Sunday....

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” -- Neil Gaiman

Sunday in Oz…I got nothing…have a good day

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Go Ahead : Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Saturday.....

Nothing happening…in fact a plethora of boring nothingness of stuff to do. …so nothing filled that I cannot begin to describe it as anything more apt than a big old load of enriched nothing in the global scheme of nothing. If one could count all the nothings in their life and be considered rich then today I m a millionaire….hoping you are the same.

Go be fascinated and check out Lance – http://www.myspace.com/malakhthefallen

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Thursday nothinglessness....

Yes, nothinglessness is my new word. The word ‘nothing’ just does not adequately sum up the plethora of nothing in life at the moment. And yes, I will try and sneak it into a book.

So, I’m going to the Australian Romance Readers Convention in Melbourne, Aussieland, in February. An ex-co-worker of mine said what am I going to wear? My clever, well thought out response? Dunno – probably jeans, shorts, t-shirts. It will be summer in February and depending on Melbourne’s-4-seasons-in-one-day weather, I’ll either be boiling hot or freezing cold. She was surprised at my answer. “Aren’t you going to wear something a writer would wear?” What? Pyjamas? Trackie daks, slippers and a flanno shirt? Bra and shorts when it’s hot? Apparently not the right answer. It seems young…lets call her Nola…thinks authors should dress flamboyantly. Personally, I think those days of powder puff pink chiffon outfits, feather boas and overblown hats are gone or belong to the sumptuous drag queens you see on stage. Besides, I am going as me. I wear jeans, shirts and shorts. I wear Doc Martens. I am the characters I write. None of them dress flashy. I see no need to dress up and be something I am not. Added to that I hate dressing up. I am what you see – a thrown together individual that also has a life outside of writing. I think when you start worrying about whether you look like a writer then you’ve probably spent too much time writing. So, if you are in Melbourne and you are going to the convention, I’ll be the one causally dressed one probably leaning against a wall – I like to lean. If you need further verification, I will show you the striped socks I always wear. Dress up? I think not. It is Australia for god sake. Dressing up here is a clean pair of thongs (flip flops) and a squirt of deodorant. Take us as we are or not at all.

I have had to be present at a series of meeting at work recently. Why? Stuffed if I know. But I have turned up, sat up the back with my double strength latte and basically done my adequate best at looking like I am paying attention. I’m not. It’s an illusion. I don’t care. I turn up to get paid and I only do what I have to…nothing more…nothing less. Anyway I was sitting in one meeting staring at the floor working out a story plot, when I realized I should change where I was staring so it did not look too obvious that I didn’t care. Yes, slack-arse rule number 4. So I looked at my hands. I have rings on 3 fingers on each

hand. The reason why? No reason. That's just the way it is. Anyway I looked at my hands and realized that they looked exactly like my mother’s hands. I realize more and more the older I get the more I look like mum. Lord knows I am grateful for that. You know the expression of ‘look at the mother, the daughter will be like that in twenty years time’? Boy was I ever lucky to have the mother I did.

******************

What else on this nothing day….I ran into an old friend when I was buying groceries. His first comment to me was “You have gotten shorter.” Yes – not you look fantastic, stunning, amazing or how have I lived without you all this time? No, it was you look short. I told him that’s only because he was freakishly tall. This then got us into a discussion on the right height for a male. I said there wasn’t one. He said anything over 5ft 7 inches. I said so anything under means you aren’t a male? You’re a woman with a penis? We were, I should point out, discussing this in the fruit and veg section and one old dear had a giggle at the ‘p’ word. I reckon there are some raunchy grandmothers running around the 'burbs. Actually, my business cards and paraphernalia are up on the notice board of at least one retirement village. Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you never had sex or still don’t. Anyway… where was I? Penis…height…male…oh yes, so men are odd…yes, they are because how are you less of a male if you lack the supposed ideal in height? I don’t get it and I told him

he was weird. He said I was annoying and now shorter than before. I said hmmm…that means I may be a male in disguise because of my lack of height. He said he knew I wasn’t a male for the obvious reasons. I said I could have fooled him all those years ago. The conversation continued on in this ridiculous vein with the old dear with the trolley circling us – I believe for entertainment. I don’t actually miss him but I do miss the crazy arguing over stupid things. You know what I mean? We parted over the bin of broccoli. Will we see each other again – the short woman and the freakishly tall man? Who knows….fate is funny.

So, that was my intensely boring day. I will however tell you I came home in time to find out Eric in The Bold and the Beautiful is getting married again to a woman I thought each of his sons had slept with….most confusing. Oh, and yes, Katie has had her brother’s heart transplanted into her…he was the brother that shot her and then shot himself to save her. Hmmm…maybe having a boring, nothinglessness life shouldn’t be underrated.

