Page Twenty-Seven

Hello again, lovelies! I'm back to moan about the weather. At least I am consistent with SOME things. Related: I am totally over this piss rain/become humid rinse/repeat thing.  That is what is happening in Sydney, anyway. I long for warm autumn days with crisp evenings... 

Well, I am glad I got that little whinge over with. As expected, it didn't change a thing. Funny about that. This would seem to confirm that there is simply no point or purpose in complaining about things you cannot control nor change. This won't stop me from doing it again, I expect. Like I said, consistency is key!

While I am here, I may as well join in for Friday Reflections. At any rate, it will stop me from whinging. 

This week I have decided to go with the prompt: 

• Pick up the book you are currently reading, go to page 27 and write a post starting with the first line on that page.

Okay, if you insist. 

Dutifully, I pick up a book I have already read and am re-reading. It's a non-fiction book called Use Your Words: A Myth-Busting No-Fear Approach To Writing by Catherine Deveny. 

Upon flipping over to page 27, I discover these words:

After a quote attributed to Dorothy Parker:  "I hate writing. I love having written". 

Then, the first complete sentence is this: 

I tell my Gunnas: 90% of writing never sees the light of day. But 100% of writing makes the writer feel better for having written it. 

Oh, how I love this sentence! In fact, I really love this book. This is coming not long after I had written a post proclaiming that I didn't think books about writing were helpful.  I've changed my mind after reading this book. It's tremendously helpful. I recommend it, especially if you are feeling stuck about writing in any way. 

I definitely relate to the above sentence.  You see, this is really the main reason why I write and have a blog. It just makes me feel better. I liken it to exercise. I'm actually inclined to be rather lazy, easily distracted and a procrastinator. Not very palatable to admit, but there it is. The truth hurts. OUCH.

There is never any day when I wake up bursting with inspiration and/or motivation to either a) exercise, or b) write. But boy, when I make myself do these things, do I feel better. SO much better. So, if nothing ever comes of my word vomit, and nothing ever has, it's worth it just for that. 

By the way, Catherine Deveny runs a writing master class which she calls "Gunnas", so that's what she is referring to. 

She also notes elsewhere in the book that there is no forced sharing in these groups. The reason behind this: it doesn't matter what anyone thinks of your writing. It doesn't even matter what YOU think of your writing, the only thing that matters is that you write. Genius! 

I expect writing makes me feel better because I can express myself better through writing, not talking. For some one who has considerable anxiety, it's a calming activity. Scribbling or tapping away is comforting for me. Furthermore, it's something  I can do with my hands besides shoving food into my mouth. Ahem. It also allows me to connect with others in a way that I'm unable to do in person. I'm introverted, shy and autistic, so people skills are not my forte. 

Often, if I'm over thinking, the very act of 'writing it out' and brain dumping helps tremendously. I don't necessarily need to share it. I have so many notebooks scattered everywhere about the house. They would make for very tedious reading if anyone got a hold of them. However, notebooks are so much cheaper than therapists!  So I'll call that a win. 

And with this bloody weather, what else can one do? Whoops! I'm whinging about the weather AGAIN. Time for me to go and do some more scribbling I need never share! Over and out. 

Do you agree? Do you think most writing isn't shared, but still makes the writer feel better?

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Waffles Are Delicious

Welcome to another fabulous Friday! I'm joining in again for Friday Reflections with a 20 minute free-write. In other words, the usual meandering musings you expect from me! Done. Here goes: 

Timer starts NOW: 

Friday seems like a good day to free write. Isn't it interesting how Fridays are always thought of a fun day. The end of the working week. FriYAY!

This means nothing when you're a parent. NOTHING, I tell you. 
The only Friday I remember clearly is the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer. That certainly wasn't a fun day. 

I am sitting here in blissful silence. The boys are at school and Mickey Blue Eyes has gone to visit his father. My timer is on to write for 20 minutes. Suddenly I feel under pressure to write something brilliant and witty.

It's the same feeling as being in a job interview. They say: So tell me about yourself. Me; forgets every single thing about myself and my life EVER.

Ditto in social situations when people ask; what have you been up to? 

What is it about being put on the spot that makes my mind go blank? When it's midnight and I should be asleep I seem to have no trouble at all thinking ALL THE THINGS. 

Anyway, even if nothing illuminating comes out of this experiment it's good to be back joining in again with Friday Reflections. One of the other prompts was to write about your favourite book about writing. I have read quite a few of them, but I don't have a favourite. 

What else has been happening in my world. I've been reading a lot. You know, just for something different. Tomorrow is February 4th. It usually does come after February 3rd. Funny about that. This means that it will be 34 years since Karen Carpenter passed away. 

It strikes me that when there were so many celebrity deaths during 2016 there was a tremendous outpouring of grief around the world. Somehow I feel like KC never was truly acknowledged the way she should have been.

I remember hearing the news when I was only just 12. It was the first time I'd heard of anorexia and I didn't really understand what it was. Bafflement was my main emotion. Tears came later. 

Sorry, I guess I have a one track mind and left without a prompt I'll go back to my favourite topic - Karen Carpenter!

At least I haven't mentioned cake! DOH.

Anyway, I'm sure the twenty minutes will be finished soon and you will be spared any more of my waffling. On the other hand, waffles are delicious...

Waffles are delicious! *drools*

I've been doing 'morning pages' most days, except I don't always do them in the morning because cutting edge and all, and I had the thought: Isn't it interesting how when fictional characters write journals or diaries in novels they're always filled with complex emotions, details and explosive secrets and I'm just over here like "I folded some washing today and went to the shops..."  I need to make up a sordid past or something. I'll have to think about that. 

