What mothers tell you

I currently have an ulcer on my tongue.
The first time I ever mentioned I had an ulcer on my tongue my mother told me I must have told a lie. I was about four. There was a pretty fair chance that I had told a lie at some point, so I never mentioned it again.
Also, there's the furphy about not making a face in case the wind changes and your strange expression stays as a permanent look.
My mother also told me that writing on your skin gives you ringworms.
My mother's friend told me that earwigs got their name because they crawled into sleeper's ears at night. I spent years with my hand covering the ear not pressed into the pillow.
Does anyone else have any special insights from their mothers/aunts/fathers/uncles etc?

The Ultimate Escape

Seems P.S. and I have something in common. We both have a yearning to live in the amazing treehouse created in the the Disney version of Swiss Family Robinson. I know Disney has a lot to answer for, but its films and animations definitely coloured my childhood and I never quite lost the yearning to live on a deserted island in the amazing treehouse (with one of the hunky boys). Does make you wonder, though, how far from the evolution tree we have come... and why I'm trying to get back there. Which reminds me of the chimpanzee who has given scientists the evidence they were looking for re cognitive thinking. Seems he stored up some rocks but waited for the lunchtime crowds at the zoo before pelting them at his visitors. Fair enough really. Wonder what he would think of the SFR treehouse?

The best thing about gym...

is when I finish.

Got it covered?

I'm looking for the perfect cover.
Sometimes I think I've seen it, but when I check on it later, sometimes only days later, I've moved on.
What makes a great cover?
That's my question. Does there need to be a mystery about it? Does it need to give a hint to what's inside? Is it about the embellishments or the size of the type on the cover or the colour palette that was used?
What is that elusive ingredient that makes you stand back and say, now that is a cool cover?

Have you noticed...

that it's the things people don't say that are sometimes more interesting than the things they do say?
One of the things that I have been asked most often about Chasing Boys is, How did Gaston get his scar?
In an effort to mirror real life, I deliberately left this piece of information out of the story, and it seems that it has bugged some readers.
Then there's the person, when confronted with a newborn baby, who says 'Wow, look at all that hair'. (Implication, ugly baby.)
Or a comment on a new house, 'That kitchen is so compact, everything is in reach'. (Implication this is the smallest house ever.)
Or a new hairdo, 'I really like that colour'. (Implication, that shaved one side look does nothing for you.)
Or, 'I like those jeans better on you'. (Question, better than what? Comment by my mum.)
Has anyone else noticed this?

You know you're getting old when...

you do things for nostalgia, not because you necessarily want to. I pondered this thought as I sat through another Christmas Carols event at our local common. When I say another, it was about our tenth, with last year being such a disaster that we nearly didn't front this year. Yet, traditions are hard to break. The children running amok were no longer my own — they had kindly attended but spent most the evening chillaxing with their friends. Santa did make an appearance and recorder man was back again, after missing in action last year. Our brave group sang along with the booklet, even when the words were misspelled or totally different (ie several lines missing). But numbers were down, and old faces missing and the stage and jazz group from Christmas past was nowhere to be seen. There was no checking out the neighbour's Christmas light displays this year. The egg nogg was great, thanks Trev, but two glasses were enough and I was hankering for bed. Bah and humbug. And then the miracle. All that time spent getting the 'right' presents paid off. It really is better to give than receive. In fact, it's quite a selfish act. I just won't tell anyone...
I think we should have Christmas once a month. Take the time to say Merry Christmas to complete strangers. When really, what we are saying is, hey, I see you. You're worth saying hi to. Aren't we lucky to be alive...

If only life were like Scrivener...

For anyone who hasn't used the software program Scrivener, it's a little like the amazing gadget in the Adam Sandler film Click. When Adam couldn't be bothered sitting through a family dinner because he wanted to get on with his project, he just forwarded through the event to where he wanted to be. In the same way, Scrivener allows the writer to jump from one scene to another, while keeping the two scenes completely separate. My first fumblings at writing were short stories and I relied on my memory if I had an idea about a character or the plot line. Years down the track, and some longer stories later (and the filing system in the memory banks now full of useful information like all the words for American Pie, how to make a health cake with five ingredients, and the postcode for every suburb I have ever worked in), saw me making notes at the end of a MS word document as ideas interrupted my story flow. After recommendations from some fellow writers (Lili Wilkinson and Chris Miles take a bow) I finally took the plunge and looked at the Scrivener software. Am a babe in the woods at present, but I'm already liking the corkboard and scene cards that can be colour-coded, additional notes added to, images added to etc. Kind of like the Click machine, but using it for good instead of evil...