It’s an interesting event for a few reasons.  Why is it called skeleton when it takes a lot of guts to do it?  Perhaps it is named skeleton because those that sprint at a two-by-four plank of nothing, launch themselves head-first into a tunnel of slick ice and savage speed, only to travel upwards of 150,000 miles per hour with their FACE inches from the ice CANNOT HAVE ANY BRAINS.  Maybe its name will always be a bone of contention.

Whatever the case, these situations always make me question why people do things. I love to think about the why or the motivation behind choice.

A sporting event like the skeleton is probably easy to explain with a combination of adrenalin junkie, talent, will to win, wanting to try something different, the need to shear the face from the body …

What encourages a kid to want to skeleton in the first place?  Do they see it on the telly, yell out to mum or dad to ‘come and see this amazing sport’ and pester their parents to take them to training? In Alaska? Do they rock up at their local skeleton club and say ‘I would like to try the event where I sprint, lay down, travel at terrifyingly fast speeds while my nose is nearly grazing an ice inferno, break through the finish line, get up, pump the air, then do it all again’?

How does the adult get involved?  Is it a matter of (in Australia) getting the top off an old-fashioned Esky (car fridge), turning it upside down at the local reservoir and running to jump on your belly, sliding down the hill after 6 sausages and 3 beers?

The skeleton is quite thrilling to watch, and therein could lie the answer – it attracts amazing people who long to launch themselves down an ice corral and tell their tale at the bottom.

This line of questioning also happens when I consider other people’s occupations.  One that instantly comes to mind is that of the gastrointestinal specialist or a doctor of the Lower Passages of Preciousness.  I am an ardent admirer of a professional that chooses to look into Uranus as his/her career, but it interests me to know how they arrived at that idea in the first place.

Is it a calling?  Does one follow this particular path lest their life turn to shit?  Or specialize in this branch of medicine for fear of making an arse of themselves if they don’t?  I certainly know they have to be careful during a colonoscopy, because one false move with the instrument will rectum for life.

Stupid, infantile jokes aside, what draws a medical mind to the pursuit of probing colons, rectal passages and ani (anuses is correct, but not nearly as fun)?  I assume it is an intense interest in tight, dark crevices, wriggly-worm like structures and sulphuric perfume explosions?

Or not.

Does the specialist get home from work and, when asked what he/she has done today, elaborate on exploration of bowel and snaffling of polyp?  And – the question that really gets up my nose because I wonder if I have passed my gastrointestinal specialist in the supermarket – what happens when they meet a patient face to face (eas) at a party?  Does the patient feel a blush to his/her cheeks and worry that the specialist is thinking of  his/her other cheeks?

Of course, all of this is extremely unethical, could never happen, and is nonsense when we consider the type of wonderful people involved in this medical specialization.  As I stated at the onset, my admiration for these doctors is high, it’s simply the notion of selecting this career path as right for YOU that puzzles me.

Then there’s a political career (why?) a flight attendant (the turbulence, the terror) police force (the turbulence, the terror), a miner (the claustrophobia) a teacher (the turbulence, the terror) …

As we know, one woman’s trash (or job they couldn‘t imagine being in) is another’s treasure (dream job). Some of us are suited to working with waste, some with children, some with parliamentary matters, some with blood, some with words, some with paint and some with computers.

I still wouldn’t do the skeleton, but I could be convinced to prepare your butt cheeks for the camera ; )

*stops screaming*

The Carpet Whisperers are 78, have been married for 108 years, are parents to 6 kids, grandparents to umpteen young adults and great grand-folks to one.

Their names are Funky and Chicken and they live in a suburb called Hygiene Heights.  They have the capacity to drive people mad. They don’t mean to, it’s just they’re relatively cuckoo themselves.  They like to share, especially with their direct descendants.

Recently, a triple zero (911) call was made to emergency services from the phone of Funky and Chicken.  Chicken had been to her pantry to fossick for some cereal to feed her man Funky.  He’d been eating the same cereal for a couple of days, but that particular morning, as Chicken poured it into Funky’s bowl (he couldn’t do it himself.  He’s the man, ffs) Chicken found some weevils in the packet!

Chicken was mortified.  So was Funky.  To think that such pestilence existed in their pristine environment!  Didn’t matter that Old Man Funky might have ingested half a dozen weevils, adding to his fibre intake, over the last few days!

Oh no!  It was the fact such disgusting, dirty members of the environment lived inside their home that sent them into apoplexy!

Funky and Chicken’s children couldn’t believe it either.  They often wondered how anything could soil the surfaces of a shelf or cupboard or place-mat or towel rail or shower base or window sill long enough without being sprayed/Baygoned/Morteined/nuked/DDT’d to within an inch of its insecty, pitiful life.

It’s just that sanitized.

So, when Funky and Chicken announced they were laying carpet for the first time in 30 years, one child went overseas, another child moved to Footscray, one stayed in Queensland, another committed thyself to the mental health wing of a local hospital, one developed selective hearing problems, another went back to full time study and work … etc, etc.

On the eve of the 30 YO, daily vacuumed carpet’s upheaval, Chicken had a dream during a most fitful sleep.  She envisaged that the ‘carpet man’ came and pulled up their ‘revolting, hideously-stained’ carpet and that dust flew everywhere!  So much dust, in fact, that the neighbours in Hygiene Heights knew their carpet was gross and many developed asthma as a result.

Chicken’s nightscape involved so much horror about the next day, she woke in a cold sweat and immediately had to wake Funky, strip the bed, wash the underlay and turn the mattress to Summer Side Up.

