Cat's · Loquacity

I've got a bee in my bonnet and it won't buzz away.

My hobby is writing fiction. I belong to a wonderful, supportive, online writer's community. I have made many dear friends through this group. I have also forced my writing to be so much better because of the help, advice, and criticisms I have received from members of this group. Because of this group I actually believe that my hobby could become something that will provide some pocket money.

One part of the group's forums is a place we can safely post parts of our writings and other members read and give a critique on out words and on the story. As a writer you read other's words and write your comments for them. Both tasks help you to improve as a writer. Receiving critiques and giving critiques are two valuable ways a writer can become a better writer.

So to me, when I post a scene for comments, it is important that that scene is the best it can be. Sometimes I am asking for help with a storyline, sometimes the comments I need are 'this is believable or not'. Sometimes I am almost finished and need assistance in finding those typos and grammatical errors that creep in and cling to the words. Sometimes I'm just sharing.

But every piece I post has been run through the edit mill more than once. I try to make piece of writing I post in this forum as if it was ready for submission to the real publishing world.

So my buzzing bee is those few that don't have the same attitude. And admit that they don't care.

One writer, a young writer in age as well as experience, posts chapters from their work in progress. The first post was largely ignored for a few reasons. One was the recommended 'standard' posting format was ignored or not known and consequently the 5000 words came out as one long paragraph and almost impossible to read. The second reason many fellow writers made no comment was when you did struggle to read the words were wrong.

There were spelling mistakes, as well as spelling mistakes that had been corrected to the wrong word. Commas were placed where full stops should have been, full stops where comma's should be. Apostrophes missing or extra, question marks at the end of sentences, questions that didn't end with a question mark. Capital letters appearing in places they shouldn't. Basic errors.

So, I figured the author was young, that maybe English wasn't their first language, maybe they had the learning difficulties that I have had to deal with, that my son is still learning to handle, and offered advice.

The first advice was how to format the piece, the second advice was how to find out more about words, spelling mistakes and grammar; the forums have an extensive list of helpful places for all ages and all abilities.

The author was most appreciative and promised to look at the places, to correct the mistakes. The author also dropped hints at the age - very young - and that they were achieving very good marks in class for English.

Over the next few weeks I looked for their next post. It appeared, chapter 2, with the same formatting issues, the same spelling issues and the same grammar mistakes.

Since then chapters 3 and the prologue and chapters 1 and 2 of another story have appeared (those have appeared three times in total). With no improvements.

There have been comments; all stating that the story is good (I haven't managed to read way of it) but did you know there are spelling and grammar mistake. And each time the writer thanks the member for their praise and admits that the piece is full of errors but that they just haven't got around to fixing them.

So what happened to the pride in getting the details right? Is it old fashioned to want to display something in its best possible form? Is it the new way of the current world to say this is my work, rough and full of mistakes, but hey, apart from that is it good? What happened to doing the hard, fiddly work as well as the creative stuff?

And the worst part for me, if I state anything in the forums, if I point out the multitude of mistakes, the unwillingness to do the hard work and correct them, to not post before basic errors have been corrected. If I say anything remotely harsh, I could be destroying a child's desire to write, to express themselves.

Sigh.

Some days my sons amaze me.

This past week I have been helping with thier homework, in particular maths. No surprises there. Parabolic equations. Stuff I had forgotten the details of, the terms used for each step and part of the equation but picked up easy once I read thier notes.

For the first time ever, the boys are in the same class, and it happens to be for maths. One boy has perfect notes, neatly written, all exercises done in calss done perfectly and correctly. The other, his notes are readable and followable, if you understand how his brain works. Exercises are done but most are wrong, usually simple mistakes; negatives and positives not remembered, addition instead of multiplication.

Tonight I find out that they have a test tomorrow, or rather a sheet that needs to be completed in class. So I asked if they have revised. Of course not. And the one who's notes leaves something to be desired has left his maths book at school.

Great.

