P: W[u]B! - Entry 2.

People always say you should write what you know and so the first few of my P: W[u]B entries will probably be fiction based on real life, and I apologize for that but it's hard enough jumping back into the deep end of writing without doing it wearing platforms and with an iron belt about your waist.

That said, I give you...


Topic #212 - The Human Zoo.

The almost nasal beeping sound as I step onto the bus and swipe my card is what snaps me out of my morningtime haze. It is 6:45am and I've been awake for exactly 17 minutes -- previous to that I'd been asleep for roughly 3 hours, so I'm finding consciousness an effort to say the very least.

As I move down the aisle I eye up my possible seat mates carefully -- this is a choice I will have to live with for the next 35 minutes and is one I have oft regretted by the end of my journey. In the first seat, directly behind the driver is a shrivelled woman with greying hair that is gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She sits huddled forward -- though I cannot tell if this is by choice or nature -- clutching her gigantic purse [which even I, fashionless though I may be, cringe a little to behold (on the inside, mind, making faces at strangers on the bus is something I have LONG since learned not to do)] to her person, fingers digging into the almost carpet-like material as though she fears I might snatch it up at any moment. I dismiss this seat and continue down the aisle.

About 3 seats from the back door there is another free seat, though the person occupying the other half of it is sitting on the aisle side, with his coat next to him. His chin is lifted with self importance and I can see a very fancy looking briefcase between his very fancy looking shoes. I have almost made it down the aisle to him and there is a line of people behind me who need seats too, and yet he does not move. His arms are folded as if to challenge any one of us to ask him to move, and though he is a thin man [probably quite tall, from the way his knees are jammed uncomfortably into the seat in front of him] I feel intimidated by him. If that wasn't enough to make me walk by him and find another seat, he ignorantly turns his head - his gaze now directed out the window. I almost giggle at his pompous ass as I continue down the aisle.

As I have passed the halfway point of the bus, it is now -- apparently -- 'cool' for school kids to sit here and I find that I am climbing over sports bags, tennis rackets and instrument cases, to make my trek more interesting the bus has now pulled away from the stop. It's peak hour traffic so the constant stop-starting means I have to cling to the seats as I make my way through the menagerie of screaming, swearing snot-factories.

Finally I spy a seat to the left, 2 seats from the back. I sidestep over a case that must surely contain a Viola or something of that size before pivoting on one foot and plonking down in the available space. I'm not picky enough to stand for 35 minutes until I get to work and as far as I can tell there are no other free seats from this point onward. I take a moment to arrange my skirt and fix my jacket so it doesn't trail on the ground and it is in that moment that I feel my heart drop to my chest. My nose twitches -- once, and then again -- and suddenly it is upon me. A stench that must surely have climbed from the depths of hell! My throat tightens and I have to make a real effort not to dry wretch. I turn to my right, slowly [for there is fear in my heart] and behold my seat-mate.

Like something out of a horror film she sits, from her muddy gumboot-clad feet to her birdsnest-esque hair, shovelling something brown and chunky into her vast, toothless mouth. I'm not sure if it is her or her meal that reeks of death and hopelessness and everything that is foul and unholy in this world but I turn immediately to face the front of the bus -- as though not seeing her might make the smell slightly less overpowering.

I sit like this, frozen, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands, swallowing hard every few seconds for what feels like years. I look at my phone -- 6:51am.

I exhale, hard, and turn to glance out the window on the other side of the bus. We're about to pull into the last stop before exiting onto the Busway -- from there it's a straight shot into the city. I think I can do this, I think to myself -- and as though to argue with that thought, from beneath me I feel the seat vibrate and hear a slow, drawn out squeak. I turn to the abomination next to me, my jaw dropping uncontrollably -- I grew up in a house with 3 brothers and even I am horrified by what has just happened. I realise my mistake and my mouth closes so quickly and fast that my jaw aches. Even being late to work is not worse that this, I decide in a heart beat and grab my bag from the ground beside me, stumbling clumsily over the mountain of children-crap and not even bothering to buzz my card in my haste.

As I step off the bus I take a long, drawn out breath -- savouring the sweet smell of trees and cars and the suburbs. I swing my bag over my shoulder and move toward the seating area, sighing to myself as I eye up my first possible seatmate...


xx. A

P: W[u]B! - Entry 1.

Topic #367- Discuss the effect of fear on your life.

