I think I may be heading on back in...

Hello! How are you? Remember me? I used to be that woman who blogged and blabbed and babbled frequently. And I think... maybe I'm coming back.

Just recently I have begun to miss having my safe place, my haven of words. When I lost my mother three years ago (hell - is it really THREE years?) I also lost a lot of my voice. Words that flowed easily seemed clogged behind the huge lump of unspoken grief. My blog became somewhere the memories of Wise Woman jumped out at me, confronting and brash, a place where pain awaited whenever I ventured in. And so I rarely did. I have posted blog entries THREE times prior to this one in 2013. THREE. And this from a woman who wrote almost daily for years.

A lot has happened. I turned 50 last week. My sons are young adults, my husband is slowing down, the wheels of the world continue to grind on, turning, churning constantly.

Facebook has been an outlet to some degree. Sometimes I write pieces more suited to here and yet post them there. It is not faceless, and I must admit the need to be politically correct and play nice has me grinding my teeth at times. And the unspoken words I bite back almost choke me. The double standards and the two-faced nature of some make me want to scream "Charlatan! Do you not think I remember the heinous words you spewed forth about him/her/them and now you are kissing his/her/their feet with your false traitorous lips?"

Yeah, I really need to come back. Before my black and white stark sense of honour gets me in real trouble.

So, how are you all?

Hello?

Anybody out there?

The Family Style

I write. I love to write. I have loved to write since I was a child.

Now both my children write. Both my children write well.

Now, why would this be surprising, you ask? Well, for my oldest writing has not come easily. The incredible imagination and inspiration was always there but getting those words out in a harmonious fashion has been a long haul.

His speech therapy from age four consisted of lots of rhyming and poetry. And when I say lots, I mean one or two or three or even five rhymes a day. Created by us (as in he and I, but mainly he because it was no use me doing it, no help to him), until he was capable of creating by him. His therapist compared it to repairing a train track to comprehension and articulation, one that was damaged. You can see by his poem written at age seven that the track is pretty damn good now.

The next issue was writing. Hand writing. Due to his low muscle tone, and his obsession with perfection writing was a huge issue. Oh, and add in a preschool teacher who had told him he could not do it... hey presto! Instant meltdowns.

The wonderful former Principal and his grade one teachers started the slow journey to get past that one. And he did. By around grade five.

But in the past year or so, with the help of now utilising a laptop, his creative writing has blossomed. Incredibly. He now is so very articulate and talented that I no longer sit, brainstorm, push. I do not have to make him read his writing out loud to feel the rhythm of the words, he does this on his own. I do not have to tell him to not repeat and repeat the same phrases or words (yes, you can have echolalia in the written word), he knows not to by himself.  Now I read and go wow. And tell him to punctuate (in the excitement of a story spilling out this is his only sometimes forgotten rule).

My oldest has written a children's book for others on the autism spectrum. Simple, effective, positive and heartfelt. My oldest CAN write, by hell he CAN write.

My youngest. Well, when I was in primary school my parents were told by my teachers throughout, "MM is a truly gifted writer, you should be very proud and encourage this gift."
This fell by the wayside with High School and Uni (an economice degree? How the frig did I fall into that abyss?"), and the many awards rotted away in my cubby house.

I still have some of my pieces. My youngest leaves my supposed talent for dead. He hooks you in within the first second, and then the story sweeps you away into another realm. His style is polished, captivating, incredible.

For him it is in his blood. Never has he faced the demons my oldest has, it all was there, bubbling away, waiting to burst forth. His writing is amazing. We too brainstorm, but as equals. And I have learnt not to question why, as he always has a reason for taking a certain path. Mind you, it took me constantly being proved wrong in my doubt before I realised I needed to walk away and allow the brilliance to shine. The only small input I get now is again the punctuation reminder, though usually the response from Boy 2 is "Mu-um. It is only the rough draft!"

