Have just sent the first three chapters and a synopsis to Meg's literary agent.  My heart is pounding.  Closed my eyes and hit SEND.   Couldn't re read and edit any more.  Just an excuse to postpone it.  So now it's out there and I can let it go.  

She says.....

Of course I'll worry and wonder and get my self worth mixed up with creative work.  Like when my application to show at the PO was knocked back.  Still have people telling me they can't believe it, I should resubmit.  And if I was determined, all that making one's thoughts into a reality stuff I am so happy to pontificate about, I'd overcome my bruised ego and try again.

She says....

Of course I won't.  The bruises affected my joy in making stuff - and that's more important than having others see what I've created.  Besides the Images of Uki show is on soon.  I'll put stuff in there - maybe clear up some wall space!

Why does it feel like I've just stripped to dance naked on Main Street?

 

 

 Ruth Bader Ginsburg is dead.  Republicans and Democrats are quaking in their boots.  Democrats because they fear Trump and Mitch McConnell will nominate some ultra conservative to the the supreme court.  Republicans because they will be caught out in their lying hypocrisy if they do.  Four years ago when Obama wanted to nominate a moderate they cried foul, that it wouldn't do until the people had spoken and elected a president.   That the Republicans would remember  and care about honour and truth at this stage would be as surprising as Trump going through a whole day without tweeting.  

But one lives in hope.

One thing her death has done is to galvanize people to action.  I read contributions to the democratic campaign were through the roof.   There is so much bad news coming from the US, one forgets the 'new' silent majority who continue to push back against the erosion of .... plain decency. 

Have been 'running' (more like an energetic shuffle) for a few days now.  Because the osteopath has been working on one hip, and then the other 'good' hip, asked him what he thought about running.  Haven't run for years although I would occasionally have a go while still on Dry Gully Road.  No matter how slowly I started, how much time I gave it, there'd come a point where the pain in my hips kept me awake at night so would have to give it away again.

This time I've invested far too much money in a  of decent pair of running shoes, am taking it very slow (again) and am hoping for the best.  At 64, it's a bit harder to get going then it was before.  Quit smoking 8 years ago, thought my lungs were pretty good, but running illustrates the limitations of elasticity.  And there is a limit.  Running will help the stretch - if I can keep it up.  I did so love running!

Work progresses on the drawing of Natalia.  Another thing going slowly.  Still haven't 'got' her.  Don't know what it is...she had an impishness, a sense of fun, like a peppery seasoning, in all that love.   But will keep plugging away.  This is my third attempt at drawing her.  

Went to Mavis' Kitchen, had lunch with the Writers Group, met the literary (Meg's) agent and came away thinking well, just get on with it.  When it's finished, at least the second draft, then see if it's worth sending out.  Putting the cart before the horse to try now.  Am 64,000 words in and have no idea how long it will be in the end.  Wouldn't it be better to take the pressure off and have a finished book rather than find someone is interested and then try and complete the manuscript with that knowledge hovering about?  It'd be like trying to draw with someone looking over my shoulder.  I think most writers need the absolute privacy and freedom of solitude to create.

One excellent thing.  A week or so ago I contacted the RSPCA about a neglected Arab in a paddock.  Should've contacted them years ago actually but....didn't.  Bad lazy me.  Anyway, saw the horse again a few weeks ago, vowed I'd tell the RSPCA and then forgot about it.  Finally remembered and did the right thing.  Got a call from an inspector checking details.  Well, I thought if he called about the owner than he agreed the horse needed care.  So was very pleased to see the horse with hay and a bucket of hard feed the other day.  Yay!  It takes so little to be the voice for those that don't have one. 

 Think I'm going to have to take a hiatus from the news again.  The fires on the West Coast of the states, all those poor animals dying, habitat destroyed, massive bird deaths in New Mexico, our government wanting to spend $54 million on gas power, which means more fracking.  Wars and famine.  Greedy governments.  Power mad governments.  Corrupt governments working hand in glove with conglomerates and lobbyists and multinationals to keep the rich rich and the poor poor.  Climate change. Drought and disaster and this collision course with extinction.  