So I get the other's maths book go through the stuff with him and guess what, he knows it. He's worked out the mistakes he's been making, has not only done the exercises and the sheet they had been given previously, but has started on the sheet they have to finish in tomorrow lesson.

*blink*

So why was I worried?

The other son? Well his turn to amaze me came in thier swimming carnival. my boys do sport, lots of sport, but swimming isn't thie favourite. Too slow :P So when they have to try out for the carnival the one swam so slowly so he didn't get picked. And got picked to do the 200m freestyle.

I think because he proved he could last the distance by being so slow, plus he's a long distance runner so the school knows he'd have the stamina. So he raced, tried his hardest and finished. 8th (out of 8) but the school was pleased because they get points for his finishing. Other kids picked for the same race in different age goups didn't finish.

I'm not really amazed at his ability nor his committement to finish, its a race and his competitiveness kicked in and wouldn't let him give up, but I as still proud of him.

Proud of them both.

At what stage of 'the story' do you start writing?

I've taken to starting the day, sometimes the moment, the world changes for the MC, or the narrator. So far it seems to wrok well. Except for one story where I can't decide who is the MC, or what is the day the world changes. I have 5 first chapters for that novel.

If I was writing my story which day would be the day the world changes? Would I go back to my meeting my husband, to my marriage to him? To the death of one of his sisters, which in turn triggered our quest to have our own family and the long hassles with that. Or do I go to the birht of our children; thier very early birth, the death of our daughter, to my son's coming home?

Or to the illness of mother which triggered my writing fiction and opened a whole new world to me; both fictional and real. To my discovery of friends online, who have the same intense interest in writing as I found I had. Or is it the acceptance of one story (just a short) for publication and that world of writing for fun and enjoyment suddenly becoming real and something I could actually do and maybe even make money?

Maybe it was that success that made me do something even more daring and scary than submit a piece of prose? Maybe that tiny bit of success made me think that I could do something I hadn't thought of doing in over 25 years? Maybe it was my writer friends that gave me the confidence that I was capable?

I applied to a University to go back to get a post-grad degree in highschool teaching (maths and computing). I got the idea, found out what I needed to do, applied, all within a three week period.

I got accepted.

Next year I go back to school. Full time. The year after that I become a teacher.

And I'm petrified, excited, confident, uncertain, and everything in between.

But I'm doing this. I will succeed.

*grins manically*

I'm old and decrepit. I remember the days before internet, before personal computers even. I remember doing my school work on a slate board in chalk.

Hehe, not really, but I do remember having to hand write everything, and if you made a mistake on the last line having to rewrite the page.

And the kids of today think they have it hard.

But this isn't about the ease students today can study and present their works.

This is however about choice of words.

For my last two years of high school I went to a private all-girls school. Prim and proper teachers, certainly our head mistress, a spinster, held her appearance and decorum to very high standards and we girls were expected to do the same. Our winter school uniform was the same school uniform worn by the first girls attending the school over a hundred years prior to my attending. There were few concessions to the modern age; no gloves nor stockings, the length of the skirt had risen, but not by much, and only the seniors had to wear a blazer.

My economics teacher was a male teacher. I can't remember another male teacher. Worse than that he had long blond hair always loose around his shoulders. (Mari, no not Luce-like, but always in need of a brushing). He wore jeans and trainers, although he did concede to wear a short sleaved buttoned shirt, a belt and a tie. Most days.

He didn't just teach economics, he discussed economics. He bought economics into the classroom and made us learn from real life happenings. Not just book smarts.

During my two years there was a drop in the economy, of the US and of course my country, and every other country. Suddenly we dropped the topic we were studying and turn to the real life problems. He pulled every source of information he could (mostly newspapers) and we discussed the happenings.

He pointed out the half truths, the forgotten facts, the misrepresentation of the fact presented. He showed us how the choice of words gave a different impression to accurately given information. He showed to us the 'spin-doctoring' the media put forward to us as readers.

