Rotorua and back to Auckland

Two days ago we drove to Rotorua, a remarkable place of fantastic mists and geysers and fire and water. You can read about it here and here (scroll past the many ads on this one). It's a center of Maori culture and spirituality.

We started off by taking the waters (in this case, sitting in them, rather than drinking them — that would have been yucky) at the Polynesian Spa, which I absolutely loved. The next day we went to Te Puia, which used to be called the Maori Arts and Craft Institute. It's a showcase of Maori culture, as well as a gateway to seeing one of the astounding geothermal areas. We went into the meeting house for a concert by some Maori musicians, and got a bonus! A troupe of kids from the Marquesas Islands were visiting the site, and ended up doing a set as well — and I have to say, they were at least as entertaining as the Maori pros who had the gig at Te Puia. The two cultures are similar, and it was fascinating to observe the variations as well as the similarities in their music and dancing.

Here are some photos Margaret took:





Here's another one Margaret took:


"Whew," said Margaret, who found the prospect of water and mudpools climbing fences to be alarming in the extreme, and was relieved that, through the miracles of dodgy punctuation, her worries had been assuaged.

We drove back to Auckland last night (as I mentioned below, it was an ordeal). Today we went to the Auckland Museum, where we saw, among other things, a ginormous Maori canoe, beautifully carved; the volcano room; Islander art, implements, and textiles; and a huge exhibit on New Zealand military history.

Tonight as I was glancing idly at the vending machine by the elevator in our hotel, I saw these:

Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Lamb-and-mint-flavored POTATO CHIPS!!!!!

And here endeth this blog post, for what could follow that?

Go read, go read my story, go read it!

All during these many travels (in the midst of which I still am — in Auckland, should anyone be curious), I've been obsessively checking the website www.antisf.com to see if my first published piece of speculative fiction is up yet. And tonight, after a rather harrowing evening spent driving around the back blocks of Mangere trying to make it to our hotel, I got the remarkable thrill of finding out that yes, the story is live!

It's short — very short, just a couple of hundred words — and FREE to go read. So please go read it! I'd love you to go read it. And if you like it, you could always email the editor and say so....

The next adventure: Cairns and environs

After we recovered from our days in Sydney and our epic road trip through the Blue Mountains and Southern Highlands, we spent a day holed up in Wollongong in atrocious weather (cold, windy, wet, and did I mention cold?). In a way this was probably a good thing, because it let us appreciate the next adventure all the more: up north — way up north. To Cairns.

The first day was just a "check into the hotel and walk around a bit" kind of day, wherein I developed the impression that Cairns exists for providing puerile, anonymous revelry for backpackers and people who wish they were. I'm absolutely certain that there are other aspects to the town — they've started construction on a big, new performing-arts center, for example — but they're certainly not the first things that clamor for one's attention.

The second day, though — the second day! We (and five hundred other people) took a boat out about 40km to see a piece of the Great Barrier Reef. It was chilly by Cairns standards, and intermittently grey. And the boat ride out had its moments when it was less enjoyable (I am embarrassed that I was one of the hundreds of people who tossed their cookies on the outward journey, but I have to admit I felt much better afterward; and the staff is obviously expecting the flood of, well, never mind the specifics, because they are all gloved up and handing people cups of ice cubes and laminated bags and napkins — and anyway, didn't Horatio Nelson get seasick? Horatio Hornblower did, I know, but that's fiction).

Because of the cold, I'd been debating whether to actually snorkel, or just to go on the glass-bottomed boat. I got my nerve up (I hate being cold, it hurts), and went into the water.

Oh, man.

It has to stand as one of the most remarkable and transcendent experiences of my life. (Hey, Chard, if you're reading this, let us know next time you're planning a dive trip to Cairns and we'll find a way to go with you and I can get my dive ticket.) The place where the pontoon was moored had a variety of depths, which may have been part of the reason for the variety of corals and fish. Dozens, dozens and dozens, of different animals to look at, all there in the cool turquoise (yes, it really is that color) water. One brilliantly neon little fishie got all aggro with me. I am absolutely certain the little bugger lined me up in its sights, and then rammed itself deliberately into my face mask — tunk! I have no idea what it thought it was accomplishing, other than to send me a very clear "Piss off, ungainly mammal!" message.

