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family anecdotes Random thoughts Technology

Idiocy sometimes helps

I learn Krav Maga. It’s a form of Martial Arts practiced by the Israeli Defense Forces. Hubby and I take classes every Saturday morning, and I love it. Not only for the fitness (because I *definitely* need that aspect of it!) but also for the self-confidence I now have that, should something happen, I can deal with the situation.

Unfortunately, the ol’ brain wasn’t working too well when confronted with a mother-gifted pot-bound plant the other weekend. It was stuck. As in, imagine a plant the size of a large Rottweiler, in a pot that would comfortably fit a Chihuahua. (Not that I’m advocating squashing animals into pots, here!) It was a problem. I needed to force that plant out – so (it being Saturday afternoon) I did what I’d been practicing and unthinkingly hammer-punched the edge of the pot base, trying to dislodge it.

Ouch! Instant pain brought me to my senses again. Note to self: a large, black, circular plastic pot does not feel the same, when hit, as a large, black, circular punching pad. Idiot. But it did provide me with resolution number one: don’t do that again!

So I ate left-handed for a couple of days.

I was also doing quite a lot of typing around that time, and noticed that I was straining my right hand further, due to the sheer number of times I was pressing ‘backspace’ at the top right of my keyboard. You see, I don’t type ‘properly’; I never have. My right hand is faster, so it kinda covers all the letters from r (top row) and f (middle) and v (bottom row) and my left just sits and presses a key every once in a while. So this brought about resolution number two: learn to type properly.

Thanks to the 100 free lessons provided by TypingClub, I now can. And I’m happy with that. That my stupidity could provide the impetus to do something that I’d been putting off for simply ages.

Thank God for lessons learned, hey? Even if they’re painful ones…

Have a great week, dear reader!

— KRidwyn

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Reading Review

Considering the “tent poles” in The Book Thief

One idea I gleaned from reading Chuck Wendig’s THE KICK-ASS WRITER recently was that of tent poles. As in, stories need them. Without them, the plot falls over, just like a large tent with no poles.

Immediately prior, I’d read Markus Zusak’s THE BOOK THIEF for the very first time. (Yes, yes. I know I’m probably the last person on the face of the Earth to do so. I’ve been busy, okay?)

And you know what? Looking back at THE BOOK THIEF, I could see what Wendig was getting at. I could see the tent poles! (Exclamation point needed because I was pretty excited; this had never happened to me before…) And I wanted to share some of my thoughts with you. So they’re below. (Warning: long post ahead! Also, spoilers. Just in case anybody else on the face of this planet hasn’t yet read the book or seen the movie and manages to somehow find this post):

IMG_0504upLiesel. As readers, we are first introduced to her on a train. I don’t know about you, but my first thought about ‘trains in Nazi Germany’ is ‘Jews on their way to prison camps’, with all its associated misery and horror. This train journey is not one of those, but Liesel unwittingly watches her younger brother die, so the misery and horror are still there. Then her mother is forced to abandon her, which tugs at our heartstrings and immediately turns her into a sympathetic character, if she wasn’t already. Obviously, Zusak needed his protagonist to be German. But she needed a point of interest to keep her separate from the ‘oppressive’ Nazi rulers. So Zusak also made her the youngish daughter of Kommunists, the underdogs, and therefore making complete our view of her as someone to be pitied. Interestingly, Zusak gave his main character the same name as the eldest daughter in THE SOUND OF MUSIC. So I also had an instant association with “an innocent, in a coming-of-age” story. Liesel also needed to be illiterate at the beginning, to develop her love of books and likewise, her love for ‘Papa’, Hans Hubermann.

Death. The narrator. He didn’t introduce himself, so as readers we were forced to intuit this piece of information – and it’s always good (so says Chuck) to make the readers ‘do some heavy lifting’. And so we do. As an outside spectator, still very invested in the happening events, Death was extremely useful, as he provided a supposedly objective view of Liesel. His being an omniscient immortal helped too. It was ‘expected’, almost, that at times he would refer to later events, and this glimpse into the future – or past, when he related the events of the Great War as it pertained to the backstory of Hans, and his debt to Max – also assisted the structure of the novel somewhat, alleviating any sense of ‘drag’ by the predominantly lock-step, week-by-week telling of the story.