For example;

The price of the shares dropped 4 points overnight.
The price of the shares crashed 4 points overnight.
The price of the shares plummeted 4 points overnight.
The price of the shares settled down 4 points overnight.
The price of the shares stabilised 4 points lower overnight.

Same information, different words, different impressions.

The light down the darkened corridor beckoned Jess.
The light down the shadow filled corridor welcomed Jess.
The light down the pale corridor tempted Jess.
The light down the silent corridor bid Jess return.
The light down the noise laden corridor pulled Jess.

Sme information, different words, different emotions.

I've written words all my life; at school, at university, within my job. All factual, business, essay or reporting words. Only in the past few years have I written as a hobby, for my pleasure, and made my first foray into fiction. By analysing my own writings, and then looking back to past writings and experiences I realise how much this economics teacher has influenced my writings.

Dear Mac And Cheesey,

Your letter shocked me. Firstly I didn't realise that the two of you could write, let alone with such eloquence and clarity. Oh sorry, eloquence means smoothness; you know like taking a spoonful of Nutella and swallowing it. Clarity is being able to see really, really well. I mean, without a hang over.

The second reason your letter shocked me was because I always thought we had something less than a friendship; an acquaintance at most. So informing me that a romance that existed in your collective heads only, shouldn't have proved to be a problem.

I did however had to think hard about the mental hospital; dragging up old memories best left buried, even unearthing old journals. I did finally let a memory surface involving a mustard soufflé and I must inform you both that this particular memory should have been left alone. To die in the darkness, in silence and leaving little trace of its existence.

Instead it now lives and breathes. It festers, infects, taints, make a misery of all other memories, of life itself. For that I thank you. Muchly.

It is unfortunate that your letter has resulted in this situation. And I feel warranted in rectifying this position you have placed me in. I'm sure that you two do understand. After all the time we spent together, those memories you have kindly returned, should have taught you of my determination to right wrongs.

As for my suicide note. Please keep it. I am sure that you will find a use for it. After all my random scribblings, written at one of my lowest points, far out reach your own joint abilities. Please use my penning as a good example when writing your own.

With the sincerest best wishes.

P.S. My jailors and doctors, in their infinite wisdom, have seen fit to extend my leave. I hope to see you soon.

P.P.S. The purple underwear suits your skin tones and personality.

I got inspired today, and did something about it.

I've set up a blog in which I'll post daily photographs and words to match. Daily. as in photographs taken that day, every day. Words written that day, every day.

My record for discipline is not good. I achieve things, many things, but not always at my leisure. More like in the last moments before a deadline. And if there is no real deadline there is no real work done, and definately no finishing.

Maybe taking a daily photograph and jotting a few words down will train me to be better.

Here's hoping on my part, and hopefully something for you to enjoy.

http://catsflix.blogspot.com/

I’m a writer and thus I suppose the answer to my above question is immediately ‘Yes’.

But given that all writers are weird, I’m wondering if I’m weirder than other writers.

Sometimes when I write a story, either long or short, I get this ‘feeling’. It’s more than just the constant chatter in my brain by the characters, it’s more than my mind wandering over the words written or yet to be written during the day (and night). It’s even more than finding myself visualising a scene and translating that visual into the written word, usually in my head.

It is a palatable attachment.

I desire to write, to share what I ‘see’ and ‘hear’, with other so bad I can taste it.

It is a struggle to work. I can be conversing with someone and a minor detail or word can trigger the muse awake, and my characters jump to life.

Driving is a nightmare, especially alone. I could turn on the radio and blast my mind into numbness, but I fear losing the hold, the words and the vision, (not that that has ever happened).

Sleep doesn’t come easy. I stay up waiting for the rest of the family to retire and I can immerse myself into writing. And the clock ticks silently by until I realise that if I go to bed immediately I will only have 4 hours sleep. Yet I am wide awake and though I lie under the bedclothes in a darkened, almost silent room, with only the night sounds, or worse the predawn sounds, there is no silence within my head. Eventually I sleep; I know that because I am conscious of waking.

