makar [ˈmækər]
n (Literature / Poetry) Scot a creative artist, esp a poet
[a Scot variant of maker]

Monday, May 16, 2011

Monday morning is usually writing-time for me. I get about 3 hours to disappear into the lives of my characters and sustain myself for the week ahead. It gives me some creative outlet, stops me from going cuckoo, and makes me a better mum. Not this week though because my babysitter is otherwise engaged. Instead, after a spot of grocery shopping and a splurge in the Op-Shop (Does $22 count as a splurge?), I sat in the sun, while the little rascal played in the sandpit, and flicked through a magazine - a rather more superficial way of losing yourself in other people's lives. Anyway, I fell in lust with this amazing warehouse apartment, complete with indoor trampoline and Tyre-swing for the kids. Ever since I saw the film Ghost, I've had this fantasy about living in a warehouse. While everyone else in the world remembers that movie for the scene at the potter's wheel, I have never forgotten the moment when they first glimpse their apartment: the ceiling soars above them and the sunbeams illuminate clouds of dust. It is, in short, "a space". So all of a sudden, I'm thinking wouldn't it be great to live in the city, in a place like this. We'd be so close to all those inspiring museums and galleries, fabulous places to eat and shop, the best schools and universities, so much culture, all on our doorstep... And then I remember the crowds, the grime, the hurry, and what actually happens in the film, Ghost. Hmm, maybe suburbia's not so bad after all: I'm sitting by a lemon tree, I can hear the chooks next door, the air is clean. Yep, my reality is pretty sweet, with or without my writing-time.

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