‘Papa’. Hans Huberman, Liesel’s step-father. He is the first to be kind to Liesel, drawing her from the car the first time we see him. His sacrifice of sleep each night, and his teaching Leisel to read, and especially when he rescues her from humiliation over her completely-understandable bed wetting incidents, ensures he is cast in heroic light.

Rudy. The ‘best friend’. Boy-next-door, the same age (and therefore same class at school) but opposite gender. This meant that Liesel had someone to offer her support, but also have friction with. His desire to have her kiss him, meant she was seen – by him, at least – in a desirable light: and the fact that the kiss was unrequited spoke not only to her integrity but also gave both characters pathos, knowing from very early on that he’d die without ever receiving his heart’s desire. Zusak needed Rudy’s father, Alex Steiner, to be absent at the climax, so therefore he was conscripted. We are given the impression that his conscription was punishment for Rudy’s NOT going to war, so Zusak needed Rudy to be desired by the Nazis. Hence his blond hair, blue eyes and running talents. But Rudy needed to be unpatriotic, therefore his idolisation of not only a ‘negro’ athlete, but a famous American one to boot.

Max. Liesel’s other ‘best friend’, needed to add the element of danger. Max was a Jew, who Papa hid in the basement. Zusak ratcheted the tension in this situation because Max could easily have been discovered by Papa or Mamma’s own son or daughter – and their son was a brainwashed deeply patriotic Nazi. And although Max was captured – it would not have been realistic if he were not – he also needed to survive, the symbol of hope (otherwise, the book may indeed have been realistic, but would have been too dark to be palatable, I think).

The community of Himmel street. Himmel = heaven / sky. Himmel street was not heavenly, by any stretch of the imagination. But the community – with the exception of Liesel and Alex Steiner, Rudy’s father – was taken to heaven by Death, after bombs from the sky obliterated their street, killing indiscriminately. Zusak needed all of them to die, again, to make a distinction between them and Liesel, as her survival of this tragedy shows her inner strength. This event also tugs on our heart-strings, as by the time it occurs, we readers have spent the majority of the novel building strong emotional connections with these characters.

Isla Hermann. The Mayor’s wife, first introduced as the shadowy figure who watched Liesel steal a book from the remains of a bonfire. Her character was needed, as the person to take care of Liesel after her community had been obliterated. Therefore, Mamma needed a job (washerwoman) which would introduce her into the Mayor’s circle. And Liesel having a love-hate relationship with Isla not only gave more depth to both characters but also gave Zusak the opportunity to introduce the iconic symbol – the blank journal Leisel wrote in, which eventually became the book that Death carried as a reminder of his “Book Thief”.

Alex Steiner, Rudy’s father. For Max to find Liesel after the war, some part of the Himmel street community needed to survive. Therefore, Rudy’s father needed to be away at the time of the bombing. His being a businessman also gave Liesel a job after the war, where she could be found. Alex Steiner’s survival of the war also drilled home the idea of senseless tragedy – that Mr Steiner, who was in the most danger at the front, should survive to employ Liesel, and yet his entire family, neighbours and friends, who lay sleeping at home in their beds, who should have been safe, were all killed. It would also seem that Alex – not the Mayor – becomes Liesel’s replacement father-figure after Hans’ death. The juxtapositioning of these two characters is even poignant, given that Death had related Hans’ story, of his evading Death (through chance) at the front not once but twice. Thus Hans’ death is all the more tragic, and the senselessness of war is reinforced.

Overall, I loved the writing; the description was without compare. One image that prompted me to sit back and say “wow” referred to the blinds over the windows as ‘confiscating the light’. Death’s descriptions of the colours threw me a little, but not excessively.

Most events were a surprise, but not out of left field. It’s only when you consider it in hindsight, that all events can be seen to be necessary. And that, I think, was the beauty of this writing for me. That Zusak was able to masterfully craft a story, and write it in such a way that this reader, on her first time through, was hooked by the first chapter and unable to step away until after the final sentence.

