tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112371013247115952024-03-14T09:32:37.981+01:00Scrawling Outside of the BoxA small window to a big, big world for a small girl with big, big dreams of authorhood.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-18527396813957939352013-12-28T20:40:00.003+01:002013-12-28T20:40:50.634+01:00The best gifts are not wrappedI had a good christmas. I tried to wish for charity gifts this year too, but my family refused it. Instead I asked for stuff-I-use-every-day, school books and other such trivalities that I spend money on regularly. I got a lot of that but I also got an e-reader.<br />
<br />
I've always judged an e-reader to be quite useless for me. I love paper books and always will, and for other things I use my laptop. Yet I'm quite enjoying this gift and now see its uses (especially for studying). It's small, and weighs little in my bag and is very neat and easy on the eye. But yet, I didn't feel as good this year as I did last. Last year I saw all the donation cards rowed up and I felt peaceful and happy. Utterly so - despite my dislike for holidays.<br />
<br />
There are, after all, gifts which trumphs all other costly gadgets. Donations to suffering animals (or people, if that's your preference) are a gift like that. Yet some things even trumphs that.<br />
<br />
In mid-december, when people are still buying christmas presents and curse over wrapping them, my dad met with his surgeon. They had already informed us that his chemo-therapy hadn't worked as hoped. The day before the surgery they also tell us that they are less than confident that the surgery will be possible. The cancer might be too stuck to things they cannot remove. After all the oncologist's hopeful remarks, they land this in our laps. It feels out of the blue. Breath-takingly horrid. Mind-numbing.<br />
<br />
24 hours of terrible wait. Of not daring to hope. Of tears in the bathroom between classes because I can't speak of it without breaking down so I don't want anyone questioning me of why I cry.<br />
<br />
A late evening visit at the hospital. Seeing dad in the hospital bed and hardly daring to ask how it went. Then a smile, and he says they got it out. That the surgeon looked more than pleased.<br />
<br />
That relief. It was too big for words. Too big to even feel properly. There's no wrapped-up, bow-clad present that can outweigh that. No money in the world that can compete.<br />
<br />
I know it's not over yet. I know it might still lurk, that there might still be half a year of new chemos, that it might return, regrow, have spread. But the future is brighter, more hopeful.<br />
<br />
I got my dad for a while longer.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-68386493117361974952013-12-08T20:29:00.002+01:002013-12-08T20:29:55.732+01:00Five ways of receiving affection<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There's a theory about people and how we receive (and give) affection. I read it some years back and it struck a chord. The five ways helped me understand people (and myself) better. For example when it comes to writing, I can't really "believe" people's praise unless they act interested; no amount of compliments make me feel as if they think I'm any good. What do you think about this? (see them below) I'm mainly an "Acts of Service" person - how about you?</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>The five main ways people
can give/receive affection are:</b> (copied from <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/sex/9989306/The-five-types-of-affection-which-one-do-you-prefer.html" target="_blank">here</a> but I saw them a long time ago and just needed to find all the definitions) </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i>Quality Time</i> – where you
give each other 'undivided attention’ to talk, listen, eat together or enjoy a
shared activity. With a young family you may have to grab small amounts of time
together while you can, or you may prefer to schedule uninterrupted time when
the kids are asleep. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i>Words of Affirmation</i> –
these are kind, affectionate, appreciative statements that recognize what your
loved one means to you. Phrases that respect and encourage each other are also
important. As is actively listening to what your partner has to say. You could
do this verbally, and/or via email, text, letter, Facebook, or through sharing
music, poems or phrases that reflect your feelings. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i>Acts of Service</i> – this
sounds very formal but simply means doing kind things for each other. Like
taking on tasks a partner may not want to do or sharing household chores. It
also involves showing you care - for example through preparing meals, paying the
bills, and doing the laundry. This category is often the easiest one to miss as
it is already part of our daily routine. Highlighting it is as a means of
showing affection – and having that recognized and appreciated by a partner can
make a big difference to you both feeling cared for. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i>Gifts</i> – this might be an
expensive present or something you have made. The idea here is to show someone
you were thinking of them, you recognise what they do for you and you’ve paid
attention to their likes and chosen something appropriate for them. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i>Physical Touch</i> – could be
shown in the form of hugs and cuddles; sitting close on the sofa or lying
together in bed. Other touch people enjoy includes hair brushing, holding
hands, massage (a hand, foot or head massage can work if you’re time-poor).
This may or may not be sexual. You might find that time for pleasure has
disappeared and finding opportunities to kiss, touch and reconnect physically
may lead to you feeling more like sexual intimacy<strong>, </strong>or just
enjoy nurturing touch without it leading to sex. </span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-84812071790284184402013-09-21T16:18:00.000+02:002013-09-21T16:18:17.255+02:00Free short story - A bout of bad luck<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A Bout of Bad Luck</span></div>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Isaac’s elbow was the size of a melon by the
time they reached the emergency room. Someone sneezed on him as the guys lead
the way. An hour ago, they had all been beating the ground howling with
laughter as he squirmed in pain from the stings. Isaac didn’t look forward to
an eternity of hearing this particular anecdote repeated over and over.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The nurse asked one single question: if he was
allergic. He didn’t realise he should have answered ‘yes’ until two hours later
when he was still in the corner, cradling his arm, surrounded by his friends
making up new bee jokes. Another half an hour passed before someone took pity
on him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He entered the examination room with relief.
The blank surfaces and crisp sheet of paper on the examining table weren’t
inviting, but at least the room didn’t contain any of his four friends.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“You can sit down.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Isaac faced the doctor who had just entered and felt his jaw drop. The young, handsome man raised an eyebrow and touched the name tag on the
coat pocket.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I promise, I am a doctor,” the doctor said.