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Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

A whole lot of nothing....

I received an excellent cover for Tantalizing Tilly from the Ellora’s Cave cover gods but I can’t show it to you yet as there is always a breathing space between the cover being sent and approval for general plastering it everywhere by the author. So I reckon I’ll wait til the weekend. But once again it is verrrry nice.

Other than that, nothing to report…nothing to say…been a nothing kind of day. No drama, no intrigue, no hissy fits, no happy stuff, no weird stuff. Just boring. So I suggest you check out the fine blogs to the left. Back tomorrow when I'm sure something of some note will happen…actually it's high noon for the possum tomorrow...

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Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

The amazingness of nothing in particular…

Remember a couple of days ago that I mentioned a blog by someone called Zelda? She was the blogger who caused such a stir by saying e-book writers sucked. Okay – fine – give an opinion - I admire that. What I do not admire, and I believe is pathetic, is pulling the plug on a blog because people suddenly don’t like your opinions. Well, here in Oz, we would call that being a big sooky la-la. You should not give opinions if you cannot stand criticism. You have to know that is going to happen what you write the sort of flaming commentary Zelda did. What name is the next blog Zelda will use for the same tactic? I believe this was the second she pulled because people got upset at her…there probably have been more. Whatever…I expect the next one will be as credible as the last two due to the lack of commitment to stand by her words. Probably best you got out of the kitchen, dear.

Last Thursday, in the pursuit of trying to get a book finished I finally went to bed after midnight. I had nothing to eat and was so tired after work and writing that I fell asleep in my slip and hydraulic bra. I woke up this morning at 4am and felt like I was in a cage of satin and boning - added to that I was knackered. So, why do we push ourselves to do things? Is it ambition? Is it because writers have no lives when they are writing? Is it an obsession? Stuffed if I know. What obsession do you have that you will knacker yourself in the pursuit of doing it?

Someone told me I have an ‘artistic walk’ – huh? Not sure I like the sound of that. They said that I had a flamboyant way of moving…again, not sure that’s a good thing. Apparently it’s all in the way you move your hips…I’ve always thought so…and stop looking at my hips.

It’s feral Beryl…I heard on the radio that Naomi Campbell (model) got arrested because she spat on someone…charming - not. Spitting, is to me, is plain disgusting and to do so makes me view you lower than a snake’s belly. And for a woman to do it is even worse. Normally women have more sense…tacky, tacky, tacky Naomi.

Okay, there has been a lot of hoo-ha over the man that’s having a baby. Of course there had to be more to the story. Oprah had him on her show. He was a she and had a sex change. Now, I don’t care what people do – sex changes, whatever – do what you have to do to make you happy - but this is hardly the miracle of a man having a baby if the female organs remained in tact is it? Oh how we love sensationalism.

Speaking of babies….I was doing some edits for Anyone But You today and the first one was I had to remove the word ‘baby.’ Now, I was using the term as a one of endearment. This is forbidden as it conjures up visions of paedophilia. Now, I

think all paedophiles should basically be shot between the eyes – see I’m reasonable – and it annoys me that a simple word like ‘baby’ is no longer a simple word. Is honey or darling or sweetheart going to go the same way? Let’s face it, you cannot say ‘gay’ any more as it means other they being happy or bright. No, I am not against different lifestyles – see comment above – do what you have to do to be happy – that’s important – but honest to god can we leave the bloody language alone or accept that words can have other meanings without getting all political or silly about it?

I was watching the news this evening and some celebrity was engaged to another celebrity and people were trying to take photos and the reporter was rabbiting on about how exciting it was and I thought – huh? Why is this exciting? These are just two people who are no better or worst than anyone else so why are they being held up as some sort of miracle of love and engagement? Is it just my socialist upbringing of ‘Jack's as good as his master’ and I view everyone equally or are celebrities some magical beings I am unaware of? Please advise.

Also on the news is the hoo-ha over our Prime Minister Kevin Rudd saluting George W. What does that mean? Is he is awe of George? Does he recognize George as being better than him? Are all Aussies going to start saluting GW? Nope, it just means Kev, like all Aussies likes to take the piss ( have a joke) and it was just a lark to salute him across a crowded room.

