Good morning, Readers!

Before you do anything, you  must read a short comic.  THIS one.  It made me laugh very hard and started my morning out well.

Right, on with it.  I got no writing done yesterday at all. I was too distracted by nerves, so instead I let myself have a day to muck around.  I must get to work today.  My usual day off, Friday, will be spent writing.  Not only will I have to write the next bit of Your Very Own Adventure Project and then catch up on my word count for Daughters of Britain.  Sigh.  I do these things to myself.

You know, I had a great topic for today's blog post, and now I can't remember what it was supposed to be about.  I hate my brain sometimes.

Perhaps It was about the importance of sleep, because I'm certain that lack of it is what is driving my forgetfulness.  That and I'm deeply involved in the story I am writing.  All other thoughts tend to fly out the window when the story is running through my mind... It's actually a good sign for the story.

Maybe I was going to talk about momentum?  As you all know, writing Human took me all damned year.  I just couldn't get the ball rolling on that story.  It made a stark change from writing Skylark, which was really fast to write, and it was frustrating as hell.  With Skylark, I had no problems reaching the daily 3 000 word count, and I was even on such a roll I sometimes skipped training to keep writing, once breeching 7 000 words in a day.  It was glorious!

Human, not so much.

And now, Daughters of Britain appears to have recaptured at least some of the momentum I thought I had lost.... If we ignore yesterday.  Writing this one has been relatively easy and while I haven't had the same rush of words I did with Skylark, it is coming much easier than Human ever did.  I am so grateful for this.

Writing is such an odd profession, really.  It is the contradiction of a solitary endeavour designed purely to reach out to people; hiding from the world in order to communicate with it.  At times it is so very joyous and at other times, it is the most frustrating endeavour I've ever undertaken.  And there is no grand pay off at the end.  There is no boss on your shoulder nodding their approval, there isn't a raise at the end of the work, there isn't anything after months of solitary silence but more solitary silence.

However much work it takes to write a manuscript, the work has only just begun.  Before a writer with a finished manuscript yawns a painful eternity (not literally... the eternity part.  It is painful) of editing and then, if we manage to slog our way through that, there is the long, tiresome and often painful quest for publication.  Even if we get published, there's the long, hard task of finding readers for our work.  If we cannot find enough readers, then publishers drop us like a hot potato and all that work, from beginning the manuscript on, would have been for nothing.

Sounds appealing, no?

That was sarcasm, by the way.

Knowing all of this, I sometimes ponder why people bother at all.  Is it because people think that every writer is as fortunate as J.K. Rowling; that every writer must be rolling in money for doing nothing but jotting down a story or two?  A quick Google search will reveal article after depressing article that reveals that this is far from the case.  In fact, the possibility of a writer earning enough to support themselves is becoming slimmer and slimmer with each passing year; it is the ultimate fantasy.  Not to mention people don't quite understand the amount of work that goes into producing a story - of any length.

The answer is different for every writer, I suppose.  For myself, I can't not write.  I've said it before.  Even if I had not decided to self-publish, I would have a collection of manuscripts and stories, and I would be adding to it constantly.  They just would never see the light of day.

I remember in university, when I ought to have been studying or working on my papers, I was writing.  I spent more time in University on my writing than I did on my school work.  As a result, I was always up late the night before a paper was due, getting started on the first draft of the essay.

I would be lying if I didn't find the prospect of critical acclaim, of massive popular appeal, the satisfaction of walking on a bus and seeing someone reading a book I had written (it hasn't happened... yet?).  And even the slim possibility that I might yet be able to earn a living doing nothing but writing is incredibly enticing for me.  These are true.

But the real truth is that I would be writing regardless, so I might as well try to do something with it.

Well, this blog post was entirely directionless.  I was just spewing thoughts onto a page, as I do.  I think I should stop now and get to work.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

So... Hey.  I'm freaking out a little bit.  And starting this post a little late,  The two are connected.  How about I stop jumping around and start from the beginning, yes?

Alright.  Here goes.

Ahem...  I'm back in the querying game, as some of you might know.  I had queried a person, then just never heard from them, so I queried someone else.  Turns out, that second person wants a partial submission (the first 30 odd pages).  Hence the freak out.  Excuse me, I need to get this out of my system...

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ahem.

I am late writing this blog post because I spent the morning preparing the submission.  I'm not sure I did it correctly, and I'm really nervous.  I'm trying very hard to play it cool, but after querying for another novel that was met only with stony silence or rejection, I'm finding it difficult.  My face is a perfect mask of impassivity.  In reality, however, I'm more like this:

I might vomit.