Moreover, these (fictional) people seem to have the narrative ability of a gifted, accomplished author.  

Apparently I still have six minutes to go. Poor you.  What else can I tell you? 

I will mention some of those books I've read about writing and you'll be amazed that I can still manage such drivel:

Bird By Bird by Anne Lamott
Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert
Writing Down The Bones by Natalie Goldberg
The Right To Write by Julia Cameron
The Writing Book by Kate Grenville 
Stephen King: On Writing by Stephen King (Captain Obvious)

As I said before I don't have a favourite one.  I've come to realise that there is no book, course, app, guide, affirmation, magical thinking that can make you a writer. You either sit down and do it or you don't. And even then you may write and write, and only write something mediocre now and again. Or is that just me? Ahem.

I had a thought and lost it. It was something good, methinks. What was it again? 

Oh yes! I don't think reading books about writing make you a good writer, I think reading lots of different books is much more helpful. Just read, read, read, read, read, read. And when you're not reading, write. 

Advice from someone who is totally not qualified to give it! Oh well, it is the Internet. Everyone has advice and is an expert on something with no qualifications...  Why not me too? 

Fortunately my timer beeped. So endeth my waffle. 

I hope you had coffee with that. 

And there you have it. A 20 minute free-write on this fine Friday. 

I had better stick to my day job. Whatever that is...

Do you do any 'free-writing' or 'morning pages'?

Do you have a favourite book about writing? 

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Then And Now

Welcome to another fabulous Friday! My second favourite F word. You all know what the first one is!

FOOD! Duh.

Don't know what YOU were thinking.

Anyway, it's time to join in yet again for Friday Reflections!

I decided to merge two of the prompts because I thought they tied in neatly together. 

They are:

What did you want to be as a kid?
And...

Did you think you'd be doing what you're doing now? 

I was never really one of those kids who woke up one morning and thought: when I grow up I want to be a doctor/teacher/ballerina.

Just as well because; a) I can't stand the sight of blood, b) I struggle to even get through my kids homework, and c) I have the grace of an elephant on roller skates. 

If I thought about it all, I most likely assumed that I was going to be the next Enid Blyton. I adored her novels and read them obsessively. However, I never had a real plan.

I've always been a dreamer not a doer. Consequently I've kind of drifted through life. And here I am.

I always knew exactly what I DIDN'T want to do, but at the same time had no clear idea what I DID want to do.

As high school cruised towards it's inevitable finale, I had to make a decision. I enjoyed studying German. In fact, I was the genius who somehow failed English in my HSC and passed German. Go figure.

If I remember those heady mullet-permed days correctly, I decided to apply to university to study interpreting and translating. The only catch was, you had to be bilingual, fluent in two languages. It turns out that a couple of years of high school German wasn't enough to make me fluent. Who knew? So that idea was over with before it even started. 

To cut a long story short, I ended up studying at TAFE, something they used to call Library Practice (it's called something else now), and worked in libraries for a while. Until I didn't. Then I did again. Then I had babies and stayed home to look after them. Fast forward fifteen years. I'm still here, even though they're not babies anymore. Details...

Anyway, my point is, I now believe I was on the right track with the library thing. I always imagined that someday I'd go back to it, but now I have this cavernous fifteen year gap in my resume. Oops.

That's the thing about me. I'm not really one thing nor the other. I'm not a driven, career-oriented person, but I'm not really a house-wifey type either. It's another one of those curious dichotomies or contradictions about me: I'm a homebody and introvert, who definitely prefers being in my own space most of the time, but I'm not actually brilliant at being the person in charge of running the home. Weird. 

Hmmm, I guess I really should have been an eccentric stay-at-home millionaire or something... 

Or a professional daydreamer! Which is almost the same thing as being a writer. Well, except for the actual writing and getting paid part...

Unfortunately, the thought of being an author was always more of a fanciful daydream. A kind of 'yeah wouldn't that be nice' thing rather than having a concrete plan and goal. 

The only thing I really knew for sure as a child, was that one day I wanted to be a wife and mother. So in that sense, you could say I am doing what I thought I'd be doing. 

Admittedly, when I just thought and daydreamed about being a mother it was SO much easier! I was a perfect parent. Until I had kids! 

In my fantasies of being a grown up I was a tall, regal auburn haired 'Anne Shirley' type. I was married to my very own Gilbert Blythe. I had endless patience and wisdom to impart to my angelic fictional children.

Scenes played out in my head like something out of a movie or sit-com. I must have spent way more time watching television when I was growing up than I realised! 

To be honest, I never really thought specifically about what I'd be doing in my 40's. When you're a kid 20 seems ancient, let alone 40! 

I didn't have such a great grasp of reality.  Possibly due to all those Enid Blyton books and American sit coms I consumed. I'm sure I figured I'd be much better looking than I am and have a beautiful, immaculate home.

But you know what? Real life is way more interesting. 'Perfect' is overrated. 

As it turns out, even my childhood idol, Enid Blyton, was far from perfect. Well, according to her wikipedia page, anyway. If it's on the internet it must be true, right? Snorts.

Her novels have also been criticised as being all sorts of  dodgy things, including racist, in today's world. But they did provide me with some flights of fancy and a love of reading, so no harm done.

And while I may not have followed in her footsteps, I can still tap away here and indulge my love of words. Yeah, you're totally welcome!

Sure, there are moments when I wish I was more ambitious and goal-oriented, but for some one who has drifted and daydreamed through life, I don't have too much to complain about. 

