The First Challenge

So, I did it. I got brave and entered in the New York City Midnight Flash Fiction writing competition. The annual event attracts hundreds of writers from around the world who compete in a series of writing challenges. Each round, competitors have two days to write a 1,000 word story based on an assigned genre, place and object. Everyone participates in two rounds, then their scores are tallied with the top five from each group progressing to the next round. The shortlist/challenge process continues until there is a winner.

In my first ever challenge, I was assigned the genre of comedy, the place was a radio station and the object a rainbow. Unfortunately, the timing was tricky for me as the day of the deadline followed a massive night out on the town in Sydney and I was struggling with a huge hangover. I did it though (I just wish I had an sub editor) and it made me feel so exhilarated. It reminded me what I need to focus on again - writing.

And a big part of writing is being brave, so here goes it... here is my Challenge #1 entry...

Gwen Does A Runner
Synopsis: A young woman gives a feral Aussie town her own special send-off.

There was no doubt Rainbow was a shit town, Gwen was reminded of it each time she walked down its main street.  Half the shops were boarded up with crudely written ‘For Lease’ signs taped to their dusty windows. The metal bins were overflowing with rubbish, cigarette butts and soft drink cans. There was a dodgy-looking supermarket and an old-school coffee shop selling stale Kitchener Buns and pre-made cheese salad sandwiches. Even the lettuce looked grey and limp. The sports store was crammed with faded football gear, the video store with shoot ‘em up movies and b-grade porn and the takeaway shop specialized in deep-fried fat.

The only place that showed any signs of life was the pub. Locals crammed around a tv watching the Crows footie match.  ‘Carn. Ball. Ball. Bloody umpires,’ one heavily tattooed man with a scruffy beard yelled at the tv. He slammed his empty beer glass down, indicating to the bar maid he needed a refill.  ‘Fuck you, Trev,’ the small, leather-skinned woman snarled. ‘You wouldn’t know the rules of the game even if they kicked ya in the face.’

There was nothing colourful and bright about Rainbow. Even if there were a real rainbow it would be muted. And rather than a pot of gold at the bottom of it, there’d be a pile of tourist brochures for other far more beautiful and upbeat places. On top would be a note saying: ‘Sucked in for living in Rainbow’.

Gwen could feel her cheeks reddening as the sun burned into her tanned flesh. Flies buzzed past her head, one brushed past her lips, making her gag. She pushed open the door of the radio station, stopping for a moment to embrace the rush of cool air.  It was her last day as Rainbow’s newsreader. Her car was packed with all her possessions and she could think of nothing else but driving out of the crusty little town back to friends and family; back to her cosmopolitan life. Back to drag shows on Saturday nights, Vietnamese food and lazy days by the beach. Back to her boyfriend who would fart then pull the covers over her head. Her boyfriend, who made her heart sing like a love struck teenager.

As she sat at her radio console and read through her news line-up she couldn’t help but laugh about the time she’d had though. Luckily, she’d met some great friends. They’d made Rainbow bearable. They’d gotten her drunk and run nude down the main street. They’d listened to her cry and they’d laughed at her when she entered the local darts competition only to ever hit the board once. She’d definitely visit them, but she’d never live in Rainbow again. She’d rather pull her toenails out and wear them as earrings. Rainbow was a hole.

She looked at the clock. The seconds were ticking down. Soon she would turn on her microphone and deliver the latest news of the day. Her heart was beating out of her chest. Her throat was dry and she had sweat on her brow.  She always felt nervous before reading the news. Gwen was not a natural radio presenter. In fact she was pretty crap. It was fun while it lasted. Once she finished this one last bulletin she would jump in her car and speed away from not only Rainbow, but also radio stations in general. She would even do a burnout and some circle work, topless, if it meant she’d never have to sit in front a microphone again.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The seconds were catching up with her. It was time. She popped her headphones on and turned on her microphone. She flicked her long brown hair behind her ears. Her blue eyes twinkled. Game time.