Now, of course, if history is anything to go by, the answer will be no.  It is always no, and I have to prepare myself for this fact.  Yet I cannot help but get excited, and scared, and nervous, and worried, and man... I am going to be sick.

Of course, all the horrible little thoughts that plague pretty much everyone are creeping their way in:

It's not good enough.
Why do I even bother?
I can't write.
What was I thinking?
She's going to hate it.
I hate it.
This sucks.
I'm never going to be picked up.
Gods, I feel sick.

This manuscript was almost picked up before.  Objectively, I know it's a pretty good story.  I have been told by people who have no stake in my success as a writer.  Subjectively...  Well, those voices are pretty damned strong.

And history is on their side, I might add.  So while I'm hoping for a good outcome, I trying very hard to prepare myself for what I sometimes feel is inevitable: the dreaded rejection.

I'm also a little conflicted about sharing this with you.  I might (and by 'might' I mean 'am') be a little superstitious and feel like I'm jinxing myself sharing this with the world.  But I also want to share my journey with you, in all it's horribe swinging, mood enhancing, mood destroying, frustrating, joyful glory.  It's the whole honesty thing I was talking about on Monday.

And also I will want a sympathetic ear when it comes time for weeping.  So, I shall keep you abreast of this submission and the process as it happens and I will as a teeny tiny favour of you:

Send the universe well wishes on my behalf?  I'm not certain it will work, but I need all the help I can get.

Well, I'm off to pretend to be learning Welsh.  In reality, I'll be staring blankly at my computer screen, screaming internally.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Good morning, especially, to my Australian readers.

I have been filled with pride since yesterday.  I have been so impressed with you all.  Why, you ask?  Well, for this reason:

For those of you who don't know what's been going on, Monday morning Sydney time, a gunman took people hostage in Martin Place Lindt Café in Sydney, Australia.  For sixteen hours the stand-off between him and the police lasted until the police heard gunfire.  They moved in swiftly and the situation was ended.  Tragically two hostages were killed.  Not quite so tragically, so too was the gunman.

The man, whom I will not name because he does not deserve to get famous, had a few run-ins with law enforcement before this, from being arrested in connection to his wife's murder to writing offensive letters to the families of Australia service men and women serving in the Near East.  He was not a good man.  He was also Muslim.

Anyone of sound mind know the two are in no way related.  It is easy, in seeking blame and retribution for the terrible things that go on in the world, to blanket an entire culture, or religion, or ethnicity, or even skin colour as one thing or another; to make the other appear evil.  That is simply not the case.

Yesterday, at the end of the hostage situation and despite the anger it will undoubtedly engender, ordinary Australians made it clear that they knew that one swallow does not a spring make... which is to say, one evil man does not all of Islam make.  They started the #illridewithyou twitter campaign, offering their presence to any Muslim Australian who felt unsafe travelling in Australia in the wake of the events in Sydney... because some people are stupid and would attack people not even remotely associated with the events simply because they happened to be Muslim.

It is a really sad statement that Muslim groups all around the country were and are bracing for violent backlash.

And then the twitter campaign happened, and I almost cried.

To those wonderful people who began the campaign, and to those who joined it and volunteered your time to ensure your fellow Australians were safe, I am so, so, so in love with you right now.  You have made this ex-pat so, so, so very proud and grateful.

This is the humanity I know we are all capable of.  Are you watching, rest of the world?  This is how humanity is done.

So, ordinary Australians, thank you for making me believe in humanity again.  You are awesome.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

I'm coming off a very lovely but very busy weekend.  Saturday I spent mostly in the kitchen washing dishes and cleaning up as the Amazing Flatmate had decided to host a packing party - everyone came over with packs of everyday items like socks and combs, deodorant, Vaseline, toothbrushes and so forth, and we distributed them and packed them into little gift bags to donate to the women's shelter.  There was plenty of food and drink and people came over and packed and laughed and it was really, really nice.

Everyone who came was awesome.

Sunday was my kung fu school's annual Christmas get together.  I had a small freak-out in the morning as I realised that I had nothing nice to wear.  Having a costumer for a flatmate really helps in situations like this.  I borrowed a little black dress, acquired some pretty stockings with floral designs on them and then was ready to go.

Honestly, I should be paying that woman a wage.

It was lovely to see the crew, as it always is.  There was plenty of good food and laughter and merriment to be had.  I've said it before, I'll say it again.  I love the Wutan crew.  I don't know what I'll do with my time now that training is over for the year.  I will need to make some space in the house, though, so I can practice my forms.  I'm tired of continually forgetting everything!

