Things I know. That you might not:
*It is weirder than weird to drive down the road and see your 16.6 year old daughter behind the wheel of the oncoming car. Alone. For the first time. The passenger seat, you have spent the last year perched in with mild motion sickness while trying to be civil and kind with helpful driving tips like SLOW DOWN, is empty.
*I can spend an entire week worrying my writing is total crap. That it has craps and craps are very contagious and spread like wild fire. And therefore, from this moment on I will never write a craps-free sentence again. I feel so craps about this crappiness I have not re-read my WIP for fear of passing on edit-craps. This is a worser form of craps simply because it can make the original dose way way more crapsville. I’d like to know if any other writer has experienced craps recently? If craps go round and round like nits at a birthday sleepover? If they eventually go away by themselves or require an embarrassing trip to the side room of your local pharmacy. Shirt up. Or must you incorporate them into your life and simply get along – make mine an organic coconut milk mocca soy decaf trim crapsacino please in a sippy cup. LARGE.
*Sorry enough of the C word. What about the T word. I enjoyed reading what, Kiwi children’s author Melinda Szymanik wrote about TALENT this week. And writers.
*Now local readers. The Queenstown Lakes District Library used to send very friendly, 3-day-advanced-warning-your-books-are-due-back to absent minded borrowers. Since they introduced this helpful approach to book loaning, staff numbers have been drastically reduced thanks to DUMB council restructuring (just wanted to mention that). And I have reduced my hefty fines to one amnesty can of baked beans each Xmas. Until today when collecting Mal Peet’s, Life: An Exploded Diagram, highly recommended by Brit YA writer Anthony McGowan. ‘You owe $5.25.’ They said. ‘I do?’ Appears the LDL ping you straight aways now, without warning.’Everyone’s getting stung, I’ll drop the 25 cents.’ That's council cutbacks for you.
*My horse Star and I have a combined age of 72. You could call me a cougar in this respect. My mount is less than half my age. He’s 22. Here he is. Post gallop up from the Shotover river. I let him get his breath back these days. Horses live till their mid-thirties. Star is technically a senior and about 65 in human years. I just googled that last bit. I'm not really Madonna. On horseback.
*This amazing natural phenomenon of YEARS will rise to 73 on Sunday. I’m a Piscean. I'm also a champagnean (they're new). So my eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw Ruinard on sale at my local supermarket, while stocking up on low salt low sugar packaged food for school lunches. Did my crazy French girlfriend suggest they stock it? Is she coming out for a month? This champagne is what I imagine Dom Perignon would taste like. Dry, warmly fruity with ultra fine endless bubbles that sound a whole lot better under your tongue, than any wave in a shell on your ear. Merci Madame Caroline. For the introduction. Or ruination of a quiet girl.
*I’ve had no close-up encounters with nasty vermin this week. Much to this birders delight I spied a South Island Robin while out on my daily run. Obvs I was walking up a REALLY steep hill at the time. Not running. First of all I saw a fledgling robin so wasn’t clear on my identification until I came back down the track and mum (or dad) had appeared. These birds are very friendly. And teeny tiny with yellowy breasts and a white band over their beaks. Ohhhh. The Stewart Island robins are so friendly they will hop on your boot if you sit down for a chat. You should go there. See Stewart
*I must out myself. I post pictures of my cat. Mostly on twitter. One of the all time zaniest bloggers in the blogosphere is Jenny Lawson @TheBloggess. She posts way odder stuff. This is one of her recent posts about embroidered cats called Good luck satan.
I do like a little craft, I knit, I sew. I hand stitch. I used to have a designer cushion label.Some readers may recall I created a teen fashion fiction character about 800 years ago. Well 8 to be precise. Called Lily Max. She is still alive and kicking and really enjoying the endless fashion weeks. She's planning on making a #week of her own #bfw I just can't tell you what it stands for. Just yet.
Maybe it’s time to take up embroidery. I'm sure it's very therapeutic. Cathartic also.