‘Good afternoon, the time is 3pm and this is 737 Rainbow. I’m Gwen Thompson,’ she crooned. ‘Heading the news today - Rainbow’s been shortlisted as the most fucked up town in Australia, according to a poll of everyone who has ever been anywhere near Rainbow, knows anyone who has ever been here and people who have had the misfortune of hearing stories of people who know people who have ever been here. The ranking was met with surprise by Rainbow’s Mayor, Doug “Tin Man” Smith, ‘Geez mate, that’s a little harsh. You know we’re getting a McDonald’s drive through restaurant next year? That means we’ll have burgers as well as Sammy’s Takeaway.’

In other news, a horse did a shit on the main street and a public holiday was declared as it was the most exciting thing that has happened in years. The horse now has a special spot in the bar alongside the other mules.

And finally, the 1950s called and it wants its way of life back.

Now to the weather, it will be hot and dull.

I’d like to say there’s more news, but there isn’t as nothing of any consequence ever happens here. Signing off for the last time and I couldn’t be happier. You can kiss my arse, Rainbow.’

Outside the booth, she could see the shocked faces of her colleagues. She threw off her headphones and grabbed her handbag. Her friend was waiting in her car out the front of the station to ensure a speedy getaway. Gwen took a deep breath, smiled, bowed and started to laugh. She’d never done anything so stupid and reckless in her life. For the first time in months she truly felt alive.

There was no place like home and that’s where she was heading.

THE END

What do you think?

The New Nails

As I told you in my last blog post I was thinking of getting new nails in a bid to help me break my nail biting habit. I was heading to Sydney for a much-needed, child-free getaway and to catch up with some other much-more amazing bloggers than me.

Thanks for all your super encouraging blog, Twitter, Instagram and Facebook messages. They made me smile and, in turn, I felt much more confident about my decision to give my nails a glamover! I am so glad I did.

So, here's a before pic of them (note the dodgy out-of-focus photo).

And here's an after photo.

And here's my attempt to mix it with the cool Emo crowd.

I love my new nails. Have you done something to make yourself smile lately?

The Nail Biter

I am a nail biter. I always have been and now I'm nearing 38yo I really want to conquer the habit. It's embarrassing and as my shorthand teacher told me during my newspaper cadetship: "It gives the wrong impression. It's not professional. It makes you look like a dirty person." I politely told her to fuck off.

Whenever I meet people for the first time I am careful not to wave my hands around when I talk. In fact when I'm with anyone, even my husband, I find myself curling my fingers in a way to hide my chewed nails. I hold my hands in my lap or sit on them. I wrap my bag around them or curl them around the stem of my wine glass. And quite often, without even realising, I find I am nervously biting on one.

I'm a nervous person. I try and cover it by talking too much. I pick at my nails. When I'm stressed or nervous or worried or feeling particularly insecure I bite them. When I want to punish myself I bite them.

I've tried everything to stop. I even did stop for a few months until one nail got a little tear in it and I started to bite at it to make it neat. I didn't stop until all my nails were rough and there was skin where there should've been nail. The more I bit them, the more I told myself I didn't deserve to have nice nails.

Tomorrow, I am off to the nail salon to get some new nails. Some fake nails. I am nervous about it so instead of laying off the biting in the lead up, they look worse then ever. I am nervous that I will find myself hiding my nails because they don't look real. That in some way I will be considered a fake for trying to hide my real self. Or that I am vain.

I have to keep telling myself to relax. I am a real person, my nails do not define me. If my nails are fake, or bitten, I am still a good person. I deserve to have nice looking hands.

I just want nail polish. Pretty nail polish. That's not much to ask. Now I have to go work on my self esteem issues, pity you can't go to the self-esteem salon and get a much-improved model.

So, I need your help. Do you get fake nails? If so, what ones do I get - acrylic or gel? And my biggest dilemma - do I get black or red nail polish or French tips? Or is there another colour that is So.Hot.Right.Now?

The Snot Dream

This post is about a dream I had, but first let me take you on a journey.

Earlier this week, the lovely Eden Riley put a call out for advice on how to get her youngest boy to sleep in his own bed as she was crazy tired. I keenly jumped in to add my two cents worth, because I'm good like that. However, my advice was crap. I told her that I often awoke to find at least one, maybe two, of my three children sleeping wedged between myself and my husband.

