anyone was looking for him. I even asked the neighbors. And all the time I was doing that, that whole first weekend, I kept telling myself how I wasn't letting myself bond with him because he obviously belonged to someone. He just didn't look as if he'd been living on the street; he was clean, without fleas, and not at all thin, and he showed no signs of worm infestation. Someone had clearly been taking care of him, until very recently, at least.

On the Sunday night my next door neighbours came home from a weekend away. I asked them if they had a black and white cat and if he was missing. I explained about the cat who'd been living at my house since Friday, and the man came in with me to look at him. Oh yes, that's LeStat, he confidently said. My wife's cat. I picked up RooRoo and handed him over; he didn't seem too thrilled but he didn't resist either. The man left with him. I sat down and cried bitter tears for about three quarters of an hour. Because all of that brave talk about how I wsan't letting myself bond with him had turned out to be just that. Talk.

When I finished crying, I heard a small cry at the front door. When I opened it, there was RooRoo on the doorstep. He shot inside and went to earth in the kitchen cupboards, and he didn't come out for three days. I had to give him his meals in there. God knows how he was going to the lavatory. He must have been coming out when I was at work.

Anyway, I never heard from the neighbours again, so I took RooRoo to the vet for a checkup and registered him as mine. Happy ever after. I did see a cat whom I took for RooRoo a few months later in the street, and he was like enough to fool me, same markings and everything, same unusual face shape, but when I got home there was my RooRoo fast asleep on the sofa. Just one of those resemblances that do occur in neighbourhoods because the cats are related. I think that cat must have been the neighbours' LeStat. 

So there we were. Me and RooRoo. He saw me through so much. And when the day finally came that he had to leave me, I couldn't bury him. I just couldn't put him in the ground. His cremated ashes are in a pewter casket in my bedroom, and there they'll stay.

But a cat as fine as RooRoo, I felt, deserved some kind of memorial, and so I created RooRoo Day. It's not quite a charity - there's no collecting of money or blankets or anything. More of a concept, really. On that day, the 14th of May because that was the day he first came into my life and I always celebrated it as his birthday, I ask you to do one act of kindness for an animal. Any animal. Or, you know, a bird, bee, reptile or whatever. You can do more, of course. But do one, on that day, somewhere between midnight and midnight. People all around the world do this. I like to think of a wave of kindness sweeping around the globe. 

There's a Facebook group you can sign up to if you want. But it's not at all necessary. If you do sign up, you will not get harvested for anything. The group is just there for people to share ideas for their RooRoo Day observance, that's all. You can find it HERE

Please do this for me. For RooRoo. And pass it on.

.                                       



Monday, 27 January 2025

The Quintessential Hound, and how she got 100% recall.

 

My most perfect creature of heaven

She was born almost into my hands in 2013. She died in my hands in 2021. Those seven and a half years were among the greatest blessings of my life. It half killed me to lose her, and it was only what I had learned from her that enabled me in the end to pull myself out of a two year funk. I still miss her every day.

Emily (Ch Bhealaich Quintessence) was the gift that keeps on giving, though. She gave so much during her life. She kept me together when I was stressed, and taught me how to control my emotional levels at those times, a gift I still cherish and use often. And she brought so much joy and comfort to the community. Emily visited hospitals, nursing homes, churches, psychiatric facilities, and private homes on request too, in her work as a therapy dog. There were breakthroughs in the psych ward and the dementia ward because of her. There are people walkinig around today, living happy, productive lives, because of my girl. And once, a human baby was named Emily, for her. She appeared on the cover of my book, Where The Heart is, after a professional photo shoot. She was a guest star in a children's book (Astro's Indian Odyssey). And she was a star in the ring, too. She won everything. My precious girl. As I write, I look out my window and see her grave, a carpet of sweet-scented white flowers. No, I'll never really be 'over it'.

And today, Emily is going to help me share the gift of Total Recall.

I hear a great deal of nonsense about sighthounds and recall. You can't recall them once they are in chase after prey, people say. Some people even say you can't really teach them recall at all. What rubbish. There may always be exceptions, of course, but in general a Deerhound is perfectly well able to learn total recall. So, here, I share with you Emily's and my journey to find it.

It all started when I took Baby Emily to the offlead park and she refused to come back to me when it was time to go home. There was a huge crowd of high school children sitting about, and she ran in among them. In and out and around, I chased her. Not one of those evil kids grabbed her collar for me. No, they were all too busy laughing. It was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. After she'd finally had enough fun and she was ready to go home, we walked home together. This can't go on, I told her. The next day, I stocked up on Schmackos, and started my regime.

STAGE ONE

With a pocket of Schmacko pieces (all her life, Emily adored Schmackos, she loved them more even than liver treats) I started to give her a bit every time she came up to me. I kept this up for days before I started to call her. At first, I called her when we were already in the room together. Once that was really nailed, I started to call her from elsewhere in the house. She caught on very, very quickly. All the same, I kept on at this stage for several weeks, without seeking to extend it.