So, here we are. Three writers. And one amused Big Boy ("No way on earth did my genes have anything to do with this creative side they have!"). I wonder if the teachers truly believe the work is all theirs, because I must admit our writing style and rhythm, whilst different, is similar too. I can see how unique each is, but also note the close parallels. With Boy 1 it is understandable. The years of working together, of brainstorming, of reading, suggesting, helping when he was younger and the information did not flow fluently... of course you would expect my influence to have rubbed off. But all the teachers really need to do is look at the content, because those two boy brains come up with things I could not even dream of!

Boy 2, well whilst the effort was different I still was involved in the very young years. Our weekly sessions of bedtime storytelling where we each had seven nights to weave a verbal spell over the others would have influenced his thoughts on the way a story flows. And I... ah, whom I kidding. Boy 2 - it's genetic, but he is the improved version!

And they wonder why I call them the Augusten Burroughs and John Elder Robison of the next generation...

M. I. A.

First day of writing course yesterday. Massive amounts of information crammed into 6 & 1/2 hours. Lots of work to do, on-line group to participate in, novel to finish in five months. In other words:

See ya!

For a bit anyway. Until I find my rhythm and the Gods of life allow other parts of my life to come back into alignment. Oh, and it is a confirmed fracture of the C5 for Wise Woman, so am running madly to keep her at home.



And they wonder why my username is...

Flog Yo... Book?

Yes, you read it right. I'm not really here, I am working on my *ahem* novel. Really. I am. Honestly. Cross my... okay. So I haven't really done any further development work past deciding which of my old ideas to buff up for this writing course. Yes w-r-i-t-i-n-g
c-o-u-r-s-e. Express Year of The Novel at QWC. You may well ask whose dumb idea was it to take on more mental stress in this pressure cooker life? Yep. Mine. Mea Culpa. Well as Yee-ha Grandma always said:

"If you want something done, give it to a busy woman!"

Actually, I think the original was person, but I'm running with Grandma here.

And of course it is FlogYoBlog Friday. And here I am. NOT working on the great Australian Novel. Shhhhh, don't tell anyone. I will get to it. Honest.

The Good Bit, Though the Bad is still Creeping In...

I know, I know - missed a day, and also didn't post Throbbing Thursday for the second week in a row! But the BAD is really still BAAAAAAAAAAD. Car still dead, which means I drive Big Boy the hour to work, come back to pick up kids, drag them back down to pick up BB... Well, you get the drift.

But, enough on that, today's post is the high point of the last three posts:

The Good:

• Boy 1 made it through the week back at school without major meltdowns. Ooh- and survived PE with the teacher who makes his life, ah, not pleasant.
• My car went in for a service and they lent me a nearly NEW Lexus IS250. Black, lush, handles like a dream. Up I drove to pick up kids from school, flying up the winding mountain roads as she cornered like a dream (yes, I am the frustrated rev head in the family). And you should have seen some of the looks I received at the school . Bwahahahahahahahahaha!
• My gorgeous friend and I have bitten the bullet and signed up for a master class one Saturday a month with the Queensland Writers Centre. It is the Express Year of the Novel Class with a renowned writer. Have juggled kids and committments and finally done something for ME. And I get to enjoy it with a great friend. Woohoo. I think. Okay, a bit daunted and scared, but doing little happy dance. Alright, am tapping one foot. Not sure if that is in fear or excitement but it is rhythmic, sorta. Okay, a little *woopee* escaping my lips now.
• I am smelly. How is this good, you ask? I am fake tan smelly (Boy 1 hates it - "You don't smell like YOU, Mum...") and getting browner by the minute. We are off to a Bollywood party tomorrow night, first time invited to the social event of the season. I have Bolly-outfit, black wig, gold and more gold jewellry and a party mood all ready to roll. Woot-Woot. May even post photos if I am game. After this week we are really needing a good night out, so great timing.
• Wise Woman is really well. That damn leg ulcer has healed beautifully in a little over a month. She truly is living up to the miracle woman title.
• I have been blogging each day (see Brenda, I can do it). Even yesterday when I didn't post here I did post on another blog site I write for. So ner.

• And the latest on The Ugly... apparently Sunrise is doing a special segment this weekend and will apologise. Still no mention of the social mouth menstrator offering her explanation, but hell, didn't expect it. But it may be turned into a positive in the education and advocating stakes for these oh, so, special kids. Reserving judgement until seen.

