Rosie's Travels

A quote that moves me because it seems to sum up everything I've been through so far:

"Being Human 101: Make Mistake, Apologize, Fix Mistake, Learn From Mistake, Live a Bit, (repeat)."

From Megan Wallent, whose site describes her male-to-female transition in a way that is elegant, throughtful, and calm.

I just seem to make more mistakes, more frequently, than most. Ho hum.

Light dawns even at the lowest points, though, as I put my intentions out into the world and gradually, from unexpected corners, people respond.

I've been corresponding with a sympathetic writer who emailed me after I left a comment on her blog. Another friend has sent me a link for a job she thinks I'd be perfect at. Finally, out of all the CVs I've been sending, I have one definite and one possible interview for next week. And I've volunteered to help out at a couple of things ... more details to come if I'm accepted ...

And Project Snapshot 2007, for which I interviewed 3 Australian writers here on this very blog, has won the Ditmar Award it was nominated for. I am, officially, award-winning - a fact I have already added to my CV, and a certificate is on the way. I may have to take a photo of it. I have never been award-winning before, except when I was part of a winning pub quiz team and marched proudly home, bearing in triumph a tin of amaretti biscuits that no-one else fancied.

Congratulations to everyone else involved, and particularly to my fellow artiste, and to Alisa, the guiding genius behind Asif! Twelfth Planet Press, and so much else. Meeting such interesting people is inspirational. I don't know quite where the energy for all their projects (reading every Australian specfic short story published during the entire year, anyone?) comes from. There are some people, though, whose influence spreads wider than they realise, and who put good things into the world that didn't exist before they thought of them - and I'm grateful to know them.

Reading Patry Francis' words also puts me into a frame of mind that is at once thoughtful and grateful for the things I take for granted.

I think my advice for anyone going through a period of self-doubt would be to find somebody to say yes to you. About anything. When you feel helpless and as if your skills are not valued ... make an offer, whether it's lending a book or making a cake, and see how much more energised you feel when someone accepts it. No-one is going to call you up and request that you do them the honour of writing for them. You have to keep making those moves, and maybe one in ten or twenty or seventy-eight will say yes.

Experimental baking is making me happy ... as is granting wishes.

Labels: a good day, ASif, cooking, friends, grand plans, Inspiration, jobs, life lessons, Patry Francis, volunteering, writing

Susie and I are aching: last night, reinforced by beer from happy hour at the pub over the road, we did two belly dancing classes in a row. It's interesting to experience how different teachers have different dance styles and teach techniques in slightly different ways. We're learning to perform with gold and silver canes, but not in a Fred Astaire way - no, we go through our usual hip-swivelling routines but with additional points made by swinging the cane. For part of it, we have to carefully balance them horizontally on our heads - it's surprising, you can be stepping and rotating from the shoulders down as long as you hold your head still.

Laptop hassles continue: ex-boyfriend kept the CD burner. Have borrowed Pete's floppy disk drive to enable me to save work, but this is not really the best way of transferring articles. I love sitting with a mug of coffee, looking out at the garden for inspiration and typing away, living out my Carrie Bradshaw fantasy, but it's little things like my lack of technical knowhow that let me down and make me seem unprofessional!

And I found out today that DB's wonderful music editor, Nina Bertok, is leaving the magazine. This is a real shame - not only is she a great writer and interviewer, but right from the first time I walked in to the office, she always made me feel like my opinions were worth hearing. She taught me how to fix a mysteriously paused cassette recorder, the two questions you should NEVER ASK in interviews* and sharpened my writing skills immensely. Sometimes you need a person to come along and say "Hey! You're not bad at this!" to give you the confidence to continue.

A weird sideline - when I knew I'd be going "read dating", I posted a question on the BookCrossing forums asking what book people would bring along, and what they thought I should bring. I've been without internet access for four days and during that time speculation on the thread has reached fever pitch. I'm a little startled at what people assumed must have happened to me:

"We've been speculating as to how it went: I think you took your piratical book, and met up with someone with a"Spanish for Beginners" book, and went off for a game of bowls together. A verrry long game of bowls, with no computers nearby for updating curiousBCers as to your adventures...."

Covert reckons "She encountered a snaggle-toothed gentleman carrying a copy of Memoirs of a Buccaneer, by "Half-Arse" Le Golif (said to have lost a buttock to a cannon ball). The blackguard swept her away to his barque, at anchor in the harbor. They're on their way to the Solomon Islands, winds permitting."

"But in case you took the spy novel instead, "She was cornered by a lantern-jawed gentleman in sun-glasses who was carrying a copy of Point Blank, by an-author-who-shall-remain-unnamed. The blackguard swiftly and unobtrusively clamped an anesthetic-soaked handkerchief over her face and bundled her off to his waiting black sedan, claiming (charmingly) to their hostess that she'd "over-indulged a bit". Their whereabouts are still to be determined."