And then. The sun came out. Oh, the colors!

Here are some photos of the sorts of things you could see through the glass-bottomed boat (which I did go on later). It's a pity the fish don't show up (they move too fast), but it's an even greater pity how monochromatic everything looks. I bet, though, that with a little bit of searching you could find some spectacular photos with all the colors.


I swam for far longer than I had intended. The main sound was my own breath whooshing through the snorkel (and the occasional ftoo! as I cleared it). I slowly swam from one spot to another in the blue and the quiet, inches from fish so big they alarmed me, or so small I could barely see them, and each one so fantastically colored you couldn't invent them. The coral waved, or sat stolid, with fish feeding or hiding or just going about their fishy business amongst the incredibly various species. And clams so big you could make horror movies about them, with their fleshy, pulsating valves (yes, two of them, "bivalve" is accurate) pumping water through.

If you ever have a chance to go snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef, you should. (Coincidentally, my friend Cass went to the Great Barrier Reef just before we did; here's her blog post about it. She actually went diving, not just snorkeling!)

The next day we spent the morning driving up into the hinterlands a bit, to a place called Kuranda. If Byron Bay and Nimbin had a love-child, and someone cleaned it up real nice, the result would be Kuranda. It's a bit whimsical (see photo below), a bit touristy, a bit leftover-hippie. Very interesting place, really. I could see myself getting famous and spending my winters each year in a cabin a little bit outside Kuranda, writing. I could.

We also stopped for a brief visit at Barron Falls and its surrounding rainforest. Even though we were there in the dry, which made the falls rather more gentle than they will be in a few months, it was still very scenic indeed. Below are some photos. (Sorry the one of my family looking at the rainforest is blurry, but there wasn't a lot of light in there.) (Incidentally, that person behind Houston is not me, it is my niece, who only looks like me.)


So anyway, then that afternoon we flew back to Sydney. And now it's chilly and grey and we're in Wollongong. It's supposed to get sunnier later. And warmer, one hopes. We're planning to go for a horseback ride.

And then, tomorrow, off again on another adventure!

I love these poems.

This guy, see, Austin Kleon, does this amazing poetry by blacking out all but a few words in a newspaper article. I'm not sure if I can post one; I'm about to email him and ask. Meanwhile, go look! Update! The poet has very kindly given me permission to post a poem! So:


Note: first found on the ABC's arts blog.

Road-trip exhaustion

Up early. A drive to the Blue Mountains and a nice lunch. A drive down through Oberon to Goulburn — the scenery was fabulous. And a couple of roos hopped by, which was fortuitous for my niece. Then dinner at the incomparable Paragon Cafe, and a short trip to see the Big Merino. This beast is a kaiju of disturbing mien, to say the least. The photo is of its move 800 metres up the road to be closer to the highway and its putative admirers (prey?).

The interesting thing is, now that they've moved it, you can park round the back. Who would have thought that the sculptors of this distressing monstrosity had taken such care to be anatomically correct? We're not just talking testicles, my friends. These are a set of apparatus of truly global proportions. I cannot bring myself to post a photo; I recommend that — should you have the fortitude — you should go see this genuine wonder for yourself.

But keep a safe distance. You just never know.

Out and about with my mom and niece

Yesterday we all woke up at 5 a.m. to go meet my mom and niece at the airport. The rendezvous went without a hitch, and we got settled into the hotel in Sydney (luxury -- all the fun of Sydney without an hour-and-a-half commute each way!). That afternoon was a Sydney Symphony performance at the Opera House, and then a very nice dinner at our favorite Sydney restaurant (Redoak Boutique Beer Cafe) with good friends, and then a universal collapse (they due to jet lag, us due to fatigue).