The reality was far better than the nightmare, although Chicken does admit to vacuuming the old, rotten, deplorable, heinous carpet in the hour  prior to the carpet man coming to pull it up.  It’s best to be prepared.

Lucky, because when it was pulled up, the carpet man sought out Chicken (rocking worriedly under her line full of washing) and proclaimed that there was not a speck of dust under the entire matting through the house.  ’Did you wear out many vacuums on this carpet over the years?’  the carpet man asked of Chicken.

‘Oh nooooo,’ replied Chicken, coquettishly.

I wonder if you recognize The Carpet Whisperers in your own life?   They are people who won’t let you move a bookcase, lest you unpack the books in the wrong order and repack with frivolous lack of detail.  The interior of their drawers (not their undies or boxers, mind you) are so strictly aligned, it makes the wooden panel of the furniture look bowed.  The inside of their recycling bin (so it’s for the rubbish/trash/waste) looks like a stationary cupboard kept by a secretarial dictator.  Their surfaces gleam, their garden beds rock, their shoes repel mud and their clothing is better hung than a Playgirl model.

So their new carpet?  Yep, it’s a floor covering, but DO. NOT. WALK. ON. THAT!  Please.

King Pin of the Sapphire Scripting Team is nowhere to be found.  He’s had “enoooo of interviewin’” Rosie Jones about ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls.  He can’t think of “enuff times to bring ‘is own work into it, lass!” so he’s left his ‘orange boy/understudy writer’ Crappy in charge of completing the interview.

Rosie Jones is thrilled.  Finally, she can finish this interview, get back home and clean the house again.  Or is it cook dinner?  Or maybe ferry the kids to school, social occasions and after school activities?  Something like that.  She evidently doesn’t get out much!

*some mild novel spoilers contained in this interview*

♦♦♦♦♦♦

Crappy: Please let me know if you’re missing King Pin or Volare, Rosie.  I can always have them brought back into the interview, you know.

Volare:  (looks up from Sapphire Orifice) I’m still here!  I’ll have you BOTH know that I’m the only one in this room who knows the fate of Kate Girardi.  I can tell you like that (she clicks her python-like fingernails in the air) and you will both be spoiled about season 2.

Crappy: (doesn’t ignore her) That’s not actually true, Volare!  Rosie knows.  She knew before you.

Volare: Pfft.  Don’t go on with all that SHE CREATED YOU crap.  Look at her messy hair and crow’s feet.  She’s not the Lord herself!  Next she’ll be telling us she created Lady Ga Ga.

Rosie: (laughs) Well I didn’t do that. I wish I had.  She’s pretty awesome.

Volare: We’re going to invite her to guest star during season 2 of Sapphire. She will take over the role of resident bad guy, in place of the DarkDemon of Detroit.

Rosie: (concerned) Ah, no.  The DarkDemon of Detroit might have a continuing role, Volare.  BUT, I love the idea of writing The Ga Ga into the Sapphire script.  Leave that one with me.

Volare: (huffs) You have no say, Rosie Jones.  All you do is write The Fangirls Series!  When will you get it through your thick Australian head that you DO NOT WRITE Sapphire?

Rosie: Volare!  Darling Volare.  Sapphire IS part of The Fangirls series.  When are you going to start to—

Crappy: So Rosie?  I want to ask you about the theme of ‘ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls’.  There’s a recurring theme from the original, I found, and I wonder why you’ve touched on this element again.

Rosie: I guess there’s two recurring themes, Stewart.  There’s obsession, and this book attempts to present two extremes of obsession for a television show/TV star/rock band by looking at the two main fangirl characters.  Julia’s obsession is beyond anything we see with Dee or Maddie Rhodes.  Grace’s obsession is close, but falls within ‘normal’ range, while Julie REALLY struggles to disassociate the object of her obsessions — Peterson Collier as Davis Merrit — from real life people she might have met through the internet (like Dee).

Crappy: Does this happen in fandom?  Where a person could be so obsessed with a fictional character or an actor they hardly know that they can’t relate to a real person?  Even if that real person is inside their computer?

Rosie: It does happen.  There can be a ‘falling out’ of fandom friends because someone has said something about an actor.  So here, we see Dee inadvertently upset Julia by suggesting something about Peterson Collier.  Of course, Julia thinks the actor Peterson is a personal friend of hers, so she fights his battle for him and falls out with Dee.

Crappy: Has that happened to you in fandom?  Have you lost online friends because of what you’ve said about fictional characters and/or actors?

Rosie: Yes.  It does happen, especially when one is prone to having a large opinion and an even larger mouth.

Crappy: (laughs) The other recurring theme in the series is that of stalking.  Dealt with a little differently in ‘ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls’ compared to Grace’s stalking at the hands of her beloved neighbour (NOT) Hans?

Rosie: Yep.  Hans was used as the ‘neighbour who stalked’ to demonstrate that not all malignant forces are found online.  Sometimes we get paranoid that the people we meet inside our computer MIGHT be heinous freaks, but for Grace, that was MUCH closer to her home.  For Dee and Julia, well we realize something else again.

Crappy: Why did you use the theme of ’stalker, anonymity and deception’ again?

Rosie: To create total chaos for Dee and force her to change her life’s direction.  By comparison, Grace did not change ONE bit.  She simply used the situation to her advantage.  And the stalker theme is employed to flick out the nuances of Julia’s character.  I hope it works.

Crappy: I liked it.

Volare: I hated it.  She can’t write for shi—

Crappy: SO Rosie?  Where to from here?  Are you writing the next Deleted Scenes and the final novel of the series yet?  Or are you doing something different.