But recounting the weekend isn't the point of today's blog.  Today I want to discuss something a friend mentioned to me last week after Thursday's blog post.

He thought that I was, apparently, brave.  His actual words were:

I'll admit, I screwed my face up a bit with a fierce expression of 'what the...?'

Courage?  What?  I was just describing the shitty week I'd had, while fully recognising that I wasn't the image of graciousness about the whole affair.

To be honest, I'm still a little confused about the whole thing.  I hardly consider myself courageous in any way, shape or form.  After all, I'm hiding behind a computer screen most of the time, just typing words into the void that is the internet, one of thousands of voices to be ignored.  Not only that, but I get very stressed any time interacting with people is called for.  This is all lead up to the event, of course.  I'm fine once I'm there.  Even so, it's hardly courageous of me to freak out.

I also tend to avoid confrontation like the plague.  I'd much rather hide under my blankets, thank you very much.

There is a whole list of faults and little cowardices of which I am wholly guilty, so when I look in the mirror, courage is not what I see.  What I see is me; a woman, a gamer, a writer, a silly person, an intellectual.  I see straw hair and crooked teeth, a bad temper and a big heart.  I see a hard history and a the possibility of a promising future.  I see frustration, tears, odd moods, depression.  I see the scars of mistreatment, and all the wonderful things that have helped build me up in my wonderful friendships.

In short, I see a human being.

Is presenting oneself as a human being in the online world courageous?  It surprises me to think that this might be so.

I don't feel particularly courageous, as I've already said.  I present myself online in much the same manner as I present myself off line,,, as me.  I try to be honest with my readers, because I believe that you deserve it.  I also believe that the majority of you are awesome and so I feel I can be honest.  Also, it's become a policy of mine.

I want to be me for my readers, so that if ever I manage to pull together a book tour (hah!), none of you would be disappointed after meeting me.  It's only fair, right?  I mean, how much would it suck to meet someone who was one way online only to find out that they're a whole different person in  person.  It's only fair that I let you all know what to expect if ever we happen to meet.

So, I still think it's really weird that at least one person finds me brave for simply being myself.  I mean, I'm flattered... I guess.  But I don't consider my particular brand of honesty particularly courageous.

It's odd, the differences in how you see yourself and how others see you.  So, today I'm asking a question of you.

Has anyone ever said something about you that took you completely by surprise?  Enquiring mind wants to know.

Good morning, Readers!

So, I wrote this great big blog post about how recently I was outwardly all like:

While, internally, I was all like:

Then I realised that the people involved might be reading this blog, and so I decided to delete the whole thing... except the pictures because they are simultaneously hilarious and accurate.

Needless to say, there was an incident of passive aggressiveness to which I responded with uncharacteristic good old fashioned bull-headedness.  I dug my heels in and refused to budge.  No one in the story comes out looking good, but I'm really not sorry I did it.

You see, all my life I have been pushed around, and then invalidated.  Want to know what invalidation of a person is all about?  Bully a person and then blame the victim for feeling bad (you're too sensitive, lighten up etc) instead of adjusting your own awful behaviour.  Victims have every right to feel victimised.  If someone continues to do something that hurts another person while chiming 'stop being so sensitive' that person is a grade A arsehole.  I do feel that I was taught to be accommodating even if that meant I went without.  I tried so hard to be that person that I often went without.  Without a voice.  Without an outlet.  Without meeting my needs.

I still struggle to be assertive, often finding myself being obliging to the point of ridiculousness.  That is slowly changing, thank the gods.  I'm getting more and more comfortable with resisting, with being a thorn, with people thinking that I'm a bitch.  Age has a lot to do with it, I suppose.  I mean, there must be a finite number of years before even the most placid of animals bites back.

In any case, in the end, I got the thing I needed and the matter was resolved.  I just think it's a damn shame that as an adult, I still am pushed around and invalidated to the point where I have to throw a fit like a damned toddler in order to be heard.

I hate it.

And of course, some people delight in pushing others to the point of mental breakdown, and then snicker, blame or otherwise torment a person when they reach that inevitable point.  Gods those people are arseholes.

I'm not saying this person is like that, mind you.  I do think he likes having his way even if it makes zero logical sense to do it his way, and I do think he's horribly passive aggressive about it, but otherwise an awesome person.

At least the matter is resolved.  I can put it behind me and continue on.  Also, thank goodness there is training tonight.  I get to work my frustrations out on my training partner.

Heh heh heh.

