And so the editing process begins — with me scribbling all over the page, crossing things out, writing up, down and diagonally across the page. I love the first edit. It’s so satisfyingly messy.
Scribbling
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Category Archives: food
Anticipation
This week, I’ve spent most of my days sitting in various libraries and cafes at ANU (Australian National University) in Canberra, writing madly, pretending I’m a student there. I haven’t managed to finish the essay I’m working on, but I’ve got a writer’s first draft (that is, not something I’d be comfortable having someone else read, but something that forms some kind of whole, and that I can continue to work on). This afternoon I lounged on the couch in my parents’ back room, reading one of the many books I’m trying to absorb as part of my research for this essay, and for the bigger project I’ve tentatively started work on.
I had a few moments today where I really felt excited about what I was doing. I could almost feel the cogs in my brain turning, working things out, and I thought, ‘This is why I do this.’
I need moments like this more often.
Cooking!
I am most definitely happiest when I have several pots on the stove at once. Yum!
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PS. Wow. My stovetop looks filthy in this photo — I might just go and give it a scrub now…
Other things I do when I should be studying…
But I did my exam this morning so now I can do what I like! I’ll officially be a yoga teacher by the end of next weekend.
A big idea…
… I’ve got one.
It’s funny, I haven’t spent much time over the last few weeks thinking about my writing — except briefly to bemoan my lack of it. I’ve been away, this last week, on a yoga teachers’ retreat, which sounds lovely and relaxing, doesn’t it? Well, it was lovely, but not so much relaxing. It was hard work, physically, mentally and emotionally. As is often the case though, with hard work came reward.
When I got back on Friday I felt spaced-out. It was surreal being back in my own life after four intense days of perception-shifting. It’s taken me a couple of days to settle in again. But just at the end of that head-in-the-clouds feeling came something of an epiphany. I’m working on an essay about food at the moment, and have been freaking out about how to narrow down what my research is discovering to a few thousand words. I suddenly realised last night that I didn’t have to. I could still write the essay, but then continue on, and turn this into a bigger project as well.
It probably comes as no surprise to people who’ve spent time with me that I might end up writing extensively about food. I love the stuff. I have a ridiculously fast metabolism, related to my thyroid condition that I’ve mentioned here before, and it means I’m constantly thinking about food and how I might better consume it so that I remain full for longer (and continue to enjoy it!).
Of course, it didn’t take long for the doubt to creep in. Who am I to try to write a book like the one I want to about food (more details as I work them out myself, I promise)? Surely there are already too many books about food on the market?
Valid questions, sure. But I want to write it, so I should just do it, and think about that stuff later.
So. It’s likely that there’ll be more food posts around these parts from here on in. Yum.
Dinner
Tomato, lentil and vegetable soup seemed like the perfect dinner on a rainy Saturday night. I made this from a recipe out of my favourite cook book, and added a few things here and there. I love it when I modify a recipe and it works!
The only way this could have been better was with some home-made bread. One of my favourite bloggers, Claire, tentatively tried this recipe and had great results, so I’ve been inspired to give it a go myself tonight…
I’ll probably be writing a whole lot more about my cooking adventures on here for the next little while, because I’m researching a food essay I’m writing. If anyone’s interested, I can start posting up recipes for these things I’m making.
Oh! And we’ve got the Monday Project up and running again. Check out the latest theme here. Which reminds me, I really should send out the email that’s supposed to accompany new themes…
(PS. I have no idea why I included the peeler in that shot. It’s not like it was all that important in cooking this… let’s hope my food-photography improves.)
Cooking madness
I spent a great deal of time on the weekend cooking. I do this from time to time; a cooking marathon where I spend hours and hours (and hours) in the kitchen, pottering about, stirring multiple pots on the stove, singing along to whatever music I’ve got on, ending up covered in flour or flicked pasta sauce. I’m sure many people I know think I’m absolutely insane. The fact that they are right is completely beside the point.
I love to cook. I love to eat as well (anyone who’s spent more than about four hours in my presence will attest to this), but cooking is just such fun. And it’s calming for me. I spend so much of my time filling in every second, rushing from one thing to the next, pulse just a little higher than it should be, stress levels slightly higher still. I like that. I like to be busy. But cooking gives me something to do with my time that forces me to slow down.
While I’m kneading pizza dough I’m thinking. Sometimes I’m thinking about whatever it is that I’m writing, sometimes I’m navel-gazing or working through some decision I need to make, or imagining something silly like what a great singer I’d make for the band I’m listening to.
And then I test the results on those lovely people in my writers’ group. And they give me constructive feedback.
Writing exercises
This semester I’m doing just the one subject at uni, in an effort to slow down. It’s a short story workshop, which is right up my alley, because I love short stories (to read and write). Each week we’re being given an exercise to explore the various elements of stories (short or long, really); character, place etc etc. I thought I might share them each week.