So, when last night came I thought I'd try out a new approach. I closed my eyes, I summoned all my inner energy and I willed my children to sleep the whole night through in their own bed. Yep, that's right - I willed them to sleep. It didn't work.

Miss 4 slept the whole night through in her own bed, except we forget to put a pull-up on her and she awoke dripping wet. Nearly 3 refused to go to bed and instead somehow managed to convince us to give her chocolate custard while watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians. She then climbed into bed with us and bounced up and down squealing for half an hour. That, in turn, woke the 1yo who then screeched until we let her into our bed. When she was put back to "sleep" she spent what felt like the entire night rolling over and sitting up. She would sit there staring at us and rattling the bars of her cot, before one of us would put her flat again, only to have her repeat the process continually until morning.

And that, my friends, is when the title of this post comes into play - The Snot Dream. For the few moments I actually slept last night I had this recurring dream. I had this dream that there was a piece of dried snot stuck up my nose. I kept trying to sneakily pick it out, but every time I'd give it a go someone would come and talk to me. I had the same dream over-and-over-and-over. Each time I'd be somewhere different and each time I had snot stuck up my nose. Even when I was sleeping I was being tormented. It was so cruel. I fear I may never get a good night's sleep EVER AGAIN.

Do you get a good night's sleep at your house or, more fittingly, have you ever had a snot dream?

The Little Things

This week has been all about the little things and it's been so darn refreshing. I am over the big things - selling a house, buying a house, moving into the new house, a new kindy for Miss 4 and unpacking the big stuff.

This week it's been about roast dinners, walking to the playground, planting flowers and hanging our prayer flags.

It's been about finding a great local hairdresser and my husband riding his bike at night to get us Golden Gaytimes.

It's been about sitting in the sun drinking champagne with friends and sipping cups of tea out of our new Country Road mugs. It's about our new fishy tea towel.

It's been about taking Mum to our "new" local cinema for her birthday; about marvelling at the art deco gem which is the Capri Theatre.

It's been about discovering the tiles on our doorstep under the ugly green paint.

It's been about Miss 4 and her pet caterpillar "Catty". It's one of the fluffy brown ones which I used to play with as a child. She is convinced there is only one. It gets around.

It's been about Miss 1 and her obsession with eating dirt off the floor and Miss Nearly 3's love of sitting in her window sill and watching life pass her by.

It's been about settling into our new home.

The Right for Equal Love

Apparently, I am in a "normal" relationship and because of that I am afforded the right to be married. I have a husband, three gorgeous girls and we even have a white picket fence. I didn't have to fight for my right to marry. I didn't have to march the streets pleading my case for protection and recognition under the law. We stood in an olive grove in front of our loved ones and were married by a celebrant. We are now legally bound to not have as much sex as before, argue about finances and have stretches of silence between us like other married couples. I simply can't understand why people from same sex relationships don't have the same legal rights. Why can't they stand in front of their most dearest and be legally bound together in love? Their love is as strong as heterosexual couples. Love is love is love. I could write forever on the subject of equality. It's time Australia gets with the program. It's time Australia recognises, rejoices and supports marriage equality. Equal love for all.

So, in my own small way I wanted to show my support. I made an "I Love Equal Love" button for my blog. If you feel the same, I'd love for you to grab it and pop it on your blog too (you can find it on my sidebar). We have a strong voice us bloggers - let's use it! Equal love for all. xx

The Beginning

In the beginning there were boxes everywhere, clothes piled up in corners of the bedrooms, empty walls, spiderwebs and overgrown gardens. Even my lady garden was looking bushy. Our sweet little 100-year-old cottage needed some loving. Lucky we love to love.

It's been two weeks since we moved in and I'm really excited about how much we've done and how we're all settling into our new home. The girls love their room, kindy and the big backyard. They love the local park and the bakery. I love our local pub with its $10 schnitzel nights and $20 jugs of gin and tonic and my husband loves riding his bike EVERYWHERE! Our frowns have well and truly turned upside down.