Well, congratulations on making it to the end of an excessively long blog post! And what did you think? Were there “tent poles” I missed?

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Life More about me my novel-in-progress Random thoughts teaching Work

What’s new…

Well now then, let’s see. It’s been months since I’ve posted ‘news’ from my world. Getting to finally introduce Vicky and Troy last week was lovely, and yes, they’re an important part of my writing life, but other stuff is pretty important too, such as…

I’m teaching less this year. Down from 0.7FTE to 0.6FTE. It feels weird, and Hubby and I have certainly noticed the back pocket is a LOT lighter now, but – on the upside, it’s leaving more time for me to get stuck into this writing thing that I’m falling more in love with. So that’s pretty… ummm… wonderful! 😀

I’ve also started learning harp. Which I thought wouldn’t be *too* hard – seeing as I’m a Music teacher an’ all – but boy was I wrong! Getting the technique right is painful!!! (Both on my self-esteem and my thumbs. I never realised just how much harp strings take it out on your thumbs.) So that’s a bit of fun, and in two lessons I’ve learned six notes. Wow. That’s humbling. Just six. Thumb and two fingers on each hand. Uh huh. That’s all.

So yes, that’s new. And having my eldest in her final year of Primary School is a bit of a major emotional milestone, too. She’s the school’s Music Captain too, so insert proud Mummy faces here. I’m so incredibly stoked about *that* one! Now for her to live up to the job…

And finally, in writing news, I’ve been vacillating between finishing the mess that is GUARDIAN (a Christian novel for 10-11 year olds) or editing the adventure for 7 – 8 year olds that is JUSTINE BROWNING AND THE BIRTHDAY PRESENT. Both have strengths and weaknesses. And I know I need to focus on just one of them, and get it finished and off through the query process; but I don’t know which I should complete first! JUSTINE BROWNING has less work… but GUARDIAN is what I’m feeling that I *should* be writing…

Anyway, it’ll all pan out in the end, I’m guessing.

So yeh, that’s where I’m at. How about you?

Have a fantastic day!

— KRidwyn

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More about me Random thoughts

Introducing Vicky and Troy

IMG_0599While standing at the checkouts during a trip to my local Officeworks some years ago, I noticed an owl. She was trapped; squashed up against the plastic wall of the rectangular container she and dozens of other small rubber owls had been dumped in.

The others weren’t looking at me. She was. Her gaze trapped me, pleading for release. How could I walk past? So I rescued her. Three other owls too, all different colours, so I could give one to each of my cherubs.

Their owls have all been used, to varying degrees. Pencil-topper erasers owned by young children – as these owls are – tend to be. Both as erasers and as chew toys, to varying degrees. (I’ve mentioned that my boy has Pica previously, I think?)

But little wise Victoria has escaped this fate. She has sat, steadfast and in the same pristine condition in which I bought her, on my desk. She seems to be quite happy to watch me as I work. And although I’ve named her Victoria, I have a feeling that she prefers ‘Vicky’. It’s more Australian, somehow.

Then, two years ago, I threw my daughters a joint birthday party. The theme was ‘animals’ and as part of the party bags we included small, animal-shaped erasers. But, as is often the case I’ve found, the least-wanted eraser was left until last, and so he missed out on being included in the bags. He was a tiny red monkey. Cheeky looking. The littlest, the last, the unwanted – and again, my heart was touched. Besides, Victoria (I mean, Vicky) probably wouldn’t mind the company, I thought. Troy – a large name for such a little tyke, and a world-conquering reputation he’d like to live up to – has since sat next to the little brown owl, watching with her.

And that, dear readers, is the story of Vicky and Troy. To date, that is. Now that I’m finding the time to sit and my desk and take dictation, who knows what stories I’ll hear?

Have a fantastic week!

