I’ve been feeling a bit blog-blocked in recent days. I suspect it’s because I’m not actively writing. My most energetic blogging happens when I am also writing up a storm – we all remember the twice a day Nano blogging, don’t we? – with my brain firing on all cylinders. This month is about prioritising other things, and I am a little concerned that my brain is going pulpy at the lack of horrific deadlines looming.

That would be bad, right?

I teeter between wondering what to do with myself (not the housework, obviously) and being overcommitted in new and exciting ways. Today I’m attempting Pilates for the first time, as the universe seems determined to tell me to do so (well, the universe and  godiyeva mostly, though C and Justine Larbalestier have also had a hand in it, important for writers to look after themselves *before* their body locks up and their typing fingers stop working). I’ve bought exercise clothes that don’t suck. I have my new horribly expensive shoes. It’s all a bit worrying.

I’ve avoided soccer with Raeli for a few days thanks to the incredible downpour of rain from Sunday onwards, but couldn’t think up any excuses yesterday, and it was brilliant. What a workout! She devises her own warm up and cool down exercises, and adores actual playing, though is still pretty firm that she prefers to win, thank you, no matter what I say about how winning means more if it’s a) a genuine win and b) you also know how it feels to lose. Luckily I’m not too much of a threat to her yet in the winning department, because of my high degree of suckage, and also she cheats like a fiend.

(more…)

Well, the manuscript has gone, winging its way towards the offices of HarperCollins by carrier pigeon. (they’re speedy these days!) Two books down, one to go. (and, not entirely coincidentally, I have figured out titles for the first few Nancy Napoleon novels, which is almost as good as having the books themselves written) March can officially begin, one day early!

I should be jubilant, but I’m too busy being sad about the result of the last Arsenal game – we beat Stoke 3-1, but it was poor compensation for the horrific injury that Aaron Ramsey received. He’s a nineteen year old Welsh player who has been doing so well for the first half of our season, and had (hopefully still has) a brilliant football career ahead of him, and one nasty tackle has left him with a leg so badly broken that it could be a year or longer before he’s back. Devastating for him, for the players, and for the fans.

I wasn’t around for the Eduardo smash, which happened before I became a rabid Gooner, but I’ve seen how important his return and recovery was to the other fans and players. Having this happen again, and to the adorable baby-faced Welsh one, is gutting. I feel particularly bad that I’ve been joking too much lately about the Arsenal tendency towards injuries. Really not funny this morning. Here’s hoping it’s not as bad as it looked (it um, looked pretty bad, apparently… I couldn’t bear to watch the video, but apparently there were no replays on the feeds because it was so awful). The poor kid has a long road of recovery ahead.

For less depressing sports news, how awesome is Kelly Kulick? This is the first woman to win a men’s Professional Bowlers Association Tour title in the US. Women making it at the pro men’s level of sports is a rare and wonderful thing, and Kelly has been all but ignored in the sporting media. Is it because she’s female? Is it because bowling isn’t regarded as a legitimate sport?

It’s worth reading the whole article, because these questions are asked and some answers are found, particularly when it comes to gender bias. Particularly charming is the sportswriter who says: “Rule No. 1 in determining whether an activity is a sport: If the best female in the world can beat the best male in the world, it doesn’t qualify.”

Niiiiice. So Kelly Kulick is singlehandedly responsible for ensuring bowling doesn’t count as a sport? Or maybe, just maybe, there’s something else going on there.

In other news, I am totally buying my daughter soccer boots this week. She’s 21 days too young to be allowed to play school soccer, damn it, damn it, but we’re going to do the best we can to keep up her interest until she is allowed to play. One long year away. Hopefully the soccer boot shop has pink ones – if it’s good enough for Nicky Bendtner, it’s good enough for Raeli!

I’ve been inhaling old episodes of Radio Free Skaro (Torchwood and children? That’ll never work. And why haven’t we seen the 456 on the promos? Have they not CGIed it yet?) in between current episodes of Radio Free Skaro, while drilling away on my manuscript formatting. Scrivener, it turns out, has all kinds of lovely features to allow you to compile a document for final submission, but it’s taken a while to iron all the bugs out, and even now that it exists in a single doc (120,000 words eeeee) I still have to go through the whole thing, page by page, to make my chapter headings and numbers and page breaks all – you know, be consistent and tidy and in some cases, bringing them into existence.

I got halfway through the ms in a few solid hours, but was struck by the desperate need to move around and be active – this, coupled with the incursion of ANTS ANTS into the dining room which I usually work in, led to a mass tidying of over and under the dining room table, in order to clear space for Robie the Robot to do his vacuuming thing.

The good news is that my cleaning frenzy did throw up the copy of Power of the Daleks (I am so obsessed with old Doctor Who right now, I know my everyday state is ‘mildly obsessed’ but I’m in an active state right now, I suppose the obsessive bookbuying had to go somewhere) I had borrowed from the library and promptly lost. Still haven’t found our much-renewed library copy of Maisie Eats Lunch or whatever the hell it’s called, though.

I took advantage of the lack of sunshine to play soccer with Raeli! As part of my plan to incorporate more activity into my daily life, I promised her blithely that I would play soccer with her “every evening” which, I’m sorry to say, has led to far more “but you promised!” moments this week than is healthy for our relationship. Though you know, I *did* promise, and when she says that, I do haul myself outside to kick some goals with her. I love sporty Raeli! She’s so gung ho! She didn’t even blink when I accidentally kicked her in the face with the ball (I’m not good at this! I’m trying!) but then sadly came a cropper, tripping flat on her face. I had told her pink gumboots weren’t the most appropriate footwear, but she insisted. Possibly the fact that my own soccer kit is bright pink pyjamas and black leather boots compromised my believability.

Anyway. Only halfway through the manuscript. I was hoping to finish today! But on the bright side I do have a tidy dining room, a tired daughter and sore feet. Hooray!

As some of you know, I’ve gone a touch insane about football (soccer to Americans and Australians) thanks to my attachment to Arsenal and Premier League over the last year and a bit. While I do love our boys, something that has been getting to me more and more is the marginalisation and invisibility of women’s football. I have complained about the lack of coverage, in the media and in the presentation of games on TV, and the overwhelming assumption that no one is going to be interested. I’m interested! And not just because, you know, Arsenal Ladies rocks. So far my support has been fairly limited. I follow the Guardian news feed for women’s football in the UK, I keep an eye out for news stories elsewhere, and I’ve even started taking an interest in Australian soccer!

The trouble with living in Tasmania is that we don’t have a state team (the same is true for Aussie Rules) which means if you want to barrack for a team you have to choose them for some other reason. But, hey. My team is Arsenal and I’m pretty sure I’ve never even been to their area of London before. I’m not even sure where it is. I’d have to look at a map. And I have been so busy being obsessed with all things Arsenal that I haven’t got around to thinking about or choosing an Aussie team. I told myself that, you know, I’d wait until there was some women’s soccer before I got interested in the more local stuff. Or until my daughter gets on her own team.

But as it turns out, the Australian women’s “pro” W-League (I’m sure you can imagine why it’s in inverted commas, and has nothing to do with whether or not the players have a professional attitude) is going strong in its second season and I was delighted beyond all reason when it turned out the ABC was screening some W-League games on Saturday afternoons. So I decided to choose a team.

(more…)