Best of 2012: app-happy

Back when it was still 2012, I thought how cool it would be to indulge in a little reflection on all my favourite "stuff" of the year. I talk a lot here about little life moments, about books, and about creativity, but I don't often chat about the gadgets and tools and media that make life smoother -- or even just more fun. Of course, it's now 2013, and 2012 is already an old story. Nevertheless, I'm still gonna go for it. And to kick off the stuff-of-the-year, my favourite mobile apps (Apple-centric, because I don't have an Android devices, sorry) of 2012:

Afterglow, a photo-editing app, has become my go-to for editing shots before uploading them to Instagram. Afterglow is a clean, easy-to-use interface that provides a ton of editing options. There's the basic filter selection, which overlays your shot with a pre-designed light/colour/contrast filter, creating a bunch of cool looks. However, there are also stacks of cropping and rotation tools as well as tweaks for brightness, contrast, sharpening, softening, saturation, exposure, temperature, and graininess. You can add borders or crop the shot to a shape. My favourite feature, though, is the light leaks option, with more than twenty light leaks to overlay onto your picture. Every edit comes with a gradient scale, too, so you can bump up the edit or just impose a subtle change to the photo. Once the photo is edited to your liking, you can save to your camera roll, email, post straight to Instagram, etc in one (or all) of three different sizings. The photos in this post (which I took at my friend Kat's house Adorable Home of Adorableness) were edited on my phone in Afterglow. I'm a fan.

Price: currently $0.99 through the Australian iTunes store.

Solar: There are a million weather apps out there (that might not even be hyperbole; I have no idea) and most of them can be trusted to deliver the information that you need. Can any of them deliver that information as beautifully as Solar, though? I sincerely doubt it. Be sure to click over to the link to see some screenshots of the app in action. It's a lovely piece of minimalist design that's easy to use but also conveys a sense of the weather, with the colour gradient shifting depending on the time of day and the temperature. It delights me every time I check the forecast.

Price: currently $1.99 through the Australian iTunes store.

Bible: Again, there's a whole slew of Bible apps available, but I love this one because it provides a whole multitude of translations to choose from, and is pretty easy to navigate throughout. My two favourite features of this app, though, are the stacks of Bible-reading plans which you can select from (providing you with daily and specific readings directly from your app) and the read-aloud option for the majority of Bible versions. That was especially cool; I found myself listening to the Bible while I was brushing my teeth, applying makeup, or falling asleep at night. Nifty nifty.

Price: This one's a free app, too, so -- bonus!

Marvel comics (for iPad): Yes. I am apparently ten years old, and a boy. But one sick day when I was curled in on myself on the couch, sprawled beneath a cloud of self pity, I just started scrabbling round in the app store, I guess, and came across the Marvel app. It is really just a pretty interface designed to make it even easier for you to fork over dollars for comics, which you can purchase and read from within the app, using your iTunes login. So well done, Marvel. I fell for your wiles and your beautiful high-definition digital comics. However, there are a bunch of free downloadable comics, too -- a gateway, I suppose, to the paid stuff. Enter at your own risk.

Price: the app is free, the comics are not.

Paper (for iPad) is a pretty pretty app that also provides a little bit for free and then lures you into realms of creativity where you must, simply must, fork over seven dollars fifty or so in order to have access to the full palette of sketching and colouring tools. I know; who spends $7.50 on an app? Me, it would seem. And more than once (see below). But when it's worth it, it's worth it. Paper provides a bunch of digital sketchbooks and notebooks, which you can customise by decorating the covers and adding and removing pages. The number of journals you can set up is (I believe) unlimited. The basic app comes with a colour palette of about seven colours, and one drawing nib. With the extra money, there are colours galore and five drawing tools: calligraphy nib, pencil, marker, fine line pen, and brush (which makes for beautiful watercolour effects). Plus there's an eraser. Your drawings, sketches, and notes are completely saveable and shareable. I look forward to doing more with this app because the possibilities are huuuuge.