Smashing! 

Linking up for Friday Reflections. 

What did you want to be as a kid?

Did you think you'd be doing what you are now? 

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What I've Learnt About Blogging

Hello dear people! I'm a bit late to the Friday Reflections party, but I thought I'd chime in anyway. 

The prompt I've chosen is: Things you've learnt since you started blogging. 

At first I felt like I should not choose this prompt. After all, what do I know about blogging professionally? So I should mention that if you're looking for advice about how to get millions of eyeballs on your blog and make shit tonnes of cash I've got nothing to tell you. Oh wait. There is this: do the exact opposite of everything I did. 

I pretty much logged onto blogger one day and just started churning out journal like entries in a spectacularly ad hoc and lackadaisical fashion. Yeah, don't do that.

However, I still have a few things to say about blogging as a hobby. 

Here goes: 

DON"T write like no one is reading

I've heard the advice 'write like no one is reading' a lot.

NO. Don't do that.

Guess what? Someone will read it. Even if it's only your Mum to begin with. As far as I can gather it's still pretty much my Mum reading here. Hi Mum! 

All I'm saying is, it's not a really intelligent idea to write about anything you wouldn't be comfortable discussing in person or having family and friends know about you.

I do try to be as honest as possible within reason. But some things are better kept to myself. 

Don't write about other people's stuff

This ties in with the previous point. Some things are just not my stuff to blog about. Particularly because I have children. I'll admit that I've made mistakes in the past, but now I try not to blog about my boys. Or at least keep it to a minimum.  I don't post photos of them or use their real names here. Some people will argue that you shouldn't have to censor yourself and all that. But I think you need to be mindful of this. If you're still hellbent on writing about all and sundry in your life perhaps asking permission first is the way to go. 

Don't feel guilty about spending time and/or money on your hobby blog

If I had any other hobby you could think of you can bet that I would never even think twice about this. Many times people will be all superior and insist that they simply don't have time to be online. First of all, the time I spend blogging and on Facebook may be the time that others spend watching the footy or the entire series of Game Of Thrones on Netflix. I don't do those things. I prefer blogging or reading. And yes, Facebook. So what? To me, watching sport is just as boring as my hobby might seem to others. 

Plus, what's wrong with spending money on hobby blogging? 
The amount of money that Mickey Blue Eyes has spent on his various hobbies over the years must be in the hundreds if not thousands. There's been soccer, breeding finches (continuing), bonsai's, photography, astronomy, aquariums.. to name a few. Yet for a long time I felt guilty about spending a cent on this blog. Not anymore.

Related: I signed up to do the Blog With Pip and Blog Magic
 courses next month.  

Other things I've learned:


I am terrible at self-promotion

I really, really suck at this. Hopefully the above course will help me to get through some of these barriers. We'll see. I'm a total contradiction here: I dislike being the centre of attention but at the same time I don't want to be totally ignored. Otherwise what's the point? 

I'm a much better writer than I think I am

Self-doubt about my writing ability is still something I struggle with on an ongoing basis. But I've thought about it and realised that I'm not THE BEST writer and I never will be. BUT...I'm actually pretty good for who I am, my level of education and experiences in life. I'm some one who failed high school English, never went to university and has spent the past 15 years being a stay at home mother. Additionally, I'm also on the spectrum. Taking all that into consideration I am so much better than I think. I need to own that! 

On the other hand...

I'm a shit photographer

This blog is an assault to your eyeballs. Oops. Sorry about that! But I'm really crap at taking photos. So I just need to concentrate on what I can do and keep writing. Related: I don't have an Instagram account for this very reason. There's really no point!

I'm a technophobe

I don't really understand all the different technical stuff and social media platforms. I have a Twatter Twitter account but don't use it much these days.

There's always some one who's better than you

There's always going to be other brighter shinier better blogs and writers. There just is. The only thing I can do is just keep plodding on doing what I can do. Because not writing at all feels worse. 

I don't care about stats and 'likes'

Just as well. They're abysmal. But WHO CARES? I'm blogging for a hobby so I actually have the freedom to not worry about it. I may as well enjoy it!

I'm completely 'useless'

Apparently you're supposed to create useful content. Oops. I try to make my pointless ponderings as entertaining as possible. Beyond that, I've got nothing! Useless blogging FTW! 

It's fun to join in with the blogging community

I like joining in with blog link ups. For one thing they often provide me with a prompt. Otherwise I might run out of nonsense to blog about. As impossible as that sounds! Plus you can actually make online connections. On the other hand it's important to remember to not get too discouraged if everyone doesn't read your blog. It's impossible to read and comment on every single blog. 

I'll never say never

So far I've never even attempted to make money with this blog. Currently I still have no plans to do so. I have a sneaking suspicion that doing so may take all the joy out of it. However, never's a long time, so I'll never say never. I reserve the right to change my mind at any time. 

It's OK to have bloggy breaks

In fact it's probably a very good idea. This blogging caper can be very addictive! I need to get up and move a bit and try to be offline sometimes. Snorts. 

Let's not get too carried away...

Linking up (late!) for Friday Reflections .

What are your thoughts about blogging?

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Letter to my 35 year old self...

Dear Ness,

Hello there 35 year old Ness. Greetings from your future self. I am the 45 year old you. Let me tell you, the next ten years are going to be one hell of a ride. If you knew what was in store for you it would make your hair curl. Related: something will make your hair curl*. It's probably better if you don't know what it is. No, mullet perms have NOT come back into fashion!

I will tell you this: you are much stronger than you think you are. Another thing: you're NOT FAT. In fact, ten years from now you will be wishing to be as 'fat' as you are now.

