An Unwritten Life

Writing is really hard work. I am learning this at an exponential rate, especially now that I am halfway through a 24-chapter, 384 page story and drowning in names and places and whatever-colour-Luc's-eyes-are-at-the-moment. Who did what? Why can't I put him in this event? Oh wait, he died six chapters ago. My bad.

When I used to sit in class and have to write a narrative in one and a half hours, I loved it. I think it was my favourite part of studying, writing english compositions. And I did think at the time, this is fantastic, I wish this could be my job. And now it is my job (kind of), and I love it, but it is so hard that sometimes I feel like I need to be physically restrained to stop me from tearing my eyes out and rewriting all the work I've done up to this point.

I have actually punched myself in the face on the bus, thinking about how awful everything I've written is. I have wondered if I would end up hating Damir and Kione like Doyle hated Sherlock Holmes. I have gone momentarily blind after writing for six hours at a time. I have shouted at my computer to shut up.

But I am starting to really like Luc, the stowaway who doesn't really know what he is doing, is excited about life and also terrified of it, doesn't want to participate but doesn't want to be left out. Unlike the other characters, who seem to have drastic mood swings depending on how I'm feeling when I write, Luc Harman has somehow survived as himself.

Oh, to have good friends that remember things!

Viv: It's a pity you can't make Pulau Ubin on Sunday
Me: Yeah, probably for the best though. I have a Kione deadline Sunday.
Viv: KIONE!
Me: Haha, why the fanfare?
Viv: Miss him. Haven't heard about him for so long.
Me: Yes, so long that you've changed her poor gender.
Viv: Oops.
Me: It's okay, she's at the bottom of the sea at the moment anyway. Not sure how I'm going to get her back.

Still don't know how she's getting back. Poor transgender Kione.

If fainting is a possible after-effect of donating blood, why do you have to hike up and down a hill to get to the bloodbank?

I just printed out three copies of the Thai, Bangladeshi and Tamil scripts for a voiceover recording later: one for me, one for the talent, and one for the recording technician. I collated them and stapled them, all ready to go, then realised that neither the recording tech nor I understand Thai, Bangladeshi or Tamil. Way to waste paper and ink, Claire!

"That's not just a bear... (ENDLESS PAUSE) ... that's a polar bear."

A guy in my office has been telling me to WATCH LOST because the rest of the office are all apparently dying of the awesomeness of season 6. So I got Season 1-5 from Lynn and am slowly trying to catch up. I've watched Lost before, and really liked Season 1, and then Season 2 was alright, but by Season 3 it was kind of TELL ME WHAT'S HAPPENING ALREADY. The new intrigues being introduced seemed to be in the hundreds but the answers were zero. It sucked.

Anyway, I'm giving it a second chance. Although halfway through episode 1 I realise: This is the series that made me terrified of flying, a horror that I've been trying to overcome since I first watched it and, oh dear, I am watching it again. The plane is being torn apart and people are screaming and dying and falling and my April Phuket trip suddenly seems like a death trap.

Cold as gold!

Red creeper at Oxford

Colour pencil day! Yay!



Drawn from a photograph of this squirrel who followed me around in Hyde Park, hopeful for food.



I really miss my primary school kiddies! I know half of them are brats and a quarter have yet to be potty trained, but as long as I don't have to be the one who mops up the mess (which I haven't, joy joy!) I kind of liked being called Ms. Chair. I remember when the boys primary school finally had their big day on stage I felt so insanely proud of them. How is it possible to feel this proud of something that spends half of its life screaming and the other half kicking people?


Dude, like, just make up your mind already.

we love marking primary school papers because....

A Frog on his Own.

"One fine morning, John brought his pet dog, John, to the park."

"A little frog jumped onto the boat and the boat fall in the water because it liked the boat."

"The boat was diestroyed."

"The boat drowned."
Don't worry, it's in a better place now."

"The frog was every every hungry. There was one more of a mosquite, that the frog was every every full."
I am every every confused.

"Benjy (the frog) imagine that a bee is a butterfly so Benjy use his tung and catch."
What exactly have you been taking, Benjy?

"When the frog catch a bee, the bee stung it's touhge. The frog did not eat bees anymore."

"The frog quickly swam to the pond."
Quick! Let's swim! To the pond! On the ground!

