Start as you mean to go on

Yesterday, Lee and I attended the Perth Writers Festival. Lee went because he wanted to reignite his passion for writing. I went because I wanted to buy books. We both got what we wanted, plus we got what the other wanted. Laden down with new purchases (thank goodness for the credit card!) we both came home with a renewed sense of purpose.

This morning, after a walk and a discussion about the Australian writing-voice, we came home and set up our computers at the dining table. Then we picked an exercise and set about writing some new words. I chose "Last Line" where you pick up a work, write out its last line and then pick up your story from there.

It's best if you haven't actually read the work before, because it means your mind isn't muddied by the author's words. Lee picked the Locus Awards collection off the shelf and I chose story number 4 -"The Persistence of Vision" by John Varley, a story we likely have read, but not in many, many years.

Lee read out the last line: "We sit in the lovely quiet and dark."

And from there we went.

15 mintues and 390 words later, this was the scene I'd written:

We live in the lovely quiet and dark.  This morning when we were five, before Trotter’s ravings turned to screams and we had to turn him outside for the sun to eat, we felt our refuge to be temporary, a short-won thing. Now we had an extra set of rations, an extra set of blankets, an extra few days to make things right.

Four is easier to deal with than five. Three would be easier still. That, however, would mean losing one of my own and I'm not read for that. Not yet.

“I’m cold.” Jay, my youngest son, has broken the silence. The air once thick with tension, eases a little. I put my arms around his shoulders and pull him into my side.

“We’re all cold,” I tell him. “But it could be worse. We could be outside.”

“It’s time,” Argo says. As the oldest child, I have given him the job of counting to 3600. At the end of each count I take a chance and light up the thin console. The main power went shut down days ago, but the back-up generator allows me to shed a little light on the display panel every now and then. The radar flares. I count to ten, sweep my gaze across its dull green surface and yelp. Then I shut it down again.

“They’re coming. Help is coming.” Tyler is standing by my side. He’s seen what I've seen, noted what I’ve noted.

Help is nothing more than a faint blip on the top left corner, but it’s now visible. We can count our rescue in days rather than weeks. We’re saved.

Jay snuggles closer. “Does this mean we can eat now?”

I want to say “yes” and “of course”, but I’ve been in the service too long to take such things for granted. Half of basic training was devoted to holding out a glimmer of hope just to see what the nuggets would do. 75% of them ate their rations, drank their water, jumped up and down to make themselves seen. That 75% went home to their lives as shop-keepers, garbage collectors, milk men.

“No,” I say instead. “Remember your training.”

Outside the searing winds picked up, shaking the ship like a naughty child. My sons settled around me and once more we began to wait. 

Interestingly, we'd both written about a small family group, waiting for something to happen. In my case I wrote from the POV of a protective parent. In Lee's, he wrote of the child waiting for the mother to act. 

As exercises go, it was a good one. It got the creative juices flowing and now I feel ready to continue with my writing day.

An exercise in random thoughts

This week's exercise was rather random in tone. Quite simply, I sat down, rested my fingers on the keys and allowed my fingers ride the subconscious-train to freedom.

"We built the snowman in mid-January."

Okay, it became immediately apparent that my subconscious was not in Australia, or, indeed, in any other part of the southern hemisphere. January, for me, is about drinking beer while testing the strength of the air-con. It's most certainly not about snowmen.

Aware of this, I nonetheless kept my mouth shut and let my fingers get on with it.

"We built the snowman in mid-January, at a point when the very best of our Christmas presents had grown dull and the worst lay broken at the bottom of the wheelie bin." 

Aha, hmm hmm, yep. Do they even have wheelie bins in the US or UK or Canada or wherever the heck the scene was taking place? I mean, I know they have wheelie bins, but is that what they're actually called?

Shut up. You can edit it later, I snapped at my all-too-critical brain. When it comes to writing, you've let me down lately, so how about you let someone else have a go?

My brain, not used to being addressed in such a manner, crossed its arms and pouted, but I noticed it didn't move away either.

And so, slowly at first, but then with some speed, the story came out.  I began to notice little things, such as the US setting and the unusual Point of View (first person, plural). Even as I grew used to thinking as an American 'we', I kept to Australian spelling. This, I told myself, was something that should be addressed in the editing process.

