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.

 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. 

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.

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.

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?

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. 

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.

.                                       

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.

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!

Once More With Feeling!

I said in my last post that I was going to do another iteration of my time management. As I mentioned, my efficiency has been somewhat impaired by having a broken toe, but after the first few days it wasn't as bad as I had feared. So, I did in fact record another sample day. It isn't as typical a day as it ought to have been, because it was actually the second of January, and I was still recovering from my extremely late night on NYE. Anyway, as I'd been trying for days to remember to record my day, I couldn't bear to waste the one time I actually did remember, so I'm going to analyse that (just like Robert DeNiro, only without the being so handsome and talented).

0600: Shout at the alarm and try to go back to sleep. I usually wake up feeling great, but this morning I have a headache. I am still jet lagged from New Year, after staying up to stupid o'clock and then sleeping in until another stupid o'clock. Don't judge me unless you went to bed early and sober on NYE.

0615: Drag myself out of bed, make coffee and let Chips out.

Chips.

0645: Check on Chips. He is lying down in the little enclosed area we made to protect my mother's grave, eating the leg of a calf. Heaven knows where he got it; he must have been off property without permission. I check on the leg and note with great relief that it had been dead for some time. Have shower and get dressed. More coffee.

 

0730: Put last night's washing in the dryer and put on another load. Clean up the laundry.

0745 Take Chips into town to do training.

0815: Breakfast (fruit salad). Wash up.

0830: Check the dryer but alas, it is all still damp. Do some German on Duolingo.

0900: do physiotherapy exercises. Take a break to read some of a really fun book that I have for advance review.

0930: Do more physio and take pills. Mess about with the tracking device I have for Chips, which I have just found after he took off his collar in the middle of the back paddock almost a year ago. The control unit is not charged. Leave it on the charger; it had been on all night and is at 4%. Stronly suspect this whole system is a useless POS, but as Chips doesn't go walkabout any more, it's not a big problem. My own instinct is to throw the lot in the trash, but it was a birthday gift from my husband, so I feel I have to do my best to get it working.

0945: Water flowers and fill up the bird bath and dog water. Fold and put away the washing from the tumble dryer.

1000: Start work. This is the first edit of a book I finished last October. I already have a great stack of notes for revision. Set it all up, pause to make the bed while I nerve myself to the task, and start reading my printed ms.

This is the mockup of the cover design for the book I'm working on. It's about a dragon. I still need a really catchy title, so if you think of one, message me immediately! I will give you a free book.

1100: Take a break for some more housework. Clean husband's study and the chapel, and continue with the mending, which like the poor is always with us.

1200 The sewing is too hard on my hands to do for more than half an hour. Waste an hour on socical media waiting for lunch.

1300 Lunch. Tuna Mornay.

1330 Back to work.

1400 Take a break to wash up the lunch things, and resume work. I have made revision notes up to the end of chapter 5. That's 5 of 35, so the whole thing should take a week. Curse bitterly, because I had planned 4 days for it. Feel discouraged and take a break to do some more German on Duolingo.

1510 Go to Furpile. It is a sad little furpile with only me and the dogs; I miss our cats, who both died last year. But I have the comfort of dogs around me. And it's a very good comfort, and soothed by it, I fall asleep.

1630 Wake up parched and get a cool drink. Think about going on with the mending, but I know that abusing my damaged tendons will not lead anywhere good, so return to work.

1700 Take a few minutes to wash my coffee things. Return to work.

1800 With eight chapters done I feel better about the day. Call it quits for now and pick up my book. I'm reading Spectres and Stockings by Kevin Hess. For those who haven't encountered these books, The Trials of Bardly Whitsend series, they are a real hoot. They are much in the style of the late great Sir Terry, and they're really a lot of fun. If you enjoyed the Discworld series (and let's face it, if you don't like those, your soul is dead), then you really should check this series out. You can find it here: 

The Trials of Bardly Whitsend

1815 Realise with horror that it is Drinkies Time, and prise my husband away from the television to make my Rum and Dare. A drink just doesn't taste the same if I make it myself. We sit out on the verandah to enjoy the last of the day while the kids rush about in the orchard.

Our children at play.

2000 Go over to the kitchen to feed the dogs and then ourselves.

2045 back to my desk for a quick check of emails and messages.

2100 go to bed to read, but despite really enoying the book, I am getting back into my normal routine, and I can't stay awake for more than 10 minutes.

Analysis

 When I look back over the day, I can see with pleasure that I got a lot of work done. However, I was still working, on and off, three hours after I was supposed to have finished for the day. This was to make up for the fact that I used a lot of my morning session for doing household tasks instead of actually working. That's really something to watch, and with a four hour working day, those four hours need to be strictly kept for work. That will be my next effort. 

That said, however, I finished the book edit yesterday, having taken only six days for it. The four days I'd planned was optimistic anyway, as the state of my first draft is extremely rough, due I think to the number of times I have picked it up and dropped it since starting it in a blaze of enthusiasm early in 2021, I'm pretty happy with six days for the first edit.