Rosie: (in love with Crappy Writer because he is so interested in her favourite topic: HER) Having a break from Fangirls, Stewart.  Writing a very local TV pilot that I hope my niece will help pitch — she’s a freelance production specialist — and another novel at the moment unrelated to online life.

Crappy: Okay.  Sounds like you’re busy.  Good luck with finding an agent …

Volare: Finding an agent!  You’ve gotta be kidding me! I was the one who offered to help you with that. I’m a leading US publicist, with contacts as far-reaching as you’ve had bad hair days!

Rosie: Thanks, but no thanks, Volare.  We couldn’t work together.  You’d get too far inside my head …

And on that unusual note, the Fangirl Series interviews are completed (for the time being).  If you’d like to meet these characters in more detail, please purchase the books through Lulu or Amazon.

It happened between interview segments ~

After admitting that he read ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls, King Pin was confronted by his egocentric lover – publicist, Volare Putkin – and belittled.  King Pin had tried to interview Rosie Jones at the end of last session, only to be told in no uncertain terms that he was coming on to the writer and ignoring Volare!

We all know this is not true.  However, it gave Volare the chance to conduct this part of the interview on her own terms.  It also allowed her to introduce Stewart (Crappy Writer) to the mix, hoping to attract his attention to everything awesome about the commanding Volare Putkin.

Alas!  Water-boy script writer, Stewart, is interested in other things:

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Crappy: Nice to finally meet you face-to-face, Rosie.  Thanks for including me in The Deleted Scenes, and I’m hoping you might like to extend my character in the next installment?

He’s youthful, handsome and hopeful.  Everything Rosie loves in a character, and the perfect foil for the deluded (but I am real) characters of Volare and King Pin.

Rosie: Thanks Stewart.  You never know where you’ll turn up next.  Have you seen some of my older stories in LiveJournal.

Crappy and Rosie share a smile and a chuckle.  Volare looks up from working on her website – Sapphire Orifice – and snarls.

Volare: Don’t know what you two are planning, but if Stewart is included in the writing team, then it will only be at the say-so of KP and me.  I rule King Pin.

Crappy (still smiling): So?  How does ‘ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls’ differ from the original ‘Fangirls!!!!!!’ They are both novels about women fangirling the fictitious TV show Sapphire and both set in Season 1 of the that program.

Rosie (beaming): ‘The Northern Fangirls‘ is set in Britain, North America and Europe – of course, Sapphire is filmed in Boston – while Fangirls!!!!!! introduced two Aussie fans, Grace and Maddie.  The latest book looks at the theme of ‘obsession’ from a slightly different aspect, I think.  We see Dee completely interested and in love with Sapphire, its characters and plot, but she has so many distractions in her real life, that she is able to gain some perspective.

Crappy: Would you say that Dee was similar, in that way, to Maddie Rhodes?  Obsessed with Sapphire, but on, perhaps, a lesser level than Grace, Julia, Sam and Lou-Anne?

Volare: This is bullshit!  I rule these people. It might surprise you, Stewart and Rosie, that I troll these openbook users journals.  I know Sam, Grace, Maddie, Lou-Anne, Julia.  So boring!

Rosie (ignores her): If Dee is similar to anyone, it would be Maddie Rhodes, and perhaps that’s why they are friends?  They have a friendship beyond the bounds of Sapphire obsession and fanfic?  However, Dee brings more of a strain – and more complexity – into her life.  She is bound by manners, academia, hurt, finding herself single for the first time in a few years, living alone . . . and we find her vulnerable in other ways too.

Crappy: Right.  If anything, I think we see more growth and development with Dee, because of her online and bandom experience, than with Grace or Maddie.  I felt we got to know her a little better.  Grace was always so into her writing and her ship.  Maddie was in the early throes of a relationship with Rochester and there was the excitement of Singapore for those two characters.

Rosie: Yes.  There’s no Singapore for Dee, she has to confront things on the home front, realize people in the spotlight mightn’t be all they seem AND she is a little isolated from the other fangirls in America and Australia.  She bumbles about her life.  She’s at that age, too, where she is perceived to have everything – part time job in her professed area of strength, academic kudos in a little known field, a defacto relationship with a boy she had known forever.  Then everything changes.

Volare: I hate Dee!  I hate her screen name of standbyme, her gonadic attempts at fanfic in between insipid openbook entries about her real life.  Who the hell cares!

Crappy: (ignores her) Before we talk about Julia – Sapphy11 – I really need to ask this question.  Is there any truth to the rumour that you have based openbook on Livejournal, Sapphire on Prison Break and members of the Sapphire fandom on people you met through the PB fandom.

Rosie: Hmm.  Nope. Not really.  I like to think of the characters as composite – you know, a little of you, a little of me. For instance, the character of jemima_jones (real life name is Allison Donald) is an expat living in Kuala Lumpur.  She is a mad, mad Jamieson Trelor/Kate Girardi shipper.  She writes romantic fanfic that links the two main characters of Sapphire in love stories and she cannot BEAR the notion that others (for instance, Julia aka: Sapphy11) might pen stories about Davis Merrit/Kate Girardi.  She is a very popular fanfic writer and she only writes Jamieson/Kate ship stories.  Now, a couple of people might think jemima_jones is  representative of someone writing only Michael/Sara fanfic in PB.  In fact, some of jemima_jones’ lifestyle and habits are derived from my sister living in Asia, other aspects are taken from fanficcers I have met online . . .

Crappy: In short, the characters are composed of many different facets of personalities.

Rosie: I love you Stewart Crappy Writer.  YOU are right!  Some people thought I was Grace.  Whereas I really write Volare based on myself (winks!)

