Me and yo(u)ni:

Of all the schoolday feelings and memories, the one it seems I'll never outgrow is that thrilling sense of fresh, bright anticipation at the beginning of a new school year. I'm a dorky little nerd for admitting it, but one of the most exciting things about the new beginning was shopping for fresh school supplies. Brand new, whittled to a perfect point pencils. Notebooks fat with crisp unblemished paper. Erasers without grey smudges and the corners all worn off. Lunchboxes shiny, with no dings or revolting tattered name labels -- and all of it new, clean, and smelling good.

Don't judge me for this obsession; it is an inherited trait. My mother felt -- feels -- exactly the same way. And just as the feeling's never quite worn off for her, it's stayed with me, too. I can't help it. The start of school and the assortment of fresh supplies conjures up the same response as the first day of January, or the opening page of a blank journal. The possibilities! The newness!

I'm there again now at the beginning of semester 1, 2013. If all goes according to plan (and we all know that often it doesn't), I should be finishing my five years of tertiary education (I can't believe it's been that long) this time next year. It will be exciting to have it done, but I'm in no hurry because school still gives me that same giddy eight-year-old feeling. I'm taking the part-time route with my postgrad studies, doing two subjects a semester. I am subject-greedy and would love to do more, but if I put the recommended hours into each subject (again, how often does that happen?), then it's supposed to be a 24 to 30 hour a week investment, even with just two subjects. So I'd better stick with that, I think.

This semester, my classes are Critical & Creative Writing Through Literature and Contemporary Literature, both of which are fairly self-explanatory I think. The little pile of books there represents a handful of the set texts for these classes. There are more, but I am doling the buying out like a good little budgeting person. Mostly, I'm excited about them. I am frankly blah about the idea of reading The Turn of the Screw, since it's a ghost story/psychological mindmaze. But it's short, so I'll get it over and done with quickly, and I'll read carefully so I don't have to read it twice. I finished The Driver's Seat today, which left me with a disturbing but oddly mesmerising aftertaste. I can see why it was set as a text, but it definitely feels like the sort of thing I'd read only because Uni Made Me Do It. I am currently immersed in The Princess Bride, which is of course brilliant. I keep forgetting I am meant to actually be studying the book instead of just reading and laughing.

One of the assignments for the critical & creative writing class calls for students to do a 'textual intervention' on either The Princess Bride (yes) or The Turn of the Screw (no). Suggestions include (and I'm quoting here from the course in abridged form):

1. Interviewing one or more minor characters from either novel, to gain their perspective on the events of the story.
2. Explore how a changed setting would affect the narrative and style of the story—e.g. how would the fairy-tale elements of The Princess Bride work if set in Tasmania?
3. Explore how changing characters would affect the story: imagine if in The Turn of the Screw, the governess was a male tutor, or the children were much older.
4. Consider how you would transform a scene or two into a stage play. 

Isn't that the coolest essay prompt ever? I'm going to have fun with this one.

Enough about Danielle's Thrilling Postgrad Adventures. What about you? Whether formally or informally, what are you learning lately?

/nerd out.

Top 10 authors I'd put on my auto-buy list:

Just about every week, I intend to take part in The Broke & the Bookish's Top 10 Tuesday feature. And quite as regularly, I spend so much time explaining my choices that I completely explain my way out of ever sharing the finished post. Not so this week. There will be caveats -- it seems like it's not in me to completely give myself over to something without at least a small percentage of reserve -- but I'm determined to post my list all the same.

Perhaps the most obvious disclaimer I'd make about a list of authors on an auto-buy list is that I don't automatically buy anything. For starters, there's the money thing; I work part-time and I'm a student -- I have to think about what I purchase. And while I definitely spend a disproportionate amount of my earnings on books, I still have to think about it. Then there's the matter of only wanting to own books that I'll read several times or loan out to lots of people, and my favourite authors don't always write my favourite books, weird as that may seem. Finally, there's this fear of my books banding together like some sort of sentient paper blob, rising up in the night, and swallowing me whole -- all because of the sheer power of their combined volume. So yes, I don't just buy whatever books I want.

Finally, I stuck to children's and YA fiction because, honestly, one has to draw the line somewhere. Enough minutiae. Here, in alphabetical order, are the authors whose books I leap to investigate as soon as they appear:

Paolo Bacigalupi -- this is a new discovery for me, and how can his books be on my list when I've only read two? Yes, it's positively shameful. But it doesn't matter because I am intrigued by Bacigalupi's wordsmithing, and his excellent ability to build compelling worlds in dystopian and science fiction settings. I want to read more!

Suzanne Collins -- if you've read my blog for a while, you know I loved The Hunger Games trilogy, and while they weren't classics in terms of literary richness, they are absolute classics for me in the realm of character development, as well as a mesmerising story arc I just couldn't look away from. Collins' The Underland Chronicles are, I think, better written than The Hunger Games, but they don't have the exposure the Games has. Based on both these series, I am super keen to see what Suzanne Collins comes up with next. There had better be a next, Ms. Collins!