Despite only a few hours sleep I wake refreshed. And so do my characters.

And the cycle starts again.

For days I can feel them, see them, hear them, taste them. I desire to be with them, to be involved in their lives, to be the one who lets them out into the world.

My head bursts with words, my stomach churns and there is this particular taste in my mouth. And the words come. And come and come.

Then at some point, it ends.

The vision is there still, the muse still lets me hear the conversations, I still want to write. But the impatience, the overriding need, the taste of it isn't.

That doesn't mean I can't write, that I don't, just that I am not driven to write this particular story. It means that I can slow down, take time and think things through. And write.

Oh and sleep.

If that theory works I should be good for 2008. I was chatting and words said gave me a plot bunny (yeah I know nothing unsual in that). But this plot bunny jumped out of my mind and on to the page in less than an hour and even came out short (just under 1000 words) and with an ending (that ends)

And since it is just for fun and hasn't a home that I can think of I thought I'd share.

( The Urn Stop )

A quick note to all new puppy owners.

Don't bother spending your money on puppy toys, espcially when the puppy is of the staffordshire breed.

1. There are no chew toys that are staffy-proof, no matter how much you spend.
2. Puppy doesn't play with them anyway.
3. Puppy will find it's own toys, with luck something you don't mind being destroied.

So far Nikki had played with, destroyed and throughly chewed;

a dead palm frond, complete with base
a dead tree branch about two foot long and an inch thick at the minimum
a plastic plant pot, luckily not with a plant in it
a plastic pot base, also without a pot on top
a plastic take-away container, empty
the rolls from toilet paper, so far one's that we have given her, without toilet paper on them
sheets of paper from the recycling bin
an empty coke bottle
the sponge we use to clean up frequent accidents
a used tissue

She's tried to play with our pussy cat, which has resulted in being hissed at, chased, whacked with claws retracted. But she still trys to entice the cat, doesn't chase her any more though.

The book my writers group has been working on to publish, is.


( In the flesh )


We had our celebration/launch today. All but one of the contributors made it, plus guests. And after a few speeches each of us was handed our copies to the book.

Although I'd seen the inside of the book many times, this was the first time I'd seen the printed, bound copy. It was exciting, even if we did self-publish.

But I have discovered one disappointment. Whilst eveyone else was saying how they would read it over the Christmas break, I can't - well I could, but I've read every story at least 5 times already.

Instead, the four of us who have put it together are going to have a little competition. Randomly take a sentence from a story and see who can match the author to it, for extra points we can name the story, and state breifly what its about.

Should be fun.

It feels good to have a book in my hands with my name in it. Can't wait to have a book published by someone else, with my name in it.

But to do taht I need to write more.

All these things are missing in today's society. And it's getting worse.

Political correctness, trepidation of offending someone, and fear of litigation has made everyone walk on eggshells. Add to that instant, wide-spread communications and the world has gone mad.

Take for instance a few situations in my home country. For what ever reason, we are in the midst of a drought. Gone are the days when you could water your garden when you felt like it, gone is the ability to wash your car then joke about how it rained the next day, gone are the kids playing with the hose on a hot summer's day, even throwing water balloons are a thing of the past (plus the environmental damage they cause).

In some cities using a hose to water your garden is completely banned, in others you are restricted to certain hours on certain days. Sprinklers, huh - you can't buy them any more. So a young man, highly conscious of the fact this world is in the grip of climate change, that it was the decadence of past generations that has caused this calamity and that no-one is doing anything to change their ways, saunters down a street in his home town. To his horror an old guy is standing with a hose watering his precious flowers and lawn. A discussion occurs, yelling and accusations, a few shoves, a hose splashed across legs, a few more shoves and pushes. The old guys stumbles backwards, falls and a booted foot swings.

The result is a young man's life ruined, the old guy dead.