I'm never going to send it out, because it really was an exercise, but, as flawed as it is, "The Snowman" acts as a reminder that when it comes to writing I need to stop editing as I go and just let the story find its own path. This is what I wrote, unedited, unproofed.

The Snowman

We built the snowman in mid-January, at a point when the very best of our Christmas presents had grown dull and the worst lay broken at the bottom of the wheelie bin. The snow came slowly at first, as if deciding whether this was a neighbourhood worth moving into, but eventually it took the plunge and settled all over yards and trees and cars.

It’s still not exactly certain who started the snowman, but it is suspected that the Beaumont children, with their untamed hair and wild eyes, were the first to roll the ball that would become the first layer.  

What is certain is that the Templemans, those three children of grace and charity, were away down south, helping to rebuild after the destruction of Hurricane Lucille. And yet, despite their absence, or maybe because of it, the snowman became known as the Templeman snowman, for it was upon their driveway that the beast saw construction.

Manuel Rodriguez arrived just as the bottom layer was being rolled into place. It was his father that pushed his wheel chair close, his mother who wrapped the blanket firmly around his legs. We welcomed him with a hearty “Manny” and they left us to our build.

“Can I help?” Manny asked and we pushed a mound of snow into his gloved hands. Manny’s gloves, made from a mixture of leather and lamb’s wool, left a texture upon the compacted snow, a texture that made the rising sun dapple and dance around the fractured lanes.

Someone suggested we invite Corey Meyer to play, so construction stopped while he was fetched. He must have been waiting for our invitation, for he appeared only minutes later, decked out in his full winter gear and carrying three large pebbles from his sister’s terrarium. We told him we hadn’t got that far, so he placed it in Manny’s lap for safe keeping.

…

The Carson twins, aged 8 and a half, were late to the show and, to be honest, we thought it unlikely they’d join us at all. Their parents, an Australian couple who seemed dazed by American attitudes, had spent the past year of residence surveying the street from behind the safety of their net curtains. However, join us they did. Damien Carson arrived with a tie looped loosely around his thin neck, while Sarah Carson displayed rusted tin-and-glass earrings.

They also bought with them the first handfuls of snow that would make up the middle of the snowman. Sarah dropped hers as she walked, but she scooped it back up, bringing a top layer of dark soil with it. Gently, we had to explain that a snowman couldn’t contain sand, that it was bad luck, so she dumped it where she stood (which is just bad form) then fetched another.

Despite this rocky interlude, the snowman’s tummy and chest took shape and the Australians learnt our ways.

…

The tolling of the church bells reminded us of the O’Reilly family. Sure enough, their car pulled up in the street just as we brought together the first handfuls of head snow. Eight kids rolled out of the mini-van, three of them peeled off and headed towards us. The O’Reillys were an original family and really we should have waited until they were home, but despite the rumours of their New York mafia connections, they didn’t seem too upset about the slight. Instead, Seamus O’Reilly, oldest child of the street, removed his trademark trilby and placed it upon Manny’s head.

Throughout the morning we came and went. Sometimes we were three, at others ten, but always we worked; building, decorating, changing, adapting. Together we built up our snowman, together we created him from snow, sweat and the bits and pieces of our families’ lives.

And then, it was time.

The snowman was complete. We needed to decorate.

Stones in hand, Corey placed one on the lower layer where the belly button would be, and two in the middle layer for buttons.  

Damien unknotted the tie, then wrapped it around the snowman’s neck. Sarah, scratching at the red of her ears, hooked the earrings into a small groove on the sides of the man’s head.

As probable masterminds of the scheme, the Beaumonts grinned as they sculpted a wide smile from roasted coffee beans and stuck a real pipe into its centre. Most people would have brought a carrot for the nose, but not the Beaumonts. They had stolen a red light from their tree and it was this that did the honours in giving form to the face. For a while we debated eyes, but in the end Sarah removed the tin-and-glass earrings from our creation’s head and placed them in the side space above the light.

And then, the crowning glory.

Manny removed the trilby from his own head and handed it to over. We weren’t sure who should do the honours, so we decided to do it together. With forefinger and thumb we reached up and over until, as one, we finished our creature. For a brief, shining moment, the Templeman snowman pulsed with life.

