Tuesday, May 7, 2013


I'm living with a monster. She is three feet tall and has hair like an eighties Pat Cash because I'm not allowed to brush it. But she has none of his other qualities. The monster would never win a tennis match. She is more likely to chase her opponent with her racket and then suddenly breakdown because the racket she's using is the wrong colour.

While I was writing this post, the monster unrolled a double roll of toilet paper, tore it into strips then screamed about how devastated she was that she couldn't put it back together. She then coloured her hands in green texta and proceeded to have an identity crisis, because she didn't like herself 'this way.'

"Which way?" I asked.
"Green." She whined.

I bit my tongue from saying, 'considering you're a monster, I think green suits you rather well.'

Writing has become increasingly difficult because I am constantly assaulted with end of the world scenarios like 'the block of cheese is too big' and 'the sticky tape isn't sticky anymore.' I have never been so tempted to hold someone's lips together to stop them from making noise. Because the monster is not talking or singing she is making noise. A incomprehensible racket that is uninterested in any audience participation.

Eek! Right now the monster is eyeing me suspiciously, her green texta-tinged lips set in a hard line. I better go!!

Yep, I'm living with a three year old.

Monday, May 6, 2013


For those of you who have read previous posts you would know that I am waiting on two prospects: One is a literary agency who requested my manuscript in January. Two is an open submission call I responded to from Harper Voyager (science fiction imprint of Harper Collins) in October.

Waiting game sucks, let's play Hungry, Hungry Hippos - Homer Simpson

It's a strange kind of limbo you're caught in, especially at this end when you know the answer must be coming soon. Or at least soon-ish. Because although I want to hear back from them, the answer could be 'no'. Then the fantasising about publishers and real, solid books made of cardboard and inky smelling paper disappears in one of those genie 'poofs!'.

I started staring at my inbox around three days before the three month mark, post submission. A week after that had passed I went back to my original emails and read what the agent wrote. It was something like 'please be advised, it will take us at least three months to read your submission...' AT LEAST?

You know I should have been devastated, disappointed or something but I was ok. I am one of the most impatient people on the planet. I bounce up and down and say now, is it now? I want it now!! So this has been a major education in patience and reigning myself in. I'm sure so many authors' fingers are itching to slam the keyboard with messages or nudges to agents. You have to wait. But that's not all you have to do. I'm suspending my pin, poised to pop my fantasies. And I am going to keep writing.