Price: free... at first.

ABC iView: God bless the ABC, I say! Non-commercial television is lovely enough, but then to offer it all online for viewing at a more convenient time -- yippee! I rarely get to watch a show I'm interested in when it's actually on tv, but the iView app turns my iPad into a little anytime tv. You can add shows to your watch list and be alerted when new episodes appear. Plus, stop watching something halfway through and it will be waiting for you right where you paused it next time you go to watch. I'm sure anybody who is interested is already well aware of this app, but it rates a mention because I really appreciated it this year past.

Price: free, free, free.

Zombies, Run! and Zombies Run 5k training: I actually deliberated for a while about sharing this app with you all. There's no doubt it's my favourite app of 2012 (and I only got into it August, when Laura bought me an iTunes card for my birthday, with the rule that I could spend the change however I wanted but first I MUST buy Zombies, Run!) but sometimes I fear I am loving it too much. It's an exercise app; it shouldn't be this important, right? Oh, but it is!

Basically, Zombies, Run! is an immersive running game that drops you right into the middle of an isolated township of survivors working to get through the zombie apocalypse. You set up a workout playlist, get the app going on your phone or iPod, and then you run your way through all sorts of adventures, getting to know amazing, beautiful, heartbreaking characters as you complete mission after mission and try to help Abel Township stay afloat at the end of the world.

To say that I have fallen in love with the characters is an understatement. These guys are very endearing, with a good mix of drama and humour in their stories. And they are great companions to get me jogging (which I'm super bad at), bike riding, or working out. I've never had such a great inducement to exercise, and the ZR app has taken me through hours and hours of sweating. The app includes more than 30 original workouts, but all of them can be re-run as often as you want. As you run, you collect supplies to help build the fledgling township. And for added incentive, you can turn on zombie chases, and the fear of the undead coming up behind you and moaning in your ear will have you really picking up the pace. It does have its scary moments, as well as other PG elements, so it won't be for everyone (I can't convince my sister to try it) but I have never been more delighted by an app. I am busting for season 2 of the series to come out so I can get over the terrible cliffhanger at the end of the first season of missions!

PS. There's a 5K training app for those new to running, and it is just as wonderful.

Price: this is, to many, an expensive app. At the regular price of $8.99 for ZR and $3.99 for the 5k version, it seems hefty compared to all the free or 99c apps out there. But I'm not kidding when I say I'd buy this app at three times the price. It's really worth it. Plus, for a short time only, the apps are half price to really encourage you in your new year's resolution to move more (don't tell me you didn't promise you'd do it). Half price, guys! Seriously!

So: I've told you my favourite apps of 2012. What are yours?

6/100 (a tentative love note)

Dear Queensland Summer,

I don't want to speak too soon; after all, it's only been -- what -- almost six years? But I think I'm finally beginning to like you. Don't worry; I'm surprised, too.

Please continue to be kind?

Yours in wary affection,

Danielle

And here is where the words roll up the screen, Star Trek style:

I saw in the baby new year -- the 9pm version -- with my parents and my brother, my sister and her wee family, and my cute goddaughters and their parents. There were fireworks*, people jammed all over the paths lining the oversized pond (the one at the bottom of our hill, that likes to think it's a lake) and then there were queues for ice cream and finally peanut butter Cold Rock with nutella mixed in, dripping all down my fingers because I couldn't eat it quicker than December was melting it.

At about ten, I got in the car and drove to a friend's place about half an hour away. His new house is still in christening mode and a bunch of people were gathered for games and conversation (yeah, we party hard). Midnight snuck up on us and we fumbled through a really rushed countdown before the happynewyears began. About ten minutes later, Tim remarked on our somewhat pathetic countdown efforts and suggested a do-over. I was so on that. So four of us (the four most mature?) raced outside and did a proper countdown with shouts and cheers, and that felt like the right way to see in a new year.

"So is anyone making any resolutions?" asked Emma, whom I'd just met for the first time. She looked right at me and I was startled into saying the thing that was at the forefront of my mind.