Our parents, keeping one eye on our progress and one on their own, private, lives, stepped out into the weak sunshine and congratulated us on our efforts.

Manny was the first to leave, his Dad grabbing the handles of his chair and pushing him up the drive and into their house.

Following his cue, we peeled off one by one and trudged home.

The sun crested the top of the sky, before heading towards the west. The wind blew and changed direction, the air warmed.

And, out there all alone, our snowman died.

FightDay, WriteDay Exercise 2

This week's writing exercise comes courtesy of writingexercises.co.uk.  

List five things you most dislike touching, then find five adjectives to describe each item (e.g. maggots - slithery, wriggly, writhing). Do the same for your other senses.

Five things I hate touching

1.    Belly buttons

2.    Eyes

3.    Raw pumpkin

4.    Vomit

5.    Flannelette sheets

Belly buttons: It’s not just me touching them. I hate seeing other people touch them, too. This is my biggest phobia and it comes with a name – Omphalophobia. It’s hard to assign adjectives to the feeling, because a) it’s a phobia and therefore an irrational fear and b) because I can’t bring myself to touch my belly button. I will, instead, ascribe words that jump to my mind at the thought of touching my (or anyone else’s) belly button

1.    Creepy

2.    Hide

3.    Blood

4.    Dirty

5.    Deformity

I don’t know why these were the first real words to take up space in my mind (along with ick, yucky, eww etc) but they were. They were the images or the sensation I had when I contemplated touching that area.

Eyes

1.    Squishy

2.    Squelchy

3.    Delicate

4.    Fragile

5.    Plump

Raw pumpkin (I love pumpkin, but have an allergy to raw pumpkin)

1.    Reactive

2.    Burning

3.    Itchy

4.    Painful

5.    Bleeding

Vomit

I have spent the past two years dealing with my son’s vomit via his Rumination Syndrome. I had to clean a lot of partially-digested food and bile from walls, floors, beds, blankets, sheets, cars, toilets, sinks and doors and so, quickly, built up a tolerance of the smell. However, one thing I never get used to was the touch of it against my skin as I stepped in it or wiped up the mess. So:

1.    Slippery

2.    Slidy

3.    Lumpy

4.    Scary (you slide across fresh vomit and you fear for safety)

5.    Sticky

Flannelette sheets

1.    Dusty (to me, the texture feels like dust upon my skin)

2.    Hot

3.    Uncomfortable

4.    Dry

5.    Rough

I’m not entirely sure of what use this exercise is, as I personally hate the overuse of adjectives and believe that if you have an adjective then you have the wrong noun. However, as FightDay Write Day is supposed to be an opportunity to put writing first in my day, I’ll have a go at writing a paragraph that uses at least two of the adjectives above.

Despite multiple doses of paracetamol and two cool baths, the child’s temperature remained high. Aided by his mother, I tried to place him in the bed, but he fought against it.

“Too rough,” he cried. “Too dusty.”

“It’s the sheets,” his mother explained as she pulled him back into her arms. “He hates flannelette.”

I understood and nodded. “You rest in the chair,” I said and began stripping the bed. The hospital’s supply cupboard was set for winter, but I knew the dispensary would carry cotton linen.

Rushing from the ward, I found a patch of vomit we’d missed earlier and slid several centimetres, leaving a trail of slimy bile in my wake. I’d deal with that later, but for now, the comfort of my patient came first.

Not my favourite exercise of all time, but I always enjoy the opportunity to pull paragraphs from nothing and see where they lead me. The sheets were the strongest image that I carried into the paragraph and I just allowed the setting to come from that. Once I set upon the sick child and his mother, it seemed obvious to include the vomit. As usual, my mind swung away from the belly buttons, which means I should explore the idea in a story at some point.

However, I did enjoy thinking about my hatred of certain tactile experiences, so I think I’ll continue with the other senses, but without the accompanying adjectives or paragraph.

5 things I hate to smell

1.    Blue cheese. It’s mouldy. End of.

2.    Cigarette smoke. Show me one non-smoker who lay on their death-bed and listed their only regret as never taking up cigarettes. You do that and I’ll allow you to blow smoke in my face.

