The little bloggy break sort of turned into the whole summer holidays off, didn’t it?  Sorry about that for all of you who have been waiting patiently and asking.

We have been camping and playing at the beach, and going on road trips and just generally galavanting around…  It’s been lush.

And now it’s time for the real world again, so the blog is back.. or at least it will be next week.

I have decided I might not blog every day.  I might, but I might not.  Some days I have big days in my real job, and I think you end up having to read crappy stuff, so I might just have a day off instead.  Some other days I might have a play writing down some ideas for this book thingy I’ve had pinging around in my cranium for a bit…so I might have a day off.

I will continue to spam your FB and Twitter time-lines, telling you when I’ve posted, but you might consider clicking on the pink link at the top of the page to have updates emailed to you directly.  Or you could click on one of the green icons up there ^ to get the blog via email or RSS.  (RSS is my personal fave- it’s how I get all my blogs sent to me).

This year I hope to get a couple of advertisers on the blog- you’ll see ’em on the side-bar over there >>>> once I can figure out how to get that sorted.  So if you do choose to subscribe, I reckon that would help.  And if, by chance you do like the blog, sharing the link on your FB or Twitter feeds would be ace.

So there you have it… The bloggy manifesto.

Thanks for reading, thanks for sharing.

Hello Constant Readers,*

I’ve had a long day working in my play job (because clearly, much like Anna Spargo-Ryan, I am a writer- this is my calling etc) so I really can’t be bothered blogging for y’all.

Plus, I have this to, ummm, got to bed with:

His Majesty.

But I will share with you.

Here are some of the reasons why Stephen King really is the king of all:

“She wasn’t wearing a bra; Andi could see the shifting punctuation marks of her nipples against her shirt.”

…”the hungover eye had a weird ability to find the ugliest things in any given landscape.”

…”not talking to anyone, not causing any trouble, just getting high. Feeling the weight of sobriety -sometimes it was like wearing lead shoes- fall away.”

And there’s more… So much more. As usual, it’s a bloody page-turner, creepy and revolting of course, but mainly, just a wonderful roller-coaster ride full of people you know in a heartbeat, such is my liege’s ability to write them into reality in a sentence or two.

I kneel before you again your highness.

I hope I can be Stephen King when I grow up.

* That’s a SK reference. I really am a fangirl.

What are you reading right now? Any good?

Are you in a bookclub? And if so can you invite me?

A thing happened today on Twitter.

I found out that a lady who I have been reading for the last year or so, has had a tragic suicide in her family.  I don’t know this woman, not really, not IRL.  But I have been following her life for over a year, both on her blog and in her tweets, and so I feel like I know her.  I’ve watched her travel, seen her grieve, been sad happy glad scared relieved, as her life has been laid out before me.  I have laughed and cheered and cried right along with her for quite a while now.  In fact, I suppose I feel like I’ve shared more of her life than some of my IRL friends.  I even know things about her past.  Her wedding day.  Her childhood.

We have corresponded a few times in the comments section of her blog, and then via email.  Not much, really, but I feel like I get her.  And so when my friend Hayley died, I made sure I told her.  Because I feel like she gets me.  And she did.  She said exactly the right things (typed exactly the right things).  Just like I knew she would.  She cared about the right bits.

Today I’m so sad for this person I’ve never even met in the skin.  I want to make it better for her, disappear some of her pain, just like I would for a flesh-friend.

I suppose she’s like a pen-pal in days gone by, but accelerated due to the immediacy of our post.  We can get to know one another so quickly, in 140 characters, click, send.

Today has reminded me of the power of the written word, in the ways that it can touch our hearts and make us feel.  Transform us even.  Make us laugh.  Or cry.  Wring us out.

Letters, books, emails, posts, tweets and texts.  Somehow we can get a sense of knowing someone that we’ve never met, not in real life.

It’s a strange thing, this brave new world we’re in now.  Strange days indeed. Most peculiar. (John Lennon: prescience?)

Vale Eden’s Brother.

This Sunday is Father’s Day.