Phew. Done. Now for that lightly chilled glass of white...

Holy Reviews Batman!

Right now I am very happy to have had two c-sections to birth my boys as I am jigging and dancing in over-excitement.

I HAVE BEEN REVIEWED!

Never before in the annals of Madmother blogdom has such an event occurred. I mean yes, some lovely bloggers have honoured me with many wonderful awards (always a humbling experience, especially as these bloggers are a bunch of truly talented people), and no, I do not blog for the accolades, but hellfire and puppy poop, it is a pretty awesome experience to read a positive evaluation of yourself on an acknowledged, well-known review blog.


Wait, I just have to sit down quietly for a moment, feeling a little overwhelmed and faint...

But you can look at my pretty coins whilst you wait...

Okay. Hyperventilating under control (gotta love those brown paper bags), I'm back. Did you like my pretty coins? Yes, I was awarded (drum roll)

FIVE GOLD SOVEREIGNS!

The highest honour Argentum Vulgaris bestows. Look carefully peoples - it is not often you see the jaw-flapping Madmother jaw-dropping.

So, now you all need to head over to the Blogger's Cafe and have a look. Read the reviews, find some new blogs to follow. There are some incredible photos as well as the brilliant reviews of many, many blogs.

I think I might just sit here quietly for a while, basking in my glory. Oh, does it matter if I am still in my jammies?

So, Have You Been Wondering...

where I is? Me too. Blogging mojo, otherwise known as blojo, is caput! Big Boy had major meltdown over my time spent in laptop world, assignments for Boy 1 and Boy 2 have kicked in big time, rain is causing mass destruction in homelands...And I am feeling *meh*. Keep starting posts and then losing all my motivation PLUS my train of thought.

Maybe when the sun shows its face, when school mellows out, when our driveway is fixed and all the other insurance damage cleaned up, I will be back operating at full steam ahead. For now....

My Secret Crush

Gorgeous, ain't he! A friend posted one of his quotes on Facebook, reviving my obsession with the man and his mouth.

Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear.

I LOVE his expressions, there is one for every situation.

The most interesting information comes from children, for they tell all they know and then stop.

Mark Twain. Novelist, satirist, humorist, lecturer.

Substitute "damn" every time you're inclined to write "very"; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.

Real name Samuel Langhorne Clemens, friend of the famous: politicians, royalty, industrialists, artists.

Sing like no one's listening, love like you've never been hurt, dance like nobody's watching, and live like its heaven on earth.

I do so love a man of quick wit. *Sigh*

It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.


Let us be thankful for the fools. But for them the rest of us could not succeed.

For The Writer in You

I have recently joined a writing site. Something to try and get the creative juices flowing freely once more. It is a wonderful place, full of information, support and some fun challenges. Come on over and take a look if you haven't already:

Judith's Room

Completed my first challenge whilst cooking dinner last night: Envy. Go, take a look, read all the contributions. And if the writer in you needs somewhere to come out and play... JOIN!

Blog Ambition

Sitting at the psych's office today I browsed the massive pile of old Time magazines, as one does whilst waiting. The one that caught my attention (other than the one Boy 1 stole from me, yep tore it right from my grasp 'cause of some lamo lunar mission article) was the May 2009 issue with The Time 100 World's Most Influential list on the cover. Now we all have our own dreams and ambitions, and I think I have been fairly vocal about my desire to write and to be successful at it. Oh, didn't mention the last bit? Well I would dearly love to be able to support my Big Boy for a change, and allow him to pursue some of his heart's desires (and no BB- that does not mean you can fly off into the sunset to meet Halle Berry).

So, here I sat perusing these 100 influential success stories, wondering how I can channel some of their luck onto li'l ole me (did you know you cannot rub it off old magazines like those sniff 'n rub perfume samples... no siree, you cannot. Just leaves blurry ink marks and makes receptionists glare at you under their spectacles insinuating you are making a spectacle...) when it is mentioned in one interview how you need to find a niche or theme for your blog and follow it through to be successful in the saturated blog field. This is not a new idea, I had realised it a while ago after stumbling upon it somewhere in a google search in the early blogging days. Okay, now I know I have only been blogging here for about six months, but I did have another blog elsewhere for a few years before this!