We have been given a perfect place to live.  It's paradise.  It is full of wonder and beauty and excitement and mystery.  All we need do is preserve it, substitute care for greed.  There's enough here for everyone, including the flora and fauna.  Heard a guy from the Lakes District in the UK.  He'd been following modern farming practices and watching his farm, inherited from his dad, go down the tubes.  He was in debt, the land was dying.   And the joy had gone.  He turned the farm around, increased the biomass, reverted to old farming practices with a few modern twists.  His farm is productive - not only for him but for the local wildlife.  He's out of debt.  He and his family are happy to farm again.  The joy has returned.  HIs farming friends and neighbours are taking note - but it's a huge step and the returns from increasing the biomass aren't immediate.  So they are rightfully cautious of making the leap.  

But we all need to make that leap.  We may not get a second chance.

A friend called me an activist yesterday.  Wish that were true.  She watched while I killed a snake run over on the road, mortally wounded but still alive.  I found a rock and smashed it's skull.  I'd rung Josh Frydenburg (Federal Treasurer) to voice my opinion of the proposed mis-spending of $54 million.  I rang the RSPCA about a starving horse.  I sign innumerable petitions, post things on FB, write occasionally to ministers, senators and the like.  But is it enough?  Not by a long shot. 

I look out this window at the wall of green, at my personal paradise.  Perhaps because I am surrounded by nature, it figures more prominently in my awareness than if I lived in suburbia or the city.  Also I have leisure.  Working people with kids in school, it would be a full time job just to get through the day intact without worrying about the ice melting in Greenland or the amount of plastic in our oceans.   

But we all need to worry about the ice melt and the plastic.

I am glad I'm old.

 No more unsolicited messages on my phone - but the echoes of that strange occurrence continue to reverberate.  

How much guilt does the average person carry?  Guilt we aren't good enough, that we have failed in our duty of love to others, that we haven't reached our potential, that we squander our precious lives with time wasting activities, that we continue to tread water waiting for our real lives to begin at some mysterious but never reached point in the future.  That we just aren't good enough to justify the space we take, the air we breathe the resources we use.  

"I am a beautiful person."  How much meaning in those simple words.  I am.  I exist.  I have a right to be here.  I am blessed to be here.   a.  a, one of many yet unique.  Not 'the' but a, not above, not below, not compared to but definitive nevertheless.  beautiful.  A word to swell the heart, to lift the gaze from the dregs and disasters, a word to inspire, to refresh and rejuvenate, to encompass all  that is good and true.  A beautiful day is a beautiful day, not a beautiful day but.... Beautiful stands alone, gracious and smiling.  person.  Not defined by gender or race or religion, but a uniquely complicated miracle.  A person.  The culmination of generations meeting in me.  The result of a history, the precursor of a future, this being at this point in time.  Me Now.

I am a beautiful person.  The phrase pops into my head and I say it to myself.  It is getting easier not to cringe, to doubt.  

I am a beautiful person. 

And so are we all.

 I think my phone is haunted.

The strangest thing happened yesterday.  I'd received a text from a friend.  Occasionally my Samsung 6 phone has a hissy fit and either freezes or flickers or both.  Attempting to fix it by pushing more buttons only makes it worse.  The best thing to do is turn it off, which I did.  

I'd managed to read the friend's text but hadn't started to answer.  The phone remained off for hours.  When I turned it back on, in the window where I would've typed my reply were these words:  I am a beautiful person.

First of all I hadn't typed anything.  Secondly I would not answer a text about what time we'd meet for a walk with those words.  Thirdly, it's just not something I would write to anyone.  There was no salutation, just those words.  

I've never downloaded an app for daily affirmations or meditations or anything which might have crossed wires and, while the phone was having a nervous breakdown, thrown that up.  Frankly, I just don't have an explanation.  If someone had hacked my phone, well, then they are a thoughtful caring hacker, wanting me to feel better while they steal my details.  

So what about those words.  I, like most people, find it easier to belittle rather than say nice things about myself.  We are brought up believing bragging is an unattractive trait - and it is, just look at Trump! Then again, affirmations are a good way to try and switch off the internal critic.  It's not like it said, I am a beautiful woman - which would point to vanity only, but a beautiful person, like the soulful part of the package.

Anyway, not a clue but worth noting.

Like the words I have written, in my own handwriting, which I discover later and mean absolutely nothing.  These occur while I'm drawing, not a serious drawing but a practice drawing, so perhaps my attention is less focussed, more encompassing and relaxed.  Automatic writing?  That would be great if I knew the meaning of thise great and wonderful messages being channelled through me.  But I don't.