This morning it was the hotel's really very good breakfast buffet, solemn (sung) mass at St. Mary's Cathedral (more on that in a minute), walking around the Rocks (which was unpleasantly PACKED with people so we didn't stay long), and the ferry ride to Manly, where we will decide soon on a place to eat dinner. (Manly also has at least one Internet cafe, which is why you're reading this.)

Mass was a musically fascinating experience: inside the church was some fabulous Renaissance (and earlier, and, for that matter, later) choral music. At the same time, out in the street, were the pipe bands and drums and brass bands and shouted commands of a parade honoring military veterans reservists. The mixture oscillated between really annoying and quite surreal. It also led to thoughts about various types of warriors: military, spiritual, intellectual, emotional. There are lots of ways to fight. There are lots of reasons to fight. Which are good, which bad? Are some better than others? Are some sinful? Does the sin lie in the fighting, or in the choice of methods? Or the choice of foe?

MomBrag™ II

Last night we went to a jazz concert at Margaret's school. She's in the jazz band for the slightly younger kids, and I have to tell you, they really sound good. I would have loved to be in a band like that in seventh grade (ours was earnest, but inept, and directed by a teacher who had to do the best with what he had).

The kids had spent a fair bit of that day in a workshop with John Mackey, a saxophonist and teacher at the Australian National University; he especially focused on the principles of improvisation (yes, I know, you just make it up, but if you don't have at least a basic understanding of how sounds work together and how the human brain processes them, it just sounds like you don't know what you're doing). And each group that performed included a lot of improv.

Including! Margaret's first jazz solos. She did good. As in, really good.

I sometimes wonder how I'm supposed to keep up with this family of mine.

UPDATE: Just to further intensify my feelings of inadequacy, I have learned that today at Margaret's school's awards ceremony, she got awards for music, German, and science.

My disturbing answer to Jasoni's disturbing challenge

I don't ordinarily write creepy stuff, even mildly creepy. But with a challenge as wrong as writing about a mellified man, how could I be my usual chirpy, uplifiting self? Here's Jasoni's blog post; my creepy story is one of the comments. Ew ew ew. Now I must go and write something chirpy and uplifting to cleanse myself.

NOTE: the story is rated PG for mild coarse language and sexual references.

The play I saw last night

Van Badham, a prolific and very smart playwright with whom I am fortunate to be acquainted, has a play currently on at the Old Fitzroy Theatre. It's called Poster Girl, and it's very funny and very well-acted. (But don't just take my word for it: here's a review from aussietheatre.com, and here's another from stagenoise.com.)

It's still got a week and a half to run, so go here to buy tickets! I heartily recommend buying the "Beer, Laksa, and Show" package, because the laksa is quite nice, and if you decide you don't like the plain old beers that are available as part of the deal, you can pay another $1.60 (or so) at the bar and upgrade to a nicer one. I can't think of any reason not to spend an evening doing this, unless you live way far away from Sydney.

This really brings out my Inner GeekGrrl.

I've never been what you'd call seriously into technology. Geekier than average, yes; not totally without skills. But I'm definitely on the more prosaic end of the scale (although I do have friends who are absolutely poetic — indeed, even mythic — in their geekdom).

However, this little device makes even me break out into a tense sweat of covetousness and geekout. I'm older than I look, and I remember external 10MB hard drives that were as big as two or three major metropolitan phone books stacked up. We thought we were gods, I tell you — gods! To see 8GB (in other words, about 2,400 phone books, bulk-wise) packed into something the size of a thumbnail (not to mention for sale at what looks to me like a reasonable price) just spins my brain around in several different dimensions.

Today's multiple-choice question

My mortifying lack of progress on my current project is:

1. A sign that the project is just not working and I should move on to something else.
2. One of those inevitable oscillations in enthusiasm and effectiveness that all writers face and which I should ride out with faith and optimism.
3. Something to be seen as a motivating challenge.
4. Me being bone-lazy.