I had a silly moment today….I did the laundry, hung it out on the line and then ignored it for several hours while I edited. I went down eventually to bring it in. I was momentarily shocked because none of my underwear was there. What? Who would be insane enough to nick my cotton knickers? Most strange. I mean come on, I love me but knicker worshipping is just not on. Anyway, after checking out all points of entry to the house – tighter than a fish’s arse I might add - I was perplexed. Did aliens steal my knickers? If so for what reason? Are cottontails big on planet Zork? Maybe they wear them as helmets. Anyway, I wandered into the laundry and looked in the machine. There they still were. Whew… I really do not have time to be having visitors from Zork requesting to see my underwear.

So, as you can see it’s been a shambolic day at Chez Amarinda ending with me sauntering to the local hole in the wall fisho for fish and chips in celebration of - well, nothing really but just because I could. What excitement at your place? Do tell.

Anny and Kelly are probably not discussing the possibility of stolen knickers but check them out anyway as they are always most odd yet enlightening.

I'll leave you with this cheery quote....

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” -- Neil Gaiman

Gosh...how warm and fuzzy do we all feel now?

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Nothing for everyone…

Nothing – definition from the Internet -

1. No thing; not anything:
2. No part; no portion:
3. One of no consequence, significance, or interest:

Okay – I am going with number 3. Absolutely nothing of any consequence happened today. Stuff all. Zip. Why do I mention this? Have you ever wondered how often nothing happens and how much of our life it takes up?
- What are you doing? Nothing much.
- Anything exciting happen today? No, nothing.
- Are you doing anything tonight? Nothing at this stage.

So why is it that something that has no significance, part or potion is apart of our lives? Yes, how existential am I today? I usually wait for a Friday night when I have a glass of plonk in my hand to waffle on. But really think about it. We are all busy, busy, busy. We barely have time to spit – please don’t spit if you do have time, it’s just an expression I like to use – and yet nothing is always there -
- I’m hungry. There’s nothing to eat
- I’m bored, there’s nothing to do
- It’s happened and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Nothing is always with us. But I guess that’s something as opposed to just anything and that’s a probably a good thing.

Just as I finished writing my nothing epic at work where I was doing – er, nothing, Sara, my overseas counterpart rang me. Sara is from a culture that is wildly different to my own. I constantly shock her. Someone has to and she keeps coming back for more. Anyway, Sara was upset as her manager was being a – er, I was going to use dickhead but that’s probably not polite so I’ll use idiot. Why was he like that she asked me? I explained my tight undies theory to her. Some men get so caught up in their tight underwear that it affects their thinking. Sara said the manager had put on some weight recently. There you go. It’s his undies cutting off his brain. What was the solution she asked? I said maybe he needs boxer shorts or he goes commando. Her voice lowered with interest. “What is this commando?” She asked. I explained the principle of letting it all hang out and that some men really shouldn’t go into Special Forces. She then asked shyly, “What is a T-string men wear?” I explained it was a ‘G’ string and that the only time a man should have one of those was on a guitar.

Yesterday on www.kkirch.blogspot.com Kelly’s poignant, soulful epic ended beautifully with a woman’s need to fulfil her yearning to be with her man…er, eagle….

There was the added pressure of knowing she was five years late. With the coronation upon him, he wouldn’t be happy to see her, but she’d always had a thing for Eagle tail.

Today on Amarinda…

She should have cut that sucker off five years ago and collected the bounty while she had the chance. She would have been rich. The tail of a shape-shifting eagle such as Leonardo was worth a fortune. PJ pulled out her machete from the scabbard at her waist. “Time to go a-hunting.”

* * * * *

Gabrielle looked at the ice-cream Max offered her. “What do you want Max?” She wasn’t about to be swayed be either his good looks or dairy products. She had no need for a man in her life.

“I want us to be together.” He put the bowl down and reached for her.

Gabrielle side stepped him. “Why?”

“I ache for you Gabrielle.”

“If you take an aspirin or something I’m sure it will pass.”

“I want us to have a baby.”

Gabrielle looked at him in horror. “You know babies are forbidden. The mere mention of a baby and the Equatorial Council will banish you to the fiery hell of Nebulon Six.”

“I don’t care what the council says. People have had babies in the past.” Max pointed out.

She backed away from him. “The past is just that. There are to be no more babies.” Crazy talk like that would get them killed.

“Mistakes can happen.”

“I am not having sex with you Max.” Gabrielle was adamant.

“Why not?”

Because it took me too damn long to harden my heart to you. No, he could never know that. “There is someone else,” she lied.

Tomorrow on www.annycook.blogspot.com Anny will probably have someone getting married and if that happens, get your fans out ladies as it will get hot, hot, hot. What am I talking about? Go to http://www.ellorascave.com/AuthorsBooks.asp?AuthorCode=ACoo and buy Chrysanthemum and you will see.

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