Yesterday I got no writing done whatsoever, as work has given me a new computer and I was busy installing all the drivers and software I needed to function in the office.  It took a long time, and so I didn't bother to open up the story when I finished.  I just farted around and listening to music.

I'm not sore about it.  Normally after finishing a novel, I give myself the rest of the month off.  However, I was so excited about this story that I dove right in after finishing Human. Today, I will attempt to write again.  Perhaps this time I will be able to get started on the story proper!  Hah!

This novel might be a bit slow going, as I think I'll need to stop often to double check that my dates and names are correct.  Because of this suspicion, I'm dropping my official daily goal to 1 500 words.  My unofficial goal will still be 2 000 words, and I'll try and reach that mark, but as long as I make it over 1 500 words in a writing session, I will consider the day a success.

And so, with nothing further to add, I must bid you farewell.  I'm off to do Welsh stuff, then to write.  Have a wonderful day!

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Well, today there isn't much to report.  Life is moving along as it always does; slowly with a great deal of stress and a little bit of fun.  The best moments are when I'm writing and the world just melts away for a few hours as I build another one.  Terrible people don't exist for those hours, except for the ones I create and even then I know that, unlike life, they will get what's coming to them.  And good people, well, they're goodness is off the charts.... It's a powerful force in its own right.  Better yet, it remains despite incredible adversity.

I like the worlds I build.

Where was I going with this?  Oh, right.  There is nothing going on right now that you can't already guess.  You know my routine by now, and that will not change; Welsh lessons in the morning, writing in the afternoon.  Training in the evening.  Except this evening.  Training at Carleton ended on Monday, so I have this evening to run the errands I really need to get done.

Chances of that happening are actually quite low.  I'm tired today, so I'll probably just end up going home to an early bed.  Sleep.  It is so underrated.

Yesterday I did not write as much as usual, just breeching the seven hundred mark, but it was a good seven hundred words and I did have to do a fair amount of research for them.  I wrote the epilogue, incidentally, which details the battle between the Caledonian Federation and the Romans under Gnaeus Julius Agricola.  It was a little out of my speciality, so I did have to do a fair amount of reading up on it.  All the same, I am quite happy with it.

Now with the prologue and epilogue are written, the book is nicely enclosed and I feel totally comfortable diving into the story itself.  I have also added two entries of Y Trioedd Ynys Predei (The Triads of the Island of Britain) from Y Llyfr Coch Hergest (The Red Book of Hergest).  It's a list of things presented in triplets.  Some think that the triads are the written record of mnemonic devices used by storytellers to remember certain key stories that they would tell.  The Red Book of Hergest dates to around 1382 (or shortly after) and is written in Middle Welsh.

The triad that opens the the entire book is:

Three Unfortunate Counsels of the Island of Britain:
To give place for their horse's fore-feet on the land to Julius Caesar and the men of Rome, in requital for Meinlas;
and the second: to allow Horse and Hengist and Rhonwen into this Island;
and the third: the three-fold dividing by Arthur of his men with Medrawd at Camlann.

The triad that closes the entire book is:

Three Amazons of the Island of Britain:
The first of them, Llewei daughter of Seitwed;
and Rorei daughter of Usber;
and Mederei Badellfawr.

In my book, the two lead into one another.  In short, I'm pretending that one of the Amazons of the Island of Britain fought against Rome.  That's basically the story right there.

It makes me happy.

Right, I should be getting on with my life. Back to the boring old routine.  I think I might acquire myself some more coffee first though.  I'm feeling a little spaced out.

Ciao!

Go me!

Ahem.

Good morning, Readers!

Yesterday was glorious!

I finished my Welsh lessons on time and did very well, thank you.  I shall be working on Lesson thirteen today, and trying hard to speak Welsh the rest of the time, even if it is only to myself.  Le sigh.

And, as I promised us all, I started on Daughters of Britain.  The prologue is written.  It's basically a background to the Roman occupation of Britain written in a voice that is very sympathetic to the Britons.  Today I get started on the story proper... or perhaps I will write the epilogue, which is also quite technical with the history... dates and names and names of battles.  I should probably get that over with first.... that and the last ever scene of the tale, which is playing itself over and over in my head, demanding epic music... ugh.  My stories are so avaricious!

Umm.... so I got distracted and started reading up on stuff for the book I'm writing, and before I knew it, two hours had run past.  Sorry!  Now I'm very late for everything!  What can I say?  I was sucked in to the world of Celtic Studies.  I can't help it!  It's so fascinating!

Right, as I'm really behind, I have to go and start doing things.  I'm off.  Have a great day.

Ciao!