Unfortunately, I have a very strong suspicion about what the correct answer is.

Walking is what humans do.

Today I went for another nice, mild bushwalk/hike with some of my SES buddies. It was a bright, sunny day, nowhere near as chilly as it could have been. And after a while of level walking along a nice, easy fire road, we sat and cooked up some lunch (for me, couscous with spices, dried fruit, and almonds). A bit more walking, then we all went home.

I was thinking as we walked that it's just plain good for you. I don't necessarily mean good for your fitness, although there's that, too. I'm thinking that the rhythm, the quiet, the steadiness of it, is just something we're suited for. There's probably some sort of evolutionary imperative for it — striding across the savannah while foraging or bringing the kill back home to the family or whatever. Or crossing a land bridge from Asia. Trading in exotic spices from afar. Fleeing political persecution while establishing a Communist outpost in the mountains — um, this is getting more complicated than I thought.

A world that runs on courtesy and caution....

It may be old news to you — a googling of the story has revealed stories that are months and months old — but I've only just heard of the town in Germany that's removed all traffic-regulating signage and engineering in a bid to lower — lower, not raise — the number of traffic accidents. Remarkably, say people in more recent reports, it seems to be working.

Imagine. Increasing personal responsibility improves safety. What does this say about the fundamental characteristics of human nature? Does it argue for the traditional idea of anarchy (not the Clockwork Orange, hoodlums-gone-wild version)? Is it a reflection of national characteristics (or even stereotypes — the Germans as hyper-polite rules-followers, even when, or perhaps especially when, the rules must become internalized)? Is it a fluke? Is it a revolutionary take on the social contract?

It's something to keep an eye on, I'm certain of it. (Story idea?)

MomBrag™

Margaret, with one week's rehearsal, stepped into a part in a show the younger kids' drama class was performing. She got every line (as far as I could tell), and bailed out a couple of the other kids who got stuck. It was a little unnerving, though, because the part required her to cry and whine and say "ow" a lot, and there I sat, watching this kid who looked and sounded exactly like my kid, only she was crying and hurt. Oh, sure, I'm a product of post-modern life and I'm thoroughly and completely good with the concept of "actors" and "roles." And yet for millions of years, mombeasts have gotten upset when they've heard their beast-children weeping. (Get used to it, Laura. The kid wants to act.)

In other news, I spent most of the day in a playwriting masterclass with Katherine Thomson. There wasn't enough time to hang out and chat with the other playwrights (did you catch that? "Other playwrights." As in, "playwrights like me"), and I didn't find the writing exercise that took up a large-ish part of the morning to be all that useful, but the rest of it was quite interesting: we analyzed a play (Our Country's Good) in terms of what function each scene served in advancing the story, and Ms. Thomson was brave enough to let us have a look at several different drafts of particular scenes of one of her plays, to trace how and why they changed from draft to draft. I was fascinated to see what she kept in and what she changed, and I wouldn't always have made the same decisions in her place. Very interesting!

I absolutely love looking at stories and plays and doing my best to see how they work. Why did this happen then? Why did it happen to these characters and not those characters? Why these words, and not those very similar but crucially different words? What happens when you change this to that? That back to this, but then change this other thing?

Some people love to take apart computer code or car engines or legal problems. I love to take apart stories.

More on the 24-hour theatre adventure

This from Cass, one of the unfortunate actors upon whom I inflicted my script. Astonishingly, she seems to have emerged relatively unscarred, and even sounds positive about the experience. What a relief!

Lotsa stories

At the Furious Horses blog, Christopher Currie is writing and posting a new piece of flash fiction every day. (There's also a facebook page.) I'm really liking the stories, myself. And I'm really, really admiring the endeavor. The thrill! The melodrama! Can he do it, a new story every day? And every day, he seems to.

So far....

