Living In The Smog

The smog will kill you if you don't rise above it.

Sometimes life can be tough. We get caught in the daily grind of living, making decisions that affect the rest of our life. Some of the decisions are good and some send us into a spin. Usually, the decisions that send us into a spin are the ones that have been blurred by stress and not taking the time to think the situation through.

I've suffered more than my share of making myself miserable because I did something without thinking. I brought my son up encouraging him to think, think, think about everything he does and before he says it. He does it all the time, somehow I don't always heed my own advice these days. Am I too busy, too lazy, too caught up in what others might say or have I lost some of the self-confidence I've had because of life's struggles? Possibly all of these.

During the last four months I've been on a journey of self discovery. I thought I knew myself pretty well. I've always had a sense of adventure and an insatiable curiosity about others' lives. Six months ago I was given the personal papers of a woman who died last December. I glanced at the contents of the boxes knowing I would get to them sometime soon. I've just completed my third book which is under consideration with a publisher as I write.

I'm about to move house again, so it's time I looked at that box. This week I sifted through the papers and the bits and pieces and found some interesting information. However, my head is in a space where I'm not thinking clearly. The person who gave me the boxes phoned me recently to say she was closing her second hand store and would I pass on the boxes to the historical society when I finished. Yes, I would do that. Aware of my fast approaching move, I picked up the phone to see where the historical society contact lived. Can you believe she lived across the street?

Deep inside of me I had doubt about giving the boxes back, but because I'm stressed at the moment, I ignored that feeling and thought the story wasn't interesting enough. Our son is visiting this weekend. I found a phone number on a loose piece of paper. He insisted I phone knowing my head wasn't clear. The person at the other end of the phone was the deceased woman's daughter. She gave me the contact name for a person in Mackay who has researched the deceased woman's husband's family.

Extraordinary! All the pieces of this story are coming together because my son insisted I stop a moment and think about what I'm doing. I thank him for his commitment to me and my career and his own career, and for seeing things that I can't because I'm caught in the smog of life.

Are you missing opportunities because you're living in the smog?

Accepting The Invitation

I like getting dinner invitations. It means I don't have to cook and I have company during dinner. Yay! But being the guest means you have to be an adventurous eater and have a sense of humour.

Many years ago when my husband was in the army one of his mates, Pebo invited me to dinner at his home with his wife, Cherry. Frank had been away for several weeks on exercise and I was in need of company. I accepted Pebo's invitation and I was excited about not having to eat on my own. I took wine to compliment the meal. When Frank is away I never cook a roast meal, so I thought about the lovely smells of a roast beef with baked potatoes, pumpkin, onion, carrots, peas and gravy. You know what I mean. I walked up the steps of Pebo and Cherry's home and sniffed the air. Nothing. Not one little whiff of the juicy roast I had expected. Okay, maybe it would be a BBQ steak or chicken. Mmm, nice. That was just as good as a roast.

I followed my hosts into the kitchen. Pebo took the wine and filled three glasses. Still no smells that would make my mouth water. Anyone who knows me, is amazed at how messy I am when I cook. No matter how hard I try I can't help getting food from one end of the kitchen to the other. Pebo's kitchen though, was spotless. So what was for dinner?

Pebo and his wife took me into the lounge room where we drank our wine and all the time I was wondering if I was supposed to bring the meal. I was so hungry my stomach growled loud enough for all to hear. Oh no, I got it wrong! With my face turning red, I asked if I'd made a mistake and was supposed to bring the food.

'Oh no,' Pebo said brightly. 'We're going out in sympathy with Frank, tonight.'

Call me stupid or whatever you like, but did that mean I wasn't eating tonight? Frank had told me there are times when the soldiers on exercise are so busy they don't get time to eat. Oh dear, I knew I should have stopped in my Saturday busyness to eat lunch. Whenever we had people over for dinner I cooked a special meal. Too bad, tonight I wasn't eating, so I gulped a few mouthfuls of wine instead. My head was already going dizzy.

Food that warms the heart.

'Does that mean we're not eating tonight?'

'No, Laura. I'll go and prepare it now,' Pebo said.

Oh good, food at last.

I took a few more sips of wine and within fifteen minutes, my head was spinning. Pebo came back into the room carrying three plates. I sniffed the air, still no nice aromas. Pebo had a smirk on his face and placed the three plates on the table. He called Cherry and me over. He stood behind a chair at the table gesturing for me to sit. To my horror, the food on the plate consisted of the army ration pack. This had to be a joke.

My fuzzy head fuelled my sense of humour and I sat down laughing. It wasn't until Pebo refilled the wine glasses, sat down and ate with gusto that I realised the dried biscuits, tinned bully beef, dried out cheese and macaroni on the plate in front of me was my dinner.