I have feared many things.

I have feared the dark, heights, the Beast from Beauty and the Beast, men who raise their voices, the ocean [or more specifically not being able to see what's in there], dogs outside of their owners yards and spiders of any shape, size or origin. I have feared being different, flying, being forgotten, falling in love - and in turn - being loved. I have feared growing attached, growing comfortable. I have feared consequences.

I have feared doctors, hospitals, test results. I have feared pain. I have feared death.


Because of fear I have ended relationships, partnerships, friendships.
Because of fear I sleep with a nightlight, or door open.
Because of fear I am reluctant to meet new people, to try new things.
Because of fear I backspace more than I type - it feels - and struggle to express myself.

I have feared many things, but I try not to let it stop me from doing what needs to be done [for very long, anyway...]. Fear is something that can either paralyse, or motivate. Fear is something that needs to be grabbed by the balls and owned, because otherwise it takes control and once that happens it's so much harder to gain the upper hand.

Fear is necessary -- like pain. Fear is there to tell you to be careful because something could go wrong. But again, like pain, fear can trigger an overreaction. Fear is a factor in my life - but a minor one, the same as considering the weather and taking an umbrella before I leave the house if it's cloudy outside.

... for all my ranting about how fear being necessary but needs to be controlled, I'm never ever ever going outside in the dark by myself. Ever. iPhone flashlight application for life!

xx. A.

Project: Writers [un]Block!

I'm a book person. I've always been a book person. From the time I was old enough and strong enough to hold it up, I'm told, I've had my nose stuck in one. I live vicariously through the characters in the worlds my favorite authors [really, ANY authors.. I'll read anything] have created and for hours at a time, everything else ceases to exist.

When I was younger, if you'd asked me or anyone who knew me what I wanted to be, I/they would've replied either "a Vet" or "a Writer".. and honestly the Vet thing was a phase that passed as soon as I realised I had to do more than just play with the fuzzy animals and occassionally there'd be blood [eww!] involved. For years I was involved in Roleplay and Writing Clubs, I shunned the outside -- content with the world I and my friends had created from nothing but text and our imagination. I lived and breathed these characters, I knew my favorite characters responses to any question even better than I knew my own, really.

I would stay up, night after night, living on 2-3 hours sleep just so that I could push my creativity a little further. I wrote at school during lunch, I wrote during classes that were not designed for writing [sorry maths class, you suck!], I wrote on the bus on the way home. Half of what I wrote was garbage, but it just came so freely and easily that I could just cut out the bad bits later, if I even bothered to edit something old instead of just writing something completely new.

Somewhere along the way though I got lost. I found "real life" friends, I became interested in parties and video games and TV, I got a job -- and a boyfriend! I stopped living so much in my online bubble, I stopped carrying a notepad with me everywhere. I lost a part of me that I'm not sure will ever completely return. It became harder and harder for me to just sit down and write. There was no "flow". So eventually, I just stopped trying. Other than a few half-hearted blogs here and there, and the occassional spot of poetry I haven't seriously written anything since I left highschool. And that's sad. And wrong. And it's going to change!

A few days ago I received a book I'd ordered called "Everything I know about Writing" - by John Marsden [author of the popular Tomorrow When The War Began series (one of my favorite series of all time, by the way)]. This was a book I'd read in my teens, curled away in the corner of the highschool library somewhere and I'd remembered enjoying it. . so on impulse [I received a gift voucher for there for my birthday] I purchased it!

At the end of the book there's a segment called "600 Writing Topics" and these are sorted into categories such as quickies, discursive, poetry, personal, limits, letters, etc. Basically it's a bunch of one liners and the idea is either to answer the question or to use the line as inspiration. I've decided I'm going to complete the list and I've invited a few friends to try it out with me. And if anyone who reads this is interested in maybe giving it a go feel free to comment with your responses! I'm not sure how often I'm going to do these segments -- there are a few I want to tackle immediately so they might come more frequently in the beginning and then slow down to a once a week thing afterward, or I might really enjoy it and it'll become daily.. I don't know I haven't really ironed out the details.

Anyway, I'm going to make a new post for my first question because this one is already years long. I'm trying to think of a snappy name for it, but my 'working name' for now is "Project Writers [un]Block!" [or PWuB I guess for short] and is extremely subject to change.

I'm excited!

xx. A.