— KRidwyn

Categories
Life random scribblings teaching

On death and other such stuff…

So I wrote last week about motivations; what’s the *real* reason behind people – and characters in novels – doing what they do. Is it all explainable? If so, then is it forgiveable? When is a crime a crime? All that kind of thing. I was trying to puzzle out how to go about writing a torture scene for my current WIP (Work in Progress). I was concerned that, having had zero experience with torturing someone – physically, anyway; I’m fairly sure that I hurt people emotionally in my past, and I’m sorry and I regret it – and having zero experience also of being tortured physically, that my writing of a torture scene would be just simply inane. How could I write something successfully when I had – you guessed it, zero! – first hand experience? Yes, imagination is all well and good, but in my opinion it’s not good enough when potential readers *have* real experience of torture, and who may find my treatment of it inane, hurtful, derogatory, deprecating. So I was worried.

And so, after several hours stewing, chewing my nails about it, and so on, I did the only thing I could do. I needed a torture scene, so I sat down and wrote it. As best I could. I guess it’s just a wait-and-see what my beta-readers think of it when I finally get it to them, huh?

I had death on my mind rather more than normal this week. Not only because I wrote my first ever torture scene, in which the character died as a consequence, but also because my doctor suggested it to me on Monday. You see, I was finalising the paperwork for Mr6’s future autism allied health visits, and needed his signature. He signed away happily, then looked at me, and asked how I was going. If I was sick at all. I said yes, I’d been sick since last Thursday, and it had gone through the throat on fire and the runny nose, to my chest. He said, “Come on in, let’s check you out” and ushered me into his office quite smartly. I was surprised, I didn’t have an appointment. Long story short, I was at 50% lung capacity and hadn’t realised. He’d asked me what my athsma was normally like, when I wasn’t having an attack like I was right then. I replied that I wasn’t having an attack, that my breathing had been like that all day. He was very, very concerned. I explained that my reason (there’s that word again!) for not using my ventolin was that, whenever I use it when I have a headcold, the ventolin reacts badly with that nodule on my vocal cords, and I end up with laryngitis for AGES. The last time, it took over 6 weeks to clear. And as a 0.7FTE teacher, I can’t afford to lose my voice.

He said, “Just imagine if you got to the stage where you’re down to only 30%, and you’re in the shower, with all the humidity, trying to get air in, and then something triggered an attack. I’d hate to think what might happen.” Which made me think. Seeing as my husband regularly works a ridiculous-number-of-hours-week, I’m primary care-giver to my three gorgeous cherubs. And I would hate them to be traumatised by one of them finding me curled up on the floor of the bathroom, turning blue, gasping for air, at 10pm at night [not to mention I couldn’t afford the therapist fees], so I reluctantly agreed. Laryngitis versus death. I guess one is infinitely preferable to the other.

I was amused, initially, at how ‘serious’ it all was… until it occurred to me that having only 50% lung capacity was kinda like I’d been walking around and doing stuff with just one lung. So I did as the doc suggested. I bought my own Peak Flow meter (my God, those things are expensive!!!) and have been diligently taking my meds (so much for the ‘drowsy’ side effects; I’ve had insomnia all week) and my stats have slowly risen from the 240 which I blew Monday afternoon, and the low of 150 that I got to on Monday night, back up to the 340 mark. Which is good. Someone of my height should be blowing at around 480, apparently, so I’m getting there.

So yes, death has preoccupied me a little. This morning though, I’m more thinking about pain. Because for the first time in a few weeks, I did my Krav Maga session yesterday morning. And boy, oh boy, am I feeling it today!

Have a great week, dear reader!

— KRidwyn

Categories
Random thoughts Scribblings

What’s the reason?

I’ve been thinking recently about motivations. Of characters, in particular. Before they can do something, say something, think something, there must be a reason why. Otherwise, they wouldn’t do it, say it, or even think it. The reason gives the impetus for the motion.

*My* reason for such thoughts? I’ve been toying with the idea of writing crime / mystery. It’s always intrigued me, but my initial opinion is that I’d be absolutely hopeless at it. Not because I don’t like the genre – I do! – but because my only experience of criminal or mysterious activities has been vicarious; as in, through books, TV shows, movies. And I’m the first to admit a feeling of being overwhelmed at the thought of writing about something I haven’t experienced! Because although yes, I *do* have a good imagination, I think that to write crime / mystery well, there needs to be more than that. And I don’t know if I have that in me.