Some of us have them around to celebrate with; to buy them shonky gifts or, to make even worse ones, or as I used to do; to buy the same old Scorched Almonds from Darrell Lea just to see if: 1. they were surprised, and 2. I had any change left over for some Bo Peep lollies for myself.

And some of us only have the memories.

I’m going to share with you the page I wrote for my Dad’s eulogy.  Sounds a bit melancholy, I know, but I guess if you are playing along with me here, I’d like you to know what an amazing father he was to me.

Lessons From the Heart

Some people in the world try to teach others by lecturing or instructing, and some just quietly clear their throat, take a pause, and  gently lead by example…

When you brought me home a new book every Friday, no matter what kind of day you’d had, I learnt to value intellect, and to deliver on promises made.

When you quietly sat back and taught me to drive, without yelling even once, I learnt the value of calmness and patience.

When you would put down whatever you were doing, to help me with my homework, I realised the gift of letting children know they are more important than anything else.

When I cheated on your Rubik’s cube to get ten dollars, and you found me out, and just quietly said you were disappointed, I learnt to value of integrity and honour, and never cheated again.

When you took me on the Mad Mouse even though we were both terrified, I learnt to face my fears, and that sometimes we can lean on each other when things get tough.

When I saw all the things that you would quietly do for others, without need for accolades or repayment, I saw how wonderful things come from bringing happiness to the lives of others.

When I saw how you looked at my Mum, and I heard the phone ring for her every day, I learnt what it is to love someone with all your heart.

When I saw you hold our tiny babies, so tenderly and so naturally, I realised how much you sacrificed to be part of our family.

When I saw the joy you had guiding and playing with our children, I saw that unconditional love really does exist.

When I saw your silent suffering and the pain behind your smiles, I understood what true courage is, and how much you loved us, to try and spare us from your agony.

When I saw you take your last breaths, I learnt that the most important thing on this Earth is to live fully and love completely, and then to let go.

Thank you, my wonderful teacher.

 Happy Father’s Day to you all.

…Pop over tomorrow for Father’s Day, Present

It’s book week in Queensland, and the culmination today at the children’s school was a dress up parade.  Come as your favourite character.   I was seriously tempted to join in, because I does love me a good bit o’ fiction.

It was a close thing, but I didn’t know if Annie Wilkes from Misery (remember the sledge hammer?) was appropriate for the Prep to Year 5 demographic.

And that got me thinking about all things bookish.

So here goes, confession time: I’m a book nerd.

The proof is as follows:

• I have four bookcases of grown up books, that are overflowing, and stacked in all directions.
• I write my name and the date in all my books.
• They are put away alphabetically.
• I do not borrow books, nor do I lend them.
• I still have my first ever “proper” book, Fox in Socks. It’s from my second birthday, I know this because my Mum has written 1973 inside the front cover (!)
• I have one bookcase full of children’s books.  These books do not belong to my children.
• Once upon a time, a particularly shithouse boyfriend threatened to burn all my books, and I thought I might die.
• Sometimes I just sit and hang out with my books… Okay, that’s probably enough right there.

Over the years, I’ve read a few books, but more interestingly, I think they’ve read me.  I like to underline passages, and when I go back and peep at my scratchings, it’s like I’m gazing back, at the me of back then.  Remembering what moved me and grooved me.  What I thought was clever, or funny, or the perfect sentence.  I’m always in search of the perfect sentence.

It’s fun to go back and try and imagine being in love with Edward from Twilight all over again, or to go further back and see myself distraught and blubbering over The Bridges of Madison County.  Not my finest moments.  But there’s so much more.

Pissing myself at Nick Earls, (any book, they’re all hilarious).  Freaking out at Pennywise from ‘It’. Finding a voice speaking to me from the pages of ‘Catcher in the Rye’.  Getting lost in Middle Earth on a quest for the One Ring.  Deciding to defend my virginity at all costs after reading ‘Forever’.

And then further back again, to simpler times in the Enchanted Wood, or hanging out with The Famous Five.

I don’t know when my book addiction first began, but I do know that it was nurtured and grown by my wonderful father, Peter.  But that’s a story for another day.  Maybe tomorrow.  Pop in, I think I might tell you a story about an amazing bloke…

What books do you love?

Do you lend your books out?