Jason Fischer's Somewhat Disquieting Writing Challenge

Go here and read about the challenge of the Mellified Man. Then write a flash piece (for those unfamiliar with the term, it means short-short-short fiction; in this case, the maximum word count is 500). Post it in your blog. Go back to Jasoni's original post and add a comment with the link to that particular blog post. Anyone with a blog can play! Anyone without a blog can start one and play!

Not sure what the time deadline is, but I guess as long as you put the link to your Mellified Man blog post as a comment to Jasoni's original post, it doesn't really matter when.

(By the way, you're welcome to spread the word about this Writing Challenge on your own blog, before you even start writing! Or even if you'd rather not do any writing yourself this time around.)

The grass, I mean story, I mean play, I mean novel....

Whenever I'm writing a play, I wish I were writing a novel. When I'm working on a novel, I wish I were writing stories. When I'm writing stories, all I can think about is the next play I want to write. And round and round. And the more I yearn after other forms, the more wan and limp my current work seems to me. The words are always greener on the other side of the keyboard. Or something.

Baaaaaa! "Hello?"

Go here to see more. (Thanks, Jasoni, for the link! Where do you keep finding these things???)

Latest dose of aht, dahling.

Tonight Margaret and I met up with our Script Frenzy buddies to see The Real Inspector Hound by Tom Stoppard. (I didn't link to the Wikipedia article about the play itself because it's heaving with spoilers and I don't recommend reading it unless you're already familiar with the play.) We both enjoyed it very much, particularly as it's absurd, and absurdity is intriguing. We also enjoyed hanging out with our buddies. (This may be the last time Margaret and I see Cass for a while, as she's going to be travelling around and then back to Canada, so we were happy to spend just that extra bit of time with her.)

I think we've ruined our chances of having a normal child -- how many 12-year-olds enjoy going to see Stoppard plays with their mom and their mom's writing buddies, after all? Margaret is quick to point out that she was never normal to begin with. I can only concur.

The mashup that had to happen.

No, really, keep watching.

Waah!

I want to do 24-hour theatre again this weekend!

But my amazing troupe is dispersed to the winds. There is nowhere to perform. And no publicity or audience. Phooey.

Maybe I should form a theatre company....

As our 14th anniversary draws to a close....

We didn't make a big deal out of our anniversary this year. We're planning overseas travel later in the year, for one thing, which precludes any serious extravagance beforehand. Moreover, things are very hectic in general: Houston's in the middle of grading papers at semester's end; Margaret's got rehearsals, performances, tons of schoolwork, tons of activities, tons of pressure; and me, I don't feel the need for a change of scene or a wild party, particularly as I'm still a bit emotionally raw after the intensity of "Real Shakespeare" (that's the play we did for 24-hour theatre). Although I did go so far as to make a nice apple crumble tonight for dessert. So a quiet anniversary once in a while is perfectly okay.

But I do want to spend its last moments writing about how much I love my husband, how much he impresses me and has from the very first, how he has shown himself again and again to be loving, kind, brave, good, supportive, brilliant, determined, compassionate, and fun. Fourteen years is not nearly long enough to be married to such a man as this.

I love you, Houston! Here's to the beginning of another whirlwind year of adventure!

Hospitality in the 21st century

"Would you like to check your email?"

Books! O books!

Two books for you to consider: one I've read, and one I desperately, desperately wish to run out and buy because it looks so good.

First, the one I've read: Tiny Deaths, by Rob Shearman. It's a short-story collection, and each story is a surreal, mordant little gem. It's getting fabulous reviews, and been nominated for all sorts of awards, and rightly so. I recommend reading the stories with intervals of time between them, because they're very distinctive and can be a tad intense, and you'll want to cleanse your palate (much as you would between, say, different flavors of gourmet ice cream, or craft beers, or other intense, distinctively flavored things that you like). (Incidentally, you may recognize Rob Shearman's name as the writer behind the Doctor Who episode "Dalek" in the first season, the Eccleston year.)

