NaNoWriMo 2013: Want to Write a Novel?

I think I am going to participate. In fact, I am. And I am reblogging this just in case it appeals to anybody else. I am taking it on as a personal challenge, as well as an opportunity to grow as a writer and connect with others. Have a read, it certainly is tempting! News

It’s just a few days until November, and you know what that means: National Novel Writing Month, better known ’round these parts as NaNoWriMo, is near.

Have you always wanted to write a novel?

We know some of you have been waiting all year for this month! For those of you who are new to this project, here’s the gist:

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Help! My pet is nameless!

I have a pet brushtail possum.

Okay, so it’s not a proper pet.

But it does meet me at the front gate each night.

It’s like s/he’s sitting up there on the fence waiting for me. Without fail. And there’s no sudden movements or skiddish behaviour anymore. It’s comfortably watching me come and go. I say ‘hi’ and it sometimes squeaks back.

But I haven’t named him/her yet. In fact, I’m not sure even if it’s a boy or girl possum. But s/he needs a name.

And I want you all to help.

What can we name my pet possum? It needs to be a multi-gender name, unless somehow I can determine if it is a boy possum or girl possum.

Night Owl’s Are Wise… Coincidence?

I missed another Daily Prompt I wanted to do! It was a couple days ago. I noticed it, but I was at the beach house, sans computer internet, so I could not blog. First World problems, much?

The Prompt asked… 6:00 am: The best hour of the day, or too close to your 3:00 am bedtime?

Try, too close to my 5:59 am bedtime!

I am a definite night owl. I say I’m nocturnal. My friends say I’m a vampire.

Either way, really.

Let me put it this way…

It’s 2 am, and I just finished eating dinner.

I’m still unwinding.

I didn’t get home until just before midnight. I work as a soccer referee at the moment. So, a few nights a week I finish games at 10:30-ish, and make it home about midnight.

There’s also the case of, somehow, I am always most creative and get all my writing done at night. I think almost every single blog post you would have read by me, would have been written between 1 am and 7 am.

They say geniuses are night owls. Seriously! I read that… somewhere.

They say Leonardo Da Vinci only had two hours of sleep a day.

I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but they’re clearly on my side, so obviously ‘they’ know what they’re talking about.

Having said all that, I’m especially tired today. Goodnight, peeps!

Street Art; Part Uno

I love creative street art. Some people see it as vandalism. I guess I can understand that. It doesn’t bother me, though. And I definitely see the beauty in it. Now and then I may post a favourite. Here’s one right now…


Come on, that’s clever! And it’s not hurting anyone. I like it. It brings imagination into the World and makes me smile. When done right, it’s a wondrous thing. That example above, is of one done right.

Photo Credit: Mr. Pilgrim

Not What My Parents Taught Me

Do people gradually forget their manners as they age?

Or do they get tired of using words?

I was sitting on the train. An older lady waltzed onto the train. Okay, so she walked on. I can’t imagine her having much luck with the waltz these days. Sadly, though, probably more luck than I.

Anyways, I digress.

The lady walked on, and I, being a close-enough-to-decent human being, decided to stand and allow her to sit.

Did I get a “thank you”? No.

Did I get any words whatsoever? Nope.

She barely looked at me.

Should’ve pushed her off.

Then there were two blokes. One probably about my age, and the other maybe late 40’s.

They went to grab the thing that helps you stand up when the train is moving. Oh, the pole. Right.

And their hands touched.

So they adjusted their grip. But, they adjusted in the same direction. Their hands met again. Then they did it again… again. It was the train-hand equivalent of almost walking into someone down the footpath, and going to step around, but stepping the same way and almost bumping together again.

I thought it was smile-worthy.

Apparently, so did the other guy my age-ish. And he smiled and said “sorry”.

The old guy didn’t smile. Nor did he utter a single word.

So the question must be asked. At what point do we forget our manners?

Musical News!

You guys! I don’t even know if I told you!

I got tickets to see Dave Matthews Band live here in Melbourne next April!

If you know me, you know there is little that could make me happier.

My brother is coming with me, and it is going to be… blissful…. extraordinary… magical.

Okay, so that’s my news. I’m just very excited.

Oh, and Gary Clark Jr is the opening act! As if it needed to get any better!?!?

And if you know me, you also know I don’t really get outwardly, animatedly excited about things. Ever.

This calls for a tribute:

‘The Idea Of You’ by Dave Matthews Band

Be The Honey Badger

You may or may not have seen that video circulate some time ago. You know the one. The one with the honey badger. The honey badger is eating bees and cobras, not caring that it’s being stung a thousand times, or passing out from the immense venom consumed from eating a deadly snake. And the commentary is what made it viral.

“The honey badger don’t care. Honey badger don’t give a shit.”

And with all the conversations I’ve had lately about people hating their jobs, or not being sure if they should take a job that will tilt the work/life balance far into ‘work’, or even talking to myself about my lack of much work… I have realized the honey badger has it right. Just do what you want. Don’t care. Don’t give a shit. If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it. If you want to do it, then just do it.