STAGE TWO

For the next stage, I started the same thing all over again in the offlead park. Whenever she came up to me, a piece of Schmacko. It didn't take long for that to catch on, and then I started to call her to me, give her a bit and off she'd go again. I would do this at least two or three times on every offlead walk. I kept this up for about a month before moving on to the final stage. Note, however, that at this point she was already reliably coming when called. I wasn't satisfied, though, because she didn't want to have the lead attached, and would dance away, most infuriatingly. Getting her back on lead to go home was always a hassle.

STAGE THREE

Stage Three was about getting her on lead. I always used a slip chain with my lead, and rather than unclipping the lead, I remove the whole thing. When I called her this time, I had the slip collar over the wrist of the hand holding the treat. As she took the treat, I slid it over her head. Bingo! Dog on lead. More treats and much praise to follow, of course. This worked perfectly the first time I tried it, and every subsequent time. It never failed.

STAGE FOUR

There, job done. But wait, there's more! Emily, being Emily, took it to the next level; she started to make the chain, and then the lead, a cue. Within a short time, I could slide the chain open, making that chainy sound, and she'd rush over to get it put on. Before long, I could hold up her rainbow lead, without calling her, without even saying a word, and she would run at the full gallop to get it on, even if she was fully engaged in play with other dogs on the other side of the oval. The most I ever had to do was call her name once to make her look over.

Back in the country, her new skill was put to the acid test the first time she started to chase a kangaroo. I didn't really mind her chasing roos in the bush, because Emily wasn't a killer; she had plenty of prey drive, but she never tried to engage with kangaroos. She would chase them until she caught up, and as soon as she got within ten feet or so, she would veer away and circle back to me. It looked as though she'd made her point; she was faster than they, she could catch one any time she wanted, but for her it was all about the running. But then there was Puss-Puss.

Puss-Puss was a kangaroo, solitary for some reason, who had found his way onto my property and stayed. Now I've always had a bit of a thing that animals who find their way onto my land are safe. Except rabbits. It's always Open Season on them. But roos, echidnas, goannas, and the ubiquitous stumpy-tailed lizards, all of which I have except goannas, which are occasional, are and should be safe with me. As are foxes, and the feral cats who also share the property. I don't allow shooting over my land for this reason. So when Emily saw Puss-Puss one day and launched herself into a gallop, I called her back. And she came, immediately and without hesitation. 

I tested this a number of times in the forest, when she was in pursuit of mobs. And it never, ever failed.

So there you are. It might take a little longer for some dogs - not every dog is as intelligent as a deerhound - but as long as your bond is established, I believe you can do this.




Tuesday, 14 January 2025

Productivity 102

 In my last few posts I've been reviewing my daily work habits, and I've pulled my socks up a bit in response to that. But organising one's time through the working day or week isn't all there is to productivity; at least not for a writer, anyway. 

For anyone who hasn't been in touch with my life, I spent several years not doing much work after a bereavement, and last year was the first year that I really got back to taking work at all seriously. I could have done more, but I did write one book and finish the one I'd just started in 2021, when everything went to the devil. I finished that in October, and I've not written anything new since. 

Traditionally, I've always started the new year by starting a new book. I think I've done this almost every year since I went full time. But this year, I didn't. This year, I was still in the throes of releasing Operation Trash Bandit, because of Bloody Amazon taking three months to send a proof copy, and so I got out the one I finished in October, which had been in rotdown, and started on the edits. And when I finished the first edit and looked about for something else to do while I had that in edit rotdown before starting on first revisions, I decided to release Twice Seventeen, which is only out in paperback, in ebook and audio. So I've been working on that for the last week.

Now available HERE for your Kindle!

Being me, of course all this got scoped and loaded into Microsoft Project. I like to see the challenges of my year all in a glance. It's a hangover from my time in I.T. And it lets me see, realistically, how long things are likely to take, which is an amazingly long time when you figure in all the times one spends waiting for other people to do things. Beta readers, test listeners for audiobooks, getting proof copies, waiting for the State Library and National Library to catalogue things, etc. And then there are all the chunks of time for rotdown at various stages of the process. These things are why I can never be working on just one thing, except when I am actually drafting a new book. I always have several things on the go at different stages.

This works well for me in general; I finish writing something, and while it's in rotdown I do edits on something else, or wade through all the crap that's needed before I can actually release it. And this year is no exception, except that this morning, I looked at my project plan, which already fills the year up to mid-October, and realised that there is NO actual writing in it. And I've not written a word, except for this blog, since last October.

This is not good. A writer's job is to write. Everything else we do in our working day is to support that, to present the fruits of it to the public, and so on, but au fond, writing is what we do and without that, the rest of it is as nothing. So my mix of tasks in this year's project really, really sucks. I need to choose a new writing project, and pronto! 

So that concludes my New Year Productivity Review. Next week, I'll be writing about something very different - dog training!