Volare is not even listening.  She is surfing openbook and creating “OMG, KATE GIRARDI IS DEAD” icons to stir up the fangirls and fanboys about season 2 and Kate Girardi’s possible demise.

Rosie (continues): openbook is an online journal.  Very similar in process to LiveJournal, yep. Sapphire is a cop-legal drama starring hawt, hot actors. Prison Break also had hawt, hot actors.  (shrugs)  Certainly not based on it, though.

Crappy (looking at the time): We might talk about Julia next time.  Oh, and Lou-Anne.  But, but, but….I have to know NOW, Rosie!  IS KATE GIRARDI DEAD AT THE END OF SEASON 1?  Has the DarkDemon of Detroit killed her dead in the most horrible, mutilating way possible?  (whispers) And is her maybe-death a result of Volare Putkin hating Ella Stuart Cartwright, the gorgeous girl who plays Kate Girardi?

Volare: I can’t lie.  I’m not a huge fan of Ella Stuart Cartwright or her character, Kate Girardi.

Crappy (ignores her): Please, please tell us!  Does Kate Girardi die?  Will fangirls and fanboys of the Jamieson/Kate ship be shattered?

Rosie: I can’t tell you that, Stewart!  That’s a huge spoiler!  All I can say is, if you’re interested, buy the book.  You never know what will happen.

And on that note, the penultimate stage of the interview concludes with a reminder that the ENTIRE Fangirl series is available to purchase, 24/7, in any country of the world.  Be part of a cult before the books fade into twilight.

cross posted to LiveJournal

Unbeknownst to them, Volare and King Pin are fictional characters appearing in the second book – a novella of deleted scenes – and the television program for which they work (Sapphire) is also completely made up.  They’re quite deluded.  They can be entertaining in small doses if you can understand King Pin’s thick Scottish brogue (which he emphasizes for effect) and suffer Volare Putkin’s super-sized opinion of her own awesomeness.

Here, Rosie Jones attempts to redirect the conversation towards the story about Fangirls.  She tries.  Getting around the Putkin ego and the King Pin innuendo is a publishing feat in itself.

Remember, if you want to buy any of the books, you can shop online starting with the original.

It is my pleasure to announce the winner of  the  ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls competition.  It is IRENE!  As the lucky competition winner, you will have the new novel zoomed out very soon.  Thank you to all who entered and congrats Irene!  If you could please contact me on fangirlsingstheblues@gmail.com, I will finalize all the details.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Volare Putkin: Sweetie!  Last time we covered your need for a makeover and publicity come next book release.  I see you’ve made a start!  Taken some tweezers to that mono-brow and washed some of that grey outta your head?  Go, you!

Rosie Jones: That’s right, Volare.  I’d appreciate if we could talk about the story rather than my appearance.  I know your field is publicity, but this interview isn’t on webcam.

Volare: (whispers loudly) Thank God.

King Pin: On puss!  Give the lass a chance!  Snowball’s chance in a vat o’ single malt o’ Rosie ever lookin’ as hot as uz.  Lookit me.  Natural born sex on stick.

Volare: (snarkily) Only because you have the best publicist working with you, baby.

King Pin: (leery) Aye.  Working wif me, working on me, working around me—

RJ: (desperately)  The book, please?  Anyone here even interested in the story?

King Pin: It’s her bloggo!  We prolly should chat book.  Ya noooo I’m writin’ one, gels?

RJ: (losing patience)  I’m actually really happy with the way ‘ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls’ has turned out.  It was nice to introduce two more main characters and two or three minor ones.  I think my favourite character is Dee in London.  She loves bandom as well as Sapphire fandom.

King Pin: Wha’ the bleedin’ ‘ell is BANDOM?

RJ: (buoyed by the interest)  It’s the obsessional love of a rock band or singer.  Dee’s in love with the Cavemen of Dorris.

Volare: Who?  And voilà Volare! I disliked the character of Dee so much.  She’s a whiny biatch.

RJ: I thought you hadn’t read it, Volare?  Only scanned it for your own name?

Volare: Stewart has read it – you know the newest Sapphire writer?

King Pin: God save Glasgow!  HIM?  Ya nooo wha’ I call him behoond his back, lass?

RJ: (downhearted)  So Stewart didn’t like Dee Henderson?

King Pin: I call him Crappy Writer.  The lad’s pens like a load of shite.

Volare: Sweetheart, fluffhead, darling!  Stewart loved Dee Henderson, but I don’t love Stewart.  I can’t like Dee via association.

RJ (muttering) Oh, for fu—

Volare: But during the scan of the novel, I did like the vibe of Julia.  And I like the idea of Lou-Anne as carolnavaho. Do you want to talk about Julia?  Do you want to compare Julia and Dee?

RJ: Finally!  Without giving too much of the story away, Julia and Dee fangirl the same character and actor in Sapphire, but with a very different intensity.  They LOVE Davis Merrit the character played by Peterson Collier the actor.  This draws them together somewhat because Peterson’s Davis Merrit is a secondary actor/character to Jake Sullivan’s Jamieson Trelor.\

King Pin: We get tha’ lass.  We work with bof Peterson an’ Jake.  I dooner like the lass, Julia.  I like me some Dee.  Pity she’s from south o’ the border.  Gets sum sense at the end, tho’.  Don’t she, lass?

RJ: (elated)  You’ve read it, King Pin?  You’ve read ‘ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls?’

Volare: Ever since you mentioned something about creating us, King Pin has been taking your new book to bed with us.  He’s not happy we’re not in it, but he seems to laugh, sweetie!  That, or wanna have sex.

