A Letter From The Missions...

My Dearest Darling,

It is hot here tonight. A sultry, restless heat that seems to hang in the air with all the listless energy of a paper bag full of warm custard. The natives seem unphased by it, but we who have grown up in cooler climates are not yet accustomed to it, and so are suffering terribly. Possibly the fact that the natives all have airconditioned houses, while our missionary accomodation is far more rudimentary - consisting of a tent beside the villiage cesspit - also has something to do with it.

Still, I must not complain. Captain Jones-Farnsworth is suffering far worse than I . Yesterday he received some terrible news from home - his favourite Labrador, Miffy, was apparently eaten by an alligator. We were all a little surprised at this, as alligators are not traditionally associated with Sussex, but we have no reason to doubt it. While this came as a blow to him, it was nothing compared to the shattering event which befell the Captain later in the evening, when - according to the locals and in a wholly unexpected and rather ironic twist of fate - he too was eaten by an alligator. While such an occurance is admittedly less surprising here than in Sussex, the fact that the Captain was last seen thirty feet up a palm tree pretending to be a rooster has us all a little puzzled. None of us even knew that alligators could climb, but the villiage Chief assures us this is the case.

Either way, it was a difficult evening.

But not to worry, tonight the villiagers are cooking up a special feast to cheer us up somewhat. A stew of some description, by the look of things. I'm not certain what the meat is, but it smells a lot like chicken.

Reverend Chumfoth sends his regards. He is such a good man. Always ministering to the natives at all hours of the day and night. He particuarly takes special care to watch over the villiage women during the days when the men are out hunting, and then at night he often joins the younger women of the villiage in their communal hut for prayer meetings. Several of us have expressed our willingness to assist him in this duty, but he says it is a burden that has been laid upon him alone. All of us are heartened by his selfless attitude. Personally I regret that since our arrival here I have not had any such burden laid upon me.

I received your last letter with much pleasure. Since our supplies ran out, we have been making do with leaves and suchlike, and several of the native species have nasty stinging spines which can make for quite awfully uncomfortable experiences if inadvertantly applied. While I'm not complaining, I must confess that it is nice being able to sit down again. And walk in a straight line. Please write more often, and longer letters.

Other than these small trials, our work here proceeds apace. I have been befriended by one of the Natives, a small boy whose name I cannot pronounce, let alone spell, but who I refer to as 'Betsy'. He's a talented lad, who is doing his best to make me comfortable here. Yesterday he took my clothing - which was, quite frankly, getting rather high - off for cleaning. I imagine he'll return it any moment now. In the meantime I am making do with a rather fetching palm frond and several lengths of braided hair from my beard.

Betsy was also very interested in my small library of books. I was happy to loan him several of my favourites by Rudyard Kipling, R.M. Ballentyne, Jules Verne, Daniel Defoe, and Chuck Palahniuk. I will look forward to discussing them all with him, particularly Fight Club.

In any case, my darling, the night grows long, and I grow weary. Later this evening it is my turn for alligator patrol and while I am a little nervous about this, owing to our lack of rifles and ammuntion, all of which went missing at around the same time as Captain Jones-Farnsworth, I do not expect any difficulties. Betsy has given me a stout pole made of a wood that the natives refer to as 'Breadstick' and which he tells me is ideal for defending myself, or anyone else against any alligators that I might encounter. He also informs me that before my patrol I should baste myself for several hours in a mixture of spices and warm oil. He hasn't explained why, but I can only presume it is a measure to ward off the alligators. He is a true friend, is Betsy. I shall have to have a meal with him and his family, at some point.

Give my best to Bunky and Binky, and to Boingo, Poingo and Droingo. I miss you all terribly, but console myself with the knowledge that we are doing good work here. And now I must go. The Reverend has just come back from his prayer group meeting, and looks utterly exhausted.

All my love,

Alfred.

And Awaaaay We Go.... (Home Alone Day #2)

This morning, I was at work just a little after 7 am. This is actually not as bad as it sounds because:

a) It's 38 degrees in Canberra today. My office is air conditioned, my house is not.
b) Getting here early means that I don't have to feel too bad about leaving here early (which I'll be doing very soon) and
c) Thanks to the motivational effect of my poll over there ---------------------------------------------------------------------->
I've been able to pull my finger out and have actually written the better part of 5000 words today! Woot!

This, of course, means that I don't get to hire a Porsche, unless there's a last minute run on the voting, but even so, it's a good result.

The best part is, I've been working on this new book in small dribs and drabs for about three months, but today I hit the point where I'm really starting to break inertia with it. By the time I stopped writing this afternoon, at just a shade under 9000 words, both the story and the writing were just flowing, and I know that when I sit down tomorrow morning and start again, they'll keep flowing.

And the story?

I don't want to say too much about it yet, in case I jinx myself, but I can tell you that it's fun. It's loaded with action, it's got a really nice suspenseful backstory a lot of which is revealing itself to me as I write (A new experience for me - I'm usually a meticulous planner), and it doesn't require a trip to Antarctica to research it. In fact, the sort of research required can largely be done by Googling things like 'fast cars' and 'big handguns' and 'breeds of pygmy iguana'

Actually, I've only had to google two of those three. You can decide which is the odd one out.

But it's nice, you know? To be writing something that hasn't been in my head forever, and which hasn't been hanging over my head, either. My last two big books were both contracted a long time before they were finished and it's really refreshing to be just writing for the spontaneous fun of it again. I'd forgotten what an important aspect of creative writing that is - to write for the adventure of it.

So thanks to all the people who took the final option on the poll and gave me a well needed kick in the bum. I appreciate it.

Of course, the poll is open for another day, and it's not too late to pick the Porsche, instead...

Suggestions, anyone? (Home Alone Day One)

So last night Min and Toby flew off to Perth to go to a wedding. I didn't.

And now it's Sunday morning, and I'm home alone. But not in a Macauly Caulkin way, just in a gee-the-house-is-really-quiet kind of way.

Now, I could mope around, feel sorry for myself and watch foxtel in my undies.

But no, I've decided to do something positive about the situation. Which is where you come in.

Poll is on the right hand side, people. Can't guarentee that I'll follow through, but you never know, do you? Perhaps as the week wears on...

And, of course, I'm happy to listen to any alternative suggestions. Feel free to comment away.

But now I have to go. I think Gilmore Girls is starting...