3.    Other people’s sweat (although Lee’s does not offend me at all. I’m sure George Clooney’s is fine, too.)

4.    Cats. I know people love their cats. I do not. I particularly hate the smell they leave on everything.

5.    Men’s feet (having 2 teenage boys with male teenage friends, this was a hard one to live with at times.)

5 things I hate to see

1.    A child being smacked. I’m not saying I’ve never smacked a child. I have and I hate that I have. There’s always a better way to deal with discipline and violence against another person is never excusable.

2.    A bruise on a woman’s body. It doesn’t matter how she got it, I’m ALWAYS going to assume a man hit her. I’m also aware that I bruise easily and I’d hate to think people assume that about my beloved husband.

3.    Misused apostrophes on commercial signs (people have paid for that sign. The least the sign-writers can do is provide a proof-reading service)

4.    Pay-by-the-hour parking in hospitals. You are really taking advantage of other people’s misfortune when you force them to pay.

5.    Toast crumbs in the margarine container. To me it’s simple. You take a small amount of margarine and that’s it. You don’t take more than you need then put the rest back. I cook a lot. Do you really want toast crumbs in your cheese sauce? Same goes for Vegemite.

Things I hate to hear

1.    Swearing. I hate it in everyone, but I especially hate it when I hear children swearing. I’m told swearers are more honest, but the fact that many writers swear shows this to be a lie. These people are paid to lie.

2.    The beep of a smoke alarm that needs it's battery changed. As a Witness and a Census Taker, I heard a surprising number of these in the door-to-door work. I'd wonder how the occupants handled it.

3.    The rasp of Velcro being pulled apart. Just rip my teeth out while you’re at it.

4.    Furniture being scraped across wood. Pick it up, for crying out loud.

5.    Music from a party after 11pm. Well, unless it’s an 80s retro-party with an emphasis on the years between 1979 and 1983. Then you can be as loud as you like. True story.

5 Things I hate tasting

1.    Off milk. I can’t think of anything as bad as off milk. Not even number 4.

2.    Dates. What I imagine cockroaches taste like, including the crunch and ooze as you bite into them.

3.    Pawpaw. Smell and taste like old socks, which is fine in Parmesan Cheese, but not fruit.

4.    Okay, this is going to be disgusting but it’s one that has stayed with me a long time. Snot. Yes, snot. 20 years ago I dated a man (or late teenager) who cried a lot and then kissed me. All I could taste was the snot at the back of his throat. It was disgusting and my stomach still turns when I think about it.

5.    Sweat. I hate it when my face sweats and the drips into my mouth. Yeah, you know what I mean. It’s salty, but not like Samboy chips are salty.

 So, things I hate on a sensory level. There are many more I could list, but these are the most apparent in terms of writing. 

FightDay, WriteDay

As noted in my previous post, I'm finding it hard to get my act together to write. In response to this I've instituted FightDay, WriteDay; that one day of the week in which I fight off the rest of the world in order to fulfill a writing exercise. I did actually do the exercise last week (on Friday) but as we didn't have internet at the time, I couldn't put it up.

So, here it is, last week's FightDay, WriteDay exercise.

When it comes to writing, I’m far more interested in the story of character, rather than the story of place. Often, when editing my work, I come across sections of “white space” where characters are ‘doing their thing’ inside a setting devoid of colour, texture or being. For this, my first official FightDay, WriteDay, I’ve decided to do an exercise that focuses on setting rather than character. The exercise, taken from Fiction Writer’s Workshop by Josip Kovich, asks me to “describe places where you have worked…Describe how people handle their tools and machines...(The objective is to) concentrate on the details and energy of a workplace.” (p44)

As per the rules of the exercise, I’m not going to say what my workplace is (was), so see if you can work it out by the description I give.

Long ago, back in the 90s, The Powers That Be made a promise “You’ll never wait longer than 5 minutes.” By the time of my induction, circa 2001, it’s a promise that has been broken, but not forgotten. A woman approaches, hands a sheaf of bundled notes, sticky with the juice of her toddler’s orange and a dog-eared passbook through the Perspex window.

“You’re not supposed to make us wait longer than five minutes,” she complains. The smile I offer is meant to be consoling, but it’s a thin smile, worn tight by weeks of hearing the same thing.

“That advert stopped years ago,” I answer. “We’re understaffed and doing our best.”