Enjoy your metabolism while you still have one, because shortly it will make a hasty exit stage door right never to be seen again! Sorry. That's just the truth. There's nothing you can do about it. Oh wait. There are a couple of things: 

1. Exercise!
2. Stop eating all that cake and crap! 

In five years time you will discover some very revealing and fascinating information about yourself**. The fact that this revelation will be a huge yawn to everyone else doesn't lessen it's significance to you. It's all pretty amazing. In some ways your life will be changed forever even though other things are exactly the same. I know I am being mysterious and enigmatic but let's face it you always have been.  A woman of hidden depths. 

A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. Or, you know, a woman wrapped in a dressing gown inside a suburban house. Details. 

While mullet perms thankfully haven't made a comeback, something else that you enjoyed as a teenager does. You know all those letters you wrote? Well, you're going to write letters (of sorts) again, but on the internet. There are also lots of fun times ahead. Oh and don't worry, Mickey Blue Eyes will be fine. He will be a long time cancer survivor and an inspiration. 

You will be the mother of a lanky 15 year old and a beautiful 12 year old. There will be another baby but not without a few bumps along the way. Then your family will be complete. 

There won't be any teleporting available and you haven't become a millionaire. You're still waiting for that  McMansion, but you've made peace with it if it never arrives (likely).  In many ways you're a different woman even though nothing appears to have changed on the surface. It's odd. Changes in life aren't always what you think they're going to be. They can be a change in attitude or thinking. A shift in the way you see yourself. Becoming more aware that the little things in life are really what matter, even though a McMansion would be nice. 

Plus, while there are things about yourself that you'll never exactly love (for example, you'll always wish you were less anxious), you'll be able to exist with them. And you'll also realise that there are other unique things about you that are pretty freaking awesome. Maybe they don't look they way they are 'supposed' to look, but nevertheless they're awesome. There will be times when you might not see this (your awesome traits), but others will. You're very lucky that way. 

Related: I'm not going to tell you to stop comparing yourself with others or over thinking. Time and again you'll fall into this trap. There isn't a magic age when this stops. But you're able to recognise it and move on from it faster. The best way to do so is to take some action. It doesn't have to be anything grand and monumental. Just moving is enough. 

Which brings me to my next point.  You love tapping away here but make sure you get up and move as well. You need to exercise whether you like it or not. (See above).

You also need a gentle reminder to leave the house more often. You're inclined to become a hermit. There's nothing wrong with being a loner and introvert, you just need to mix it up a bit.

So get on with it dear girl. 

And no, I am not going to disclose to you the current winning lotto numbers. There's no point. You never take a ticket. And even if you did, you'd just lose it. You're a scatterbrain. Funnily enough, having three children hasn't improved upon this fact. One of these days you will see that being a scatterbrain isn't the worst thing you could be, and what's more you're a funny and (mostly) lovable scatterbrain. 

Having said that, you do need to make some effort to be slightly more organised and to snap out of your dream world occasionally. And you will. It does get somewhat better, but you will never be one of these brisk and efficient, multi-tasking types. Sorry, it's just not going to happen! And daydreaming is underrated anyway. 

So anyway, I've got to go. I'm expecting a letter from 55 year old me any moment. I'll be so freaking happy to receive that letter. You have no idea. So happy that I'm not even freaking out at the sound of that rather mature age. Well, maybe a little...

Good things are coming! 

Curly hair is just one of them! 

Keep being awesome. 

Love,

45 year old Ness

*In late 2015 I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer. Chemo made my hair grow back curly.
**In 2011 I was diagnosed with ASD, formerly known as Asperger's Syndrome. 

Linking up for Friday Reflections.

A big thank you to Sanch and the gang at Write Tribe for making me one of last week's featured writers for my story! Yay! I get a cocktail! You can read the story here. 

What would you tell yourself ten years ago (besides the winning lotto numbers)? 

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On hobbies and why I don't vlog

For many years I have wished that I had different hobbies and interests. My top four desirable interests would be:

• Sport
• Gardening
• Cooking
• Sewing

I feel that if you spend time doing the above activities then at least you have something to show for it. Meanwhile the type of passive things I do make it seem like I'm just a lazy-arsed time-wasting biatch.

These are:

• Reading
• Writing
• Blogging
• Listening to music
• Obsessing over Karen Carpenter
• Mindless web surfing and Facebook scrolling
• Aerobics

The only one that is actually helpful in life is doing aerobics. Yet somehow I never seem to look or act like those annoyingly perky and ripped aerobics instructors. Weird.

Out of all of those desired hobbies I potentially could become interested in cooking. After all, I do love food and eating. It's just that there is a certain level of organisational skill and multi-tasking that is necessary. I do not possess these attributes. Hello, self-diagnosed ADD. The internet doesn't lie, does it?

I have made some tasty chicken soup recently and some other Weight Witchy stuff. But what I really like is: CAKIES. 

However, I won't take up baking. Because if I did bake cakes then I would eat them. ALL of them. I couldn't stop at one. The only way I can avoid temptation is to never have the temptation there in the first place.


What else was I going to say?

Did I mention that I think I have ADD?

Anyway, what I was going to say before I lost my train of thought was, I basically still like all the same things I liked when I was 12.  It's comforting to know I haven't matured beyond a tween. On the other hand, I liked Nanna music (Carpenters), so maybe I was just a really mature 12 year old? Yeah, it must be that. Ahead of my time. Wisdom beyond my years and all that. Yep, totally that. 