Incidentally, my article on the WORD writing festival (and read dating) is published here - and I'm amazed that my sympathetic editor let me include the last sentence! I've also written about Ethiopian music in this issue - Dereb Desalegn is a traditional musician and Nicky Bomba is a Melbourne percussionist who works with all kinds of bands.

* "So, how did you guys meet?" and "So, where did you get your band name from?" Nina rightly states that these questions will have been asked of groups hundreds of times before by lazy journalists "which you're not, cos you write for us."

Labels: belly dancing, BookCrossing, technical stuff, WORD and read dating, world music, writing

Today I've had my first interview by email. It's a bit different to meeting musicians in person, where you pick up cues from their interactions, body language, clothes, whether they spend ages ripping up sugar packets, all of which can add interest to the final article. Even in phone interviews, where there's still the flow of conversation, you can ask the interviewee to expand on or explain what they're trying to say, pick up humour and what they really feel from the tone of their voices (or whether, naming no names, it's 1pm and they're stoned off their heads), to spell out the names of the obscure bands they cite as their influences - and they can speak to the moment, like Die Roten Punkte yesterday: "We're in a phone box in Keith, Astrid is doing the robot on the pavement ... there's an old couple walking past giving us strange looks, I guess they don't see many international rock'n'roll stars here..."

Writing out questions for Laura Love made me really think hard about what kind of answers I needed, and also about how I should most respectfully phrase my questions - especially when asking about how a particularly difficult upbringing had shaped her today both as a woman and a musician. One particular story mentioned in her biography is just horrific, and I'd feel intrusive about bringing it up and forcing her to recount such a traumatic memory. Her CD, You Ain't Got No Easter Clothes, is really, scarily good. On the one hand, it's great to be able to say to someone that their music, or art, or whatever they've created, has really touched you. On the other hand, they must hear that a lot, and I'm trying to be professional here (she says, three bags of groceries spilling around her feet in an internet cafe, the milk already warmed to room temperature.)

Apropos of nothing, a phrase that you probably never want to hear resounded around the tree-lined calm of Unley this evening. My housemate Pete has his plaster cast off and is getting back into his professional life ... as a lawyer. And he's relishing it. There are moments when he looks truly piratical, with his dark eyes flashing dramatically above a pile of paperwork, especially when uttering with relish a phrase as sinister as:

"I'm gonna charge like a wounded bull."

Pause, gentle reader, to allow a shudder down your spine.

Unley is a strange suburb. The power blackouts that plague Adelaide never affect us. The council offers increasingly unlikely excuses for these, ranging from the wrong kind of trees inconsiderately dropping branches, to, I don't know, drop-bears. Yet somehow our street lights shine on. Pete's conspiracy theory puts it down to the concentration of dignitaries, high earners, and Freemasons in the area - and if you've read Alan Moore's outstanding graphic novel "From Hell" - I'm not talking about that film remake - you may well believe it. I prefer to attribute it to more positive things, such as a number of powerful leylines running through Unley and converging on the nexus of power for all of South Australia. I am, of course, referring to Haigh's Chocolate Factory.

Labels: chocolate power, conspiracy theories, Die Roten Punkte, fearsome things, From Hell, Laura Love, writing

well, things are moving on apace. I've applied to review Big Day Out Adelaide for www.vibewire.net, a site I've visited occasionally over the last few months. I would be so chuffed to win a ticket - if I got to go there and report on the experience, I'd not only interview the bands and punters, but also try and talk to the roadies, sound mixers, food vendors, security guards etc as I think the backup staff must have a lot of insider gossip! Vibewire is particularly notable for one very helpful columnist, Hailey Baldwin, who gives practical advice on pitching articles and getting published.

I got a message this morning from the former boyfriend, which surprised me a lot. After being left heartbroken, he realises that it hurts! and that perhaps it hurt me!

On the one hand, it's good to get some closure: finally, a genuine apology. I could wish that he'd said this sooner, when I was still crying myself to sleep every night. But perhaps it was something that he had to go through, thanks to the laws of karma. I'm glad that eh's come to some self-knowledge, but I thought I'd feel triumphant, dancing around going "Hah! Not so nice, is it? Yeah! Sob for me!" In fact, I just feel ... empty. Detached from his emotions. A certain amount of pity.

He actually asked me why I was always so nice to him. Well, when I tried to put myself in his shoes after the breakup, it came to me that he probably found it quite hard to look at himself in the mirror, knowing the mistakes he'd made and how badly he'd handled things. Also, to take a broader view, there's been so much negativity and hurt, for so long, that it makes no sense to put more of it out there.