And he was watering in the prescribed manner within allowed times.

So where was the art of communication? Where did the ability to judge and reason go?

Or the case of Santa being sacked because he said 'Ho, ho, ho'. The department store denies this, saying that this particular Santa's attitude wasn't in line with store policy and they would use his services elsewhere as soon as they found that elsewhere. They also denied recommending to their Santas to switch from the traditional 'Ho, ho, ho' to 'Ha, ha, ha'.

It is a recommendation within the company training Santas. There are two reasons given for the 'strong recommendation'. One is that the loud voice can scare young children. Well yes, my children, as one year olds were totally scared of Santa but that’s another story. So soften the voice, lower the volume, but its no reason to change the words. And yes, there have been lasting effects on my children. For example I have one photo of my children sitting on Santa's knee. One - I am devestated.

The second supposed reason why the sound we recognised as Santa's greeting is not recommended, is because, in some areas of some cities, the word 'ho' is slang for whore and children visiting Santa might think that the old red gentleman is calling their mother a prostitute, or the mothers themselves might be offended.

Say what?

Now correct me, please, children visiting Santa range from babies to kids just in school. There are few children over the age of 10 voluntarily visiting Santa within the stores. And in how many of those children's worlds does the word 'prostitute' or 'whore' figure in their life so often that 'Ho' has that meaning for them?

So now we have political correctness, or at least an attempt. If everything was politically correct, if there was nothing said that might offend or scare, if children grow up with only hearing niceties, regardless of truth or tradition, they will lose the ability to make judgements of what they believe, what they will react to and what is important to them.

And then when they hit the real world; not a cotton-wool, protected false fantasy, when something goes wrong, isn't what they expect, is a disappointment, how will they know how to react? How will that young adult make a judgement 'This sucks, it hurts, but really life is bigger that this one incident, I'm bigger than this one thing that has gone wrong.' Or will the judgement be 'This sucks, it hurts, and everyone else must hurt because of it. Everyone else is at fault.'

And where does that judgement lead to?

The death of a pensioner watering his garden.

I'm not advocating totally ignoring being considerate to others. I'm not wishing to revert back to the good old days where kids were caned at school for ... for basically anything. Mind you I recently talked to a few older friends who lived those lives and really can't see the mental damage and scarring. I'm not desiring that we, as a society, find racialism, sexism, discrimination and violence acceptable and tolerated. They are not.

But can we not teach our kids to take a little of the bad things, to accept that life gives out disappointments, unfairly sometimes, and learn to make the judgement to live with it or do something about it, rationally?

Or is the world so far gone that it is not possible nor feasible?

Well if that's the case, I'm taking my words and going to replace them with something stronger, something more deadlier.

A gun maybe.

My real life writer’s group decided that they wished to publish a book of their short stories. It took us nearly 18 months to get it moving but we’ve finally put it together and printed the first draft in book size format.
I, being the computer expert, am responsible for the production of the document that is printed. That involved taking two to five files from each of the writers (fifteen in all) and storing them into one file. That one file has to be in one font (actually a few – for author name, for title and for text). Other things need to be the same, for example the use of one or two spaces after a full stop, question mark or explanation mark, the word okay is used instead of ‘ok’, times are all written in the same manner and certain spelling rules are used (words like travelled has two ‘l’s, customize is with a z not an s, etc.)

We have an editor within our group. She’s a god-send and has spent numerous hours editing each story at least twice before I started the process of pulling all the stories into one file.
Now we have had the first draft printed it looks so different. Reading a story in A5 size, rather than A4 or on the screen, highlights a whole stack of other things that need correcting. Plus the formatting I chose (font and margins in particular) didn’t look as good on A5 paper as it did on A4 paper. So I now have the book back, together with a number of changes to make. A lot of changes.
In a book that is close to 300 pages only a handful of pages have no red marks on them. I was pleased to notice that my four stories have less marks than some others did, yet I still felt a touch of unreasonable emotion as this lady went though the changes with me.