Now, the looker: Doctor Grordbort's Contrapulatronic Dingus Directory (Catalogue Edition). Here's the web site, and here's the Amazon link. See graphic for an example of its tantalizing beauty. And it's from your friends at Weta, the New Zealand special-effects people. (I found out about it on Rob Hood's blog, via Cat Sparks's blog.)

Yet another Clarion buddy's story published!

Go to this month's Antipodean SF to read my buddy Jason's story. Warning: it's a tad bizarre, in a bit of a dark way. The interesting thing is, some of his writing is creepy and dark, and some of it isn't, and all of it's interesting, and good. And if you're in the right frame of mind, it's usually cacklingly funny.

(Note: Antipodean SF is where, as I understand it, my story "I'm Too Loud" will appear in a month's time, more or less.)

24-hour recovery.

The annoying thing about this weekend's epic endeavour (24-hour theatre, for those who tuned in late) is that I did the whole thing suffering from a head cold. Adrenaline and laser-like focus on the task at hand kept me going, but now I do not have that bulwark against crankiness and discomfort, and the cold, plus the inevitable letdown from such an intense experience, are making me feel very cranky and uncomfortable indeed.

However, balanced against that is a constant, gleeful chant in my head: How cool was this weekend! How cool was it to write a play, a real play, and have people actually learn and perform it, all in 24 hours! How cool was that! And the answer comes back each time: Very!

People raved about Margaret's acting. She really is very talented, and it showed last night. As far as I recall, this was the biggest part she'd ever acted, both in terms of number of lines and in terms of character intensity and complexity. She was also very professional in rehearsals, and in her performance and backstage decorum. She did an absolutely fantastic job, and tells me she had fun doing it, which was the main thing.

Houston not only returned to the stage for the first time since — oh, since he got a gig acting in the Maryland Renaissance Festival back when we were first married (and I do mean first married — he auditioned for the gig during our honeymoon), but he also wrote a very striking setting for the song in the play and wrote some cool incidental music. Those of you who know him will not be surprised in the slightest that he is, in fact, a terrific actor; this is clearly whence the genetic component of Margaret's talent comes. (God knows it's not from me: I'd rather chew my own left arm off than act. Plus, I suck.)

My Script Frenzy buddy Cass rushed back from her travels around Australia to come down from Sydney's northern suburbs to play with us, something for which I'm extremely grateful as she did a fantastic job with the character I wrote for her. She's also an awesome singer and really great to work with. Sadly for me, she leaves to return to Canada at the end of July, but I'm glad she could be part of this experience, which will certainly have added to her repertoire of interesting memories and stories about her time in Australia.

And Tim, my director, was nothing short of awesome. I cannot even express how grateful I am to him for all the work he put into the play, and all the regard and consideration he showed to me as the writer. Plus, all three of the actors told me how great he was to work with: clear, thoughtful, cheerful, supportive, every actor's dream director. I doubt he reads my blog, but Tim, if you do read this, I'm putting it on public notice that you absolutely rock.

And now, I must go blow my nose, for such is the nature of fame: it is a curtain behind which life must, in all its daily vicissitudes, go on.

And we're off!

My attempt at 24-hour theatre begins...now. Write the play by dawn. Print it out for the actors. Sleep. Wake up. Check in with director and actors. Make myself available during rehearsal. Procure and manufacture props. Tech rehearsal. Performance. Applause. Sleep.

Key:

This step is completed.

You are here.

Still to come.

I finished writing the play at 2:30 a.m. It's not a magnum opus, by any means, but for something produced in about six hours I guess it's not so bad. If I had a few days to ruminate on it, it would probably be a very different thing at the end of the rumination, but that's not the game we're playing. Houston has written some music for it, so I'm hoping we can make it work out. Some is a capella, but there is one sound cue for the poor techie, who apparently is running lights and sound.