“Still.”

Still, a remark made by someone who wants to protest, but has no ground upon which they can firmly make their stand. I have her money, I have her details. In return, she has my attention for the next few minutes.

I open the passbook. Despite its worn appearance, it’s still mostly blank. I turn to the second page, carry over the balance, check my terminal for any outstanding transactions. The reason for the emptiness quickly becomes apparent. At least a dozen child-support payments have hit the account without being recorded. I pick up one of several pens allocated to my bay and manually bring the book up to date then stamp and initial the corrections.

“They’re phasing passbooks out,” I inform her. “You’ll be asked to move over to an ATM card soon.”

“But not today.”

“No, not today. You’ll be allowed to finish the book, first. After that they probably won’t provide a reissue. It’ll also make banking a lot faster.”

“But then I won’t have an excuse to come here.”

As if I’m the social highlight of her week.

I wipe the balance from my screen, then make the deposit, first of all filling in the blue slip, then sorting the individual notes so they all face upwards. A quick count and recount confirms the amount of $560. A lacky-band bundles the ten $50 notes together, which I tuck into my safe, while the three 20s are added to my drawer. A mental count confirms I’m well within my drawer limit.

My face time with the woman takes less than three minutes, including updating her passbook. I offer to stamp her daughter’s hands, which is happily accepted. One side states the child is “Not Negotiable” in blue. The other, outlined in red, shows her as “Cancelled”. The mother finds this amusing. She leaves in a slightly better mood. This was an easy one and soon I’m calling “Next” to the waiting customer.

Hmmm. After completing the exercise, I noticed I’m still more focussed on the characters than their setting, however, I do think I offer enough clues to situate both women and their roles within the setting. 

After doing this exercise, I came home and wrote another 500 words on a short story. It didn't follow the exercise at all, but it didn't matter. The exercise had achieved my number one purpose, it got me thinking creatively again.

2015 - The Year I Take Up Writing. Again.

Well, the year is a week old and so far I've written 500ish words.

Not per day.

Total.

Let's face it, at 500ish words per week, I am not going to write a publishable story any time soon. This needs to be redressed, pronto.

So, my writing career is my career and I'm responsible for it, so what am I going to do to redress this issue?

Simple. I'm going to dedicate one day per week to a new writing exercise. Every, oh, I don't know, let's call it Wednesday, yes, every Wednesday I'm going to sit down at my computer, Google writing exercises and commit myself to fulfilling one exercise. I shall blog the exercise here and how many words I wrote. Hopefully, that will lead to another six days of writing, at which point I'll start a new exercise. I'll take a chance and say I tried (Ian Curtis.)

I shall call this The Year of the Writing Exercise and it shall be my year. I've got my play list set up, I've got a new laptop, I've got a great motto for the year and I've got a desire to make a difference in my own life this year.

I'll see you next Wednesday.

PS If you have a writing exercise suggestion, please feel free to comment. I might have to moderate your comment (if you're not a follower), but I tend to do that quite quickly.

It's the final countdown

Saturday is moving day, so we have now reached the point of adding the word 'last' to the things we do around the house.

January 1 saw the last dinner date at Glenelg Way, an experience we shared with our McMinns. We ate Beef Obsession with bread rolls. This seems fitting, because all our social functions this year have featured Kris and Kim. They've shared many of our highs and lows including a cold and the first Dr Who of the season. I'm really looking forward to our first dinner at our new house.

Yesterday saw the last walk to the beach for the kids and me. Where we're going is roughly a 10 minute drive to the beach, so the kids and I won't be able to don bathers and head out as we used to. To be honest, it's not something I'm likely to miss all that much, as Rockingham's beach (routinely voted Best Beach in Australia) is way nicer than our local hangout.

Sunday was our last lunch at Sharkey's. This is significant because Sharkey's is our favourite place to eat in Mandurah. Great food at a reasonable price plus an excellent view made it an ideal place for the family to hold our weekly family meetings. Here we would eat, catch up, discuss the week we'd just had and plan for the week ahead. We'd make goals and discuss any problems and successes. We'd congratulate each other for the successes and work through the problems while just feeling the connection that is us. I'll miss Sharkey's and its significance a lot. 