“Want to see my license? I had my photo put on it, because people kept thinking
I had Xeroxed it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As the doctor reached for a back pocket, Isaac
waved him off.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I believe you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The doctor’s face lit up and two dimples
appeared on either side of an inviting smile.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Good. I’m Harry. How about starting with your
name then tell me what happened to your arm.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Isaac, and bees happened,” Isaac replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Harry gestured to the table and Isaac sat down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Bees or wasps?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I didn’t ask them.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The doctor chuckled. Isaac’s grin turned into a
gasp as Harry touched skin stretched so taut it seemed about to burst.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“No itching somewhere else, difficulty
breathing or wooziness?” the doctor asked, and his tone sounded like that of a
worrying aunt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“No.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Isaac watched the man’s profile. There was a
trace of white around his eyes and a red mark on his nose. A distinct shape in the pocket
beside the name tag revealed a pair of glasses. Isaac hoped he saw as good
without them, though it would take complete blindness to miss the abnormal size
of his arm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Alright, I’ll give you something to smear on
for the swelling, and that’s really all I can do. Wrap ice in a towel and hold
it against the skin: that should help as well.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He crossed the room and opened a drawer. The
chatter from the waiting room wafted through the crack in the door, like
elevator music. Harry came back to Isaac with a tube in his hands. His fingers
were unbelievably gentle as they stroke the paste over the skin.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">#</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Isaac stared at the ceiling, seeing cracks
swirl and sway as a headache pounded in his temples. A cold compress was
melting against his neck, and a saline drip dangled in the periphery of his
vision. The click of a door pulled his gaze to the left, and he recognised the
young doctor.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> Harry had an inquisitive look in his face as he
approached the bed.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“At least your elbow looks fine,” the doctor
said with suppressed laughter in his voice.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Isaac licked his lips and tried to convince his
inner voice that his mouth was only dry because of the dehydration.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Isaac, wasn’t it?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Yes,” he replied in a croak, and coughed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">His doctor put his chart down on the table and
poured a glass of water. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isaac pushed
himself up, almost pulling out the drip as he did so.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Easy,” Harry said, and the bed creaked as he
sat down, close enough to press against Isaac’s legs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He offered the straw and Isaac accepted it. The
glasses were off again, and the eyes were speckled with green like the eggs of
a brown thrasher. The iced water did little to sooth the sandpaper feeling in
his throat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“First you get into close combat with bees, and
now you’ve challenged the sun,” Harry mused. “Are you waging a war against
nature?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Rather a matter of repetitively making an ass
out of myself,” he muttered and looked at the colourful straw between the
doctor’s slender fingers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Trying to impress someone, are we?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The doctor’s jaws tensed as he busied himself
with returning the glass to the imitation wood top.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Not really. Well…” Isaac shrugged and made a
face. “I was trying to help the girls next door with that hive, but I wasn’t
hitting on them, you know?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He looked pleadingly at the doctor, but Harry
only arched an eyebrow and didn’t seem to believe his earnest explanation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“And today,” he continued, frustration and a tint
of shame lacing his words, “we were playing beach volley and I didn’t think it
was that hot.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“You and the girls?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“No! Not at all. Me and my friends. All five of
use are here, just for vacation after college and all. While we’re all single
and free, you know?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A nerve quivered in the edge of Harry’s mouth.
Isaac released a tense breath while glaring at the man for winding him up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Sounds fun,” Harry said then rose at a glance
on his wrist watch. “Lie back and rest. I’ll take a look at you later.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">#</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“You’re not stalking me, are you?” Harry asked
as he entered the examination room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Not even the air conditioning could keep
Isaac’s cheeks from flaming with embarrassment. The doctor’s dimples only
deepened at the sight. Isaac sat on the bench clad only in a half dried t-shirt
and bathing shorts. Dark red welts covered his right calf.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Jellyfish?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Yes,” Isaac said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He tried to ignore the itching and burning
sensation that still threatened to fill his eyes with tears. This time only
Sanjay had accompanied him to the hospital, but the others had supportively
snorted with laughter as he limped up from the ocean.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Harry knelt down and examined the wounds, while
Isaac felt more naked than he had when waiting in the emergency room.
He knew one of the nurses’ name already. She hadn’t remembered him, luckily.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Who were you trying to impress this time?” the
doctor asked and his brown-green eyes darted Isaac’s way. “First it was the
girls, then your friends…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If it had been any of his friends who said it,
the comment would have been meant to ridicule him. Harry made Isaac feel less
uncomfortable, yet more awkward.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> Once more he found his tongue stuck to the roof
of his mouth as he watched Harry. This time the door was fully closed and there
was no sound except their breathing and the rustling of their clothes.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I must say, you’re making my first summer
practicing medicine more interesting than I expected it to be,” Harry said and
broke the silence of the room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I’m sorry,” Isaac murmured.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Oh, don’t be. Really.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The doctor’s hands paused and there was a
distinct pressure on the last words. Isaac had to look away from the freckled
face and stare at his own skinny and hairy legs for a while.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Nature really does have something against me,”
he said finally.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Harry laughed and Isaac felt better.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Indeed,” the doctor said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I’ll be more careful.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“As long as you don’t show up with a broken
neck, I’m happy.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">#</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Isaac couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed or
pleased that Harry stepped through the door. He grimaced.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 280.8pt; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“It’s not the neck,” he promised.
