I'm letting myself down here, by not being more diligent in my blogging.
I don't think I've even mentioned the ball. The ball! The big University once a year shin dig at which everyone frocks up in their finery, the girls help boys buy shirts - cos really they don't know what they're doing (and then one finds themselves hearing screams of horror - 2 of my male housemates were wearing the same purple shirt! It was a very nice shirt...)
I was happily not going, and looking forward to some peace and quiet at home. The house is never empty so it was going to be a relaxing night.
Two hours before it all started, while the girls were off getting their hair and make up done, and the boys had their mates from town round already and had started on the booze, I received a phone call.
"Guess what?" he said. "You're coming to the ball!"
Say whaaaaaat? Someone had dropped out, there was a spare ticket and everyone wanted me there!
I put up a bit of a fight cos really - SO not my scene, and formal wear UGH (to prove my opinion of formal wear - I don't own any) and dancing - stupidifying and just the whole experience didn't really appeal to me. But everyone wanted me to go. And I figured, it'd be a good experience for my writing, right? Luckily the one skirt I had on campus - which was in a bag ready to be sent home - was pretty enough, so I spent the next two hours freaking out a bit and trying to make myself look presentable.
It actually wasn't a bad night. I didn't have to dance. Yay! My friends got drunk but mostly in a funny way and everyone I knew there was pleasantly surprised I came. (They love me!)
I bookended my night by falling over in the mud. Once before my shower, as I headed down the slippery hill to my car to get my shoes, and once on the way back inside from the ball. Yeah, I walk the long way around now and laugh at anyone who falls on their faces cos I have told them so.
But yeah. The ball.
The Writers Festival just finished, and I had a great time at the kids program with Andy Grffiths, Terry Denton, Leigh Hobbs and others, helping the kids and talking with them. I asked for some opinions about what characters would do in stories and they gave me some doozies. I now have a little girl character, when she is faced with herbivorous dinosaurs...she plays Barbies with them. Okay so I chose not to do that one, but it's awesome all the same.
And how else do you get a cricket ball out of a tree if you don't throw a cat up there?
The YA masterclass I volunteered at which was run by Rachel Cohn of Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist fame, was fantastic. And she said to me, upon me reading out some of my work: "The teenage voice can't be faked. You either have it or you don't. And you have it!" So consider me chuffed.
The piece of work she said that of is right below. There was a second letter as well, a reply to this one. I'm seriously considering turning them into a book. Solely consisting of letters, emails, sms's, chat room conversations, e-cards, notices and that sort of thing. It's kind of complicated, but it's coming along.
The HIMBOs has slowed a little, as I started writing it and well and truly decided that I do not have the male voice happening. So I need to read up on some male authors who write the genre, like Nick Hornby, and make sure I've got what goes on in guys's heads right. The opinion on this subject of the guys I know: Nothing. Nothing goes on inside their heads.
Okay well I better skedaddle and get to work.
Sorry for the belated blog!
Here's the first letter that we wrote in the Rachel Cohn masterclass.
I lie all the time now and I hate it. You know what I’m talking about. I mean, he’s everywhere! We broke up like a month ago and it’s killing me because he’s everywhere I go.
When I went to Cami’s birthday – you remember Cami, from the gym? Well I went to her birthday and he was there! He doesn’t even know Cami. I fully couldn’t believe it. But guess what. She knows Cami. That slut bag whore has been friends with Cam for like ten years. They met at kindergarten or something.
So she brought him to the party and it was totally awkward because whenever I was talking with a guy he was completely watching me, even though she was all over him, totally feeling up his arse.
And when I took Davey to Disney on Ice – he was there with his cousin Isabelle! I mean, what?! And then I went shopping with Mel and we went into that new skate shop on Bridge – you know the one? Anyway guess who works there now. And then the scum bag had the nerve to call me a stalker. I mean seriously – who’s stalking who?
God! He’s just…I can’t get rid of him. Like everyone else, Mel asked me how I felt about it. Him. Them. I said I didn’t care. I hated him, he was a jerk and the whore bag could have him. I mean, I’m over it! He doesn’t mean jack to me anymore!
But I had to say that. It’s what she expected, right?
Ness I lie all the time now and I hate it!
I totally need to talk to you.