King Pin: Well, I be in bed with you, puss.  Whaddya expect?  (To Rosie:) Las’ time, you said somepin abooot the characters bein’ different.  Okay.  Let’s start wif Julia and Dee.  Next time, we coulda talk booot Grace and Maddie tooooo.

RJ (excited)  Oh, really?  How fantastic.  Could we also talk about themes?  I need to talk about some situations and why I have used them.

Volare (looking at her watch) Do we have to?  Egads are about to hit the gonads, Rosie, so get to it:

RJ: Julia and Dee are at different stages of their lives.  Julia is married with umpteen kids, a travelling husband and ample time on her hands to fangirl due to being financially comfortable.  She has a full-time nanny (not played by Fran Drescher!) and lives in luxury.

King Pin: Who?  Wha?

RJ: Dee is recovering from the departure of her live-in boyfriend.  She goes out with her school friends, works part time and is muffling her way through her thesis for PhD.  She’s a fangirl of Sapphire — loves the entire cast — but especially Peterson Collier, Jake Sullivan and Ella Stuart Cartwright.

Volare: That’s it!  Time’s up for today, Rosie of the Mono Brow.

RJ: You don’t like me mentioning Ella Stuart Cartwright, do you?

Volare: (tuts) She’s a pawn, to be moved on my chessboard of publicity and Sapphire dominance.  Oh, and Pookeh here (jabs King Pin in his toupee).

RJ: You really dislike her, doncha?

Volare: And how would you know that?  Have you spoken to Ella recently?

RJ: No.  But I created you all.  Even the cast of Sapphire. I know about your feelings for ESC because I invented them!

As the interview comes to a close, King Pin looks at the ground to avoid Rosie’s eyes and Volare flounces out of the room muttering something about ‘most writers being nuts.’  Stay tuned for the next part of the interview, coming to a split personality near YOU.

cross posted to LJ

Thankfully, I didn’t ‘bump’ into anything else.  Twas driving at the time.

When I started singing along to Michael Bublé’s Still Haven’t Met You Yet rather than belt out the latest by Fall Out Boy or Beyonce and The Ga Ga, it struck me.  My eclectic musical tastes were showing their age! Then Pop Jones said ‘I really like this song, mum,’ and it made me feel a little better.  Sure, she’s only turning 7 next month, but she’s a groover and shaker.

Later, someone revealed that La Bublé’s song was an (unofficial) theme tune for those undergoing IVF treatment, and any worry I was embracing popular music for the middle-aged fell away.  Listening to the song again and reading the lyrics, my heart did that little thing it does when something so beautiful happens – you know?  That ping? When you feel you can’t swallow with emotion and there’s a little flutter?

Okay, so that might only happen to me!

Still, the song is fantastic as an inspiring theme for people around the world who confront issues with fertility.  It’s upbeat and hopeful.  It’s poignant with tentative anticipation, but confident and positive in tone.  It’s almost ‘well I’ll leave everything in the hands of fate, because what will happen is meant to happen.’ In time.

And it’s edged with token sadness because he still hasn’t ‘met you yet’.

Dedicated to those facing the struggles in this life  . . .

I’m Not Surprised

Not Everything Lasts

I’ve Broken My Heart So Many Times,

I Stop Keeping Track.

Talk Myself In

I Talk Myself Out

I Get All Worked Up

And Then I Let Myself Down.

I Tried So Very Hard Not To Loose It

I Came Up With A Million Excuses

I Thought I Thought Of Every Possibility

And I Know Someday That It’ll All Turn Out

You’ll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out

And I Promise You Kid That I’ll Give So Much More Than I Get

I Just Haven’t Met You Yet

Mmmmm ….

I Might Have To Wait

I’ll Never Give Up

I Guess It’s Half Timing

And The Other Half’s Luck

Wherever You Are

Whenever It’s Right

You Come Out Of Nowhere And Into My Life

And I Know That We Can Be So Amazing

And Baby Your Love Is Gonna Change Me

And Now I Can See Every Possibility

Mmmmm ……

And Somehow I Know That It Will All Turn Out

And You’ll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out

And I Promise You Kid I’ll Give So Much More Than I Get

I Just Haven’t Met You Yet

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Volare: All of this tedious interview who-ha is absolutely beneath me, but when some of my colleagues at Splenic Studios (where Sapphire is filmed) suggested I do some charitable works during season 1 hiatus, I chose this.  It was either adopt a pod of dolphins and sponsor every mile they swim, cut off ten strands of my hair and send it to weave a ‘ho-hair duvet for the needy in cold countries’ OR interview an Australian author.  So here I am.

King Pin of the Scripting Team: Ya nooooo I’m ‘ere too, Puss.  Whenever there be an interview with writing lassies, I’m here. ‘Though I dooner nooo whether ye can call yeself a real writer if ye be self-published.  Oh, and an Aussie to boot.  Dooner know if ye be welcome in our writing team, wee one, but here we are.  Interviewing me, with your input for some reason!

Rosie Jones: Thanks so much for the warm welcome, Volare and King Pin.  It’s lovely to be here.

Volare: Well it is your pathetically small blog, and this interview contributes to my yearly tally of points for ‘being the better me.’  Firstly, I need to say that you could do with a publicist yourself, Ms Jones.  Um, I’m just looking at the back cover photo of your face and I’ve gotta say the egads! hit the gonads there!  Do you even brush your hair?

RJ: Not as a rule.

King Pin: I dooner have to.  I have a hair piece- 2009 gelatine edition.  I like to put it on tho bed post, don’ I, puss?

