THERE WILL BE A SHORT PAUSE

I went to the pre-trial conference today. My lawyer had told me that the other party were ready to discuss terms.

I should have known better.

The last three years have seen a procession of delaying tactics, lies, and fallback positions as the defenders of this upstanding member of the medical communiy have stood by his hard-won honour. I mean, my wife went into hospital tohave a baby, and the he killed her. He killed her. And we’re still arguing? 3 and a half years later?

Now, here’s the latest tactic: the opposing lawyers have been reading this blog. And they’ve decided to use it against me. You see, according to them, the entries in this blog prove:

a) that I have a spectacular writing career that’s so successful I was able to leave work, not for the reasons of stress, grief, and the need to look after my baby that I had mentioned, but because my career was so brilliant that I had to take care of it as it leapt towards superstardom. Believe it: these people want me to give them proof of my earnings! Writers can stop rolling around the floor laughing and muttering “Stupid c*nts” now.

b) that I no longer care about the death of Sharon, because I don’t mention her very often. It’s not considered that maybe I don’t talk about her because I try to use this blog to keep some positivity in my life. Again, people who know me can stop rolling around etc etc.

c) That the positivity I do express in the blog, the mention I make of friends and family, the plans I talk about, in fact, everything in this entries that does not paint me as a ruined wreck of a man, prove to these money-grubbing leeches that I deserve no recompense, no compensation, no sense of closure over their client killing someone who was in his care. Let’s not laugh at this one, shall we? Let’s treat it very seriously.

What this does draw into high relief is that there are people out there, and today I learnt their names, who read this blog with the express intent of using its contents to ruin my life. According to them, I am not allowed to live a life. They’ve lived lives over the last 3 years. My own lawyers have lived their lives. The man who killed Sharon has lived his life. Hell, he’s even practiced, and undoubtedly been allowed to deal with other pregnant woman (and doesn’t that make your blood a little colder?).

But I am damned by these people. Everything I do is turned into a weapon against me. If I show the slightest sign of happiness, these harpies are waiting on the wing to twist it into something they can hurt me with. If I gather together the shards of the life their client ruined, and attempt to build something from it, they’re reading these entries, working out ways to ruin me again.

And for what?

To save their client an insurance premium.

I will not give them another chance. Until this matter is sorted, and they have crawled back into their respective swamps, I’ll be taking a powder. My life is my own, and I will not have it turned into a defence for that filthy bastard. So for now, this journal shall remain on hiatus. I’m sorry. I hope those of you who have enjoyed it will understand.

THE DREAM IS OVER

We didn’t attend Aiden’s soccer match on the weekend. His father decided he wanted to watch him for the first time, so we didn’t go. It’s just easier that way.

This meant that Aiden’s lucky talisman, Connor, wasn’t there for the first time. I just looked up the score on their webpage.

They got done. I mean Everton against Arsenal done.

2-9.

2 (1, 2) – 9 (1, 2, 3, 4, oh bugger it, what’s on the other channel?)

I draw no conclusions……

GETTING THROUGH THAT TO-DO LIST

Luscious is out with friends tonight having a girlie-sesh, so I’ve managed to finish that review book and write the review, as well as plough my way through the rest of the manuscript I’m assessing. A couple of days to recover from the awfulness of it all and then I’ll launch into the report itself. A short pause for breath and then the short story collection package beckons…

There’s plenty of rest for the wicked. It’s us oppressed wot have to keep dancing.

A PERSONAL VERSION OF HELL

Working for a company with an ‘H’ as part of the name, and hearing the trainer pronounce it haitch for 8 hours a day…..

CONTAINS UNBEARABLE CUTENESS

How can you not love a 3 year old who wakes you up by flinging open your bedroom door and shouting “Exterminate, exterminate”?

A LONG DAY TOMORROW, MY LITTLE ONES

After three and a half years, and more delays than a federal rail project, the defence lawyers for the doctor who killed Sharon have run out of excuses.

The pre-trial conference is tomorrow. I sit in one room, the defence leeches sit in another, and we pass notes back and forth arguing over just how much a human life is worth.

Just me, and a set of suits who have accepted money to justify killing a perfectly healthy woman.

It is not likely to be a happy experience. The doctor who did the killing won’t even be required to attend. Perhaps he has an important 18 holes booked or something.

The house is quiet, and I can’t get the lyrics from the Pink Floyd song The Trial out of my head.

Just five minutes, Worm your Honour. Him. Me. Alone.

THERE’S A REASON, OKAY?

I realise it’s been a wee while since I posted, and that I haven’t mentioned the weekend, in which Luscious and I had a brilliant kafeeklatch with the extraordinarily talented Canberra writer Matthew Farrer (if you haven’t checked out the first CSFG anthology Nor of Human, it contains Matthew’s story Tales From the True Desert, which would go close to being the best Australian fantasy short story of the last 5 years). Neither have I mentioned bumping into Aki, the event which shall be known only as The Great Battbrat Shopping Palaver, Calli’s baby shower wot I missed due to Bonus Daughter Picking Up duties, and other events of the intervening period.

Explanation is simple.

I have a day job again.

Honestly, I’ll blog. It’s just been 16 happy work-free months, that’s all. I just have to get used to these early mornings again. It’s one thing to get up to a baby at 6am. It’s another to get up, stay up, and be in an office building in the city before you’ve really noticed you’re not back in bed yet.

AND STILL SO MUCH TO DO

Edit the novel. Finish reading the latest review book. Finish reading the manuscript I’m assessing and send back the 3000 word report. Send the final edit of the short story collection to the publisher. Writer short stories for Eidolon (due June 1), The Outcast (July 31), and a 10 000 worder for Fading Twilight (August 1)

Gordon Bennett!

SHE MUST LIKE ME NOT BEING AROUND

Came home tonight to the wrong house. It’s so clean!

I don’t know whether that means Luscious really misses me and was compensating, or she’s glad I’ve got my fat arse out of her way so she can get things done.

My clothes are still in the cupboard and the suitcases aren’t anywhere in sight. That’s a good thing, right? 🙂

COLLAPSES IN WET, SOGGY HEAP

Too many personal problems to list and almost 77 000 words later:

I’ve finished the first draft of the novel.

Now for the line-editing. I’ve got a couple of agents asking to see the first 3 chapters and synposis, so that’s the first priority. Then all I have to do is smooth out all the dead ends I threw in over the last umpteen months, and polish it until it looks like I meant every word.

Dead easy 🙂