Today I was actually supposed to be talking about vlogs. (A vlog is a video blog for the uninitiated). Specifically if I've ever made one. I haven't. Which is interesting, since I call blogging my  hobby. I didn't say I was actually any good at any of these hobbies, did I?

The reasons I've never vlogged are simple:

• I don't know how.
• I'm shy.
• I don't speak much above a whisper.
• I wouldn't know what to talk about.
• I'm strikingly beautiful and it would just make everyone jealous. 

It's possible that I made the last one up. Using possible in the sense of totally clear. Just so we're...um, clear.

However, I will put vlogging on my list of things to do in an attempt to push myself out of my comfort zone and blogging rut.

Not that these posts of me rambling on about nothing aren't totally fascinating and entertaining. Pffffft. Of course they are! It's just that I could mix it up a bit. I could verbally ramble on a video for a change. As soon as I have a personality transplant. To say I'm not particularly chatty in person is a slight understatement. Using slight in the sense of... Um, whatever the opposite of slight is. Huge? 

But getting back to hobbies. I've never been good at any of those desirable hobbies or skills because I'm a daydreamer.  It's not very handy when you're off with the pixies and a ball darts by your vacant face. For some reason, team mates become incensed. Can't think why. It's only a game. Sniff. 

Which leads me to another point. I don't really like any sort of games. Sport games, card games, board games, PS4, XBox, and just games, really. And although I'm a Facebook fan, I don't do Candy Crush or Farmville or any sort of Ville. (Yes, I'm still in Boganville, but shhhhhh, don't tell anyone). No games for this girl. 

Maybe I really am just totally anti-social? Who knows? I'm definitely not the competitive type. So I don't really have any intense urge to win or see the point of it all. Shrugs. 

When it comes to gardening, I think I'm more of an indoors person.  In fact I went outside into the sun yesterday, blinking and confused by the brightness.  I should probably get out more. 

As far as sewing goes, I guess I'm just too impatient and again, inclined to daydream. There was also the infamous Sewing Of The Finger Incident Of 1983 when I was in Year 7. I think it hurt, from my vague memory. Plus, I've always been totally spoiled and pampered by my Mum who rocks the whole cooking and sewing thing. There was no need to do it myself. Ahem. 

But it's all good because I can read, write and blog like a boss. Am I right? Rhetorical question. Please don't answer. I'm also very good at being delusional daydreaming. Winning!

I also know the lyrics to every Carpenters song ever recorded and every intricate detail of Karen Carpenter's life right down to her autopsy report. Yes, I'm deranged. This is baffling because when it comes to celebrities and celebrity gossip I have zero interest. In fact, I have no idea who half of the modern day celebrities and recording artists even are. Did I mention I'm weird? 

Okay, this weirdo is done here for now. 

Linking up for I Must Confess, Open Slather and Mummy Mondays.


Have you ever vlogged? Which hobbies do you wish you enjoyed?

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The Nessville Saga So Far

Welcome to another marvellous Monday. The only day of the week when  you feel like a scotch before 9AM. Or is that just me?

Raychael over the Mystery Case  blog has started a Blog Exchange
 group. I thought this sounded like a great idea to help me out of my blogging rut. We are supposed to 'blog like no one is reading', which is quite apt in my case. No one is. Sigh. Or hardly anyone, really. She suggested writing about our blogging thoughts and experiences so far. 

So here goes:

I started blogging in March of 2012. It was an idea I'd toyed with off and on since I had started writing those God awful 'Christmas Letter Updates' to send out to friends and family. These are a chance to regale every one with all the wondrous achievements and awe-inspiring adventures you've been up to through the year. 

The only problem was, there was nothing particularly awe-inspiring or wondrous about my mediocre little life. So I did the only sensible thing and wrote them 'tongue-in-cheek' and definitely 'taking the piss'. They were a hit among my very polite friends. I considered starting a blog but dismissed it thinking I wouldn't have much to say and I certainly didn't want to bore any one. 

Then one day when I was in a completely weird, disjointed mood I decided I was over-thinking things and just did it. It seemed like it might be a fun hobby. Also, as a child and teenager I had been praised by teachers for my writing ability but I never really believed this or took it seriously. I figured having a blog was at least a way of attempting to get into a habit of doing some sort of regular writing. 

Of course I was absolutely clueless about the 'blogosphere'and had no idea that so-called 'Mummy blogs' were even a thing. Furthermore, that they are universally sneered at and considered to be the biggest pile of steaming excrement gracing the internet. So that was certainly handy to discover. 

Additionally, I had the thoroughly genius delusion that I was writing some sort of satirical parody of our life as 'bogans'. Yep, I was the classy bogan blogger. I began this space with the elegant title: Ness Of Boganville.

I figured this was a witty pun of the classic novel Tess Of The D'Urbervilles. Who wouldn't make the connection between bogans and classic literature? Makes perfect sense, right? Plus, while we're not exactly living in Struggle Street, I did grow up there and haven't ventured very far away as an adult. I like to stay classy.

Weirdly enough, it seemed that there were some folk (albeit only a minuscule amount) who found my bogan ramblings entertaining and amusing. Unfortunately, this didn't extend to Mickey Blue Eyes. For some reason he objects to being portrayed as a bogan. I can't imagine why. 

I attempted to explain to him that while many people only show the highlight reels of their (seemingly) bright, shiny, happy lives on social media, I wanted to show that my life isn't always perfect but at the same time I haven't lost my sense of humour about it. 