Sarah Dessen -- I randomly picked up a Sarah Dessen book, What Happened to Goodbye, in a little indie bookstore at my sister's house, when I was flying home after the birth of her second little boy. It was a completely spontaneous purchase, something light and happy for the plane ride. I couldn't believe how delightful it was, and over a few months, I read six of her books in quick succession. It was probably overkill, but I loved her 'voice', especially in the teen lit genre that can so often descend into mere fluff. I would be reticent about wholesale recommending her stories, as some of her characters have less-than-savoury lifestyle choices, but I am still very keen to see what Sarah Dessen writes next (a new book is out soon!).

John Green -- ah, John Green! How can I explain my feelings about this guy's work? Green is an incredibly gifted author whose rare voice will stand out as one of the greats of this generation, I believe. He is also a brilliant, kind, thoughtful, and genuine person who is engaged in really healthy, wise discussions about life, culture, faith, and politics. His characters are intriguing, and he has the power to draw out really vivid responses to his work without devolving into sappiness or tacky pathos. However, some of the actions of his (frequently sexually uninhibited) characters -- as well as their vocabulary -- are not ones I would choose as role models for my teen friends. I recognise this sounds incredibly naive and cloistered, since one of the ways we learn is by watching others live their lives. But this is my hesitation with Green's books, and I would not be honest if I didn't share it.

Rosanne Hawke -- Rosanne Hawke is one whose books I do automatically pick up whenever I see them. I was privileged to study under her during my bachelor degree, and was delighted to get to learn from someone who occupies a respected and unique place in Australian young adult literature. Rosanne's work is one that definitely deserves the title of 'literature' -- rich, high quality writing that totally avoids the abyss of trend-focussed YA cliches. Much of Rosanne's work is issues-focussed and delves into the real challenges of young adult life, but it does so in a healthy, thoughtful, discreet way.

Odo Hirsch -- Odo Hirsch! Odo Hirsch! Lovely, happy, quirky characters! Beautiful word choices! Delightful worlds and adventures!

Patrick Ness -- Patrick Ness gets the award as The Writer Most Likely To Take Out Your Soul, Wring It Dry, Then Try To Stick It Back Into The Cavity Inside You. It's hard to express just how this guy manages to do it, but his voice and language are profoundly unique, and the characterisation impeccable. I can't describe what Patrick Ness's books do to me, so I'll just give up trying.

Veronica Roth -- I want to hate Veronica Roth because she is younger than me and she has already written the first two books of a bestselling trilogy which is being turned into a movie. But I can't hate her. I can only be happy that she has achieved this immense success -- and that she thanks God in the acknowledgements of her books. You go, girl.

Lemony Snicket -- Lemony Snicket, aka Daniel Handler, is a man who is obviously in love with words. He's probably best known for his Series of Unfortunate Events books, but his dry, dark sarcasm, his slightly morbid humour, and his delirious and unashamed love of the English language come through in all his stories. It's good stuff.
 
Jerry Spinelli -- I love Jerry Spinelli's characters because they are rare and beautiful. Spinelli celebrates words and he celebrates special people, and he does both extremely well (the Newbery society or association or whoever they are agrees with me). My favourite thing about Spinelli is his ability to bring the beauty of the outsider into the light. His books are just beautiful.

Bonus round! Top 10 authors who'd be on my auto-buy list if they were still alive and therefore still producing new work:

Louisa May Alcott
Amy Carmichael
Mary Grant Bruce
Charles Dickens
CS Lewis
LM Montgomery
Ellis Peters
Rosemary Sutcliff
Elizabeth George Speare
Ethel Turner

Who's on your list?

Oh, Queensland.

There are rock pools. In my yard.

7/100 (dear someday)

Dear future me*,

I don’t always like to think of you. I mean, I have enough trouble with present me. There’s so much I want to do and still haven’t done. There’s so much I wish for. There are so many ways I could be a better version of myself. And of course there are the grey hairs I keep finding lately (I am too YOUNG for that, I tell you). What I’m probably actually saying — what I’m realising even as I type this, future me — is that I have high hopes for you but I realise not all of them will be fulfilled.

When I was younger, I had a perfect picture of who you’d be, future me. You were going to have long straight locks (of a rich chestnut brown). You would be suave, confident, a sophisticated city-dwelling executive. Also you would wear a canary-yellow power suit with matching heels. Obviously you were gonna be one classy lady.

When I got a bit older, the picture of future me shifted a little. Future me was going to be a hippie type who wore ravelling sweaters in unflattering shades of green and did her hair in two plaits, who never wore makeup, and whose favourite shoes were gumboots. She would paint and draw and write things, and she’d chase hens around the chicken coop.