“Just the foot.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Harry shook his head as he touched the ankle.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Four times in three weeks,” he pointed out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I guess you won’t believe me if I say I don’t
usually get into this much trouble?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“No, I won’t, but I’ll give you the benefit of
a doubt.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Isaac couldn’t blame him for
doubting his word.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The smell of smoke and a mix of perfumes
floated around Isaac, imbued in his silk shirt and jeans. The bar had been
packed, probably more so than was legal, but it had had a great atmosphere.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Alright, nothing is broken. I’ll wrap it up
and give you some painkillers to take the edge off. I’ll see if I can find some
crutches as well, but it’s late so don’t get your hopes up. Otherwise, you need
to come back tomorrow and pick them up.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">An arched eyebrow and a set of dimples, and
Isaac felt his insides plunge and his cheeks heat. It wasn’t because he felt
silly either.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“How much have you had to drink?” Harry asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Not that much. I didn’t have the time really,”
he said and gestured at the foot.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Dancing?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Tried to.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He got another laugh from the doctor as the man
stretched his back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“You’ll need to ask your friends to help you
hop out of here, I suspect,” he said as he moved to get bandages.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I lost them actually. Took a cab here.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Harry stopped midstride, and Isaac saw him
chewing his lip.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“So how will you get back to the bungalow?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“A cab,” Isaac said with a shrug.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I’ll be off in half an hour. Want a ride?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Isaac expected himself to react with the usual
sense of dread, loss of speech and blushing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Sure.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He didn’t even stutter. Their eyes were locked,
and despite nothing having been said about anything, there was reckless abandon
in the air.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“You know,” Harry said thoughtfully. “If you
want to stay the night, it’ll be even easier to fix the crutches tomorrow.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">His eyes glinted with a certain measure of
deviousness. Isaac put a lid on the shivers travelling through his chest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“That sounds…,” he licked his lips as words
failed him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The darkness outside pressed its neon fingers
against the windows but no one watched or heard his fumbling. Thankfully.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Fabulous?” Harry suggested. “Awesome? No way
José? I know what you’re thinking. Good God, my doctor is hitting on me. Time
to flee. I should report his ass.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“No!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The word burst out more violent than he
intended, but the intensity matched his own feelings. Harry’s shoulders sank
visibly, and Isaac realised the doctor might just have been as nervous as he
was.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I want to come,” Isaac said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Really?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The humorous note made Isaac realise what he
had just said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I didn’t…,” he began but then figured it was
silly to protest. “Yes, really. I do.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“That's settled then,” Harry said softly and returned with the
bandages.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He smelled of hospitals and warm skin, and
Isaac had all the essence of summer nights. They were very close, almost
touching. Isaac smiled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I never thought a bout of bad luck could be so
lucky,” he said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Harry chuckled, and despite the pain
stabbing through his leg, Isaac couldn’t resist leaning forwards to kiss the
dimples with lips as soft as the man’s hands.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-37274480503952677642013-08-25T13:16:00.001+02:002013-08-25T13:16:13.647+02:00Bad newsSome weeks ago my dad was diagnosed with cancer. It's been some rough times since - it looks hopeful so far but they've only performed the preparing operation. Chemotherapy is to come, then operation to remove the tumour. I've taken it very hard, and have been doing as much as I can to help him while my sisters have mostly been tending their own worries. I spend a lot of time being angry and frustrated. I also been trying to find an extra job for this autumn, plus I still have the horse to tend to and school starts in a week. So I'll be busy with a lot of things and might not be around much and likely won't be in my best mood. I hope everyone who knows me have patience. Better times will be coming, I hope.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-67405425723805117522013-07-08T17:31:00.002+02:002013-07-08T18:13:03.676+02:00Some things are better left unsaidI have a summer job at the criminal justice service and today at lunch I came back in with a plastic bag containing a towel soaked in blood. I figured I shouldn't mention it to them. Somehow I didn't think "don't worry, it's not my blood" would make it sound any better.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Also, having such an item in your office, where you're surrounded by legal people, makes a person quite paranoid.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For the worried people: it's alright. Our horse was injured and had to get a few stitches, but it seems like she's fine apart from shallow cuts and a few bruises. It did bleed alot because one cut was right over a vein, and I'm damn glad it was my sister the nurse who was in the stable when it happened, and not useless, administrative worker me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-12209659800130665222013-06-27T21:09:00.000+02:002013-06-27T21:10:21.940+02:00Sometimes we all need helpI've let this blog be silent for long periods of time. Back when I started it I made a vow not to whine on it, and I've kept that promise most of the time. But that's also the reason that sometimes I've not written anything. Some of you might know that for several years I've not been doing too well physically and mentally.<br />
<br />
About a month ago I had a long discussion with my mother which lead to me booking a doctor's appointment (not the first, I can tell you). They've tried to treat me for my pain and aches for a long time and gotten nowhere. This time we simply discussed the fact that my mother has noted a certain periodicity to my worst moods. I've noticed it myself but not really thought it that marked, but if she notices it, it has to be.<br />
<br />
We decided to medicate me for something that's a badder relative of PMS (hormonal/mood disruptions before a girl's period). I've done one "round" of this and I've already started editing again on an old sci-fi novel I never got to work before. It's been so long since I last wrote something without immediately feeling the writing sucks, I can't even remember when that was. For two weeks I've not been insanely clingy, easily offended, or panic-prone. It's like magic. I'm still in pain, but at least I'm calm.<br />
<br />
Of course, I've not even done a full cycle yet so it's not certain but it's promising. One part of me is afraid to hope it'll work, one part is angry that I've not tried this before and one part is crying in relief because maybe, maybe I might be returning to normalcy. Maybe I'll be able to keep friends around me again.<br />
<br />