The thing is that I want him to be happy. I'm not the one to make him happy, but I hope he finds someone who is. Does this mean that we can be friends? Do I even want him for a friend, knowing that he's not the fantastic person I thought he was? It's easier to speak on the phone than to see him in person, certainly, which I'm not sure I'll ever want to do again. On the other hand, after 3 years together we probably know each other better than our families and friends. And there aren't many people - I think this is particularly true in men's lives - that you can really open up to about your emotions, and share your upsets with. I'm English, he's Canadian, so we're both away from our immediate support networks, I suppose. So I've come to the conclusion that I will be civil and supportive as much as I can.

God! I guess I am learning all the time. You may bury your head in the sand in a relationship, blindly carrying on and not really developing further, but afterwards when you look back, even if there's nothing else positive ... you gain some self-knowledge.

I also want to pay tribute to all my friends. Tash and Rob who took me in, and also forced me to celebrate my birthday with delicious yum cha and actually laugh again, my wonderful and understanding cousin Anna who was a huge support, and everyone else who called, texted, emailed, or just hugged. That was another good thing: looking around me, I realised just how much love and concern I was surrounded by.

Positive vibes to everybody!

Now I need to get cleaning: when I return the keys to this flat I'm minding, I want to leave it pristine, all the linen washed, wine in the fridge, flowers with a nice scent and my 2 comedy CDs of "I'm Sorry, I Haven't A Clue." I hope Rachel will like them. I've also used up one of her charmingly tiny jars of Moccona coffee, so am embarking on a creative project: to clean it out and fill it with multicoloured origami stars. This is a haven of peace and calm: the picture shows the view from my balcony as the sun goes down.

Incidentally, if anyone's reading this and thinking, Gosh, she sounds like a lovely house sitter ... I am available from May onwards! and yes ... I will travel.

Labels: Adelaide, art, friends, grand plans, relationships, writing

Major good news: I've been granted the second year's working holiday visa. Thank goodness for that, after 2 months of worrying. One more year here to see everything that so far I haven't been able to (Western Australia, the Northern Territory, Far North Queensland, Byron and Nimbin ... it might not sound like much but if you look at a map the distances involved are pretty enormous!)

Even better news: My sister's coming to visit in April!!!

It was an unusual New Year's Eve this time around. Last year's was great - 4 wheel driving on the beautiful Fraser Island with 5 good companions. This year, instead of going out drinking and watching fireworks in Adelaide, I joined a good friend's family at their Adelaide Hills mansion. I hadn't expected them to be millionaires, but it was a stunning place with a new pool and all the entertainment one could want. We ended up singing Singstar Rocks before racing down to restrain the dogs at midnight in case the fireworks startled them. I felt like one of the adults for the first time: really interesting people were around debating climate change, international projects, sharing gossip - and I felt like I had something to contribute to the conversation too, rather than wanting to hang out with the kids all night. The teenagers, rather than playing or celebrating, were going on the internet trying to find the footage of Saddam being hung! Who would have children these days? It must be a horrific job to be a parent trying to stop your little darlings from seeing this deeply disturbing stuff.

On the TV they showed what was going on in Sydney ... yes, gorgeous fireworks, but minor celebrities dancing around for half an hour first? I can see they must sell a lot of advertising in the run up, but for those in Australia at the same time next year who want to see what's going on, just turn your TV on at midnight and skip all the pointlessness.

Resolutions for this year include:

1. Writing more - I'm not setting a target of 1000 words a day, because I know from experience I wouldn't always do that and then would beat myself up over it. I will at least update this a couple of times a week.
2. Dancing more - I lost the joy back there for a while. But I'm excited to be part of a gang of 5 amazing Adelaide people starting a belly dance class this Sunday. Wish me luck.
3. De-cluttering. I shouldn't have to explain this, but it's ridiculous for a backpacker to travel with 8 bags of stuff. Having settled in places for months at a time, I do tend to amass things, books, more clothes than I need, and lots of tickets and mementoes I'm planning to scrapbook. The current mission is to finish a scrapbook by January 11th, when I move out of this house-sitting place. I will stop getting sucked in to all the books here, and start organising so as to leave with less stuff than I brought. I would post a photo of what I'm carrying around with me, but I'm too embarrassed by it!
4. Be a better friend. Last year I went through a brutal break up, the day before my birthday. I had to write possibly the most difficult email ever to all my family, friends and all the mutual friends who had only ever known us as a couple. After being on the road for so long, I'd half lost touch with many people. But I was amazed and touched by the huge outpouring of support that came in from practically everyone I knew, including people I thought of as Eric's friends. I was pretty emotional at that time and would read these thoughtful messages and cry. What I didn't do was write back to these people. Several months passed, I got a measure of equilibrium back, and I felt too ashamed to write now after so long. My conscience has been pricked, however, by a strong family member whose husband recently passed away. Of course I wrote to her, but stressed that she must have a lot going on and not to bother responding. But she sent a wonderful note to me at Christmas saying how much she appreciated what I wrote, really putting love and best wishes into it. If she can do this, after such a bereavement, I think it's high time I made amends as well.