Volare: (ignoring him) Rosie, if you took some time and actually paid attention to your dermis and bush of hair on head, you would have an acceptable back cover picture.  I can help you with this, sweetie.  I think it might contribute to my ‘better me’ points bonus.  And having the book cover hide your face?  If you’re embarrassed about your aging looks, I have a fabulous boxotologist, Ernie.  He could work wonders.

King Pin: I have no bin to Ernie.  He’d try to mojo my writing skills.  Blunt my pen, yooo nooo?

RJ: (ignores him)  Thanks Volare, but the pics of me on the cover serve a couple of purposes.  They are a bit ‘fun’ – I thought so anyway, and they show the cover of the book previous in the series.  Just a bit of a gimmick.

Volare: (tutters) Well, this ‘gimmick’, you say?  It’s not helping the popularity of the books, none.

King Pin: Oh, puss.  Tat’s too harsh, lass.  Rose-bud is tryin’.  She’s just a bit pat’etic!  Noooo, if it twas me, I’d screw me way to the top.  It’s easy done, Rose-bud.  Jus’ find a blind agent and suggest a bit of ‘porkin’ for publicity!’

RJ: It’s not my style.  I’d like to talk about the characters and the story rather than offer sexual favours to someone with visual disabilities to promote the books.

Volare: (sighs)  Pffft.  Ignore Pookeh.  He’s been in the industry too long and thinks everything revolves around favours. Whereas I know everything revolves around me. I’d like to help you promote your book, but you need a makeover, sweetheart.  Until you do something about that hair, those facial skin imperfections, I don’t know how to take you that one step further.

RJ: I’m not looking at that, thanks anyway, Volare.  You’re used to working with people of perfect complexion and hair – like Jake Sullivan, Ella Stuart Cartwright, Peterson Collier.  I prefer to reveal the magic of words rather than promote my physical self.

King Pin: Tat’s bleedin’ lucky lass.  (laughs)

RJ: Oh King Pin.  Don’t be so confident.  I’m the only one that knows what’s going on under that fugly toupee and behind that cut-pumpkin mouth, boy.  Be very careful what you say.  You might end up in my next novel.

Volare: (interrupting) Speaking of which, Rosie.  Why aren’t we IN your latest novel, ‘ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls’?   We’re mentioned, right, but not up-front and centre.  I need to tell you I’m put out, babe.  I expected more.

RJ: So you’ve read it?

Volare: (smiling like she’s just manipulated Ella Stuart Cartwright or trolled in ColossalSam’s journal) I got the junior writer, Stewart, to word scan the print.  I haven’t read it.  It’s too much about ordinary people.  Where’s the glamour in that, bb?

King Pin: Yeah, but ordinary folk that luv our show, yanno!

RJ: (to King Pin)  That’s the main idea, Pookeh.  To show how ‘normal’ folk can get caught up online, form their own community, make friends, get bullied, met odd people, attract stalkers, interact with other ‘ordinary’ members of the world.  It’s what Fangirls (the series, not the saga) is trying to emphasize.

Volare: All sounds a bit too mundane for me.  I prefer to troll in openbook or mix with the glamouratzi.  But I think you know that (winks at RJ)

RJ: Of course I do!  I created you, remember?

Volare and King Pin exchange looks of disbelief and consternation.  There’s a pause in proceedings, after which Volare announces to her new favourite pet Stewart (aka Crappy Writer) that she needs a break and a plump to her facial capillaries via Ernie.  They will be back with Rosie Jones very soon to cover the message of the Fangirl series, the use of online groups as a microcosm for real life and the subtle differences of personalities between the five main women that fangirl Sapphire.

Or maybe they will talk about hair, skin and publicity.  Stay tuned for the next installment.

‘ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls’ is for sale NOW.  The other books in the series have been for sale for the better part of a year.  Volare Putkin and King Pin appear courtesy of Splenic Studio and ‘Fangirls: The Deleted Scenes‘

The competition to win a free copy of ‘ZOMG! The Northern Fangirls!’ is coming to a close.  Enter here, to still have a chance.

Cross-posted to LiveJournal.

I got a gob-full from a stranger today.  Told-off, reprimanded, rebuked.  You know the drill, but the awful part is that I was entirely in the wrong.

The gob-full was thoroughly deserved.

Doesn’t make it any easier to take, though.  I wonder if you know what I mean and whether being reprimanded takes you back to childhood days?  It does to me, and this might be what is referred to as ‘retreating to a default behaviour’ in specific situations.

Hard to believe, but I was censured a lot as a child.  I was a ‘hyper’ kid, into everything and had mountains of unrestrained energy. I was often in a bit of trouble, so had the regular ticking off as part of my average day.  It used to make me sad (initially) but then if it was a prolonged gob-full, followed by some sarcasm or teasing, it invariably made me mad.

Like seeing red, flashes of white, teeth-clenching anger.

So, the 2010 version?   Well, we adopted a dog recently and have been attempting to train him.  He’s a 10-month old bitser (aka, cross-breed), knee-high mutt, who didn’t even know how to ’sit’ when he came to live with us.  Let’s call him Effing Jones.  He’s hard work, but he’s a pup.  Pop Jones adores him, Pip is not so sure, and Mac and I wander between awwwww what a nice puppy, to OMFG, this effing dog has dug up that rose bush I inherited from a bud off the First Fleet and transplanted to Capt. Arthur Phillip’s house in Botany Bay!

If you have a pet, you probably get the idea.

On his regular walks, Effing and I practise the skill of ‘being’ off-leash and returning to the human (today, that was me) when called, for a pat and a schmacko ®.  He’s not great at it, but he’s getting better.  It’s like he’s not great at ignoring the washing flapping on the line, but he is getting better.