So thank you to everyone who stuck around (and please keep your fingers crossed!)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-44662719913021222952013-01-08T17:01:00.003+01:002013-01-08T17:02:56.843+01:00Blame it on the mother<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My grandpa died a long, long time ago. No, this isn't going to be a sad story, but if you have a very righteous sense of humour, you should not keep reading.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, my grandpa died and was buried in a town far from here. My grandma died (at the honourable age of 97) recently and was buried in her family graveyard. After some debates and letters sent back and forth, my mother was allowed to dig up my grandpa's ashes and move them over to grandma's family grave. The problem was that since he died a long, long time ago, she had to pick them up herself or pay an insane amount of money.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Today, my grandpa got to make a roadtrip across the country for the first time in a long while. My mother and I have had great fun discussing this fact on the phone.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We agreed that he had to be disappointed that he wasn't allowed to ride shotgun but had to sit in the back, and I pointed out that they had to buckle him in. And my mom's husband did a bad first impression by pronouncing grandpa's name wrong. We're not sure if he'd enjoy the modern music played on the radio, but we think he enjoyed passing the different towns for the first time in a while.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So if you wonder why I've got a slightly twisted and unintelligible humour, there's a good explanation for that. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's my mother's fault.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-32139699370567453782012-07-12T13:57:00.001+02:002012-07-12T13:59:03.049+02:00Good news all aroundI know I'm awfully quiet on the blog nowadays but I'm trying to find my centre again - the who I am instead of who I have been and who I wanted to be. It's difficult. I'm not very good at adjusting goals downward, and I'm lousy at not being as great as I want to be.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Good things that have happened:</b><br />
<br />
I managed to edit through (again) the manuscript for which I had/have the highest hopes. I started a new WiP.<br />
<br />
The doctors finally checked me over for rheumatic diseases and brain tumeurs - nothing abnormal was found. I've got a prescription for muscle-relaxants that has improved my neck & back and my sleep.<br />
<br />
Albeit through very sad circumstances, I will inherit enough money to get me through the college degree I want (biology) without agonising about extra work hours.<br />
<br />
Also, today my short story was published in the local newspaper. It's in Swedish, but the "article" looks very pretty. It should be possible to read the text if you click on the image.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhLrf78Bh0fiJGA7NwDEfBxbasilT4lu-JG5CAu0iHtcMidWccGyMUDY6m4wxYpBNWRvHUMoDg73lGE2a2hDe5DunyQEiweTzxrRrnkpcsmPkalFnZ90zzWXWRkY050QXrCFPfrMCYfI8/s1600/NT+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhLrf78Bh0fiJGA7NwDEfBxbasilT4lu-JG5CAu0iHtcMidWccGyMUDY6m4wxYpBNWRvHUMoDg73lGE2a2hDe5DunyQEiweTzxrRrnkpcsmPkalFnZ90zzWXWRkY050QXrCFPfrMCYfI8/s400/NT+015.JPG" width="300" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My short story "Never Loved" in the local newspaper.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-66390238551575453422012-04-13T07:34:00.000+02:002012-04-13T07:35:05.849+02:00Friday Fun - Happy Together<object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="225" data="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000"> <param name="flashvars" value="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=3ccc2dbaa0&photo_id=7062042291"></param> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786"></param> <param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"></param> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" bgcolor="#000000" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=3ccc2dbaa0&photo_id=7062042291" height="225" width="400"></embed></object>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-58618609411744421342012-03-21T13:15:00.005+01:002012-03-21T13:25:10.095+01:00Crap sounds better in another languagePeople have always asked me why I've chosen to write my stories in my second language instead of my native one. I started doing so because I found Elfwood.com and wanted to share my stories. Then it just flowed on like that and when I starte´d to write in Swedish again it sounded odd. I couldn't put my finger on why it sounded odd. It was as if the words were flatter, less vibrant. I blamed Swedish, and kept going with English.<br /><br />Lately, I've started to notice the same in English. The stories aren't as good as they once were and I thought: How can you become WORSE at something?<br /><br />The other day I started to translate two WIPs into Swedish. Just because maybe my family will be easier to coerce into reading my writing than my friends are.<br /><br />Translating my writing to my native language had a worrying effect. I realised (for real this time) that I'm not good at writing. As long as I weren't that great at English I didn't notice how lacking my skills were. Back in the start it all sounded awesome to me (it sounds even better in French which is my third language).<br /><br />So. Yeah. You guys. I hate you for never making me see the truth. Now I've given up so much for this dream that I don't know how I'll manage to live without it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-89608782900198059892012-03-15T10:29:00.004+01:002012-03-15T10:45:20.451+01:00And I think she knows thatI bite my own hand to soothe the pain in my back. I realised that a few minutes ago, and I have no idea for how long I've done it. When the pain started with headaches, I used to sit through group meetings with my eyes closed and two fingers pressed against the root of my nose.<br /><br />I need my ways to cope. Physical discomfort has always been the best way to distract - whether it's the flu or pressing my nails into my flesh. Some days (alright, most days) I imagine myself taking a knife and stab myself in the back of my neck.<br /><br />Instead I get myself more chocolate, pour myself a cup of tea (if I'm not currently heat sensitive) and mutter to Mutant Cat who's curling up in my lap that she's in the way (even though I don't want her to move).Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-14836438949756490152012-01-19T07:00:00.001+01:002012-01-19T07:00:01.070+01:00What makes us ourselvesWe interpret things differently. This has become very clear to me the last months. First off, you need to know that <a href="http://tusenordmalin.blogspot.com/2011/10/irl-rant.html">I live in constant pain</a>. Constant, as in all the time. 24/7. So when I say "I'm alright" I mean "no worse than usual" - which includes being in pain, feeling nauseous, muscle weakness and difficulty focusing. When I say "not doing so good" it's a worse, want-to-stab-myself-in-the-neck or can-I-die-soon pain.<br /><br />People around me don't understand that. They see "alright" or "can't sleep" and they make comparisons to their own aches. And I want to slap them. Do they know how lucky they are? For one or a few days they're in pain and then they're not.<br /><br />I turn bitter. I wonder what right they have to complain. And I react in a way seemingly violent, seemingly illogical and irrational.<br /><br />And that's why your characters don't need to make sense - not to everyone else. As long as you know the reason behind their reactions, fine. Their personal problems and hang-ups make them themselves. It gives them personality and a life outside the pages. You might need to have them snap somewhere in the story or make a friend of theirs explain the situation to the main character. Or you can show these issues to the reader through internal 3rd person POV.<br /><br />Or maybe you don't mention it at all. The world is full of people we will never understand. It only makes sense if your main character encounters a few of those too.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-91348779148453838222011-12-29T16:22:00.004+01:002011-12-29T16:25:04.483+01:00Damn you, Janet Evanovich<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Normal tabell"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">A few times in your life you need to stop and re-evaluate your self image. You might realise that maybe that career in law isn’t what you want, or that pink isn’t your colour. I know – right now you’re thinking “but where’s the writing? Is this another depressing IRL post?” Don’t panic. Writing stuff will ensue.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I had one big “waaait a moment” feeling around the time I turned twenty and realised I was gay. I had never seen myself as gay. I figured I was incredibly picky with men. I didn’t know how it was supposed to feel. It was a difficult realisation to have, especially as I had missed out on all those pretty high school girls.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">The other big turn around was the other day when I picked up the books I had just bought and saw two more Janet Evanovich books. Suddenly I had to accept the fact that I gush all about them, that I can’t wait for the film to come out (One for the Money) and that I usually read them straight through in one day. I love them. They’re not the height of literature, a wonder in writing technique, full with deep thoughts or have a society-challenging plot. But they make me laugh. They make me want to buy a cookie jar. They even make me challenge my gayness because damn, that Joe Morelli is hot. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I’ve never seen myself as a romance/comedy/detective person. I’ve been into fantasy, science-fiction, high dramas. And you know what, I was wrong. I narrowed myself down and I have missed out for such a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">This is the reason you should never let anyone – least of all your own prejudice – put you in a box. When you read, try something new. When you write, try everything. Our hearts are better judges than our brains.</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-66917805407339363672011-12-18T07:51:00.003+01:002011-12-18T07:56:35.138+01:00Who Sees?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Normal tabell"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Are you wondering which Point of View (POV) you are using? Then the chance is high you’re using 3<sup>rd</sup> person limited – and you’re doing it wrong.</span></p><div> </div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I’ve <a href="http://tusenordmalin.blogspot.com/2010/10/me-and-myselves.html">talked about POV before</a> and this is a brief reminder. The question about point of view is simple – who is seeing the story unfold?</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">1<sup>st</sup> person – Who sees? I do.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">2<sup>nd</sup> person – Who sees? A narrator sees what <u>you do</u></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">3<sup>rd</sup> person limited – Who sees? The main character/s/ does</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">3<sup>rd</sup> person omniscient – Who sees? The narrator does</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Most people think they’re doing 3<sup>rd</sup> person omniscient – but they’re actually doing limited. Problem is that they’re doing it from everyone’s POV, at once. The rule is: Do not change POV within a scene. I know published authors do it, but I usually burn those books or feed them to the cat. </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">3<sup>rd</sup> person omniscient is a separate narrator. It can be the main character, but it’s a main character who sees herself differently (for example when looking back in time).</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Assignment – write a 200 word story in each POV. I’d love to see your results in the comment section. Let me know if you want me to correct them and I’ll do that too (if needed).</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-88889746249416866322011-12-06T18:53:00.005+01:002011-12-06T19:24:17.584+01:00I didn't even get euphoria<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Normal tabell"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">In my last post, I said it was 8 hours until I was getting my ass on an early plane home from this great vacation I had planned. Things had already gone awry and I was sad and ill. <span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Then my hunch proved true; my system crashed. If I hadn't decided to stay behind, I would have been in the middle of a national park, several days from the nearest city.</span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">The first thing to go from bad to worse wasn’t due to me being ill but a technical error.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I had begun the day with little sleep and not able to eat (like the previous 4 days of travel and stay in </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Darwin</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">). I waved my new friends goodbye – the worst part of going home was not to get to know them all better. I pack my bags, I get to the shuttle, I have a good time with the drivers, I arrive at the airport.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The lady at the check-in says I have to talk to the ticket office.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">She probably sees the alarm in my eyes because she assures me the booking looks fine. I move over to the ticket office, still alarmed. With all right. The Swedish company I booked with had not managed to create a ticket, and it’s the middle of the night in </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Sweden</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">. No help to find. I was not allowed on that flight. [Later on I learned that there was a technical error and the travel company repaid everything.]</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I booked another ticket for the same day and remained stubbornly at the tiny airport despite the twelve hours until my flight.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Then things started to get ugly</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">. I turn more nauseous, and also weak and shivering [later I learn they're convulsions, not shivers]. At this point I haven’t been sleeping or eating much for five days. The journey home will take more than 30 hours. I’m alone.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">The airport staff try to help me but I start throwing up and I feel even more woozy and weak. They get an ambulance to pick me up to make sure I'm fit to travel. I’m taken to the hospital, I wait, a bitchy nurse examines me, I wait, and then a young female doctor looks me over. She says the best thing is for me to get home (definitely true), gives me some strong painkillers and anti-nausea pills. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">By the way, have you ever noticed that ambulance people treat you like a person and everyone else at a hospital treats you as a patient? It’s a big difference.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">The painkillers have effect by the time I get back to the airport – the first time in ages I haven’t felt in pain. Unfortunately the tremors are still there, and so is the nausea. I hold out for some five hours, checking my luggage in, going through security check, sitting waiting and all that. The convulsions are by this time constant. It’s like the restless thing when you put your toes against the floor and you leg starts bouncing up and down – but all over my body. Finally, with the backdrop of a spectacular thunderstorm that I hardly notice, I throw up as I attempt my second dose of painkillers.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">It’s interesting how many people don’t notice that someone has thrown up all over themselves and are sitting bent over, quivering. Even when they walk right over the puddle on the carpet. And when guy next to me tries to get help, they said something about if I was at the airport, I was obviously well enough to fend for myself.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Finally one of the flight attendants take notice of my pathetic little self and gets me help. I think eight people were hovering above me at one point, getting info to find my luggage and my name to end my booking and my age for another ambulance.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">This time it takes much longer at the hospital. It’s in the middle of the night, so I’m sure they’re understaffed and there are a lot of people in the waiting room. But after the nurse has taken a look at me, they leave me there, on the plastic chairs. The only time they notice me is when I’ve laid down on the floor, my whole body twitching, because I felt so faint I was afraid to fall down. The nurses tell me to get up on the chairs; one isn’t allowed on the floors.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">There are lot of hurt and ill people passing through the emergency room in a hospital. I felt guilty for just being there, yet I'm sure they thought the same about me. Or maybe not. Apart from the twitching I might not have looked as lethally ill as I felt.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">At some point I'm given a shot of some still unknown substance. I don’t know how long it takes before they find me a bed (a gurney in the corridor). Then I lay there, twitching. It’s very unrestful to twitch uncontrollably. It’s in fact really scary.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I think a total of six hours pass before the doctor talks to me. He’s a young, Asian guy with dreadlocks gathered in a ponytail. (I'm not kidding you)<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I was not an easy patient. He said I had a panic attack, I didn’t believe him. At least not until he started explaining that he had had the same (maybe he lied, but it worked) and exactly what was going on in my body with the adrenalin going amok and how my brain didn’t need to be upset for a panic attack to happen. He refused to admit me to the hospital and gives me valium, which makes no difference. Another pill, stronger, takes effect and stops the convulsions. By this time I’m so heartily tired of hospitals and people not listening that I just obey when he says he doesn’t want me to stay in the hospital. I accept the sleeping pills and find the hostel where I had stayed earlier. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">For the first time in some five odd days, I sleep. I get six hours. The following two days are tainted with the odd side effects of dizziness, sleepiness (odd, eh?) and general hungoverness. The euphoria, one of the uncommon side effects, didn't show up. And the pills affected the libido negatively. What's with these drugs that are no fun? No fair at all.