And this afternoon I cooked my last slow cooker meal. Tomorrow we pack up the kitchen. so I've made one last meal which we'll eat tomorrow night. After that it's pizza and Chinese until that wonderful moment when my slow cooker sees light of day again.

Our last (homecooked) supper. Apricot Chicken.

Of course, it's not all doom and gloom. Amongst all these lasts there has been one new habit that Lee and I hope to take to the new house. This week we've taken to sitting outside on the patio, beer in hand, feet up on chairs as we gaze over our garden. It's not a big thing and it's not at all significant in any way shape or form, but it is just a moment of quiet togetherness before the next rush starts. Right now we're in the eye of the storm, existing in a moment of silence between packing boxes and moving them into the truck. Everything that needs to be done to this point has been done, but there is still so much to do. For this moment, however, there is silence.

And there is us.

Beer garden. Literally.

Takes me back to my student days. Oh, wait. These are my student days. Well, it's a memory for the kids, anyway. Also, pickswhich bed is Connor's and which is Erin's.

Erin's old room. Erin's a neat-freak, but this is ridiculous.

One room, many rooms. Started life as Connor's room, then became the reading room, then the book room (you could not see carpet for books) and is now the empty room. 

Another room of many colours. Started as a sitting room. Then a reading room. Then Connor's school room. Then the Lego room. Now, it's box room.

Are we ready for moving day? I hope so. I'm excited and I'm sad. Baldivis represents new beginnings for our family, but a lot of firsts happened in Meadow Springs, too. 

Aiden attended High School here and became a Dad in Year 12. A year later he was no longer a Dad. He met his current partner while living in this house, applied for uni here, made some of his best friends here. Cassie came here when she needed refuge. Erin found her independence here and Connor was homeschooled during his illness.

However, Most Chameleonic Room award goes to: The Upstairs Loft. In it's time it's been the TV room, the exercise room, Cassie's bedroom, Aiden's room when Georgie was expecting the baby, Aiden and Georgie's retreat when the baby came, teenage retreat when Aiden's friends came over after the Very Bad Breakup, party room and, finally hobby room. It was hot in summer, freezing in winter but thank goodness we had it during a turbulent 6 years.

So, there it is. The end of 6 years. Apart from my childhood home in Amberley Way, Balga, I've never lived anywhere as long as I've lived here. Yes, it's a white elephant and yes, it's provided us with many, many headaches, but it was our home and it sheltered us through a lot of storms. Good bye, Glenelg Way. You shall be missed. 

Mostly.

Don't Look Back in Anger.

My Big Fat End of Year Meme

1. What did you do in 2014 that you'd never done before? 
I am very proud of myself this year. Not only did I continue to do well at uni (studying my BA in English and Creative Writing at Murdoch) but I also undertook several courses via Open Learning. I studied and passed units in Forensic Science, Forensic Psychology and the Scottish Referendum. It was all interesting stuff and, for the most part, I enjoyed it.

I also managed to achieve a number of tasks featuring things I'd never done before. Some of these include: paint my nails black, take the kids to the beach by myself (thereby facing a major phobia), mow a lawn (I enjoyed it so much I've sort of made it my thing) and make a Swiss Roll from scratch (a complete and utter failure, but it did become an amazing trifle).

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year? 

For something completely different, I decided to celebrate turning 45 by attempting 45 tasks for this year. I'm not going to go into all of them (I completed roughly 30) but some of the things I achieved were: wash and polish the car, declutter 45 things from the house, play hopscotch with the kids, and make a donation to a worthy cause. 

Every year, Lee, the kids and I make resolutions (we call them yearly goals) and yes, I will be making more for 2015. Even keeping half of them means noting  achievements that I might otherwise not have noticed.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? My daughter, Cassandra, gave birth to Anthony. Not long after this she became a single Mum to Aisla and Anthony. 

4. Did anyone close to you die? Yes. My Uncle Neville died and it was devastating. I cannot convey how much I loved Uncle Neville and what he meant in my life and I still feel choked up when I think about him. 

5. What countries did you visit? Trenzalore. 
6. What would you like to have in 2015 that you lacked in 2014? Before I answer this, I'd like to hark back to the answer I gave to this question last year: "Connor's health returned to him. His illness is difficult on the family, but it's awful watching him suffer every day." Well, Connor has been Rumination-free since September and we have agreed to him rejoining the school system. So, the answer to this question now is: "Connor enjoying a full year at school."