Pebo and Cherry chomped away as if they were eating the roast beef meal I had conjured up in my mind. I picked at the food and ate what I could. Pebo proudly told me he and Cherry often ate ration pack to identify with the soldiers out in the field. Identifying with my husband while he was in the field left a lot to be desired. I excused myself and went home.

Pebo and Cherry got posted soon after that and we never saw them again throughout Frank's army career, but it will be a meal I will never forget. Have you ever accepted a dinner invitation and it left you feeling less than satisfied or bewildered?

RWA 2012 Gold Coast Conference

Diamonds are forever

It's hard to believe it's only twelve days to the Romance Writers of Australia conference. If you're an aspiring writer it's worth your while taking time out to attend one of these conferences.

Here's what you'll gain:

• You'll meet lots of other writers at different points on their journey toward publication to share your highs and lows with.
• You'll meet multi-published authors who are more than willing to share their journey to publication with you.
• There are workshops to attend to gain valuable tools for the craft of writing that will make you a better writer so that you get closer to that elusive publication.
• You can pitch your completed novel to agents who are looking for the next bestselling auhor.
• You can pitch to publishers who are keen to sign up a deal with an exciting new writer.
• Make new friends and begin to build lifelong friendships.
• Attend plenary sessions presented by top selling authors who share their experiences on the road to publication and give tips to help you on your unique adventure.
• Meet other writers with whom you can swap manuscripts for critiquing and improve your craft.
• Meet other writers and just have fun.
• Come along to the Australian Romance Readers Association book signing. Buy great books and have them signed by the author.

Unfortunately ticket sales are closed, but you can come along to the book signing at QT in Surfers Paradise, Gold Coast on Friday, 17th August, 2012 at 4.30 pm.

The Diamonds Are Forever Conference is one not to be missed. See you there!

New Release - Web of Lies Cover

All the hard work of writing has been done. All the hard work of designing the cover has been done. Web of Lies will be released on 1st December, 2012. Throughout the next few months I'll share with you my inspiration for writing this novel.

Hope for tomorrow and begin the change you desire.

Taming the Boogieman

This is boogieman territory.

This morning I woke up at 2.10 with the feeling someone was in my bedroom with my husband and me. I could only think it had to be the boogieman!

Until then, I was warm and snug in bed and the night was quiet, too quiet. I climbed out of bed and went into the kitchen where the refrigerator hummed its happy tune telling the world it was contented because it had a full belly. In the lounge room the street light intruded into our home, thankfully. I didn't have to turn the light on and destroy my night vision. I stood in the dappled silver light and peered through the lacey curtains. No boogieman out there.

By now I'm wide awake, so I peer out all the windows and am pleased to see the world still out there with no alien critters creeping around. So what do I do now that I'm wide awake? I spy the ironing in a corner waiting patiently for attention. Ironing is something I didn't miss on our travels around Australia. However, my husband is now back at work, and I like to support him as main bread winner, so I take the ironing board out, and turn on the iron. Meanwhile, I still feel the boogieman is somewhere close to me.

I switch on the light but there's no boogieman standing next to me. If he is, I'm sure I would have let out a scream that would wake half the sleeping world. Perhaps, he didn't like ironing either.

I take a shirt from the pile of freshly laundered clothes and spread it across the ironing board. I lift the iron and I give the task of ironing this shirt my full attention. It's fluro orange with a reflective stripe around the middle. My husband's job is Environmental Health and Safety Office for a large company that supports the mines in Mackay. The heat and steam come from the iron under my hands and it moves effortlessly over the fabric. With each push of the iron the wrinkles disappear.

I often play games in my mind about putting myself in the minds of inanimate objects in this world. I pretend I'm the orange shirt. What does it feel like to be ironed in the dark, scarey, early hours of the morning?

Hot! Even though it's winter. The best thing about being ironed is that my wrinkles disappear leaving me smooth and radiant. I feel young and new again, although I am a little faded from sunbaking after a swim in the washing machine. I don't like hanging around in the dark cupboard with the boogieman, ruins my reputation. My colour though means I glow in the dark, to keep the you-know-who man away. The best thing I like about being me is when the cupboard door is opened I'm shining and ready to hug my wearer. There's nothing nicer than being wanted, able to protect and just be a brightness in this chaotic world.

After I iron the shirt, I hang it on the door knob and I feel safe for the first time since getting out of bed. That colour and the reflective strip is a beacon to the boogieman to beware, here lurks danger. I complete the ironing and climb back into bed. Perhaps ironing has its uses afterall - to keep the boogieman away.