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">The first night (technically it's almost noon) is the only time the pills make me sleep, but those six hours are enough to get me through the 40 hour journey through </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Melbourne</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">, </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Hong Kong</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> and </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">London</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I arrive in Sweden much earlier than I was supposed and much later than I would have liked. But I am home, and there isn’t a better place in the world.</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-88194280102909954082011-11-30T19:13:00.004+01:002011-12-18T08:45:23.422+01:00Not always to planIn March I booked a trip to Australia and New Zeeland, 8 months in advance. It was the kind of trip where you go by bus everywhere and you sleep in tents. I was supposed to be away, having a great time, for two months. Hence the sekkrit in my last blog post.<br /><br />I lasted two days. Due to my <a href="http://tusenordmalin.blogspot.com/2011/10/irl-rant.html">illness</a>, my body crashed. I don't know exactly why but probably a mix of humidity, heat, jet lag, and stress (because even if it's fun, travelling includes so much impressions it's also a kind of stress). I know myself, and I have promised to start listening to my body. I know I don't recover easily from how I feel now, and I can feel that this trip is simply going to overload my system. So in approximately 8 hours, I'll be on a plane back home.<br /><br />I'm not going to tear myself apart over this. I see it as an experience - now I know I can't do long trips, neither in time or far away. It's something I had to learn by trying it. I don't want to give up on things in fear of what might happen, I want to try it and see. It just didn't turn out so good this time. Next time it might. Which is really what writing is about too, so I got to learn to accept my mistakes in that area too.<br /><br />Also on the plus side - I'm going to have a Swedish Christmas after all.<br /><br />Have you ever had something turn out quite differently from what you planned?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-1477438424085128812011-11-27T07:00:00.004+01:002011-11-27T07:00:01.677+01:00Heads up!I'm going to be offline for the coming two months and I'm going to let you know ALL about it - once I'm back home. So keep your eyes open in February.<br /><br />On the news front - yes, I did finish NaNoWriMo! And passed all my final exams!<br /><br /><br />Merry christmas (or whichever version you celebrate), happy new year and have a great time while I'm gone. Don't break the Internet.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-7333599545506401712011-11-26T07:00:00.000+01:002011-11-26T07:00:04.259+01:00NaNoPhoMo - a different challenge<span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">My NaNoPhoMo challenge. </span> <span style="" lang="EN-GB"><br /><br />Everyone knows that a photo is worth a thousand words so as NaNoWriMo is a challenge in writing 50 000 words, I changed it to be about 50 photos. Every motif should only occur once (but I cheated once due to awesomeness).<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0jTHqNgR5Ubd6lqAG8S6mU0gfs-sNewP-GqLLOrOCvo8rOaVKttTvHy3_XYZOwpc_OPjWG1wHqBDAUbDBCjbZn2iT_HAhTchQSHE3q8qv3mpLEa3nOU491Ne61L688_0fPM6l3ZehyA/s1600/Samlingsbild+2011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0jTHqNgR5Ubd6lqAG8S6mU0gfs-sNewP-GqLLOrOCvo8rOaVKttTvHy3_XYZOwpc_OPjWG1wHqBDAUbDBCjbZn2iT_HAhTchQSHE3q8qv3mpLEa3nOU491Ne61L688_0fPM6l3ZehyA/s400/Samlingsbild+2011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678896667925767138" border="0" /></a><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">In my collage, photos are numbered from left to right, up to down.</span><br /><br /><ol style="margin-top:0cm" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Autumn leaf on the hedge outside my apartment. I love the pattern of colours. Did you know leaves change colours because the chlorophyll (green colour) is pulled backed into the tree because it contains the vital nutrients nitrogen and magnesium? Carotene (yellow colour) is just carbon and hydrogen so the tree doesn’t bother reclaiming it.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">A Chinese fortune cookie which says “passionate new romance appears in your life when you least expect it”. It was a dinner with relatives and even my nephew’s first visit in a restaurant. </span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Blossoming flowers despite the late season! Seen in a flower bed on one of my many walks around the water tower.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Apple slices and the knife I used. Nom.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Two squirrels on each side of an evergreen tree. Photo taken in Vrinnevi-forest on one of my walks.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Fallen autumn leaves. There were so many of them I wanted to throw myself into the heap and roll around, but that would have ruined the nice display.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Reflections and shadows. A candle holder with mirror pieces on the outside threw reflections on the shelf.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Horse’s feet. The front legs of Steffie, one of my favourite horses at the riding school.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Aunt and nephew playing in grandma’s kitchen. He’s almost 14 months old and is already running around.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Warning sign at the dams telling people to watch out because the dam can open suddenly. No idea why anyone would decide to climb two fences and slip down the hatch to walk about beneath the dam.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Tea and biscotti, the cup was made by my ceramic skilled friend.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">A walkway under a road which I pass through to go to the grocery store. I often go buy food on evenings, alright?</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">A busy road late at night, taken with long exposure from a bridge.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Fil with raspberries and bananas.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Nephew playing “where is auntie?” with me at a playground.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Studying hard with a cup of tea at the only early-bird coffee house in town. Had been to Core-training right before (at </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">7am</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">).</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">An apartment complex being torn down to make room for parking lots or something. Sad to see it go because it lay in a very interesting angle. But the deconstruction bit was fantastic to view.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">A close up of the same apartment complex being torn down as in the photo before. Yes, I know I cheated from my rule of “motif only once” but it was so fantastic to look at!</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Sea gull in one of the central parks, right by the stream.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Nuthatch walking down a tree trunk (head first).</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Mist among trees. There are four “promenades” where I live, one each in north, south, west and east. This is one of them early in the morning.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Jumbled mess of spare parts and stuff in a mechanic shop where my dad works.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Words. Cut out pieces of a book from me making a bookshelf (from real books).</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Three generations of love. My dad and my nephew. Nephew with his mother’s hat on for cute-overload. Yes. He’s in my photos often, but they are all different!</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">My stats after a jogging spree. Tempo is 1 km per </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">6:22</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> min, I was out for 33 minutes and ran 5,2 km.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Bookshelf, made from actual books (see 23) with my DVDs in it.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">An eggtimer in my favourite style and colour. It matches everything in my kitchen perfectly.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Tea pot! Höganäs 1,5 litre with a metal strainer inside. Love the colour and the shape.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Keys in our new mail slots (outside! Where it’s COLD!). I won the red phone booth at a book launch for my incredible art skillz. (stop laughing)</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Tofflor – or slippers in English. I would never be able to survive without a pair.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Oak against sky at one dreary morning walk. Naked boughs against pale skies are very dramatic.