I know the feelings and thoughts were unreasonable, as her changes are correct, necessary or made to produce consistency. I know that she is an editor and not emotionally attached to any particular story and thus is the best person to make these changes. I know she has talked to each of the writers prior to me making the changes and each writer has agreed and approved. Yet I still felt cross, hurt, upset that she made changes. And most of the book is not my writings.

Heaven help me when I get to a real editor with my own book, my own words and they suggest changes and corrections, strongly suggesting with no sitting down over a cuppa explaining.

At least I'm forwarned and can expect the emotions and deal with them.

Tell you what, producing this collection has been a huge learning experience and if for nothing else is a worthwhile endeavour.

Whilst in Guam (yes I’m back – more on that when I get the photos organised) I took the opportunity to buy some books that I can’t find in my home town, in Australia. I didn’t find the books I was after (books written by my fellow chatters) but did find some from an author I like a lot. I’d picked up one of her book from a series as a second hand books store, read it, loved the characters and the style of writing. Then found that the books were out of print and not available easily for me.

So I was pleased to find most of the series in the US based bookstore in Guam, and to note the author has a new series started.

So travelling back I read book one. And discovered a hitch. I still love the two characters, still love the style, still found myself unable to put the book down and still found myself reading, not critiquing (unusual for me these days). But I started to recognise things.

Series is in first person, the male MC. Setting is a hot, harsh desert country. MC1 is a male, exceptional sword fighter and dark skinned (from the desert sun of his country). MC2 is a female, sword fighter which is unusual more so because she is exceptional, pale beyond pale and from the snow covered mountains and within the desert country for the first time. These two come together, the female with a task to do, the male her guide across the desert. There is tension between the two, the male is attracted to the female, but doesn’t act, in deference to her and her fighting abilities, but his attraction is initially pure lust. She starts by using him purely as a means to an end, but by the end of the first book is feeling something for him. As he is for her.

All the hallmarks of a good story. So my dilemma is I have a story partially written, it even has a title. I can tell you when I started writing this story. And I can tell you when I first read a book of this series. I know I started writing and planning before I read. Yet.

My story is in first person, the male MC. Setting is a country more snow capped mountains than plains and desert (in that I differ). MC1 is a male, adequate sword fighter, naturally dark skinned, dark haired and from a different country (a hot climate one). MC2 is a female, exceptional sword fighter, naturally white skinned and white haired, from the plains below the mountains, although she now called the snow covered sides her home. They come together, the man with a task to do, the woman interrupting that and requiring his being and ultimately his help. The man is attracted to the woman, but does nothing, in deference to her fighting abilities and to her past which is legend in her country. She uses him as a means to and end, but by the end of the story there is feeling between the two.

Sound similar?

But wait. There’s more.

In both stories the women have been used and abused as young girls and have come out stronger for it.
In both stories one ‘captures’ the other even though it is a façade and both know it. In the published book it is the man who makes the woman a slave in appearance, in mine it is the other way around.
In both stories the male rides a horse who has a distinct personality, rider and horse have an arrangement, though in both it is the horse that has more say than the rider.
In both stories the males have no real name, just a title that has become their name.

There are differences, but there are so many similarities. I swear that I wrote before I read.

I know that my story is on hold (I need to work out some more details before I can go one) but I wonder now if I’ll ever will continue. Or will I be thinking, remembering the published books and wondering, plagiarising, copying?

Yet I can't not read these books. I want to know more, see more about these two characters.

*sigh*

Never I hope, although wishing for a few days quiet time does occur but is never granted.

Although I'm now working for a company programming I still work for my father's company timing running events (people running; marathons, triathlons, even some swim events). My new jobs knows this and is very flexible, especially since I also need to finish in time to pick my boys up from school and take them to sports and other actvities.

So tomorrow I take my boys to school, flit into work and have a meeting with the Boss and a collegue, leave by lunchtime, do a few jobs still not done, pick boys up from school and almost immediately leave to catch a train to the airport, to start a trip to Guam.