"Just a word, really, one word to sort of... guide my approach to the year" -- or something like that. And though thoughout the week before I'd had three words jostling for the supremacy, three words which would all make sense, all be worthwhile ways to sally forth into a new year, when she asked what the word was, it just popped out, and my resolution was fully birthed.

"Boldness."

"Boldness?" asked another friend, Cath.

"Yep," I said. "Basically I'm a wimp."

Cath raised her eyebrows. "No."

"Yes." And when she looked skeptical, I had to confess: "I'm pretty good at faking brave."

So.  

Bold. That is my word for the year, and if it sounds similar to things I've said in previous years, then that makes sense, because it's the same thing God's been drumming into my brain for a while now. 'Because I'm scared' doesn't cut it as an excuse any more, even just in my own head, and though I've been getting better at not using 'it freaks me out' as an escape hatch, I definitely still have a way to go.

It took a small dose of bold even just to write about it here, because part of being a wimp is being scared of failure, and part of being scared of failure is being intimidated by the judgement of others. Hi, others. Now I've told you about my plans, you are perfectly able to watch me fail. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but notice the smack-in-the-face-with-a-wet-fish obviousness of last night's devotional reading, though. Philippians 1:6. It's a good promise for a new year.

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*A kid about eight years old was roaring NO GET IT AWAAAAAY MAKE THEM STOOOOP and a tiny baby was cooing and kicking her legs and grinning.

5/100 (letter to a closing year)

Dear two thousand and twelve,

Dude. I feel like you've been hanging in the shadows a bit. One moment you're on the way, and the next moment -- or so it seems -- you're leaving. It's my fault, really. I should have paid more attention to you. I should have slowed down, stopped to look at you from a different angle, analysed you, explored you. Instead, I got caught up in living and you drifted by while I was hardly noticing.

I have to say, 2012, you're not my favourite year. We don't part as best friends, that's for sure. But we're definitely not enemies, either. There are things you failed to provide, but there are many many things you brought with you, too: opportunities for writing, learning, working, and being challenged. I'm especially thankful for doors that opened onto new chances to learn from clever people, and the privilege/burden/adventure of getting to do some brain-moulding of my own -- not wisely or well, but with gusto at least.

While spending your year, 2012, I let slip old habits which I'd once thought very important, and formed others that I hope might stick around a little better. Some friendships got shuffled around in the busyness of the everyday humdrum, and suffered for it. Other friendships -- some of them surprising -- blossomed and deepened into very cool things (it's always the unexpected ones). Still other relationships -- the long-term ones, the friends-forever ones -- grew solidly and well with only the much-loved, occasional watering and sunshine of face-to-face meetings.

2012, you answered some questions I hadn't even realised I'd been asking, some that had been floating around in the back of my mind and heart since I was a little kid. That was a gift I'm very thankful for. But the gift of the year -- your crowning glory, 2012 -- is the one you brought in September: a new nephew to love on and squish. Thanks for that.

I feel like you passed by unreported and unexamined in some aspects and I wish I'd had -- made -- taken more time to really look at you while you were here. But you're leaving now and I think it's for the best. You were good, 2012, but (and no hard feelings here) I'm ready to replace you with another.

Leave the door open for 2013, will you? It's soon to be shuffled in straight from the Timemaster.

Farewell,

Danielle

Like falling off a (b)log.

I just complained to my mother -- whose dining table I am sitting at right now -- that it feels like so long since I've blogged that I've actually forgotten how to do it. She replied, "I'm sure it's just like falling off a log." Thank you, Mum, for your oh-so-convenient post title inspiration.

It's the Christmas end of the year; the warm end, the sunny end, the end that is packed full with plans and dates and shopping and hopes for tying up all the loose threads of the dreams that were anticipated at the beginning of the year and now stand won, lost, fulfilled, or forgotten. Last week at the grocery store, I bought peaches. Today, I bought apricots. Stonefruit packing the shelves and Jingle Bells playing over the radio: just another sign of approaching Christmas.

