Time Travelling Dog

Sometimes, when I’m playing with my dog, I think of the past.

We will be wrestling, something he loves to do. We’ll be rolling on the floor together, with his playful "Grrrrrrs", and I know he's trying to beat me. I usually let him get on top of me and then flip him on his back and rub his tummy - something else he loves. His paws, of course, have no opposable thumbs and so of course, he can’t grip anything. He does what he can, he hold things the only way he knows, and so he grabs my hand or fingers with his mouth. But he is gentle, oh so very gentle. His  jaws never push too hard, never hurt or mark me.

At these times, I often think of his ancestors, the wolves, and how 25,000 years ago, wolves wouldn’t have yet been domesticated. And they certainly wouldn't have been as small as my boy unless it was a pup. And then I think of the time my wife and I were in France. We'd been to visit Grottes préhistoriques de Cougnac, a cave which has paintings on the walls.  These pieces of art are around 30,000 years old.  And they are stunning. Simple line drawings, ochre and charcoal, unknown artists but believed to be Cro-Magnon people. Beautiful beyond words. Moving and emotional.

That night we sat under the stars with a glass of wine, and I remember thinking how some of those who lived in that area at the time, perhaps even one of the artists, might be one of my ancestors.

I thought about how they saw the same forests I did, the same sky, the same stars. It felt positively prehistoric sitting there in the middle of nowhere, and I felt an intense connection with my past, our past.

And so I still have these thoughts and memories whenever I wrestle with my dog. I often also imagine that we are transported back in time to live among them. They are amazed I have a domestic "wolf" pup, and that he plays.  He can sit when I command, and likes to have his tummy rubbed.  And without sharing a language I try to explain that they needn't worry, that they should be kind to him, not hurt him.  I try to show them that when he grabs me with his teeth he isn't hurting me, has no intention to bite. He is a good, good boy. I imagine they wan't to go and kidnap their own wolf puppy, as they have no idea where dogs came from.  But I worry this won't work and there is no way I can explain that to them.

I have no idea when my mind first linked my dog's ancestry to France and Cro-Magnums via time travel.  But it's there in my head and reminds me of its existence frequently.

Maybe I need to pay attention to it and write a story about it.

Me and Stevio Down By The Schoolyard.

I had some good friends in high school, but I don't really know what happened. Within a very short time we'd all lost touch. Of course that was well before the internet and we all moved out into other worlds. These days I'm only really in touch with one of them, and that's infrequently and second hand through his wife on social media. Hey Steve B, thanks for all those years of friendship through school. I'd love to be in touch more often.

But what about the other other Steve C? What became of him? And Doug P? We used to play cricket and tennis and hangout after school. Doug D? I remember standing on the lunchtime soccer ground and talking about Bob Dylan. Keith F? Another Beatles fan. You gave me my first taste of Sgt Pepper and All Things Must Pass on cassette. Neil S? You lived just around the corner and I have no idea where you went. Tim G? I caught up with you once a few years ago and never heard from you again. Paul W? You left our school and moved to Sydney. A mad keen Carlton fan and a good writer. Where are you? Arthur C? We were good friends, and I have no idea where you moved to. Michael H? You got in touch with me at work many years ago, and asked me to call you back. I felt terrible because I lost your number on my desk and waited for a return call. 

And Johnny R? I search online for you from time to time, and can't find anything about you. We spent so much time together - fishing, listening to music, eating toast in the middle of the night.

I would love to hear from you all. I'd love to know what you're doing, what happened, hear some memories.

In fact, I'd be thrilled.

Getting On Top.

As regular readers will know, I recently changed schools. I hit the ground running, right in the middle of serious assessment time. Not only did I have mountains of marking land on my desk, but I had to quickly get up to speed on the texts, the course, the curriculum, the standards of assessment, and - well, the whole shebang. It's only recently that I've started feeling as though I'm actually on top of things.

But every time I start to feel that way, every time I start to feel like I'm in control of my life, something leaps out at me like the alien bursting from that guy's chest to remind me that it's all an illusion.

I promised myself last month that once I was on top of things, I would set aside a couple of hours every evening simply to write. But will I ever have that free time?

No.

So, as of tonight, I will start writing daily whether I have the time or not. I will squeeze it in somehow. And I have no excuses.

And yes, I have some new words down today.

Much Writing To Be Done.

It's been a busy couple of weeks, here in the plush writing studio at Chateau Cameron.  Unfortunately little of it has actually been writing.

I've received a personal rejection for one that I had high hopes for, I'm sweating on a couple of others out there in the wide world, I've got a couple of rewrites that need doing and a whole swag of great ideas that need time.

Work has stepped up a gear or two in the past month, and at home I'm in the middle of renovations. It'll all be worth it in the end, but it's occupying much of my attention.

But no excuses. I simply have to write.

Write, write, write.

The New Regime.

Day three of the new regime, and I'm still on it. Admittedly it's only been three days, but that's two days longer than I suspected it would last.

A diet you ask? Exercise? No, it's a writing regime.

I awaken each morning at 5.30, and write for 90 minutes before going to work. I've found that after a day of dealing with kids and words, the evening is not the best time for me to write. Plus I enjoy my evenings, spending time with my wife. Later at night would be good, but I'm not really a late night person. I suffer for it the next day.

And so day three of 5.30 starts, and all is going well.

Speaking of which, I should get some writing done. Out.

Writing Lots...

...but not what I choose to be writing.

I'm only a month or so from completing a University course, and I'm behind in my assignments. I had one due recently that I just wasn't going to get submitted on time, mostly due to the two week study tour of China I undertook a month ago. As such I asked for an extension, which was granted, and so I've spent a lot of time catching up on my reading for my studies.

Now this is an area of studies that I'm interested in, and will definitely help my career. Unfortunately the main text book we use is quite theoretical and heavy going. Also, I'm an old fashioned learner - I like to be in a classroom, face to face with a teacher and other students and learning as much from the discussion as I do from the readings. Forums, online readings and posts don't quite do it for me, and I'm finding this much harder going than I anticipated.

And so much of my weekend has been taken up with some reading and writing my assignments. Still, the pain is only for another month and then I'll (hopefully) be free of this kind of learning and I'll be able to devote my writing time to the kind of writing I like.

Until next time, that is.

Half A Page Of Scribbled Lines...

I've been very productive recently, especially since I was able to have a few solid writing days during the mid term break.

Fortunately that enthusiasm and desire to write has remained now that I'm back at work. Free time is the only thing missing. I know that we all have to prioritise what we choose to do with the free time we have, and I know I'm not alone in wishing I had more of it.

I'm still getting great ideas for stories, my writing is still improving and I'm happy with what I'm producing. I'm trying to make sure that I write regularly.

But that doesn't mean I can't wish for more time, does it?

Speaking of time, last week I mentioned I hadn't heard from a market in four months, and I was hoping that was good news.  The sense of irony I instilled in that sentence turned out to be a wise move. After an enquiry I was told the market had closed, and they wouldn't be looking at submissions.

Shame it had to languish there in limbo for all that time.  It would have been nice to have been notified it was free again.