But here's the thing. I like the randomness of my blog, I like rambling about whatever tickles my fancy at the time, and at times  it is truly cathartic to be able to vent here when things get too much for me.

If I was going to pick a theme, well it really would have to be autism, but I downright refuse to allow it to consume our family, absorb me, or make it what our life revolves around. Whilst I embrace my child's differences, I rejoice in his normalacy too. I am passionate about advocating for him , but it does not mean I do not champion Boy 2 just as much. Highlight their achievements, not their struggles. So if that means I am not going to win the next bloggies, then so be it.

I'll just be happy to keep plodding along slowly drawing followers and not boring anyone too much.

And I'm sure you lot will let me known if I become too bland and yawn-worthy, won't you? Sure you will...

Ambition, dreams and reality

I have come to realise I am easily disheartened. I walk into bookstores and allow myself to wallow dispiritedly amongst the maze of shelves. There are so many books, so many writers, so few opportunities. A multitude of wonderful writers exist in this world; the majority undiscovered, unpublished, hopelessly lost in the masses of other desperate talented tale spinners... it is easy for me to lose confidence. It may be that I am a quitter, or that I do not have the drive or energy to fight my way through hundreds or possibly thousands of rejection slips. It could be that I just don't have what it takes and I am kidding myself to even harbour these thoughts. All I do know is this need to write burns through my very soul, even if it merely results in reading material for a select group of family and friends.

Hell, we can always use them to start the fire in winter!

My Muse Has Run Away

And I don't know where she are...

Anybody know where she gone?

I is searching and searching...

The Blojo Thief Part 1

Rumours were flying around the small, select fraternity of bloggers, something or someone had struck fear in the group's hearts.  No-one could pinpoint the exact time it occurred, but each quivered with terror, would they would be next?  It had all began when Melissa had raised the alarm a few days previously, but now a second victim had tentatively come forward... Another young, beautiful, talented and usually prolific blogger, with her admission candida had unwittingly revealed a pattern. Striking quickly, quietly and with terrifying victim precision we had become the targets of a blogging mojo thief. A blojo bandit. Phrases, words, and inspiration stolen only from those with completely honed skills, their most precious possession, gone. Whatever or whomever this blojo brigand was, their taste was unimpeachable. Who would be next? What rambling writer would awaken to an empty heart, and a paused keypad?

Our gathering needed answers, and we needed them fast. Our girls wanted their mojo back!

   ... or is it?

December 7: Blog Find of the Year #best09

That gem of a blog you can't believe you didn't know about until this year.

Gwen Bell Best of 2009 Challenge

This will certainly not be everyone's cup of tea. In fact I only discovered this blog yesterday after a thread on Essential Baby sent me looking for some old links I had saved in favourites. Literary porn, or erotica as I prefer to call it. I had bookmarked a site named Clean Sheets, self-described as a weekly magazine devoted to encouraging and publishing quality erotic fiction, poetry, and art, providing honest information and thoughtful commentary on sexuality, and fostering an ongoing discussion of sexuality in the lives of individuals and in a global society. I only read it for the articles, of course.

This, however, is not the site I refer to. A short story led me to the author's site where her tantalising words entrapped me. A gifted storyteller, I fell into her world of erotic beauty. If palpable lust, hot tales and sexual fantasy are not things which tempt you personally, I would not recommend you follow this link. She is a skilled, sensual wordsmith, and yes, I am enthralled by the amoral realm she creates. Purely for the secret libertine, I surrender Alice - black and white. Alice Gray is a freelance graphic and web designer with a passion for writing erotic fiction. And in Madmother's opinion: a truly gifted talent for erotic fiction!

My advice... find a quiet time during the day, curl up on the bed with your laptop and indulge your more licentious senses.

Apologies to any I have unintentially offended, I guess my literary whorishness broke free once more.

But, hey, you wanted my favourite find and this, for 2009, is it!
 