I'm proud of where I've got to, though, and I have a lot to look forward to.

Want to see what I've had published so far?

So proud of this one, a truly weird interview with Adelaide's bearded messiahs The Beards (the photo above shows Kirsty, Jasmine and myself appropriately disguised to attend their gig I'm the evil Grand Vizier, Kirsty is the Billy Connolly lookalike and Jasmine's rocking those fluffy sideburns. Hey, it was Christmas! Without our own facial hair we had to use what we had at hand - namely a feather boa and purple tinsel.)

A slightly more sedate interview with Adelaide band Is This Art?

A review of KT Tunstall's album Eye to the Telescope

Review of Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas

Review of Sam Shepard's controversial play The God of Hell

Review of Translations by Brian Friel

Labels: Beards, Brian Friel, Dylan Thomas, grand plans, KT Tunstall, relationships, Sam Shepard, travel, writing

It's very strange, but since my time staying with a witch on her farm / animal rescue sanctuary, a lot of things have been falling into place. Perhaps the main thing was that I explained the story behind my greenstone pendant and she didn't laugh, but took me seriously. In New Zealand, you don't buy greenstone for yourself, but as a gift for someone else, otherwise it's bad luck. So when Eric and I had our 2 year anniversary, we bought each other greenstone pendants. I love mine and since then have rarely taken it off. Well, we're not together any more and I was fed up of thinking about him, feeling upset, constantly going over what could have happened differently.

I explained this to Catherine, who is an amazing listener and very wise - rather like Granny Weatherwax in character, although in appearance more like the Morrigan. She suggested that we do a cleansing ritual, to remove his energy from it, and give it positive energy for me. That night I had the best and most healing sleep I've had in months, about 12 dreamless hours. When I awoke I looked at the sparkling morning sun and thought ... "I can do whatever I want." The ritual, though harmless, I'm not going to share, because it was a personal thing. Since then I've been doing my usual absent-minded rubbing and fiddling with the stone round my neck, just like I always seem to, but thinking "This is a positive thing. This brings me good luck." I still have fears and worries and all the rest of it, but I'm doing better about asking for the things I want. After all, the worst that can happen is that I'll get a polite "No, sorry." And things really have moved on!

I have found some really good friends in Adelaide and a paying job so laughably easy anyone could do it, were it not for the overwhelming fumes. My mate Jasmine and I weld vinyl together to make marquees. I also specialise in cranking a vast punch to force eyelets through. We talk all day and take it in turns to listen our preferred stations on the radio: our unspeakable supervisor likes middle of the road soft rock (The Eagles really make him happy). Jasmine likes chart stuff (although SAFM has a pretty limited playlist, and we end up hearing the same tracks at least 4 times over each 8 hour period). I crank up Triple J, the rock/indie station - it's the equivalent of XFM in the UK, and the only one that plays unsigned acts. This is very handy research for my brilliant unpaid position...

I am a published writer! Yeah!

This is something that I've wanted to do for so long, ever since writing for student newspapers in Manchester and Missouri, but somehow I never got around to it. The confidence, I believe, comes from the Goddess energy, but the direct inspiration came from metal guitarist Yngwie Malmsteen.

Let me tell you about Yngwie Malmsteen.

I first encountered him in the lyrics to a Fun Lovin' Criminals song circa 1997, which contained the line "My fingers are moving faster than Yngwie Malmsteen." I assumed this was a sexual reference for something depraved and Swedish, nodded knowledgeably and moved on. One day in an Oxfam shop I was browsing the racks of cassette tapes and noticed "Odyssey," by Yngwie J. Malmsteen's Rising Force. His rampant power metal mullet made me smile, but the brilliant idea of naming your band your Rising Force made it irresistible. 50p later it was mine.

If espresso coffee were music, it would sound like Yngwie Malmsteen. He is the world's fastest guitarist. His "Flight of the Bumblebee" has to be heard to be believed. So I was predisposed to go crazy at his concert, which I attended with my understanding friend Susie. Afterwards, all my enthusiasm had to be channelled somewhere. But I didn't have a guitar. I had to share the experience somehow, or burst.

I offered my writeup to Rip It Up and DB. DB were interested and soon I was interviewing bands and reviewing CDs, books and arts events for them. That Yngwie review was published by The Program here:

http://www.theprogram.net.au/reviewsSub.asp?id=4338&state=1

I'm so chuffed!

So things are going surprisingly well. I don't answer to anybody but myself right now, and though I still feel guilty over things that I fail to do, dammit, I meet my deadlines!

Labels: greenstone, marquee making, radio, rampant power metal mullets, relationships, rituals, witchcraft, writing, Yngwie Malmsteen