In addition to this, I'd like to add that I'd like to see my adult children making choices that add security to their lives. I want my daughter and sons to step along a path that leads to a secure and happy adulthood.

7. What dates from 2014 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? December 9. Erin and Connor had a joint birthday party (13 and 10) which celebrated their separate year of triumph. Erin this year enjoyed being Head Girl, a member of the Mandurah Junior Council and was named Dux of her school. Connor started the year as an extremely sick little boy of 23 kilograms, but ended it at a healthy 33 kilograms. He also started the year without friends (his illness made it impossible to have play-dates) but ended it with 10 children invited to his party. 9 came. The party was such a joyful event because it was the culmination of everything we'd put into practice for the year.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Achieving 2 Distinctions and 2 High Distinctions at uni despite also homeschooling Connor. I learned a lot about myself this year. Now I'm considering what comes next; Honours or a Degree in History?

9. What was your biggest failure? I don't feel I failed anything. I completed 4 units of uni, I took Connor through Year 4 as a home-educated student, I helped him achieve wellness, I kept Erin focussed on her studies and her activities. Lee and I sold our house four days after putting it on the market and found a new home 3 days later. I call that a positive success.

Okay, if pressured to come up with a failure, it's this. Despite sending 4 stories out, I failed to make publication. I did receive an Honourable Mention in the Writers of the Future competition, which isn't too bad, but a real publication would have been fantastic.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? My uterus was destroyed via an Endometrial Ablation Procedure. I was told it would be painless. It wasn't and the pain lasted nearly 2 weeks. On the plus side, I've now missed 2 periods. On the negative, I am still rampantly hormonal.

11. What was the best thing you bought? My second slow cooker. Our oven died earlier in the year so I resorted to slow cooking. In the end we only got the oven fixed because we're moving house, not because I want it back. I learned to bake bread, make roasts and concoct fudge in the slow cooker which helped me feel as if I achieved new greatness within the kitchen.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration? Erin has had the most amazing year and has worked hard for it. People tell us we must be proud and yes, we are, not with the achievement, but with the effort Erin put in. Our daughter was made Head Girl, was voted onto the Mandurah Junior Council and attained Dux. She did this while going through the usual hormone changes that attack 12/13 year old girls and she did so with a smile and a willing attitude.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed? My daughter's ex-boyfriend. He routinely screws her over and then expects forgiveness. I hate this man more than I can express.

Also, those of my former religion. We are supposed to be a group that prides itself on love and yet, this year I saw no sign of this love. I went through a lot of hard times due to Connor's illness and not once was I offered a shoulder or a listening ear. As a result, I have decided I no longer associated myself as a member of that religion.

Conversely, thank you to every single person (a mixture of atheists, Catholics, Mormons and Pastafarians) who walked with us every step of the way. You actually epitomized real, human kindness and love.

14. Where did most of your money go? Bills, the car, the mortgage. Wine. Really. I spent 8 weeks alcohol-free and we had heaps of money during that time. 

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? Christmas. Yes, I'm celebrating it this year and I can't wait. We have a tree and we have an angel, courtesy of our beautiful friends, Kris and Kim.

16. What song will always remind you of 2014? 

"Cap in Hand" by The Proclaimers. The Proclaimers are Connor's absolute favourite band of all and we could not take a car ride without one of their songs playing, usually "Cap in Hand." 

Also, it was the year of the Scottish referendum, which I studied, so the lyrics seemed particularly resonant. Really, Scotland, what were you thinking?

I could tell the meaning of a word like serene,
 D                            G        A
   I got some `O' grades when I was sixteen,----
 D                                  G             A
   I can tell the difference 'tween margarine and butter,
 D                                  G           A
   I can say "Saskatchawen" without starting to stutter.
         A          D            G               D          A
   But I can't understand why we let someone else  rule our land,
   NC           D
   we're cap in hand.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:i. happier or sadder? ii. thinner or fatter? iii. richer or poorer? 1)Happier. My boy has been well for 3 months, which is all we prayed for last year. 2) As for weight and money, they're about the same. We're moving to a smaller house in 2015, so we should see more money on pay-day.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of? I kept up my study, I wrote more than I did last year and I looked after my children. All in all, I'm happy with my level of activity this year.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of? Commenting on Facebook. What a complete waste of time and energy. I won't be commenting much next year, because really people just want you to validate their own opinions and that's not always the case.