So much has been going on. We've had an instant garden delivered; ornamental pears, hedge plants, lavender, thyme, sage and crepe myrtles.

Soon, we'll pick up the rosemary for our border hedges and plant the bulbs. Our big, silver planter boxes for our veggie garden arrived yesterday and in time we'll get our new worm farm and a couple of chickens.

Then my husband braved (and survived) a huge pile of Ikea flat packs and constructed ample wardrobes in both our room and the girls' room. Instantly my anxiousness subsided. I can not cope with piles of mess. I am slightly OCD about mess. Ok, a lot OCD about mess. They look amazing.

Of course, there's all the incidentals like bath plugs, towel hooks and gate locks which have also been purchased. And after months of waiting, I've finally been able to indulge in a little internet shopping. One million thread count sheet sets, extra-fluffy Sheridan towels, some gorgeous grey and yellow velvet pillows from the stunning online store  Castle and a quirky Old MacDonald pillow (to go with our palm tree pillow) from a newly discovered favourite of mine Gallop Lifestyle.

Now, I'm off to search for light fittings and the most elusive item of all - a waterproof, hanging peg basket to go with our new bright yellow clothes hamper.

I just know we are going to love transforming our cottage. We have so much to do, but we've renovated before. We love renovating. And don't even mention the word "extension" as I get far too over excited about floor coverings, kitchen bench-tops and exposed brick walls. Almost as excited as when I'm presented with Maggie Beer pate and a glass of Adelaide Hills Pinot.

Do you like to renovate?

The Toy Box

As you know our family has had a tumultuous month, what with moving house and the associated stresses, so when a massive box arrived at our house last week everyone was excited to see what was inside. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. In the box was a fab selection of toys for a range of ages, perfect for our three girls. Thanks Fisher-Price!

The Kid Tough Video Camera and Kid Tough Digital Camera were both massive hits. We now have A LOT of video footage of tiny feet and the floor! And the Dora with gorgeous butterfly fairy wings was played with for a little while, until an over curious 1yo ripped one of the wings off! Luckily, my children are quick to move on and move on they did. Except this time they haven't moved on. They are OBSESSED with their Doodle Bears which come with special pens you can draw on them with. My girls love drawing. And when not drawing on the bears, they use the lids to make rainbow hands!

When the bears get covered in pen doodlings, you just throw them in the washing machine and then the dryer and they come out clean as new. This is fantastic for two reasons. Firstly, having a child with asthma means the teddy doesn't get too dusty which is fab. Secondly, it keeps the kids amused for hours! I don't think the girls were that excited though when they caught me throwing "Lovely", "Goo Goo" and "Kee Kee" into the dryer! Personally, I found it strangely thrilling! Bah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!

Next time we hope Fisher-Price send us these (because we're not greedy AT ALL)...

Oh, and this person...

... to get all the packaging off the toys as it takes FORVER and if it's going to take that long I might as well have someone hot to look at!



*bigwords was generously given the toys by Fisher-Price 

Dear bigwords #1

Dear bigwords,

Lately I have been the butt of many jokes. People say I may have gone overboard with plastic surgery. They say I'm trying to spin yarns when I tell them I've had no "work" done. The only work I've done is to run more, stop eating burgers and slim down. Ok, I may have had some eyebrow shaping done and I do like eye liner, but there's no plastic in this face. All I put on my face is a good quality moisturiser; it helps smooth out my creases and definitely bowls the maidens over.

I wish people would stop picking on me and realise I just want to get back to doing what I do best - toss my balls, poker and text messaging.

What should I do?

Signed Shiney Worn

**********************************************************************************

Dear Shiney Worn,

I seriously doubt the only thing on your face is lotion. I know for a fact a certain leggy brunette's probably been there too. Having had a hard look at your picture I do believe there's some major changes which are hard to ignore, but hey if you'd rather people think you've had no work done then so be it.

Honestly, I really don't people give a toss what you look like as long as don't release any more tapes of you in your underwear. I don't like seeing your middle stump, even in a fetching g-banger.

Ignore the haters and say hi to Ping Pong,

Bloggy love,

bigwords

Have you got any advice for Shiney Worn?