Does the honey badger think twice before thrusting itself into a bee nest when it’s craving honey? Nope. It just does it. It’s not acting (or refraining from acting) out of fear. It wants honey, it gets honey.

Does the honey badger think twice before wrestling with a deadly cobra because it’s hungry ? Nope. It just does it. Again, fear is not a factor for decision here. It’s hungry, it takes on the snake.

And I think too often, we all act, or don’t act, out of fear.

I just spoke to someone who hates their new job from promotion. I said if you can’t make it work for you, ask to be returned to your old position, which you loved. They said they couldn’t. It would look bad. But their decision isn’t being based on want, or even need. It’s being based solely on fear. On ‘what ifs’. On possible negative repercussions.

Would the honey badger worry about the repercussions? Or would the honey badger do what it wanted?

Exactly. The honey badger does what it wants.

You should, too.

You deserve to do what you want. We all do.

Lamest Ankle Injury Ever

I did my ankle.

No, I wasn’t playing soccer.

No, I wasn’t playing beach volleyball.

No, I wasn’t running, or climbing stairs.

I wasn’t even standing up.

I did my ankle while lying down on my stomach.

How? Bloody good question.

I lay down with a heat pack on my lower back to aid the sore muscles there. After a bit it was feeling good, but I had a tight muscle in my upper back. So, I moved the heat pack to my middle upper back.

I felt a sharp, burning sensation on my spine instantly.

My left ankle twinged and it felt like someone had decided to play my tendon like a harp.

That’s not what my tendon is for. And that’s obvious now, because I’m walking funny.

But, I’m sure it won’t last long.


If I Was A ’10’ On The Happiness Scale

Oh my, bloggers block is killing me.

Well, I think it’s complete brain block at the moment. I’m not getting much constructive thought going at all, in any mode.

I finally decided to just write here. Just let the fingers walk all over the keyboard and see what is produced. You may become completely and utterly bored. You may not. No promises either way. Obviously I’m hoping for the latter, though.

I’m banking on my brain returning once the study semester is over. And we’re so close! In fact, I may not even need the end of semester. Just the end of tomorrow may be enough. I have another assessment due tomorrow. These two major ones in the last week have consumed me. Rotted my brain I think.

So that’s what I’m waiting for. A clean slate of thinking. For my brain to be allowed to focus on something other than a major assessment. Or, perhaps on nothing at all. That may be even better.

My brain loves focusing on nothing. I could daydream an entire week away. I may have daydreamed half a lifetime away already.

Shit. That’s a worry.

That’s me though. I’m a dreamer. Every one of my friends knows what they’re getting there. Never rely on me for serious, ambitious type matters. Ambitious is probably the last word anyone would ever use to describe me. I feel dirty even using it here. It’s like a naughty word to me. I can say shit, fuck, all the rest of it… but, ‘ambition’… ?

Get the fuck out.

I will never have ambition. Not that I don’t have dreams and aspirations that I’m working towards. I mean I do put effort towards things. It’s just not what others tend to describe as ‘ambition’ or ‘drive’. But does that matter to me? Does that influence me or my actions?

Fuck no!

I am me. I am doing my thing. We are all meant only to do our thing. If we try doing someone else’s thing, or society’s thing, we will perhaps fail, and likely be terribly, terribly miserable.

And I’d much rather be gloriously happy, and fail at my own thing.

I got suckered into meeting others’ expectations early in life.

“You need good grades.” I got GREAT grades.

“You need a University degree.” I got TWO University Degrees.

“You need a stable career.” I became a teacher.

Did I ever chase my own dreams? Do my own thing? Create my own expectations?

No. No, I didn’t.

Sounds like I was a complete drongo, doesn’t it?

But I wasn’t. I just thought I was doing the ‘right’ thing.


Well, I have learned that the ‘right’ thing is completely different for everybody. And we need to set our own expectations. Define our own ambitions.

Define what makes you happy. Chase that. Chase only that.

I always knew I had different dreams. I always knew I had to do things differently. Differently from what I had been doing all through my schooling years. And even beyond. But for some reason, it took me until this year to really get it.

I will always remember the exercise that lead me towards quitting my ‘career’ and living what it truly meant to be me.

The exercise was called ‘Me as a perfect 10’. The idea was to write a brief piece. Say a page or two. Whatever comes to you. You were to write that piece as yourself in the future. But yourself as the happiest person in the World.

What made you a perfect 10 on the happiness scale? Where were you? Who were you with? Were you alone? What were you doing? What was your profession? Describe absolutely everything in as much detail as possible.

Well, here’s my abridged version…

I was living by the beach, in a shack. I had a pet dog who I’d rescued from the pound. I worked from home as a writer.

Oh, and by shack, let me clarify with a passage straight from the piece…

“I say ‘shack’; well it’s modest, but it has absolutely everything you would need and it isn’t likely to fall down anytime soon. A roof is a roof. A home is what you put under that roof. This shack is in a way much like myself. Simple and modest, but full of heart and strangely charming.”

I can’t believe I called myself ‘charming’. Who’s got tickets on themselves? Wow. What an ass-clown.

But, you get the point.

Thanks for reading. I love you all!