Update 10:30 a.m.: I've been listening to the director discussing the play with the actors. It was profoundly moving, in a way I did not expect, to hear them talking about the characters, why they do what they do, how they see them, what they think the characters' lives might have been like before the start of the action. My play is rich enough that they can do this. My play is interesting enough that they want to. My play is currently being blocked out in the back yard — it's bloody chilly this morning, but they're still out there, shivering and working. I feel very greatly honored.

Update 3:20 p.m.: I'm thrilled at how well it's going. But I'm really nervous that I've simply put too many words in for them to learn by tonight. Tim, the director, is doing a fantastic job: capable, imaginative, and very, very nice about not messing up what's on the page just to gratify some longing for control. The actors are working like dogs. I don't know whether it helps or hurts that one of them is my husband and another is my child. The third actor is a friend from Script Frenzy (and, in fact, four more Script Frenzy friends are planning to come to the performance tonight — but no pressure).

Update 10:20 p.m.: I can't linger, for we have friends in the living room with whom I want to hang out. But the show went FABULOUSLY. Margaret was FABULOUS. Houston was FABULOUS. Cass and Tim were both FABULOUS. My friends were FABULOUS for coming down from Sydney. I'll write more tomorrow.

Update 12:50 a.m.: Going to sleep now.

Real Writer™

The Death of Albatross, my Script Frenzy opus, has been selected for script development by the Merrigong Theatre Development Program. I get time with a director/dramaturg and four actors. I consider the fact that they're willing to spend money on my play to be a Good Thing, and certainly more than many playwrights get.

As I'm going to be travelling a fair bit for the next few months, I requested in the application that the process begin in November. Now I'm sorry, because it's going to be hard to wait.

This is very, very exciting — not just because I get to learn heaps during the process, but because it's nice to get affirmation that one doesn't suck.

Movies

Relative to all the geeks and semi-geeks I consider to be my people, I don't actually go see a lot of movies. Consequently, I don't blog about a lot of movies. But I'm making an exception today.

First, Stardust, a Neil Gaiman romp that I wasn't expecting to like all that much, as (heresy alert) I can take or leave much of what I've read of Gaiman's stuff. But I was pleasantly surprised. Stardust is no Princess Bride, but it's got its funny moments, and there are a few plot twists that were — to my naive and unsophisticated mind, at least — sufficiently unexpected. Moreover, we got the rental for free because we bought phone credit at the video store.

Second, a movie I'm really eager to see, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Undead. Yes, you read that right. I don't usually want to see horror-type movies, even if they're satire or farce or whatever. Just...ew. But in this case, I'm so intrigued by the premise (a vampire has written a version of Hamlet, and there's stuff about the Holy Grail, tons of other vampires, and some sort of bizarre conspiracy involving Shakespeare himself) that I'm tempted to make an exception.

A change is as good as a holiday, or so I'm told.

I've set aside the current full-length play I've been laboring over (although, luckily, actual labor didn't go on this long without results). Instead I'm working on expanding the one-minute play that didn't get up in the Gone in 60 Seconds competition into a 10-minute, so that I can have another bash at Short & Sweet this year. Seeing as the first year I sank without a ripple, and the second year I got shortlisted, perhaps this year will be the victory year. The play already has a title: "Captain Tom Zombie and the Unlikely Shipmate." I think it sounds intriguing, don't you?

Free book! (Not mine, alas.)

Interested in Australian speculative fiction? Yes, I am, too. That's why I went to this site and downloaded the book to be found there, Simon Haynes's comedy Hal Spacejock. I haven't read it yet myself, but it's said to be along the lines of Red Dwarf, so I'm looking forward to it. And it's free! Brilliant marketing, as it's the first in a series, and if I like it, I'll most likely find a way to buy the others. And, if I really like it, I'll buy this one in bricks-and-mortar-bookshop, real-book format.

Go have a look. Aussie spec fic is of an extremely high standard, and this book has done quite well here, so it's probably worth a few seconds to download and a few minutes to start reading it and see if you like it.