As it’s been one of those weeks, busy yet ineffective, let me begin with some trivia. At yesterday’s Zumba class, towards the end when you are tired and the mind begins to wander, I drifted off into a dazed reverie during a Ricky Martin song. ‘Quando, quando… will you love me?’ crooned Ricky (in Spanish) ‘when will you be mine?’ Ricky’s plea was followed by a chorus of female voices, chanting in Spanish, something that sounded awfully like ‘fat cells, fat cells’. I just thought, in the context of a group exercise class, that this was kind of funny. Mollified by the chorus of the Spanish ladies, I came home and carbed up.

Last night my kid vomited all over her pjyamas and bedding, then rushed happily into my bedroom to tell me that she had ‘spit’. It was about two oclock so I didn’t really comprehend what she was telling me until I put my hand on her matress and felt warm, damp squish. Even her favourite toy, a benevolent looking tufted leopard, predictably named Spotty, got nailed. Today Spotty was still damp.

Another domestic vingette: today Sophie, feeling perky after her spew, decided to wrestle the vacuum cleaner hose. I stood back and watched for a while. It was a dramatic performance that had a Medusa versus the Gorgons appeal; she was really getting into it, the hose whipping around like some demented python, gripped tight by chubby toddler fists. I’m probably reading too much into it, but I don’t think my daughter likes any domestic appliances that take Mummy’s attention away from Sophie- I’ve noticed her slyly step on my laptop a few times.

Professionally I’ve been sticking with my goal of getting at least one article or grant application out there per month. The latest things to go out were an entry into the Hobart Art Prize and a proposal for an art event planned to run alongside the Australian Animal Studies Group conference ‘Animals, people- a shared environment’  in July, Brisbane. I’m trying to plan my creative output so that I’m making stuff that can be exhibited in multiple venues, at different times, or at least be recycled into new forms for future exhibitions. This isn’t laziness, just recognition that I’ve got limited time to make things, and with the time that I do have, I can’t afford to stuff around.

Finally, as promised some weeks ago, here’s a draft of the first chapter of my crime novel Beautiful Day, otherwise known as my Novel Night Job. I should just let you read and form your own impressions, instead of editorializing, but goddammit, I can’t resist! A key thematic arch of the story is main character Jon’s transition from selfish, sexist, spoilt egotist to… well, someone who is less of a pain in the ass. The climax of the story will be just as much about personal transformation as it is about pulling together the whodunit threads and naming the killer.

Technically I’m playing with the use of tense; it’s something that I’ve always struggled with. I remember learning to write in primary school and a teacher explaining that I couldn’t write ‘I’m climbing out the window’ because how could I climb out of a window, holding a notebook, and writing the whole time. This struck me as wrong then and it strikes me as wrong now: I like the idea of trying to transcribe an inner voice to an invisible audience. My natural inclination is always to write in the present tense (which I’ve nicknamed Playstation tense, because I use it to get this sense of heightened but slightly artificial reality) but I accept that this can become monotonous.

The great American crime writer: James Ellroy

My favourite crime novel climax of all time is a scene in a James Ellroy novel, I can’t remember which one, when the main character, a flawed police officer, confronts a rich family with their murder of a young actress. Standing in their living room, he silently pulls out his gun and shoots a Ming vase, then slowly turns and blasts the other priceless antiques lining the room. God it was good. The perfect example of ‘show, don’t tell’: the character saying without words that he is nothing like this family, that they cannot buy him, and nothing can save them now. I’m still at the stage with my writing, particularly with this novel, that I’m telling more than showing- I can see it but I can’t get it, yet. Wish me luck!

chapteronepdf