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Where are we now, where are we now?

Remember how I got excited because my novel got commended for the VPUMA‘s last year? Well, it turns out that thing wasn’t a novel at all, it was only the first draft of a novel. A mere shadow of the vague thought of a novel, if you will.

However, you may be interested to know that a few months – and drafts – later, I was selected for the Hachette/Queensland Writers Centre Manuscript Development Program and now, in May 2106, I’m now looking down the barrel of Draft Seven and might just be ready to call it an Actual Novel.

In the meantime, I have made this:

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And this:

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And this:

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I have also embarked on the first draft of a mere shadow of a vague thought of another novel. Now, before anyone suggests that this means I should embark on another Forever Blanket as well, I’m going to fix you all with a steely gaze that unequivocally says “Back off, motherfuckers. This girl’s gotta write.”

Bonus points for anyone who picked up the Bowie reference in this post’s title. For the record, his passing still hurts. 

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Are we there yet?

Ever finished a 256-square blanket and laid it gently across your bed only to discover it should, in fact, be a 289-square blanket?

Ever written a novel with the aim of submitting it for an unpublished manuscript award and then getting to the other side of the award and realising you still have to get the damn thing published?

It’s enough to make a girl put down her crochet hook and her manuscript and take up something altogether different, like planking. And yes, I know that’s an outdated cultural reference but I’ve been busy writing a novel, you know.

Still, it’s not all bad.

My manuscript made the the judges’ commended list for the 2015 Victorian Premier’s Unpublished Manuscript Award. And my Forever Blanket is looking like this:

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So the answer to the question “Are we there yet?” is “No, but we’re getting closer. So here, have some more car snacks and shut the hell up.”

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Meanwhile…

Who doesn’t love a wonky pram blanket?

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I mean, who could possibly sneer at something obviously so lovingly crocheted for such a noble purpose as keeping small people snug in their prams as they venture out into a bigger, wider world?

(Seriously, please tell me who as I would like to meet this person and tell them that I secretly agree with them. Wonky pram blankets suck.)

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The Empty Nest

It’s been a while since I last posted here. You might be pleased to know that it’s because I have been writing like a crazy bitch for the past few months to the tune of 500 words a day every day for two months DURING THE SCHOOL HOLIDAYS.

Yep, what did I tell you? Crazy. Bitch.

And now this crazy bitch has finished a first draft.

I thoroughly expected to feel more excited about it but instead I’m feeling a bit “whoopy-fucking-shit” about it all.

For one thing, I didn’t quite make my 75,000 word target – it’s like I’ve finished the race but without actually crossing the finishing line.

For another thing, I went and gave the first draft to some members of my book group to read, which resulted in one of those middle-of-the-night “WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO THAT FOR?” moments.

Seriously, what possessed me to go and give something for free to the only people who are ever likely to buy my so-called novel?  I guess that’s why people write acknowledgements: to make all the people who read the thing while it was still a crappily-formatted Word document still go out and buy it just so they can see their name in print and stuff.

And even more seriously, they might hate it. And I’ve seen what they do when they hate a book. They tear it apart with their razor-sharp wits.

So… instead of feeling excited, I’m feeling anxious and strangely empty. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do with my time now? (Please don’t say housework. PLEASE DON’T SAY HOUSEWORK.)

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The Frankenwreath and the Wise Man

Listen up, people. I’m going to brag: I made this wreath in one night. Count ’em: ONE.

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Christmas cheer, crochet-style

Of course, when you do something like make a wreath in one night, there is an inevitable trade off. In this case, it was the back:

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BEHOLD, THE FRANKENWREATH!

The good news is that I can always display the Frankenwreath side on Halloween and really scare the shit out of people.

In other seasonally-related news, we took the kids to see the Griswaldian light display in Sunshine West last night and I found myself drawn one particular electro-nativity scene. While the other characters in the scene had their heads bowed in quiet contemplation, there was this one guy who was all “ZOMG!”.

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“ZOMG!”

Look closer. Perhaps he’s realised that he’s left the price tag on his bottle of myrhh or maybe he’s just worked out that he’s walked for six months to see a stupid baby in a barn.

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“This is it??  Seriously, guys. WHAT. THE. FUCK.”

Anyway, I think the point here is that he would like us all to have a good Christmas. You know, to make up for the one he was denied.

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Let’s do it for him.

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What a difference a month makes

So I haven’t posted on this blog for over a month. Nor have I crocheted a single granny square for over a month. There’s a reason for this.

You see, about a month ago I found myself collecting the little scraps of wool I had snipped off from the granny squares I was making for my Forever Blanket – you know, those multi-coloured mouse tails that litter most wool-based crafters’ homes? Those little fuckers. Anyways, it turns out that I was collecting these with the vague notion that I might make my own felt. Yes, my own felt.

WHAT THE FUCK.

It was this little wake up call that made me realise I needed to step away from the Forever Blanket (and its accompanying spreadsheet) for a little while and get some damn perspective. And it was then that I really started to write.

But rest assured, I haven’t put down my crochet needle hook all together. Since I can’t write in front of the television, I still made the following gifts:

A hat!

A hat!

Another hat!

Another hat!

More fucking coasters

More god-damned coasters

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This… thing.

And admittedly, even though I haven’t crocheted any squares, I have had a first stab at joining some of the existing squares together for the Forever Blanket.

Ooooh....

Ooooh….

Aaaaahhhhh....

Aaaaahhhhh….

3 rows done. 13 more to go.

3 rows done. 13 more to go. Pass the gin, please.

So that’s what I’ve done in the past month. What have you done? (And anyone who says they’ve written a whole novel or completed a 256-square blanket gets a chinese burn. Just saying.)