Tag Archives: karate

Too Young To Be Bitter

My cat is fixated on something outside the window, but there is nothing there. It must be the ghost of my last university session – because I killed it. ‘Muthaaa Fuckaaa!’  – as the incorrigible Hank Moody would say.

Bring on the holidays! Yes, more opportunity to feel guilty about not accomplishing anything.

Well that’s not entirely true. I am slowly climbing the Karate ranks. I was given Arnis canes the other day to train with. And as I swung them around in my living room, I couldn’t help but make lightsaber noises in my head. I can tell I’m going to go far. I wonder if those new Star Wars movies are looking for extras? That was, after all, a long forgotten childhood dream of mine – to be a Jedi. My makeshift dressing-gown Jedi robe and blue cellophane wrapped curtain rod would testify to that.

Anyhow, I moved onto bigger and better dreams. To be a writer. Quite frankly, I think I’d have a better chance of becoming a Jedi. At least I’m realistic. Bitter, cynical, yes, but realistic.

Like that person in my class, who professed that writing should probably just be a hobby of hers, instead of a career path. I, somewhat guilty, agreed with her. I mean you’re not going to get very far if you’re already tearing down your own writing and telling everyone that it’s shit. That’s not part of the ‘Belief, Focus, Follow Through’ mantra I’ve adopted as my own. Sure I say stuff like: I’d have a better chance making a career of stopping the evil Sith from taking over the galaxy than writing, but that’s just acknowledging that it’s tough out there. And another thing, I’m not going to present a piece of writing to be scrutinized that I think is shit, then pout over the fact that it’s getting constructively criticised, making excuses of why it is the way it is.

“Oh, you meant to write in cliches? Pretty sure that only works if you’re making some sort of clever, satirical comment on the practice, and not just being a lazy writer.”

I’m guilty too! My last creative piece was heavily slashed of cliches and melodramatic writing, so I feel I’m qualified to recognise the error of such things.

I was once too filled with bright eyed and rather ridiculous notions of teenage romance, before I read Twilight and my gag reflex developed. Now I have a full blown cringe factor, especially for male leads who are ‘sensitive and very feeling’ and who bake cupcakes and wear flowers in their hair???

‘Does he also sparkle in the sun?’ I asked. Apparently not. But seriously, this is what young ladies fantasize about?

‘Oh, I get it, what you want in a guy, is a woman…’

That’s cool. There may be someone out there for you like that, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , ,

One Stormy Night.

We seem to be in the eye of a storm, rumbling thunder, lightning flashing and big fat pouring rain. There’s nothing on television. My cat, who five minutes ago was the picture of sweetness, all cosied up and sleeping, is now running around the kitchen and lounge room like he dropped an E or something. Why must he venture into every cupboard that’s open? It’s not like he’s never seen the mixing bowls and the frypans ten million times before.  I guess he’s a bit frenetic. I can’t talk, kiai – ing and kicking all over the place, practicing my ninja moves. We’re really one and the same, me and Smudge, as I too like to stick my head in the kitchen bin and jump into laptop bags just for the heck of it.

Is this what my life has become? Observations of my cat? Smudge might as well hire me to ghost write his autobiography. What’s in the toilet bowl and other poignant life questions. I tried to convince him to go with something a little more snappy for the title, but he’s just about as stubborn as I am.

Well, that’s just about enough of that chapter.

I’ll tell you instead what I’ve recently come to realise. Writing is hard. Actually, I already knew that, but I’ve put it into a different context.

You see, the other day I broke my first board in Karate. Thank you, thank you. Your applause is greatly appreciated. Anyways, prior to such accomplishment I was told that to break a board you need three things – belief, focus and follow through. And with my genius mind I extrapolated that it is the exact same thing with writing.

I know, mind blowing isn’t it?

Not really, it’s just sometimes you realise obvious things when they’re put in certain ways.

To write that piece, that short story, novel, poem, or whatever grabs your fancy, you first need to believe you can do it.

Yes, well that’s all very well and good, but secondly you must put your ass in that goddamn chair and focus. Focus with the steely gaze of a falcon on his small, mousy prey. Attach falcon! Attack!

Now that you are so focused, one hundred percent, that not even your cat laying over your keyboard like a hippy in front of a bulldozer, can deter you, you must then follow through.

Break through that board, or in this case blank white page, all the way to the other side, with a big fat KIAI at the end. Wasn’t that just the most satisfying snap you have ever heard in your life?

I know it was for me. I’m freaking hanging that ply wood on my wall or something and writing all over it:

Belief

Focus

Follow Through

Because that is some good shit. And I would do well to remember that shit.

Tagged , , , , ,

I Am Number 6

I’d like to think my cat ruining my driver’s license renewal papers is his way of saying ‘I love you, don’t ever leave me’. But I think I’m reaching a bit. The lines on his face, however, do make him look like he’s in a constant state of worry. But he doesn’t really give a fuck, as he licks his balls in the middle of the dining room table. He doesn’t kiss his mother with that mouth… That’s why we settle for eskimo kisses.

I read my numerology the other day. Apparently my personality is one that relates better to pets than humans. Well, I did have a mind slip the other day that would support this theory. Running through my list of errands I thought ‘and I’ll take the kids for a walk down the back paddock … oh wait, kids, I meant dogs…’

Wow. I know my biological clock has been ticking loudly at me lately, with strange compulsions to abscond with the cute four years old at my karate dojo, but hmm…

As my kitten rests his warm little chin against the crook of my arm as I write this, unfortunately he’s the closest thing I’ve got to children.

And I ask, where else am I supposed to put my overflowing reserves of love? Into some unhealthy obsession with someone I barely know? Sure, why not. I’m sure they would highly appreciate being the object of my undivided attention. Until I leave a bunny rabbit in their kitchen boiler.

Kidding. I’d never do that to a bunny. I’m an animal person, remember.

My mother told me that one day some guy will come along and make me his princess.

I said, ‘no, not princess. Warrior princess?’

Because for some reason I have this vision of myself being a badass black belt within the next five years.

Yet, at the rate I’m going it’ll probably be more like ten years.

Teenage girls, at the moment, have more strength and flexibility than I do. Am I intimidated by these confident, pubescent little fuckers? Hell yes. They bloody well knocked over that standing punching bag thingo with their flying side kicks, whilst I think I pulled a muscle.

Like I already don’t feel like an old lady, you know with my clock ticking and all.

Woman, you’re freaking 22 years old.

But if I’m going to create my own personal army of black belts, I’m going to have to start early.

Maybe I’ll just settle for my own personal army of cats.

 

Tagged , , , , , , ,