"Benjy (the frog) saw a baby on a baby trolley."

"There was a mother and a baby in a pram."
Show off.

"I baby name is Sally."
Good for you, I baby.

"All the pet jump over Sally cachu."
Sally's what?

"Benjy jump and jump and jump."
Go, Benjy, go!

"The baby was crying because the cat saw the frog beside a lady."
I get emotional about that too.

"The woman is giving the baby but the frog did not want to give the baby."
Those selfish frogs!

"The baby was mad."
Beware, there are mad babies afoot...

"Then the little boy was eating the frog and finish it up"

"John was angry to the cat and they lived happily together."
Hooray!

...Compiled from essays by primary 2s

This lazy thing i do.

I am losing all ability to be useful to society. I watch Rainbow carefully licking her butt and I think, wow, she's doing something with her life, look at her go! I mean, sure, it's not too pleasant, but someone's got to do the butt-licking and she's stepping up to the plate and doing it. I, Claire Matthews, am doing less than my incontinent butt-licking cat. Whoopeedo.

Well, to be fair, I am doing something. I'm working! That's useful right? I'm also taking dance lessons and attending rehearsals. And sometimes I even make my bed to raptuous applause from my mother and exclaimations of "It's a miracle! Thank the Gods!" from my father. But today is not one of those days. Today I am supposed to be helping my dad do some copywriting for some project. Since I have started my now very impressive three-sentence-long draft, I have stopped to read blogs, I have stopped to paint my nails, I have stopped to remove the nail polish (I just like to paint, but then the colour flashing from my fingers becomes annoying fast), I have stopped to go to the bathroom twice, I have stopped to write this. If I hadn't finished re-reading HP and Time Traveller's I would have stopped more often. This time next week, the draft could very well still be three-sentence-long and rotting. Rot. Rot. Rot.

Primary 1 Dilligence

Miss Claire: Does anyone know the name of the red-indian princess?
Class: ...
Miss Claire: Okay, it starts with P...
Class: ...
Miss Claire: P-O...
Class: Po! PO!
Miss Claire: No, that's a tellitubby. P-O-C...
Boy: POKEMON!
Miss Claire: Er, no. It's Pocahontas, guys.
Class: Oh...
Miss Claire: Did you watch the movie?
Girl: Miss Claire...
Boy 2: Eeeh.. girl movie..
Boy 3: Miss Claire, Xin Lin beat me...
Girl: Miss Claire...
Miss Claire: Yes, Crystal?
Girl: Pocahontus met this man from a ship and Pocahontus father want to kill him but Pocahontus said no because he was very handsome.

and i really don't like those advertisements for tv shows that cut and paste things that the characters said to fit into the voice-over.

Now this is Art - Bill Sullivan's More Turns

Bill Sullivan set up his camera at the subway, and took individual commuters at the exact same moment. This is beautiful stuff.



See the rest of his project shots at http://www.3situations.com/BillSullivanWorks/MTmaster.html

Meanwhile, my life as I know it is taking a leap into near-insanity-inducing-busyness. I've been involved with a great group of people called the Musical Theatre Society, and they have very trustingly made me production manager for an original musical being performed at the Esplanade's recital studio in April. This is extremely exciting, and last wednesday when myself, my director, producer and stage manager met with the Esplanade technical people, I had to pretend to be very professional while all these grown-ups discussed lighting plans and stage specifications, but I must tell you that what I really wanted to do was dance around the enormous cargo lift that is the same size as my room, or lie down flat in the aisles of the immaculate backstage passageways and breathe in the backstage air, shimmering with possibilities. I was so happy and excited that I shot the cleaning uncle an absolutely brilliant smile when I accidentally bumped into him while admiring the dressing room door. I had to stop myself from waving and saying "I'M IN THE ESPLANADE!" and winking my best show-biz wink. (Since I can't wink and I'm not really sure how a show-biz person would wink, it would probably look like I was in desperate need of eye drops.)

I am so proud of all these people. I wanted to pat everyone on the back and say "Good job!" and then maybe ask them to take a picture of me standing next to the backstage drinking fountain, so my grandchildren will believe that if a peon can have such opportunities, well then the world is indeed a grand, beautiful place.