Do I think that I’m such an amazing person that I’ve never done a criminal act? Never participated in a cover up? Never had anything to feel guilty about? Of course not. But is the depth of my knowledge enough to write well about? I doubt it. And therein lies my problem. My dilemma. My conclusion that it’s all about the motivation.

Because when it comes down to it, I feel like I can’t identify with my criminal character. What’s their motivation for their crime? Is it greed? Selfishness? Pride? Can’t each of these be explained away to some degree, by an analysis of the character’s background / upbringing? And if they can, then are these acts really ‘criminal’ ones, or just the reasonable outcome of their past experiences? When does a ‘crime’ become a crime? Is an understanding of the criminal’s motivations enough to excuse their actions? To forgive? Or is that something else entirely – an action that occurs on the part of the victim or the observer?

Anyway, I just thought I’d share my thoughts with you this morning. And my *reason*? Well, because I can. If you feel like responding, dear reader, I’d be ecstatic – perhaps I’m not just typing words into a vaccuum like I so often think that I am. So yes, dear reader – what’s your reason for doing things?

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Scribblings

Flash fiction – again…

The words for this week’s contest: numb, scene, suit, wry, feral.

My take on it:

She swallowed, loving it and hating it simultaneously. She knew the others called her ‘the heifer’. Always eating.
Tears flooded down her cheeks; her sighs fogging the window she’d leaned her head against. Outside, the rain was pelting down. Umbrellas were no match for the cyclonic winds. Miserable. Everything was miserable.
But she refused to let herself reminisce. Never did any good, anyway.
One more mouthful should do it. That would be enough arsenic then.
“Come on,” she thought. “Now, Ryhanni. Let’s do this.”
Death by tiramisu. It was a fitting way to go.

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Scribblings

Flash fiction contest

I caught a tweet this afternoon, leading to a flash fiction contest on Janet Reid’s blog.

100 words, and must include the words: agent, paradise, armada, amy and toast. And these words may be included in other words eg. ‘amy’ can become ‘infamy’.

I’d never done a challenge like this before. It was fun! My take on it:

***

“Lobster?! Oh darling, you didn’t have to! A steak would have been fine!”

The patient’s insane shrieks grated on my nerves. Our visits here were truly awful. Pa’s room? His  ‘outfit’? His ‘aroma’?! My senses reeled every time.

In hospital after his operation, he’d been fine. Sitting up, a drip in his arm. A day later, and he’d had a massive stroke. He’d recovered. His memory hadn’t.

11pm. Police at the door.

“Grandpa? Rad. I see you’ve found him. Again.”

Mum crying.

But now? This. It wouldn’t take much. Just a gentle push, during our evening walk across the bridge.

***

So – comments, anyone?

If not – have a lovely day, dear reader!!!

— KRidwyn

Categories
Random thoughts Reading Review Technology

Goodreads…

So I joined Goodreads yesterday. I’d heard about it quite a bit recently, but hadn’t had the chance to check it out until now. It’s not quite as user-friendly as I’d hoped, but maybe that’s because there’s s much functionality to it…?

Anyway, I guess I’ll figure it out more as time goes by 🙂

Have a great day, dear reader!

— KRidwyn

Categories
Life random scribblings Scribblings

Bushrangers? Really?

My local Writers’ Group meets this Friday morning. And our challenge is to write 500 words (maximum) about bushrangers. NOT my most favourite of topics, so I’ve been putting it off.

Tonight’s #WritingRace, hosted by fantastic @AWMonline, changed that. I spent an hour researching, then writing. And I was quite impressed with what I was able to come up with. Thanks to three amazing websites:

On Australia’s last bushrangers – a newspaper article from Saturday 21st November 1914  – and to top them both off, a truly fascinating legal argument

I’m posted my efforts on my ‘Short Stories’ page, if you’re interested.

Oh, and from the looks of things, it may just be that my prediction, a couple of weeks ago, of a QLD series win? That may have been incorrect…