I plodded on with my musings. I discovered other blogs and link-ups and tentatively began participating in them. Notably, I Must Confess, which is hosted by Kirsty at My Home Truths
 every Monday. I've avoided some of the other link-ups such as I Blog On Tuesdays purely because it's all so time consuming. I could feel myself being sucked into a vortex of blog reading and commenting. I love it, but meanwhile the whole house could cave in around me and I wouldn't notice. Plus, I'm rather ad-hoc and erratic with it all these days. 

If you're just blogging as a hobby like I am, then you have to be rational and realistic about exactly how much time you want to spend on it. It's so much more time consuming than people realise, even as a hobby. So I couldn't even begin to imagine how much work, time and effort it would take to be a professional blogger. 

I really don't understand or know anything about that World. I've never attended a blogging conference and have no idea how to check my stats other than seeing the number of page views that blogger tells you when you log onto your dashboard. This is an abominably low and laughable number. It's my own fault, however. 



We do? *scratches head*

I don't blog often enough and I am absolutely abysmal at self-promotion. I have a Facebook page and I frequently forget about it. Oops.

There is a belief that blog content should be useful, so sometimes I feel like an eejit blathering on about nothing. But then I remind myself that there are a bajillion useful blogs out there and they all bore the bejesus out of me. There, I said it.

I've only ever spent about 20 minutes looking at The Organised Housewife blog (one of the most popular blogs in Oz) and I've never been so depressed in my life. If I'm surfing the web, it's because I'm procrastinating from doing the house work, not trying to find the most effective methods! But that's just me. Ahem.

It's just not my thing. Clearly I don't have a useful bone in my body and no amount of blog-reading (or writing) is going to change that. 

There is also a lot of talk about tribes and cliques within the blogging community. I think they do exist and it would be naive to think they don't. I tend to be the same as I am in person in the blogosphere. The quiet person in the corner. This is exactly the way I am in real life. So I guess I just fly under the radar for the most part.

Therefore I won't say anything pretentious like I've 'found my tribe'. What I will say is that I have found that the bloggers who've swung by here from time to time have been exceptionally kind and supportive and I'm grateful. I haven't experienced any nastiness or 'trolls'. It's easy to avoid them when you're under the radar and your main readers are your Mum and a handful of friends.

If there have been any people who were horrified with my word vomit at least they just clicked away without comment. I mean seriously, how hard is it?

Eventually I came to the conclusion that I am way too refined and dignified to be a bogan (shut up) and needed to lose the 'bogan' theme. I'm hopeless at coming up with titles. After agonising over this all-important issue, I decided to just quite literally take the bogan bit out of the title Ness Of Boganville and leave it as Nessville. Since I am always off in my own little World it seemed fitting. Plus, I can't help thinking that this form of title has worked out very well for two very prolific and high-profile bloggers Woogsworld and Edenland. 

OK, so Nessville hasn't exactly caught on in quite the same way, but, you know- details. 

I can't really figure myself out. I have this weird dichotomy where on the one hand I really do not desire to be famous, (not that there is even remotely a chance of this happening), but at the same time I guess you don't want to be completely ignored or you might as well take your writing completely offline and go scribble in a notebook. And I do that as well from time to time. 

I really am an incredibly shy, introverted and private person. It seems incongruous to share my life on a blog. There are certain things that are sacrosanct.  Things that I would never share, ever. I'm also finding that as my boys get older they have absolutely no desire to be featured in these annals. And I shall respect their wishes. Of course I'll mention them, but I will draw a line where I stop. I did not start this space to upset them or anyone in my family. It's all very well to have fun and be tongue-in-cheek but I have to be mindful of not taking it too far because they may not find it amusing the way I do. 

So that's me bumbling along in my own little World, unsure of where I fit into this thing called the 'blogosphere'. I have this space for a fun hobby, an outlet and a way of expressing myself. I express myself much better with writing than talking. In person I rarely talk. 

For some years I have managed to convince myself that I'm not really passionate about writing. Otherwise, I reasoned, I would make time for it. The theory is that we make time for the things we love. I often don't make time for it or prioritise it in my life. 

However, I read the book The Happiness Trap by Russ Harris and this changed my way of thinking. 

It's hard to sum up the book in a sentence but the basic nitty-gritty of it revolves around connecting to your true values. Towards the end of the book the author explains:

And if this goal really IS something you value, then you are faced with a choice: either act in accordance with what you value or let yourself be pushed around by your own thoughts. 
In particular, you need to watch out for this sneaky thought: 'If this were really so important to me, I'd be doing it already!' This thought is just another reason in disguise. The reasoning goes something like this: 'I haven't taken action up to now, which means it can't really be that important, which means it's not a true value of mine, which means there's no point in putting any effort into it.'
This reasoning is based on the false assumption that humans will NATURALLY act in line with their values. But if this were true, there would be no need for a book like this or a therapy such as ACT.  The fact is, many of us DON'T act on our values for long periods of time: months, years or even decades. But those values are always deep inside us, no matter how remote from them we are. A value is like your body: even if you've totally neglected it for years it's still there, it's still an essential part of your life, and it's never too late to connect with it. 

MIND. OFFICIALLY. BLOWN.  

I want to make writing a priority in my life. It may only be a hobby, but it has the same effect on me as exercise. I never wake up in the morning and have this burning and over-whelming desire to HAVE to do it. However, if I force myself to begin after a while I start to think 'This isn't so bad, I actually like this!' A while longer and I'm in a zone where I can forget the World. Suddenly I've gone from having to force myself to start to having to force myself to stop! And I feel better when I'm finished. 

Sometimes I'm embarrassed about sharing these posts. I know I'm not the most poetic, eloquent writer. My grammar is all over the place. But then I remind myself that considering who I am and my own experiences in life and my level of education, I'm not too bad. 