 

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Not really. More of a test for me, and a link for those who wish to read some of my creative writing/short stories. Not much there yet, but more to come as I edit and load. Funnily it is a very good learning experience for me. Reading some of my early pieces, well, let's just say I have progressed in my writing skills since those days. I still have a long way to go, and one day I will follow my dream and do my Masters in creative writing or such.

So here it is.

My blog purely devoted to the bits and pieces I do not know where to enter, or what to do with is here:

Madmother: Little Woven Words

Oh Hell,

I knew it, I just knew it. It is like sitting in a wonderful old library full of first editions. Library ladder at the ready, where do you start? Blogs, so many delicious new blogs and so little time. I am drowning under my blog list, and my children are hungry, my man neglected, my life is falling apart around me as I voraciously gobble words, salivating, muttering under my breath:

"More, more, I must have MORE!"

Did I Happen to Mention

...that I have an addictive personality? Oh, I didn't? Well, I do. So now, after completing my first challenge from Blog This I am tapping fingers, jigging my right leg and trying to control the twitch above my left eye as I count off the days to the next. I am addicted. It is really not a bad thing. I had lost a lot of my natural Tigger bounce where writing was concerned, become disillusioned with my lack of ability and in serious danger of giving it all up.

Big Boy (DH) was worried, really worried. He knows story words flow through my brain in a constant stream begging to be written and as he has to live with me and my verbal diarrhoea... Well, lets just say he had visions of being drowned under words if my other outlet ceased. So, for my enthusiasm to be revived by joining this site has made more than just me happy, in fact the whole Madmother household is breathing a very loud sigh of relief and there have even been a few loud "OH YEAH!" and high fives.

Boy 2 is especially happy, he is the mini-me, even down to his dream of writing. He wrote a series of stories in Preschool. Yes, you are not mis-reading: PRESCHOOL. Okay, to be completely clear on this, he did not actually do the writing (cudos to Mrs Rose). He dictated, very precisely (and was quite the temperamental little author if even a syllable was altered) every word, drew all illustrations, and followed true to the end, his theme or central storyline. The Johnny series. Twelve in all. Since then he has written plays (two of which he and Boy 1 have performed in the school talent quest), poems, and now even a song. Not too shabby a CV for a ten year old.

Thus, if his Madmother had deserted the written word, his heart would have broken. Okay, I exaggerate, but it would have been severely bruised because he believes his old Mum can do anything and truly is of the conviction that it is only a matter of time before publishers knock on our door for both of us.

Oh dear. I seem to have rambled off the point once again. Just chalk it down to getting to know me and the fact I am battling an affliction at the moment. The common cold. Yes, on hot sweaty days I am even more hot and sweaty due to these temperatures my body is using to fight this bug. Oops, there I go again. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, getting back on topic.

Blog. This. Challenges. During my happy manic phase I am positive I could roll off a blog a day. Of course, during my low or stressed period it would drop to a blog a month if I was lucky. And in one week of the cycle I would be perfectly capable of polishing off a whole murder thriller including a body. If you get my drift.

Sorry, bit gruesome though I would think a few women out there can relate.

Now, how do I know I have an addictive personality? The most recent example I can give (other than my quick entry into the challenge) is on Facebook. Boy 1 and Boy 2 have been desperately lobbying to sign up as a lot of their mates are on it. After much heated discourse, and many set in stone guidelines we agreed. Mainly they wanted to play The Games. You know the ones: Cafe World, Yoville, Farmtown, I could go on and on. So I, in my wisdom, after managing to avoid these applications despite much intense lobbying from so-called friends, decided to monitor by playing too. I am now on level 21 in Cafe World. After a bit over a week. Oops. I did mention my addictive personality, didn't I? Yeah, well. Hang on a minute, I'll be right back, just have to serve some French Onion Soup.

No - not that sort, THIS sort:

See what I mean?

ADDICTED!

Must dash. Boy 2 has been waiting for a little to be picked up from a mate's house. See, even my adored children fade into the back of my mind when my obsessive side takes over. But before I go, a little more self-indulgence...

Had I lost you all? Bored you to tears with my rambling? Probably. But one thing I know for certain,

Madmother is BACK!

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.

~Richard Wright, American Hunger, 1977~