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Graffiti, which I really like watching when it’s well made like this one. It’s from one of my longer walks, right before a railway bridge.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">School books (biology this time). I had three final exams to do in November and felt quite disgusted with it all.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Bunny! His name is Snakebite because he was supposed to be eaten, but the snake didn’t want him. He doesn’t like me petting him but he’s very curious.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">In a horse’s eye, you can see a lot of truths. Filur right after my class on him and he was quite spent the poor thing.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Moon on the morning sky, going from full to new.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Soccer game in the early morning with a loud coach and frozen looking parents.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Lussekatter (saffron buns) – newly baked by me and mom. A few out of a hundred.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">No plants are safe in my house. This one has lost most of its leaves and I threw it away a few days later when it kept suffering.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Blister. This is what happens when reins meet skin for an hour of dressage. It dried up and turned all brown after a few days.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Nose. My cat </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Selma</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> having hoarded the string of the camera.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Paw. My cat </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Selma</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">’s hind leg.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Candlelight. The background lights come from a set of garages that are right outside my window (yay for view).</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Christmas decorations in town, view from escalators.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Moccacino. Which is very much like a café latte with pieces of chocolate melting in the bottom. And they made a leaf in the foam!</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Eye. My cat </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Selma</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> (hey, the motif is different, just happen to come from the same cat).</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Basketsball court. Never seen anyone play here and the fence is always a little open. Feels very abandoned.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Decorative flowers outside an apartment complex with droplets from the morning mist hidden among the petals.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Torn out warning text from a pack of cigarettes lying among the dying leaves.</span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Seasonal rings telling the life of this tree in small sections, just like this collage showing my life throughout November.</span></li></ol>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-33335675217608624242011-11-01T17:25:00.003+01:002011-11-01T17:29:24.967+01:00NaNo - what?In Swedish we say "a beloved child has many names" and that's definitely true about NaNo - also called NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month. It's a writing challenge for everyone and anyone with one simple rule - write 50 000 words in one month. That month is November so if people are dropping off the grid all around you, NaNo might be the cause.<br /><br />I've "won" twice (aka I did write 50k) but this year a lot of things are conspiring against me managing to write in that speed. I'm still attempting, but I will not put my physical health on the line. If my body says stop, I'll stop.<br /><br />So, I've "come up with" (I wouldn't be surprised if other people have already arranged something similar) NaNoPhoMo: National November Photographing Month. As a picture says more than thousand words (my nickname is "thousand words" in Swedish after all), 50 photos in one month sounds like a reasonable alternative.<br /><br />My pledge for November is to take 50 photographs of different motives (1-2 per day) and make a huge, insane collage of all of them. I'll post it <a href="http://tusenord.deviantart.com/gallery/">here</a> the 26th of November (because I'll be halfway around the world that last weekend).<br /><br />Please let me know if you attempt something similar and I'll make sure to put up a post with links to everyone's collages.<br /><br /><br />To everyone already waist deep in plot holes and bunnies - good luck and don't panic.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-91707684538587211692011-10-24T22:49:00.006+02:002011-10-24T23:10:13.048+02:00Expectation vs outcome - the short versionOne of the many problems with writing is that you have this fantastic idea of how the story will turn out and how your characters will be. You can't wait to pull the images from your head onto the pages of your manuscript.<br /><br />A lot of the time, this is how it all works out:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq28N5hMwFSmFzVJzZzJ5XmcfV6AWbzB3NphLKLMkuY9aFBcyzsQeqvSvVwY-DaXYDjQvYk0Qq_GVETO_Kib4oruHTySCDzo6NL3b4zxOaNZdf7LSAo-eFEFJ2N-HVGHWce5F_G3mKgbY/s1600/BaksanningENG.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq28N5hMwFSmFzVJzZzJ5XmcfV6AWbzB3NphLKLMkuY9aFBcyzsQeqvSvVwY-DaXYDjQvYk0Qq_GVETO_Kib4oruHTySCDzo6NL3b4zxOaNZdf7LSAo-eFEFJ2N-HVGHWce5F_G3mKgbY/s320/BaksanningENG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667167134742241298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />At least they tasted delicious.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-23374447784262291682011-10-06T09:00:00.007+02:002011-12-18T08:08:06.222+01:00IRL / rantI vouced to myself to become more regular on this blog, to post something every Thursday. I had also vouched to never let this blog be a place where I complained or ranted about my personal problems.<br /><br />I'm going to break both those promises to myself.<br /><br />I've lived in pain for four years. It's not an excruciating kind of pain - maybe 1-5 on a scale of 10 - and it's not close to the very tangible problems of living with say lupus, migraines or fibromyalgi. It started as a headache and for the last years it's spread to my shoulders, back, and now recently my lower back. Doctors say it's psychosomatic, i.e. all in my head. They could be right because no one has found any fault with me, not that they've made much of an effort.<br /><br />The pain is there nevertheless.<br /><br />I found ways to deal. I can't take painkillers because 1) they make me addicted and 2) because they only help at the 'topmost' pain - it takes a 5 to a 2. I tried keeping super busy so I wouldn't have time to think about feeling crappy. That didn't work out very well. Now I try to afford a massage session once a week, I exercise a lot to improve my strength, I avoid heat (even sometimes tea) as it makes me collapse (literary), I take extra iron because it helps against the nausea and the dizziness.<br /><br />I've never had a fabulous self-confidence but I've effectively kept that voice down in the past. Unfortunately, when you spend all your energy on battling pain, there's not much left to lift yourself up.<br /><br />And people don't understand. When my sister spent her whole pregnancy feeling nauseous, family and friends asked her if she needed to lay down, if she thought she felt good enough to come along to family dinners etc. That's something people can relate to. They can't relate to being unable to actually focus your eyes on a face. They can't relate to how unbearable a small pressure in your head can become. How noise and talk sometimes help me, how other times it cuts hard. They can't relate to having a half cup of energy left, or how I can run 10km but only visit them for two hours. How horrid it is to stand in the warm drying room, reaching my arms over my head to hang laundry.<br /><br />I'm not saying this for pity. I'm not saying this because I want help. I'm saying it so you'll understand that if I suddenly go quiet, or don't write a blog post, or snap at you, then it's not your fault.<br /><br />And I'm hoping that you won't judge me too harshly. I'm not at my best at that moment. I know it's a poor excuse for being rude. I try to be better. I hope one day I will be better.<br /><br />Until then, I will take each hour as it comes. Step after step. And I hope I won't stand on too many toes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-56117233520814393582011-09-29T15:41:00.003+02:002011-12-18T08:06:36.175+01:00What? It's not obvious?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Normal tabell"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">An often repeated mistake writers do (even published ones) is info-dumping. You’ve heard all about that, I’m sure, so I’ll give some attention to the opposite problem. Fellow writer, reader and horse-rider MuseInks (check out <a href="http://museinks.blogspot.com/">her blog</a>) did me a favour and beta read one of my manuscripts.