Last night, we sat among twinkle lights and sailor's knots and, if we were artists of some kind, tried to embody the hope of what Christmas means by exploring it in some form of creation. If we were the recipients of that art, we tried to lay hold of what the artist was doing, what the artist in all of us is doing whenever we try to look past the dirty glass of the temporal and see the lasting thing that is hidden just beyond it. I was privileged to have some of my short fiction read publicly for the first time ever and, contrary to expectations, I didn't die of awkwardness while I sat there and listened. Rather, I felt the honour of seeing words I had chewed over, crossed and uncrossed, come to life in another person's voice and inflection and lovely enthusiasm. It was pretty special.

One of my little students enlisted my help to write out his Christmas list a few weeks ago. He didn't need my help determining what should go on the list; he just needed some pointers on how each item was spelt. He had all the big guns up there -- the latest branded toys I can't remember the names of, a Wii (or whatever the newest version of a Wii is), stuff like that -- and when he felt happy with the list, he pushed it forward on the table and left it there as a sort of offering for all of us to approve. I had already moved on to something else and was marking the work of another student. The little guy glanced at my hand moving over the page, and snatched his list back. "What are those pens called that are actually pencils and they click the lead out?" he asked, looking at the one in my hand. "Pacers," I said. He licked his bottom lip and picked up his pencil again. "How do you spell pacer?"

Another student was filling time while her sister had a piano lesson. From across the room, she interrupted a song to ask, "How do you draw a major?"
"Like, C major or A major? Like in music?" I asked.
"No!" she said.
"Like, in the army?" I offered. "A general or a captain or a major?"
"No," she said, getting frustrated. "Like, away in a major."
"Oh, that. Right. Yeah, that's called a manger."
"Okay. Can you show me how to draw one?"

My novel ate me.

Nanowrimo is proving to be an exhilarating, terrifying ride. Whenever I'm called upon to explain the project, there's an inevitable question that follows: "And... is this fun for you?" I find myself pausing before I answer -- a lot. Trying to formulate a response to this question has had me asking myself, "Is this fun? Is any of it fun?"

I've come to the conclusion that, for me at least, there's only a very tiny aspect of the writing life that is just pure, delirious, unadulterated fun. It's those moments when the story has a firm hold on you and the present world ceases to exist while you are sucked down into a vortex of words and people and places that have somehow blossomed into life, apparently on their own. Those moments, when you are just dragged along for the ride, are the most fun.

Mostly though, for me, it's like trying to catch a cloud and keep it in your hand. There is this nebulous, vague, but seemingly important idea or picture or feeling I am trying to lay hold of, and every word I write is either chipping away at the rock that comes between me and the idea, or putting a clear line around it, waiting for each little fragment of the drawing to join up and turn this transparent whisp of condensation into a clear shape, an outline I can recognise and understand. Proving my point entirely, in this paragraph alone I have stumbled into a thousand metaphors in my attempt to make things clear -- and still I've failed.

What I'm trying to say is that, mostly, writing kind of hurts a little bit. There are rarely times when it doesn't feel like very hard work. I write with my stomach clenched and a frown line between my eyebrows. I write slowly, methodically, imperfectly -- none of which sounds like the definition of fun. And when the slow, methodical, imperfect work is done, I must go over it all again, seeing if I can make the imperfect just a little more perfect, the unclear just slightly more clear. I bump up against my own failings again and again, which also is rather not fun, and I see just how not-good I am at forming words into pictures, of making the untrue appear true.

But for some reason, I still want to do it, and this is the weirdest thing of all about writing. In trying to find something to compare it to, the only example I've latched onto is that of exercise. Exercise is horrible. If you're not born possessing the sporty gene, then it's just something that you have to drive yourself to do whether you feel like it or not. You have to wear ugly shoes, and you know you will get sweaty, and you might get a stitch or an ache in that part of your leg where it feels like there's a split between two bones that shouldn't be there. You do it anyway, though, because you know you must, and a part of you hates it the whole time.

