As part of Connor’s home-schooling I’ve been teaching him haiku. It’s a wonderful way to learn imagery and active language, and to teach him to consider the weight of a word before using it: when space is limited, everything has to count.
His first few efforts were simple things, but yesterday, sitting in the library at Murdoch University where we were using my rostered day off to indulge in a home schooling day trip, he cracked the active-language barrier, and gave me this one:
Bony flaming wings
slaughtering humans for food
The delicacy of thought, with the bloodthirsty gusto of the 8 year old. What’s not to love?
Some years ago I took part in the Write a Book in a Day challenge at the behest of the Katharine Susannah Prichard Writers Centre: a group of writers and artists, locked together in a room, with a single aim– to turn a bunch of blank pages into a printed, illustrated book in 24 hours.
Sometimes, we get together and cry.
In all seriousness, it’s a brilliant concept. It’s huge buckets of fun for the creators, it raises valuable money for the recipients, and there genuinely is not a single loser along the way. It is one of the few everybody wins concepts going around.
This year, the Canberra Speculative Fiction Guild is taking part for the second year. The equation is simple: get on it. do some good. Make writers cry.
12 years ago I had a car accident, and when the chiropractor x-rayed me I had shrunk by a centimetre and a half, and my body’s vertical axis had slid to the right and twisted, so that my natural line of balance involved leaning forward and to the left like some sort of physical representation of the Greens.
Yesterday, after a gap of four years or so, my new chiropractor x-rayed me– I have lumbar pain and dysplasia that would impress the dancing skeletons in a Disney movie– and discovered something that had been hidden by the car crash damage.
My left leg is almost two centimetres shorter than my right. and what’s more, it always has been. There’s some medical name for it that I missed because I was too busy goggling at the x-ray, but what it amounts to is this:
All the calf-tightness and cramping I experience when I was playing sport: this.
The lumbar pain and excessive bowing of my lower back: in part, this.
The degenerative arthritis that’s beginning to effect my lowest vertebrae: 40 years of this.
My excessive weight gain over the past ten years: naaaaah, that’s just me.
So here’s me– fat, middle-aged and wonky. And wondering why nobody ever played me on the right wing….
Me and a few mates. Owned by Disney. Aren’t we all?