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Halfway through she asked me why my main character refused to turn to his family for help. I was taken aback; I thought it was obvious. I took a good look at my manuscript and realised that no, I had never truly explained it. I discussed the issue with another friend and come to an interesting understanding.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">The reason I hadn’t felt like I needed to go into depth about his reluctance was that he acted like I would have. My friend on the other hand would have immediately turned to her family in the same situation. I had been defeated by my own idea of <a href="http://tusenordmalin.blogspot.com/2010/07/characters-for-emotionally-stunted.html">substated facts</a>!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Our experiences change the way we view things. As writers we can’t know how the reader will interpret our characters and their actions. A reader who has had a family member suffering from cancer will be able to relate to My Sister’s Keeper on a different level than most. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">As writers we will need to compensate our readers’ “inexperience”. A word here, a memory there. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">It’s not easy to see through our own “blind spots”, the things that are so ingrained that we take them for granted. This is when a writer is blessed to have a beta reader or critter to point it out for them.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">For the times when you don’t have that handy beta reader around, make sure you have some kind of answer for every “why does she do that?” you can find in your story.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">What kind of blind spots have you experienced? Have you read a novel where you just couldn’t understand why the characters acted the way they did? Feel free to share your examples.</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-52119971616054994352011-09-23T15:03:00.006+02:002011-12-18T08:44:52.540+01:00That's it, I'm over you!I love writing - right now I just don't happen to like it very much.<br /><br />If you haven't had that feeling about writing yet, you haven't been writing for very long. But as a very wise person once said: "Don't Panic!" Even though a towel might be needed in these moments, the most important thing is a quote:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Doubts are okay.</span><br /><br />We all have them, in everything from how to spell "mischievious" (did I spell that right?) to how the cute barista in the local coffee shop might react when being asked out - by another woman.<br /><br />Writing is by essence something that doesn't easily relent to logic and reason: there are no ultimate right or wrong. We don't have a teacher that will stamp our manuscripts with APPROVED if we have managed to reach 50% correct answers. For me, this have a huge impact. I can't step back and think "but according to these standard, I'm good enough" which I can when it comes to schoolwork. I can't think "but they haven't fired me yet, so it must be fine" which I can at work. When it comes to writing, there is no APPROVED level. You are good and bad all at the same time, depending on who you compare yourself with and who is looking and how you interpret someone else's crit. This makes writers second-guess themselves a lot.<br /><br />To keep writing, we need our coping mechanisms. Mine might be a little louder than most people like. I whinge and act out, scribbling ferociously on Twitter or Facebook and let the world hear my pain. And I swear that this time it's over. That I'm not cut out for writing, that I will stop. Now. Forever. I will NEVER EVER write again. (I blame my father for my tendencies to act the martyr) And everytime I feel like this, I AM convinced I won't write again. Considering how often doubts overcome me, I should have learned that I won't quit. That there is never a last time. But in those hours, or days, I'm convinced it's the end. And you know what? That's okay.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Feeling doubts don't make you less of a writer.</span><br /><br />If you need to take a break, binge on pickles, kiss a random stranger, or tell yourself (and everyone else) that you will never EVER write again, then do that. I give you all permission to cope in whichever way that suits you. Because feeling bad for coping in the "wrong" way is not helping. Most helpful friends and strangers don't realise this. They try to convince you of better ways to feel and act. I understand their view, but more often than not, my doubts get worse. Which is why I write this:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Someone's way of coping with doubts doesn't separate a writer from a non-writer.</span><br /><br />In fact, the only thing that could stop you from being a writer is to no longer write.<br /><br />So how do you cope with your doubts? And should I ask that barista out?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-88272783586790691632011-05-21T21:13:00.002+02:002011-12-18T08:42:00.965+01:00A runner’s view - how do YOU write a novel?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Normal tabell"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I’m a runner – technically, I’m a jogger but running sounds more vigorous – and somehow my body and I always have the same conversation, no matter the distance I run or the speed. It goes like this:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I walk the first five minutes, to get the blood flowing.<br />My body: “It’s a bit chilly. We could pick up the pace.”<br />I say: “Wait a bit, it’s not long.”<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">We start jogging, my body is all happy and easy and it goes fine. Until we hit the first uphill.<br />Body: “This is harsh, man! You know how far it is? You really think we can do this?”<br />I say: “Yeah, it’s tough, but if it gets worse, we’ll just give up and go home. No harm done.” “Alright,” my body says, “let’s give it a try.”<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">We plough on, and it’s alright. We have reached about a third of the way and my body gives up a great sigh. “We’ve got nowhere! I’m exhausted! It can’t have reached only this short. We’re screwed. We can’t do it.” I give it a stern glare and say nothing. We continue.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Somehow it eases up, probably because we’ve gone downhill and the music was great. Then we hit two thirds of the way. My body gets real upset. “My tummy hurts! I’m nauseous. It’s frigging hot!” I grit my teeth: “It’s not going to get better if we stop. The faster we get home, the faster we can feel better.” My body grumbles.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">And then - there it is! - an opening among the trees, the end of the track! My body has a bounce in its step, a longer stride. It feels great! Why don’t we do this more often? We are almost at the end, and I clear my throat. “You know we’re going to jog home as well? It’s still some way to go.” My body takes the reminder in a stride. “Oh darn. It can’t be that bad though, we’ve gone so far already.” We can do it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">“My knee hurts!” it says suddenly. “And my ankle. This isn’t working. If we keep going, we’ll be MAIMED FOR LIFE.” I waver – it might be right. “It’s only happened like once,” I argue. “And usually it’s nothing – the odds are on our side. Besides, it’s hurt much worse before.” It’s true – it has. So we keep at it.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Then there it is. Home – in all its brick-clad wonderfulness. We run, faster, stronger, like we were real runners and could go for miles. We round corners like motorcycle riders. Then, the last stretch, 50 yards. We run, rush, dash. Release all that we had, which we never thought we would muster (even though we know we have before).</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">And it’s over. We’re home, we’re through, we’ve made it.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">I might have ended up with a dead bug in my bra, but it feels good. My body is excited, exhausted, exorcised (exercised with a vengeance!). I smile. “You did good,” I tell it. “You did fantastic. You’re the best.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">When it comes down to it, writing a novel is very similar. Don’t you think?</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-611237101324711595.post-42413787539256822122011-05-14T09:50:00.002+02:002011-05-14T09:52:28.553+02:00Why I writeBecause I've never been able to say it this clearly, and though it might not be true for everyone, it's definitely true for me:<br /><br />"A writer writes not because he is educated but because he is driven by the need to communicate. Behind the need to communicate is the need to share. Behind the need to share is the need to be understood. The writer wants to be understood much more than he wants to be respected or praised or even loved."<br />— Leo Rosten - American NovelistAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14869145555938203736noreply@blogger.com1