Present me is less sure of what future me will be, but funnily enough, present me sits fairly smack dab in the middle of my two earlier projections. If this says anything at all (and more likely it says nothing), it suggests that future me will be less about personality and individual style, and more about the series of choices I make between now and then.

So dear future me, I don’t care whether you wear canary yellow heels or gumboots, whether you have a favourite hairdresser or you’re a wash-and-wear kind of woman. I acknowledge that the grey hairs will probably increase rather than decrease (at least in reality, if not appearance; there ARE such things as hair dyes. Please don’t be disgusted, hippie seventeen-year-old self).

I want you to assure me, future self, that there will be a good man to love and children to love on, but I know you can’t make those kinds of promises and so I won’t hold you to them. Instead, future self, I’d just ask that you learn from what’s going on now, so you can be more of a person because of what happens to you. Be braver than current me. Be kinder than current me. And please, always be faithful. Cling to the rock. I’ll keep my end of the bargain.

Love,
your fanciful younger self.

*this post was entirely the result of a meme prompt left for me at tumblr by Hayley.

Group-smoosh:

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

I don't know. That simple sentence is frought with such an intensity of feeling. There are people in love who know that tomorrow will be merely an overflow of the togetherness they already possess. There are guys freaking out because they have no idea what they're meant to do to make it special. There are people complaining about commercialism and greed and "just another excuse to try and sell greeting cards and chocolates". Then there are the waiting few, the scattered band of soloists who -- whether they regard Valentine's Day as a ridiculous first-world rort to make people spend money, or as a rich celebration of romance -- scuff their toes in the dust and wish for their duet to start.

To these few, these treasured superheroes of going it alone, I want to say something magical and wonderful and perfect. Only there isn't one thing that's magical and wonderful and perfect to be said, because to say it -- to try to say it -- would be to diminish how hard it can be sometimes to eke out life singly in a world that's made for pairs. There are many excellent things about travelling solo, and I hope that you experience all the best of them. But if the balance for you is weighing more heavily to the side of heartbreak than hallelujah, I want to smush you into a big group hug and let you know that you're not alone in being alone. And you're not ignored, either.

So, I wrote a thing. And it's messy and raw because love and lovelessness are messy and raw. But it's for people like you and me who might be waiting for something but don't ever have to wait for grace. SMOOSH.

daybook xiv:

It's been a while since I did one of these things.

Outside my window, it's dark right now. But Queensland has been at her furious best over the past few days, making sure that Brisbane has once again had a memorable January. Over the Australia Day weekend, the sky let loose with a barrage of wind and rain, overflowing riverways and sending tides into a wind-whipped frenzy. The storm left behind bits of peoples' broken lives in its wake but for some reason, our house seems to be in a little storm-safe pocket. Our fence blew over in one spot, and a tree fell on one side of the housie, but the only true casualty was the tree. People lost their lives, though, and that's just hard to comprehend.

I have been listening to lots and lots of different stuff, a bunch of things at friends' recommendations, and some old favourites. Josh Garrels continues to be so brilliant and so lovely and every song is like this haunting, lyrical painting in notes. Then there's the Les Miserables soundtrack because, well, because. The Classic Crime is a new favourite after the continued selling by a dedicated friend (she was right; I love them). Mumford & Sons is just right. And haunting the music stands at the library has yielded The Rubens, The Dandy Warhols, and The Smiths. And then there's podcasts... But maybe I'll save those for another time.

I have been wearing I don't know... clothes. I'm a bit uninspired lately. My wardrobe needs a revamp. I have nice tops without the right skirt to wear with them, or a great dress, but no slip that goes with it right. You know how it gets sometimes. And today's muggy Summer Air Sauna Of Doom does not help anything.

I am thankful for amazing words that make my own world crisper, clearer, and more whole.

I am pondering... guh. Too many things and not enough.

I am reading -- well, I'm actually re-reading a lot of things at the moment. I'm not really sure why the re-read quest, as for the last few years I've been on a greedy mission read a bunch of new stuff, but lately I think I am craving the rich familiarity of books that are old friends. What's been good about this has been realising that the books I once loved are still so, so love-worthy. In my current-rereading pile: The Ask & the Answer by Patrick Ness (my emotions! ugh, his characters repeatedly punch me in the guts), The Green Branch by Edith Pargeter (Welsh history has never been so wringing, nor so resoundingly human), and Keep A Quiet Heart by Elisabeth Elliot (I think of her as a mentor I've never actually met).

I am creating lesson plans and copious piles of rainy day activities to do with students.

A picture-thought I'm sharing is from this weekend and all the crazy. Right after I took that shot, a wave came up over the shore siding and swished through the open window of the car. Adventures!

Beautiful decay:

My friend Caitlin came for five days this past week, and on our last afternoon, the four of us (Caitlin, my mum, my brother, and I) went for a little ramble by the bay. We made an unscheduled stop at this amazing piece of deconstruction. The lines and shadows of this old building seem to tell a thousand stories.