The upside of the downturn

When the GFC first hit us, I panicked. Our collective income dropped. The bills piled up. Things looked grim. How do we support our family? What if we can’t make our mortgage payments? What do we do when the work dries up (because we run our own businesses and we can’t exactly pay ourselves redundancies).

I was spinning down faster and faster in a spiral of negativity, fueled by the media, friends losing their jobs, the talk on the street (or around the water coolers)…

Then I kicked myself in the butt. Hard to do, in more ways than one. I thought of all the people who don’t even know there’s a global recession, because they spend their lives living like it’s always one. And I figured, if they can do it, we can.

So we sold stuff we didn’t need, refinanced loans, stopped the retail therapy, focused on paying off credit cards, started living lean. And it was okay. It actually felt good.

But I didn’t even think about (or value) the other side of slowing down. The part where you’re not juggling  way too many projects and stressing over deadlines. The part where you have time to think, time to learn, time to connect with people again.

And I’ve realised, over the past few weeks, that there are other things about the GFC that are really, really good. We do more family stuff, and we eat out less and cook together more. We’ve shed lots of stuff that’s been weighing us down (even though we didn’t know it). We’ve thought about what’s important to us, and what we really want out of life, and we’re making moves towards it. 

Because when you step out of that whole rat race thing, there’s time to catch your breath. And so much more headspace! You learn stuff about yourself that was being obliterated by the busy-ness… and you get so much more creative.

So yeah, there’s still those clouds hanging around, but it’s not all doom and gloom. Not in my head anyway!

elle x

sliding sideways – into the ‘art of moi’

Louise (Elle) and Sandra (Sash)

We’re sliding in sideways… into another blog. It’s called the art of moi, and it came out of us finding it so hard to make time to write. And we started asking ourselves when we might get around to it – since we seem to be driving the emergency response vehicle in everyone else’s lives.

The art of moi is about putting yourself back in the picture. It sounds very unhealthy, but it’s not about turning into divas. If it was, we’d have a long way to go.

We always seem to be working on finding time for ourselves, and getting past the guilt trippin’, so we figured you might be doing the same thing. That’s where it came from – who know’s where it’s going. Come along for the ride.

Visit http://artofmoi.wordpress.com, or follow us on http://twitter.com/artofmoi.

Making procrastination an artform

Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here. Not now. Not with two deadlines facing me – and both worth $$ to me. But instead of knuckling down, I’ve been caught up in administrivia all morning.

Yes, you have to do this stuff when you run a business (and a household), but it helps to actually earn money, rather than just let deadlines whoosh past.

Administrivia is just another word for procrastination. And I’ve made it an artform. Because it’s easier to fuddle around paying bills, and sorting emails, and stuff than it is to face the blank page. And hey, while I’m at it, I’ll put on a load of washing and clean the kitchen (gotta love the home office!).

I sometimes wonder why I write for a living, and for recreation. Clearly, I’m a sucker for punishment – or I just love playing with words.

So I’ve eliminated all my excuses so far. I’ve done the admin, done the washing, even paid for my ticket to the Byron Bay Writers Festival next month. Now…it’s almost midday. It must be time to face my copywriting jobs. Wish me luck!

elle x

Brewing the perfect novel

The draft is finished. 763,000 cups of tea later… the draft is finally finished.

And it’s a good thing I procrastinated over so many cups of tea, because now is the moment when all that ‘brewing’ experience pays off. Now I get to sit and wait, while my manuscript brews and my mind clears. Ready to transform this thing into a final work.

The Fragrant Leafsays brewing is simple and straightforward. (If only it was!) They even outline some simple steps to show how simple brewing is.

1. Start with fresh, cold good-tasting water - I have fresh, crisp good-sounding words. I must be on the right track.

2. Preheat the teapot - Hey, this story is positively smoking. It’s got action, it’s got pace, and characters that leap from the page. (Okay, so sometimes they have arthritic knees and it’s not so graceful. It’s still hot.)

3. Measure the appropriate amount of dry leaves - Dry leaves? Ah, yes. Those moments where we allow the reader to come up for air, and take a break from it all. I’m sure I’ve got an appropriate amount of those. 

4. Select the right water temperature - Still treading water in the shallow end of the writers’ pool. Time to dive in the deep end I think. 

5. Steep for the proper length of time - The crux of the whole brewing thing. Normally I’d let it steep for a month, but who can wait that long these days? Besides, I’m on a time budget here and I’m not getting any younger either. I’m thinking a week. One week. Seven days. And it’s liberating not to think about my novel every spare second. And it kind of leaves me lost at the same time. What did I think about before I started writing this thing? 