I mean, I failed high school English, have never been to University and have spent the last 14 years being a stay at home mother. Additionally, I have Aspergers (officially diagnosed) and ADD (self-diagnosed -but I believe, accurately so). 

I can't really compare myself to other bloggers who may be professional writers or come from a journalistic background. I'll just keep on with what I'm doing. I think of these posts as me writing a letter to friends. That's the only way I know how to write here at the moment. Hopefully I'll push myself out of my comfort zone somewhere along the way. 

Thanks for reading this rather long ramble. See you around the blogosphere!

Linking up for I Must Confess.

What are your thoughts about blogging?

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The Nerdiest Girl In The School

"LONG AGO AND OH SO FAR AWAY..."

TIME: 1983

PLACE: Boganville High School, the main quadrangle.

 

 Picture it.  A time when raging cases of TES were everywhere, (Tragic Eighties Syndrome). Bad perms, bubble skirts and Duran Duran....

  Noise and activity flurried all around me.  Shouts and laughter that didn't include me, pierced their way into my consciousness, as I sat all alone at the edge of the quad. I wasn't part of any of it, but a spectator, silently sitting there, alone, reflecting on my tragic life as a nerd-girl.

A group of girls appeared in front of me, all of them laughing, sharing jokes with the kind of effortless rapport that was alien to me.  I felt them looking my way.  I tried not to notice, tried not to care.  Just then, one of them broke away from the group, approaching me.

Squirming uncomfortably on my seat, I looked towards her hopefully.  "Hi, how are you?" she edged nearer, smiling. I mumbled something incoherent.  Staring at me quite innocently she asked: "I was just wondering...do you shave your legs?"

It must be noted that, I did not, in fact, shave my legs.  A situation that, at a mere 12 years of age, did not bother me in the slightest. (Come to think of it, doesn't bother me in the slightest at age 42 either.  In fact, I might have to get Mick to run the lawn mower over them presently, as they are so hairy.) But I digress.

However, since it seemed to bother the other girls at school, I figured I'd ask my mum if I could begin.

Me, with all my friends, aged 12

"No," she replied "you're too young.  Once you start doing all that, you never stop.  You've still got plenty of time."  At this point, I imagine any other girl would have decided to completely ignore their mum, sneak into the bathroom, pinch a razor and do the deed anyway.  Not this tragic nerd-girl and Miss Goody Two Shoes.

I trudged back to school, legs still hairy, book in bag.  Books were my major companion at recess and lunch.  Another example of my tragic nerdiness.  I'd chosen books over flesh and blood friends. Here's how it happened.

I used to have something resembling a friendship with another girl in primary school.  I use the term friendship loosely.  It consisted mainly of her bossing and patronising me, like the time she convinced me to go to Jazz Ballet with her just so that she could then condescendingly tell this uncoordinated klutz that if I tried really hard I might be as good as her next year.  In all fairness to her, no amount of trying or practising would have ever made me good at any form of dancing!

I put up with Miss Patronising, or Pat as I shall call her, the type of person who might patronise God himself, because I simply didn't have any other friends - other than imaginary ones, and I figured being patronised and condescended to was preferable to spending every minute of school life achingly lonely and friendless.

Anyway, during 6th grade, she unceremoniously dumped me as a friend, steadfastly ignoring me and leaving me in the dust for a cooler group.  Consequently, when she rang me during the Christmas holidays, shortly before starting high school, I possibly should have been on guard.  Instead I scurried over like a timid mouse after any crumbs.

I suspect we might have had the Barbies out at one stage.  As we were about to start high school, you might expect Barbies dolls to have been a bit lame at this point, but I continued playing with them unperturbed.  Pat, on the other hand, was clearly worried, as she began to give me disdainful looks as her lecture began. 

 

"You know, you have to act tough in high school," she began, importantly "otherwise you'll have no friends."

 I carried on dressing Barbie, oblivious to the seriousness of her tone. "But don't worry," she added "I'll still hang around with you, as long as you stop reading books."

 

I gaped. Stop reading books? Wouldn't it be easier to just stop breathing?  Did she mean all books, or just Enid Blyton books? I mean, I kind of knew that I was getting to old for my frequent trips up the magic faraway tree.  A place where I seem to have permanently remained.  Off with the pixies. 

There was NO WAY I could stop reading books.  The thing was impossible.  Consequently the 'friendship' was over.  Gloomily, I trudged home, wondering where all the 'kindred spirits' from my beloved 'Anne' books were.

It wasn't long before Pat was surrounded by friends at High School, while I sat there. Alone. Reading a book.  So I guess she was right. Sigh.  Books will always be my best friend.

To make matters worse, just as I was about to start high school, Karen Carpenter died. Right when I was in the throes of becoming a major fan. I was heartbroken. Of course nobody, least of all the other girls at school, understood my sorrow. Liking the Carpenters went hand in had with reading books and not having a boyfriend. At barely 12 years old. Imagine. Spinsterhood here I come.

 I had been dreading starting high school. Boganville High School was considered to be the roughest school for "under privileged" kids in Sydney's western suburbs. For months I had been hearing horror stories about how the older kids grabbed the year seven kids and flushed their heads in the toilet by way of "initiating" them. Naturally, if you happened to be shy, quiet, liked reading and listening to the Carpenters it could make you a prime candidate for such treatment. I crept around the school playground with my head down, terrified that some sinister bunch of hoodlums would attack me at any moment and drag me into the toilets. Nobody even noticed me. After a week had passed I finally relaxed, realising that maybe some of these horror stories had been exaggerated somewhat.