Maybe I'm haunted.

 One of the Writers Group members has sold her novel, been optioned for another two and has had the first make the Banjo Prize shortlist.  Go Meg!  

Meg wrote an email inviting all members of the group to a celebration at a local restaurant.  Meg's agent is also attending.  Meg's agent is looking for new writers.  Meg's agent would like to see a synopsis of our novel plus the first three chapters.

As soon as I read this, stomach roiling, heart pounding, I did the classic displacement activity and began furiously playing solitaire.  Later when I calmed down I thought, why not?  What have I got to lose except some time and perhaps a few more chunks from my eggshell thin ego?

Coincidentally I'd only recently begun rereading my book.  I haven't worked on it since January, nor attended the Writers Group, so am out of touch,   Was pleased to find I'm still interested in the characters and what happens to them - which is a bit difficult as a synopsis should include the ending of the book.  I like happy endings so figure it all turns out ok just don't know how.

So I've started writing a synopsis.  Supposed to be between 5 and 600 words.  Watched a couple of videos on how to write one.  Then there are those rough first three chapters to polish into something a jaded book agent would want to see more of.  

Ordered a book a month ago, The Paris Review Interviews, Writers at Work, edited by George Plimpton Fifth series.  Bought it because it includes an interview with PG Wodehouse.  PGW could make 400 pages of notes before he even began writing!  His novels were planned from whoa to go.  Still, it's inspiring reading.  Timely too.  

Starting small.  Half an hour in the morning devoted to writing...at the moment reading with some synopsis practice thrown in. 

Okay, 30 minutes, but it is a start.   

 Bad things come in threes, so the superstition goes.  I can name mine.  The blow from Mikaela damaging the ACL of my knee, Natalia illness and euthanasia and then on Friday, driving home from the beach, I ran into a group of three whistling ducks.  The two females were a mass of fractures and had to be put down.   The drake was bereft and kept looking for them even as I drove away.  

I wasn't drivng fast, but there was  a truck close behind, the ducks were suddenly there.  I couldn't stop.  I turned around and went back, got my wildlife carrier out of the back just as another car pulled in behind me.  She was a wildife carer she said.  A magnetic sign, Tweed Wildlife Rescue, was on the car door.  She took the bag with the two mortally wounded ducks, my details and left.  What kind of coincidence was that?  

So I hope now the three bad things have finished for awhile.  I haven't felt like writing but decided after sending a pep talk email to Tam about writing (novel writing) I'd best take my own advice.  (Just had to go and feed the lone cockatoo who has started coming here.  No mate, unusually brave around people, recently released?).  

Despite sadness like a faint but ever present ache, life goes on and so does time.  I'm not getting any younger.  There is a finite amount of time to do what is in me to do.  Richard's fate I cannot change.  It is only my own life over which I have jurisdiction.  

Like someone said, or perhaps many people have said, including me from time to time, My life is determined not by events but my reaction to them.

Richard continues to deteriorate.  I know sometimes by the wide eyed somewhat frightened look in his eyes that he doesn't know me.  He is frightened because I am familiar but he can't remember.  That expression is what greets me when I first see him each day, then as I talk and we spend time together, he relaxes, he remembers.  Yesterday he said Holly will be coming soon.  I'm Holly I answered.  Yes, I know he said and laughed to cover his confusion.  

We sit on his patio.  I give him the juice with the collagen which seems to help with joint pain.  I peel a banana and if it's ripe, cut a pear into sections.  I tell him of my day, not that there is much to say.  I don't talk about going to the beach or showy examples of my freedom to contrast with his 'incarceration'.  And I listen.  He rambles so much now it is hard to follow a thread of conversation.  His narrative is composed of dreams, of people long dead, of hallucinations (the children!), of jobs he must do for others, usually building something complete with measurements, 1800 x aluminium.  He has a grudge against one of the residents, also a staff member but when I try and find out what has caused this can get no straight answer.   I distract him with another subject when he begins to get worked up. 

He is completely wheelchair bound now.  At least once a week, despite the best efforts of Heritage, he has a fall.  This week he has had two.  Cut his hand and banged his forehead the first time.  The second time no injuries.  

How I miss the him that was.