But another part of you comes alive, and starts thinking thoughts in rhythm to the beat of your feet against the ground, or in time to the revolution of the wheels whirring underneath you. And you get sweaty and sticky and there's a hard, sharp stitch that the hateful part of you considers might be the beginnings of a heart attack. But the other part of you revels in the humidity and the knife-edge of the breaths going into your lungs, and that part of you tells you to do just five minutes more, and then another five minutes more. And then you are done, and the only part of you making any sense is the part of you that feels most alive now, and you can almost think that you're actually getting healthier with each hard-drawn breath you take, and you feel lighter than you did before you started, even though there's an odd click in your ankle that you suspect wasn't there before. And you know that tomorrow night, when you are tired and you just want to sit and watch tv, you are going to hate the thought of exercise all over again, but that tiny alive part of you will nag at you until you start moving again, and once more you will feel happy and alive and like this horrible horrible thing is what you were actually meant to be doing all along.

I think writing is a little bit like that -- for me, at least. It hurts and makes me ache but it's a good ache, the sort of ache that stays with me into the next day and reminds me that I have flexed a muscle that was made to be moved, that is all the healthier for having been stretched.

All of which, of course, I did not intend to say when I sat down to compose this post. I was going to write, instead, about the hazy sunset my mother and I drove out to shoot last night, and to give you a little sampling of the pictures. I was going to tell you how the nano novel is consuming much of my writing time, and is using up nearly all of my meagre store of words. I was going to say that I have no words left to give to such paltry pursuits as blogging.

But look! My own blog makes a mockery of me. I suppose that's as it should be.

NaNo is a go-go:

I think the face I am pulling here, in this delightfully-grainy webcam photo, is a look of cautious optimism -- either that, or concern for my mental welfare. Maybe it's a little bit of both.

Last year, I bemoaned the fact that NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated) falls ridiculously, cruelly, in November -- almost the worst month possible for such an undertaking, for those of us in the southern hemisphere at least. I mean, there's just so much happening, including (or sometimes especially) the end of semester finals and all the joy that comes with that.

This year, however, I'm already done with uni (thank you, bizarre trimester system) and although everything else is still happening, that is one sizable chunk of stress delight which I don't need to think about. I only made this realisation about two weeks ago, and the lightbulb moment brought with it glowing feelings of enthusiasm and a little madness. I could do NaNo this year. I could actually do it.

So I'm going to. And by "do it", I mean "attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days." I know the frenzy is part of it, and I'd really really love to reach that ridiculous finish line, but at the same time I'm excited just to be giving it a go, regardless of the consequences. I've waited years for this! Who else is joining in?

Of course, I feel ridiculously under-prepared. Friends I know have been outlining for weeks (months!) now, and many have their majestic plots all neatly laid out and ready for the prose work to begin. I have a half-baked idea that has been growing in urgency and interest for me, but which still has no clear ending, even though the characters are starting to make themselves known. This isn't my ideal scenario. I'd love to have a fabulous plot outline drawn up, with names and faces and character sketches of all the major players. As it is, however, I just keep getting more and more odd little ideas and filing them away mentally. I take comfort from the fact that NaNo founder Chris Baty seems to have taken the same approach as me every year he's actually participated. Somehow, out of his personal madness and lack-of-plan, novels have emerged.

That's my goal, too. Just a novel. Not a great novel or even a good one, but in the true spirit of Ann Lamott, I just want to have another really trashy first draft under my belt, written in the haze and frenzy of one busy month. It'll be a good kick-start to the writing system during these Summer holidays, when I'd like to get lots of words flowing.

What am I planning to write? Well, it's a buddy story with biblical allusions, and it's set in dystopian Brisbane -- which is frozen, no less. Also, there are aliens, because, well, because.

Yes, please go ahead and laugh. I am.

And while I may be laughing, I'm also super, super looking forward to this. I might just be a little bit in love with my main characters already. Onward!