One morning at recess, I proceeded to read my latest book in my usual position, not far from where the canteen was situated, when I happened to hear a conversation taking place only a few yards away.  Pat was leading it, my ex so-called 'best friend' from primary school. They were discussing Karen Carpenters death which was news at the time.  Pat was saying "Yes, its really sad because they were husband and wife (??!!) and they'd only just gotten married (??!!) and they'd just started out in their musical career.

Normally I was the quietest person on earth, but I couldn''t let that pass.

"That's wrong," I said, surprising them. They hadn't even realised I was there. I went on to inform them that Karen and Richard were NOT husband and wife, but brother and sister and not only that, they had been around for some time and had a lot of hits. Of course, I expected them to be interested and grateful that I had volunteered the information but instead Pat just gave me a withering look along with the rest of them and said "Oh really?" just as if she might have said "Big deal".    

Year 10 formal, circa 1986. I was
already stunningly gorgeous and
talented. So ner.

However, it was while at High School that I began the transformation from a mega nerd from Hell to the person I am today:  a mega nerd bogan from Hell a talented writer and gorgeous, smokin' hawt fox. Observe. I became a published author. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. Oh okay, it was only in the school magazine, but that counts, right? This is the blinding piece of sheer brilliance I wrote at only age 15. A fictional story that I wrote. Read it and weep:

FACE TO FACE

Out here in the country, where everything is fresh and beautiful, it's difficult to believe that all the violence and crime you read about in the newspapers everyday really happens. The air is crisp and clean and the trees stand tall and majestic against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. Kookaburras laugh loudly from their perches and the smell of eucalyptus is heavy in the air.

We had chosen the perfect spot for our holiday, a quiet little cottage in the midst of the country. The mysterious guy my sister was heartbroken over was sure to be forgotten here. Mum was already looking cheerful - and me? Well, I was just trying to rid myself of this strange eerie feeling. A premonition of something awful about to happen. What could possibly  happen out here where the people are greener than the grass?

I walked slowly, admiring the scenery. My mind was racing. What was this feeling? I tried to ignore it, but something told me I was living each day, waiting. For what, I didn't know. But I was soon to find out.

Jessica flew past me on horseback. Horse riding was  her passion, but I stuck to bikes. Even though we were sisters and looked alike, our personalities were entirely different. Jessica was adventurous, daring and very naive. She had just been hurt recently by some guy my mother and I had never even met. I watched her slowly gallop into the distance and settled down under a tree to enjoy the sunshine.

Glancing around, I searched for someone, but there was nobody. I had the odd feeling that someone was watching me. It had been happening on and off all day and it was beginning to give me the creeps. There's no one here, I told myself, determined to shake off this feeling of gloom. But it was there.

And it was still there moments later when I looked up and saw Jessica's horse galloping towards me, but no sign of Jessica. Panic gripped me, my mind full of horrifying visions of Jessica lying wounded from where she had fallen off the horse. Not thinking of the stupidity of my actions, I hurried in the direction from where the horse had come.

It was only when I was lost in a maze of trees that I berated myself fiercely. "Jessica! Where are you?" I called loudly. No answer. And no wonder. I stopped short in utter disbelief. For there she lay at my feet. Not wounded, but dead! There were no words to describe my emotions at that moment. My common sense told me that she couldn't have been killed just by falling from a horse.

"Jessica! Oh my God!" Tears were streaming down my face as I dropped to my knees beside my sister's still body. There was the unmistakable sign that a knife had been used to slit her throat. Somebody had killed her and that somebody was still lurking around waiting to kill me too.

I heard  the foot steps at that moment and turned rising to my feet. There he was. I was face to face with my sister's killer. He wasn't menacing at all. Just an ordinary looking guy. But he held a knife in his right hand.

"Hello, Anne." He knew my name. "Yes, I know you, your sister's told me all about you." He answered my unasked question.

"But she's dead now and I'm going to kill you, too." He stated it calmly, as if it were something he did everyday.

"No!" I fled past him before he could move. Just a moment ago I had found my sister dead. It was all a dream, it had to be a dream, I thought as I ran and ran. I knew he was right behind me.

It's amazing how fast you can run when you're afraid. I raced into the cottage, yelling to my mother, I rushed to slam the door, but he was stronger than me and pushed his way in, grabbing me.

My mother screamed, spotting the knife. He held me in a vice like grip, moving the knife towards my throat. He was bereft of reason, only wanting to kill, destruct.  He didn't seem to realise that my mother was there, quickly phoning the police. But we had to do something fast before I was dead.

Using all my strength, I kicked him hard in the shins and ran from his arms. He dropped the knife in my escape and I grabbed it quickly. He looked around the room as if he didn't know where he was. Then suddenly he fell to his knees, crying.

He was still there crying when the police arrived. A crazy man, familiar with drugs and the guy my sister had been heartbroken over. He was taken away in the back of a police car. We never saw him again. Never wanted to either.

My mother coped well with the funeral, but we both went to pieces afterwards. My sister was only eighteen and she was dead. Dead through the insanity of a very sick man. I realised that I would never forget what happened, but life had to go on and somehow I would face it.

 

Needless to say, I'm still a painfully woeful highly skillful writer, as this boring as batshit bogan blog proves. It's also comforting to know, that thirty years later, I haven't matured beyond the age of twelve. After all, being a grown up is totally over rated. 

Linking up with Rachel at The Very Inappropriate Blog for The Lounge.

 

                                 What do you remember about your teenage years?

 

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