Random Life

At the moment, I'm roaming the house, giving my uni seminar presentation aloud to myself. The children are unnerved, concerned that I've finally lost my mind.

Meanwhile, I have 10 days to complete two other huge and major pieces of assessment. Panic is close, guys.

Here are my favourite pickups in case you find yourself in such a situation.

A nice flower.

A nice sign.

A nice cake... actually, any type of cake.

Beauty

Blue eyes and a gappy smile.

Are you a lover of the look?

(At her big brother's rugby match)

Writing With Monsters

Writing is a natural state for me. Words take me to a magical other-world where time passes unnoticed. My kids are fond of giving me a mild heart attack by creeping in and suddenly asking me a question. It nearly scares the hair off my head. Every time.

When I was at school, teaching grammar was highly unfashionable. Whole Language was deemed more nutritious, like literary wholewheat, you might say. Sadly, the output was sometimes the same. As an avaricious reader though, I fortunately picked up English and its conventions intuitively. Knowing the right way to write never seemed a problem for me.

Until now.

Suddenly, I don't know much about writing at all.

I immerse myself in words. I spend the day poring over grammar books and dictionary pages, checking usage in different countries, studying style guides, practising editing tests and de-constructing texts to find out why they do what they do. The mystery continues, with each day bringing fresh revelations...

Fact 1
Strange misshapen creatures, such as The Malapropism or The Neologism, are everywhere in documents, hiding in the text like swamp monsters. The job is to root them out decisively, with underlines and clear identifying marks in the margins. Like a sharp shooter. Minus the jaunty boots.

Fact 2
The names of these creatures often sound like medieval torture instruments. And trying to find them has much the same effect. Thumb screws would sometimes be preferable.

Fact 3
Formatting is the devil's work. Every now and then, zombie words will pop up in a document unexpectedly. They are the undead. If you know how to drive a stake through their heart, inbox me.

Fact 4
Intransitive; Participle; Gerund; Infinitive; Subjunctive. This is our native language. I repeat, this is our native language.

In the afternoon, I stopped for a coffee and went outside to smell the roses which are in their first autumn flush. There were huge weeds in the garden-bed underneath, like creatures from Day of the Triffids. I sniffed with disdain and refused to look down at their Frankenstein forms. I felt much better after a few minutes of fresh air.

There will always be days when there are just too many monsters.
I recommend taking two roses and a pansy.

Yours with adverbs
Mrs Catch
xxx

How're your grammar skills?  Ever met a conjunction you didn't like?

Do it for Yourself

There was an editing test tonight. It is the first time that I have sat down for an exam since 1987. I entered the test room on jelly legs. When I picked up my pencil, it was shaking. It's really hard to write with wobbly paws. I don't think I did so well on the test.  Even though I studied harder than ever in my life.

A recent assignment was also returned to students at the end of the session. My mark was average. Silly errors that I should not have missed. Many of the other students fared the same, but unfortunately, none of us felt better for sharing this.

I'm taking deep breaths now, trying to focus on how much I have learned in these past few months.  All the potential yet to be. I'm trying to have the confidence to stretch myself, to attempt new things, perhaps make mistakes, but for the knowledge I gain to sink deep into my bones and settle there. Mine. In the past, learning has sometimes meant a regurgitation of other's understandings and has flitted freely out of my head as soon as the test was over, but not this time.

I walked away from the lecture room, feeling very low. Wandered over to the late-night cafe for a coffee, as has become my custom before I drive home. Checked my messages to make sure the house hadn't been burnt down in my absence, and then decided to read a few blogs to take my mind off the gloom. This was the first thing that popped up on my screen.

I think she has a window into my mind.

Go read Candice Fox.

Christmas 2012

Sloshing Around

Spare time is getting a little rare in Catchland.

With kids' activities, uni work and the scullery-maiding involved in looking after a household of people, the finish of the day rushes up sooner than I'd like. Many things are suffering. My cooking has become even more basic , the washing pile threatens to swallow small children and the floors... hmmm... well, just don't look too closely.

All of these things will pass. Eventually, they'll get done and life will continue. They are not important in the big picture. But I am conscious of time passing and sometimes wonder what is important. What is the big picture?

This uni course is supposedly leading to a writing career.  And yet, I have not written in over a month. Nothing.  I have two novels to continue, short stories to begin and an historical account to piece together. But, nothing. I haven't even done a blog post.  There's always something else that seems more important or should take priority.

I find myself scribbling down notes, in my lecture pad or on shopping lists as ideas strike me. Today, walking down to the library, an idea for a story came, fully-formed, right down to the title. So I had to race and jot it down before I forgot. Then, it was added to the other dog-eared papers, mouldering in my pocketbook.  Let's hope they all get out one day and become fully formed chapters.

I remember reading a newspaper interview with Gillian Mears, author of Foal's Bread. She commented that when she finally went to seriously write this book (which had been floating around in her head for some years), her first task was to sort a truck-load of paper scraps, full of plot lines and random phrases that appealed to her. They were stashed in drawers and bags, shoe-boxes and books. She's probably still finding them, even though the book's been published.

If I end up with a book as good as Foal's Bread, I won't mind.  Have you read it?  It's very Australian, quite grim and dark in places, but with prose so beautiful, it made me weep with envy.

Right now, it feels marvellous just to be writing again. I'm sitting in the cool, silence of the uni study area. Keyboards clack irregularly in the background as industrious students toil over their books.  The girl next to me is doing maths equations in Chinese. Well, I think they're equations. I can't read Chinese. It looks very, very impressive.

A lot more impressive than updating a blog.

How do authors justify the time that it takes to write?

Are you a planner?  With destinations plotted out on the map?
Or, like me at this point, do you just jump in and see where you wash up?

Wordily Yours
Mrs Catch
xx