For last week’s class we had to take a character from one of our stories to the supermarket. In writing, that is. I’m working on a short story I wrote last year — and that needs a lot of improvement! — so any feedback would be more than welcome.
I’ll also be posting these entries on The Monday Project.
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The supermarket is only just opening when Bella steps off the bus. This is her favourite time to shop because the place is virtually empty and she can be as slow as she likes without worrying that she will in someone’s way.
She recognises the cashier at the only open register and attempts a smile, but is rebuffed with a look of confusion and lack of recognition. The girl is here every week, but Bella supposes there’s not much interest in remembering a little old lady with a squeaky fabric grocery trolley. She certainly wouldn’t have been interested when she was the girl’s age. Bella sighs and moves to the toilet paper and laundry powder end of the supermarket. She has always moved through the supermarket this way, ‘backwards’ as her husband put it on the few times she convinced him to come shopping with her. He hated supermarkets and couldn’t understand the sense of freedom she found in them. “They depress me,” he used to say, but would not, or could not elaborate further.
After comparing the prices, Bella chooses the least expensive toilet paper, which is unfortunately located on the top shelf, almost out of her reach. She will have to risk an avalanche of toilet paper to get a packet down. She looks around her. There is no one in the aisle; no one who could help. On her tip toes, her hand on the handle of her cart to push herself a little higher, Bella manages to knock the paper towards herself and move out of the way to let it drop to the floor. She smiles. Last time she knocked down four or five packets and was too embarrassed to ask for help, so piled the packets on the floor neatly. Later that day, when she got home, she realised that the store probably had cameras and that the store manager could have watched the whole thing. She had caught two extra buses to shop in another supermarket for the next three weeks.
She carefully crosses toilet paper off her list with a pencil from her dress pocket. Laundry powder is also on the list. Thankfully her favoured brand is usually found on the bottom shelf — she assumes this is because not many other people buy it. Sometimes it is not in stock, but today she is in luck. Another straight pencil line on her list.
The Laughing Clown (a work in progress)
It had all started with that cloud of pink fairy floss. The little girl was wearing red denim overalls with the hint of a grass stain on each knee. She had a blue and white striped t-shirt on underneath. The day was too hot for long overalls so her cheeks were rosier than sheer excitement could make them.
She was a very ordinary looking child, but it was her fairy floss he was interested in so she could’ve been anyone. His obsession with food began as soon as he saw delighted look on her face as she pulled the wispy pink cloud away from her face. Some of it had made it into her mouth but most of it had stuck to those overly-rosy cheeks. She used her stubby little fingers to peel the floss from around her mouth and push it into the black hole between her lips. Not once did she take her eyes off the rest of the pink haze she had left on the end of the stick in her hand. As far as she was concerned, nought but she and the fairy floss existed. He was fascinated.
He had never tasted fairy floss. He was a Laughing Clown, employed by the theme park as extra security. All he had ever eaten were those white balls people put in his mouth to win prizes; a guise designed to hide the immense security presence in the park. While the balls provided him, and the other Laughing Clowns, with all their nutritional requirements, they didn’t taste like anything at all. They were, after all, reusable, so any taste they might have had once had faded a long time ago. He had never experience the sensation of taste before.
The girl with the red overalls was the first of many humans he noticed who seemed to forget about the world around them while they ate. The food they ate was nearly as varied as their age, colour, gender or social class. There were a disproportionate number of children-fairy-floss combinations. He also noticed a similar pattern with children and ice cream; women and chocolate.
After hours he began to compile a list. One small sheet of paper turned into several larger pieces, and then into a fat, well-thumbed notebook. Each night, after the lights went down in the park, he would extract himself from the games stall along with the other Laughing Clowns. He would write up his daily report on the potential security risks he had noticed while scanning the park that day. He would chat politely with the others, usually about something work-related. Walking back to his small room in the dorm under the rollercoaster he would try to avoid running into any of the other park employees, particularly the Mummies from the ghost house: they weren’t allowed to speak intelligibly all day so they would talk your ear off if you gave them a chance.
When he managed to get back to his room he would pull a small wooden box out from under his bed, unlock it quietly and calmly open the tattered notebook to the next blank page. This page, and usually two or three after, he would fill with detailed reports of that day’s food. His handwriting was neat and simple. There was no fancy prose involved. Just the kind of detail a highly-trained security employee was expected to notice.
avocado and lemon
She sat for a while, thinking. Should she wait or should she take the plunge right now? The inside of her skull felt a little like the battered walls of an indoor tennis court. Eventually, out of sheer exhaustion, she made a decision: she would do it now.
She prepared it carefully, following all her mother’s advice.
To her utter disgust the first bite was terrible! She should have listened to her father; he always said that patience is a virtue most useful in reading the subtle language of an avocado skin and deciding if it is ready to eat. Lemon juice is not always a saviour.
Disappointed, she dropped the apple-like avocado flesh into the compost bin.
avocado and lemon 