I choose a quiet place near our home that has cleared bush on both sides of a shared bike/walking/dogs on lead trail.  With the distraction of neighbourhood dogs barking (their houses back onto the track), occasional bikes and pedestrians wandering past, I think Effing gets what he needs.

The thing is, he’s not great with the recall (to me) when he’s distracted by other fun things (dogs behind fences to bark with) *see ‘not great with‘ points above.*  Unfortunately, the track was not deserted this morning, and I went to put Effing back on his lead when I saw a walker wander towards us.

This walker – bless his cotton-picking heart – was about 50 metres away when I realized I had NO chance of recalling Effing by the time they would cross paths.  I called out to the walker that ‘I was sorry, my dog has gotten away from me.  He is friendly and I’m really sorry,’ but the walker did not acknowledge me.  Nor did he stop.

In fact, he was (rightfully) furious.  Stupidly, I thought he was smiling as he stalked towards me, telling Effing Jones to ‘piss off’ when the mutt (wot I want to disown) bounded around him.

NOW, to be totally fair, I didn’t know this charming man.  He may have been attacked by a dog when he was little, he may have suffered some sort of animal-related tragedy, or he may have a history of simply being rude and NEVER having made a mistake in his life . . . but the effing dog WOULD NOT come back, I was smiling and apologizing, I was saying ‘I’m SO sorry’ . . .

and then,

Bloody hell!  Swearing ahead!

‘What the fuck?  Call your dog back!  Don’t you read signs, this dog should be on a leash!’

Me: (so in the wrong, I wanted to seep into the dry soil)  I know.  I’m sorry, we were practising some training and-

‘Well it’s fucking not working!  What about that sign back there?  The one that says dogs shouldn’t be off lead within 5 metres of the path?’

Me: (I know that sign, but technically, from the way I enter the track, it’s not THERE.  I didn’t mention that.  I was mortified AND Effing STILL wasn’t on his leash!)  Yes, I realize.  I’m very sorry.

‘You know?  You fucking people are a disgrace.  You have no idea!  There’s a sign!  Don’t you read?’

Me: (STILL trying to get that freaking dog on it’s lead.  Effing seemed to delight in the game of ‘my owner is getting berated’.  I wanted to crawl into the ground and hide.  I wanted to KILL the effing dog).  Well, yes I do read, but-

And then I thought he had finished because he took two steps onward and put his iPod back in.  He was probably listening to fightin’ music.  I was just about to proceed in an attempt to catch the dog and run home, race inside, lock door and put a pillow over my ears, when:

‘You know wot?’  (He was a Brit, not that this makes any difference.  He was disheveled, middle aged, capped, angry, sweaty and still walking away.  But his voice was raised that much higher)  ’I'm fucking glad there were no children on this track.  Your dog might have run up to one and killed it.  Then it would be on your fucking conscience.  Forever.  Just because you didn’t read a fucking sign!’

Me: (Okay.  At this point, I was almost beside myself.  My heart-sorrow-guilt default had turned into the Family Monster of FURY! Now, not only did I want to kill the dog, I also wanted to kill this man.  This charming man.)

‘Okay!  Thank you!’

That was all I said.  Oh-kay? Thank you? FFS, what sort of response is THAT?  What I wanted – desperately needed – to say was: I know I’m in the wrong.  I am sorry.  We all make mistakes and I know Effing Jones might have given you a fright, but there is no need to be so rude.  So abusive.  In the same situation, I may have reacted angrily too, but once it was sorted out, I wouldn’t have given the “YOUR DOG MIGHT KILL A CHILD ONE DAY” speech.  Even though, in a fatalistic sense of the word, that might be true,and this is why laws are made.  Did I mention I was sorry?  . . .

I was livid.  Yep, I absolutely deserved to be dressed down, but sometimes a gob-full from a stranger is worse than the action preceding the rebuke!

Moral of the story:  Every dog has his/her day, but bitches come in all shapes and sizes!

♣♣♣♣♣♣♣

Announcing the release of the latest novel by Rosie Jones.  It’s called ‘ZOMG: The Northern Fangirls’.  To be in the running for a shipped direct-to-your-door copy, click HERE.   No stranger has been abused, nor dog let off its lead in the writing of this story.

Loving unconditionally involves letting go of strict standards and embracing the absurdity of life and human nature.  It’s about accepting someone regardless of how you feel on any given day.  It’s like exposing your vulnerabilities and not giving a hoot what other people think about yourself and the object of your unconditional love.

Welcome to St Valentine’s Day.

Falling in love is like bungee jumping into a cloud of fluff and fun and a bluster of physical, carnal responses.  It’s like NO ONE has ever felt the way you are feeling before – because if they had, why hadn’t you known about it sooner. Falling in love is like being pushed to the precipice of a roller coaster, feeling your insides squirm, your erogenous zones twinkle with glee and believing that NO ONE has ever felt this way before!

Especially not your parents, because ewwwww.

Falling in love is like estrogen, testosterone and Love Hormone Number 1 have coated all your senses and suddenly you can see, hear and taste with amazing zing. NO ONE has ever felt like this, your body screams to you, and you believe it.

Falling in love is like breathing in rubber and expelling puffs of goo, but as long as your beloved is inside your space, you’ll be fine.  He/she is living with you.  For you. Seeping into you lungs and supporting you.  It’s like running around a revolving door and being so giddy you don’t know where to exit.  It’s like crying with joy for three days and forgetting a time when you didn’t want to cry for joy.  It’s like obsessing over every single cell in the human body and feeling as though your heart will spasm and implode with a combination of want, lust, longing, want, lust, love, immediacy, permanency, never-be-apart fanaticism.