Guam; a tiny country in the middle of the Pacific, where the weather is more humid that here, the people are friendly, the sights very tropical and I have a race to time.

I travel for hours overnight, arriving at some ungodly hour in the morning, 4:30am actually, checking into the hotel and have a few hours recovery before the work starts. We did this last year, so I know that I'll get a few hours off each day and intend to use them. The hotel is overlooking a bay with it's own reef, complete with tropical fish. I'll been taking some photos (good info for the underwater story I'm writing). I also need to go shopping, can't go overseas without buying my boys and Hubby something. Taking the big camera too.

Work will be intense - it always is. The hours will be odd - again normal. But I have to take my PC, with all my writing stuff on it. So the other activity I will indulge in is writing. Even got notepad and pen in my carryon bagage (well that's not unusual anyway)

No detailed plans, just a promise to myself to write.

Sunday night I travel back, again overnight, getting home before lunchtime on Monday. I'm not scheduled back at office job until Tuesday, and only commitment on Monday is pick boys up from school. So I guess I'll have time then too.

So life is busy.

Fun

I belong to an internet-based writers’ group called Forward Motion for Writers. I have gained much from belonging to this group and improved my writing from the advice and most importantly from the critiques given within the group. This group also has a Chat, an area where writers from all over the world get together and chat about anything.

We talk about stuff; food and writing being the most popular topics. Sports comes close behind those topics, at least American sports, since most of the chatters are American, but not all. We challenge each other to writing wars, encourage each other with the words that we write, help each other when the words don’t flow or we have questions. Our questions range from grammar (yuck), to techniques of sword fighting, to plot hole fixing, to plot bunnies and how to cope with them.

And we learn about each other, who we are in real life, beyond the author within. We range in age, gender, backgrounds, education and experiences, but it doesn’t matter. To me real friendships have grown. These chatters are people I care about, even though they live in another part of my country or in another country, even thought the likelihood of ever meeting face to face is unlikely.

For the past few months I have entered Chat and opened with a ‘G’day friends’ and I mean it. These people are people who I value in their opinion and their advice. They are people who, if they have a real life problem I’d like to think I can offer support, albeit from a distance.

I had a problem a few days ago. A serious family problem. I hoped onto Chat in an attempt to find something to take my mind off the turmoil it was in, but discovered that light chatting wasn’t what I wanted, nor could I cope with it. So I made my apologies and said goodbye.

And received many questions as to my state of mind, many offers to talk, many hugs and supports. It seems that my belief that these chatters were my friends is reciprocated. Thank you.

My real life problem wasn’t quiet as dramatic as I had feared at the time (it’s amazing what the mind will conjure up with little information) but it was serious enough to warrant a continued change to my and my family’s life. And part of that, from my point of view, is to spend less time on the PC, and more time with my family. On that aspect my Hubby was right, writing and the consequent chatting has become an obsession that I need to control. It’s not the only change, nor am I the only one that needs to change. But change is necessary.

It doesn’t mean I have to stop writing, I couldn’t, I just need to allocate time evenly, organise better, and share more. In response Hubby promises not to get jealous of my characters and my chatting friends and to even participate in some aspects of my hobby, just as I do with his.

So this LJ have a few points. The first and most important is to thank my chatting friends for their support and friendship when I needed it, and of course their continued friendship.

The second is to state that I won’t be on chat as often. As sad as that is, I want to write and if I have limited time I need to write, not chat. Yet I know that I don’t want to lose the friendships so I will endeavour to make time for chat too.

I will continue to LJ, as often as I have something to say, and those who know my email and wish to talk through that medium, I will do so. I also know I need the valued help of my regular critters and plotters as I hope they value my merger help with their writings, so I will continue to correspond with them. I also know that if I’m stuck or need advice Chat is always there. I just have to be disciplined and restrict my time.

So back to the writing I go.

Thanks friends.