20. How will you be spending Christmas? Drinking beer and eating food with my brother and his partner and our children. Raymond and I weren't the closest growing up, but we are beginning to discover just how much we love each other. I can't wait.

21. Who did you meet for the first time? My best friend Sharon introduced us to her husband, Adam. He is her third husband and he's perfect. Sharon and Adam have the sort of simpatico that you usually only see in partners who have been together a long time.

22. Did you fall in love in 2014? I am so in love with my husband, Lee. He is the reason I managed to get through 4 units of uni, Connor's illness and the stresses of Cassie's break up. He stands by my side, holds my hand and lets me know that all is right with my world. He is the love of my life, the most important person in my world. 

23. What was your favourite TV program? "Community"! Kate Eltham and Rob Hoge sent us a surprise package for Christmas and inside we found 3 seasons of this show. One episode and we were addicted and I've since watched them right through 4 times. Community was definitely my Number 1 show for 2014.

Also, this year we allowed the Battersby children to watch Battlestar Galactica for the first time. Watching their reactions to each important plot development made me fall in love with the programme all over again.
24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

No, not really. I don't do hate, not really. I hate actions, but not people. Well, apart from the one person I do hate, but I hated him last year, too. Treat me badly and I'm likely to forgive you. Treat my kids badly, however, and you're on my list of hate.

Oh, and Tony Abbott. Is he not the most hateful man in Australia?

25. What was the best book you read? I read some fantastic novels this year: The City and The City by China Mieville, The Chemistry of Tears by Peter Carey, and The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes. 

Without a doubt, however, by absolute favourite book was Havenstar by Glenda Larke. This was my Goodreads review: "There is so much I want to say about this novel but some how the words fail me. I've read a lot of books this year, for uni, for judging and for personal pleasure. This book is, without shadow of a doubt, my favourite to date. There was absolutely nothing I didn't love about this work: the characters, the setting, the world-building and the religion, each and every part of it was pitch perfect and believable. I fell into the world of Stabilities and Instabilities, into Havenstar and into the Chantries seamlessly." 5 stars. 

I can only gush about this work and how amazing it is. A masterpiece of our time.

I just want to add that the edition I read was published by Ticonderoga. There's history to this book and I'm glad Russell Farr went ahead and picked up with others left off.

Brilliant.

This wasn't one of my most prolific years for reading, but it was a year filled with quality. 

26. What was your greatest musical discovery? I can't decide between Baxter Dury and The Hilltop Hoods. Dury's "Happy Soup" taps into my sadness and desolation, while "Cosby Sweater" by The Hilltop Hoods instantly lifts my mood. I find myself dancing the moment the opening beats start.

27. What was your favourite film of this year? "Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll." A docudrama about Ian Dury featuring Andy Serkis in the lead role. Not only did I fall back in love with Ian's music, I also discovered and become a fan of his son, Baxter. I also loved "Eric and Ernie", a docudrama about Morcombe and Wise.

28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 45. My Triffitt kids surprised me by picking me up and taking me out for lunch. I had Chili Mussels.

29. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? Having one story published. My stories were good (one received an Honourable Mention) but they did not find a home and I am saddened by that.

30. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2014? "Does my butt look big in this? How about this?"
31. What kept you sane? "Community." BBQs with the McMinns. Talking religion with Sharon. Watching Connor slowly get his life back. Wahu wine.

32. What political issue stirred you the most? I don't know. I'm fairly new to this politics thing and I seem to have come to it during a particularly bad time in Australian history. We have a dreadful Prime Minister who should be called to account for his actions. 

33. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2014.  This, too, shall pass. I suffered a fair amount of depression this year, to the point where I considered self-harm. I got help and support from my family, but through it all I kept my eye focussed on tomorrow. 
34. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year. 

"I'm on my way, from misery to happiness today

Aha aha. Aha aha."

Yeah, that was my year. It started miserably, but we're finishing it as a happy and strong family that fuels itself with love and laughter.