Falling in love is crazy, manic, confusing, confronting, spontaneous, ridiculous and so rich, that if it could be bottled, the world would be a totally different place?  Maybe?

Welcome to Hearts and Flowers Day.

Falling out of love is like death.  The heart collapses, the body erodes, the memories decay.  Life continues around what’s left, but the victim of the cataclysm withers.  Cupid’s arrow is blunted and impaling.  It hurts like hate.

Welcome to life’s maelstrom.

Maintaining love over time is like applying moisturizer to skin that is threatening to dry.  You use your hands to glaze the balm over dermis marked with ingrown hair, tiny imperfections, burst capillaries, streeeeeeetch marks and deeply ingrained scars.  It helps.  It doesn’t erase.  It’s maintenance.

Maintaining love is like any work in progress – the tiny strokes you add to the canvas is an attempt to cultivate what’s already been painted.  The words you add to your novel, an extension of your story thus far.  The happiness, the confrontation, the climax, the problems, the outcomes, the character development, the journey. Is it a work limited by death?  Is is really about death do us part?

Maintaining love is like embarking on a challenging bushwalk.  There are free-wheeling down hills ahead, hidden creatures and scary things ready to surprise, delight, threaten.  There are (seemingly) impossible inclines to conquer.  There’s the anguish of feeling overwhelmed and (perhaps) there is the ’sag wagon’ to fall into if we simply cannot go on.  There is an out, if we choose to take it.

Welcome to Single’s Awareness Day, Platonic Love Day, Lonely Hearts Day, Just Another Day, The Floral and Card Industry Boom Day.

Loving is a sublime life experience.  Loving is like stripping raw skin of flesh from your body and exposing your nerves to intense pain.  Loving can be kind.  Loving can be exciting, adventurous, horny, exotic.  Loving can kill you with  a cruelness bordering on self-flagellation.  Loving is there for the taking.  Or not. Loving shouldn’t define you, but it should enhance you.  Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t.  Take it by the teeth and taste it, but if it swallows bitter, remember that life should be sweet.  Love is life as surely as death doesn’t end it all.

And love is about more than just a single day of wine, roses and coupledom.

If you have seven minutes, this short movie is a beautiful way to spend them.  It’s called ‘Struck’.  It’s soundtrack will be familiar to many of you; it’s moving, poignant and quietly humourous.  (credit to Pauline, aka Poun, for posting it in her LJ a few months ago)

Struck

She met me after all (just joking, but she knows this).

Without further ado (or a’don’t) here be the wise words of Amy from over the seas.  I have written a post in neighbo(u)rly exchange, and it’s here. Thanks for sharing your words at FSTB, matey:

Remembering the Mundane

One of my first crystal clear memories–not a borrowed one, not a hazy one–is of standing on the deck of the neighborhood pool. It’s bright out; I have to squint as I stare at the water and the white concrete under my feet. My Snoopy and Friends swimsuit is faded from summer sun and chlorine, and blasting from the pool’s stereo system speakers is The Greatest American Hero’s Believe It or Not.

It’s 1982.

Which makes me six. (Old to some of you reading this blog, no doubt, and young to others.) I hear I’m walking on air and I step out, revel in that single moment of suspended animation, and then hit the water with a splash.

And then…that’s it. No drama, no life changing event. Not even a close call or an interesting anecdote. So why is that ordinary afternoon–that single moment of California sun and cool water–seared into my mind? What causes some memories to fade and others to catch and stick, burrowing into the consciousness?

I have heard that scent is the single most compelling memory booster, and I can understand why. Certain smells take me back to isolated places and times: wood smoke in the fall, bridle leather, the particular type of plastic coating combined with paper that comprise brand new book covers. Certain foods. But my sharpest memories, the ones buried deepest for whatever reason, are more often auditory.

The rumble of a jet engine–not just any jet engine, but a certain type–takes me instantly back to my grandmother’s garden, on hands and knees before the rich soil of the flower beds, spade in hand, sun on the back of my neck. Peace. Security. Blue skies marred only by the fading white trail of a plane circling to land at John Wayne Airport.

Or:

Whitney Houston belting out I Will Always Love You through the grainy car stereo speakers of my parents’ old Ford Blazer. Snow falling heavily as I drive myself to high school basketball practice. The windshield wipers frantic swipe across my field of vision.

One certain Bananarama song I listen to with baby Nate in the back seat. Fatigue. Picnic lunches at parks. A blue and white striped diaper bag. Peanut butter and jelly and the smell of cut grass.

The sound of crickets, paired with twilight, followed by a stunning Milky Way. Sleeping outside on cots. Whispering to my sister in the dark. The chilled cotton of my pillow hitting my warm cheek.

Laughter on a video clip. The Christmas tree the brightest thing in the room, messing up the lighting in the film. Shadows. Calvin dancing in the living room in pajamas. Nate’s face taking up the entire frame. Baby Toby asleep on Charlie’s chest.

Nothing important is preserved in these auditory files.  These are not the main events of my life. They’re the between times, the fillers, the moments that pass without pomp or circumstance. There’s no reason to remember any of this ten years from now. 50. 100. But I will. The same goes for the smell of chocolate chip cookies, taking me back to after-school snack time in my mother’s kitchen, my aunt’s stuffing at Thanksgiving, and the sight of blue sky viewed through leafy tree limbs, transporting me instantly to the oak outside our first home.

But perhaps this is precisely why our senses preserve the mundane as well as the eventful when our conscious minds do not: maybe we horde these wisps of memory because no one else will, and we understand its shelf life:

one, solitary lifetime.