Never mind. A week it is. I haven’t looked at it since Friday, so that means tomorrow my week is up. Oh no, that went so fast. I can feel the tension rising already. 

Urgh! 

I think I’d better go make a cup of tea. 

Sash.

The writers’ lunch

Solving the fly problem, writer style!

There’s something a bit decadent about stealing a few hours for yourself – and your writing buddy. Sash and I do it (almost) every Tuesday, and it’s brilliant.

It took us a while to set aside that time to feed our creative souls – and we still feel a tiny bit guilty that we’re not generating an income sitting there!

Is it a woman thing? We’re so used to looking out for everyone else’s needs and being on-call 24/7, that taking time out for ourselves takes enormous determination.

And we both know, from our own experience and talking to so many fellow writers, that it’s why we feel we shouldn’t take the time to write.

I love what Louise Doughty says in her book A Novel in a Year:

“The problem…with getting started seemed to stem from a common need, the desire for someone else to give them permission to go ahead with an activity that neither settles the bills nor involves paying attention to those we love.

…Hell will freeze over before I spend a morning folding clothes and putting them away in drawers when I need to be writing instead. If my family want their clothes, they know to look on the laundry rack.”

Don’t you love it when someone makes such perfect sense?

Our Tuesday Collabs start with a Pilates session, then coffee and fabulous GF banana bread at our favourite cafe in West End. Or, like today, lunch.

We spend the time catching up, planning or doing our next collaborative writing project, talking about the manuscripts we’re working on… So far this year, we’ve written a short film script, made serious progress on our manuscripts, and come up with some fun writing plans (and dreams).

Today, a fly flew into Sash’s shiraz. I’m not sure if that’s a sign – but it involved laughter, so it must have been.

We solved the fly problem, writer style – with our coasters and pens. And we’re so busy being creative and motivated, there’s really not much time left, these days, for guilt trips.

elle & sash

Easter Madness

Photo credit: freeimages.co.uk

Darrel Lea is packed. It’s the Thursday before Easter and I think the entire annual aid budget for a Third World Nation is being spent on chocolate.

First, I try to get into Darrel Lea through people lining up to buy their eggs. Then, overwhelmed by pressing bodies and chocolate cravings, I try to get out of Darrel Lea (without eggs).

That isn’t going to happen in a hurry. I say a gentle excuse-me to a lady in the line blocking my exit strategy. She doesn’t move forward or backward to let me pass. She just stares studiously ahead with a set jaw and an armful of moulded chocolate.

“Excuse Me,” I say, slightly louder. No response. I want to put my face very close to that determined jaw and say in a Clint Eastwood make-my-day voice, “I know you can see me and I know you can hear me…” But I vowed to give up egg-rage for Lent.

Instead, I gently nudge her toward the counter, hit the gap like a footy pro and flee through the egg-laden hordes.

I’m not sure if it’s age, cynicism or a lightly-oaked version of both, but I’ve completely lost the Easter – and Christmas – spirit.

The only thing that keeps me hanging in there is a penchant for warm Christmas pudding with lashings of custard, and smooth Swiss chocolate Easter eggs.

My children think I’m terribly jaded and unromantic. I don’t see their point. Okay, the Christmas tree is rather bedraggled. It’s a relic of their fading childhood and those bygone days when Christmas trees were genuine fake green.

They want to know when I’m getting married to their step-dad, although every time we mention a date now they just laugh. Which is understandable, I guess.

We’ve made a date every year for thirteen years. But just one look at those wedding buffet prices and the decision is difficult – skiing in the Dolomites, walking the Annapurna Trail… or a wedding. Gee, let me think.

Clearly, I don’t have an issue with romantic sunrises or snow-bound mountain lodges. It’s more a rejection of traditional events designed to bolster the flagging retail sector. From birthdays, weddings and christenings to Christmas, Mother’s Day and every other present-buying celebration, we are sucked into a never-ending purchasing cycle.

The only reason no-one has come up with ‘Kid’s Day’ is because there isn’t a parent out there who’d be fooled (or is there?). It’s Kids Day every day of the year. Even on Mother’s Day they ask me what I want, help me choose it, then steer me to the counter to hand over my own credit card.

Cynical? Who, me? Brand me what you like. I’m still going to pass on the whole faux celebration gig. Don’t buy me anything. What I really want is great company, conversation and laughter – oh, and to watch the sunrise over Machi Picchu sometime soon.

That’s it in a (chocolate) eggshell really.

elle x