To push or not to push

He'd spent weeks psyching himself up for the 2 km cross country race. Was determined he'd run well, hell he might even qualify for Regionals if he gave it his best shot. So when my eight-year-old suddenly choked a minute before the race was due to start, refusing to go in, refusing to run the race, I was surprised and disappointed. But mostly, I was disappointed for him.

Suddenly the proud little boy who'd won the Small Schools Championship, entered District and qualified for Zone, and who had his shoes on and legs limbering up, had a minor meltdown. He looked terrified, wounded, unable to cope.

"I don't want to run Mum. You can't make me. I won't!"

He was right, I couldn't make him. I also didn't know whether I should even try. What was the right reaction here? What was the reaction that was not going to turn my boy into a reluctant sportsman or a quitter for life?

Should I have insisted he step up and run the bloody race? Was that too harsh? Too 1955? Would he come away with a fierce hatred for competition after that?

Should I have given him a cuddle and told him it was all okay, it didn't really matter in the great scheme of life? Was that too soft and flippant, and so typical today? We're so keen to bubble-wrap our kids now, we often don't push them into taking risks that help them grow into bold and confident adults. Would this one day lead to him walking out before the HSC, quipping, "It's too hard, I don't want to do it, you can't make me!"

Or should I have made light of the whole thing and left it at that?

It's hard to know how to react to our children's little meltdowns and it's hard to react naturally when there are scores of other parents and children watching, intrigued and judgmental from the sidelines. But I tried to cajole him into running, I tried to walk him to the start, and when that failed, I bent down and told him he would regret this decision, that he was letting his team and, more importantly, himself down. "It doesn't matter if you come first or last, you're a winner just for entering the race," I spurted. The usual cliches.

It didn't make a jot of difference. He wouldn't budge. And so we left with our tails between our legs and felt flat for the rest of the day.

How to publish on Amazon—an amateur Aussie's guide

I'm no tech expert, don't purport to be, but I have become an amateur expert in my own right and I might be able to help you if you're as eager to self publish as I am.

Over the past few months I have put three ebooks on Amazon and Smashwords (122 sales and counting...) and am now making them all available as paperbacks via Amazon's CreateSpace print-on-demand option.

What an amazing option! Did you know it costs about $4 to get a paperback proof dummied up and another ten to get it posted, express, across the sea to Aus? How insanely cheap is that?

Did you know the whole process took just two weeks? Two weeks, people! That's incredible, and a far stretch from the old days of spending thousands and waiting months...

It's so easy I can't believe more people aren't doing it. All you need is a cover with spine and back cover (a cinch with the right skills or designer on board), about two hours to cut and paste your copy into the template, and Bob's your uncle!

The hardest bit for me was determining what to sell the paperback for. Some books sell for $5.99. Some for $21.87... I chose somewhere in between, and my first crime novel will be available as a paperback for $10.99 very soon.

Wanna know how I did it?

Wanna just get that beloved novel out of the hard-drive and up on the internet? 

Tackling with formatting problems or looking for design/editing tips and contacts?

Get in touch. I look forward to sharing all that I have learned. Us DIYers need to stick together...

Invisible? Moi?

I tried not to take offense. Hell, I needed the money so I could swallow my damn pride. But when an editor of a glossy women's magazine asked me to write a story about Invisible Women Syndrome - that strange phenomenon where you kind of fade away once you get in your mid-late 40s, being ignored by waiters, sales assistants and builders alike - I couldn't help feeling a little irked.

Had I really got to THAT stage in life? Do people really look through me, not seeing me anymore because I'm aging? My friend Amanda says it happens to her, regularly. She's older than me and even more beautiful, so I was surprised by this but grateful for her honesty which I use in my piece.

I did come up with examples of my own, but it's early days for me. I know it will be more obvious (and I less so) as I age. But I also know it doesn't matter. In the story I write about the liberation of middle-age, of not being on constant show, of laughing at the young chicks in stilettos at muddy music festivals while I trudge happily through in biker boots.

There's lots to love and loathe about getting older. But there's one thing I really look forward to—not having to brace myself every time I walk past a building site.

I'd love to hear YOUR experiences of this - get in touch! Comment below or email me: christina.larmer@gmail.com

xo

The Other One (a free quick read)

HEY GUYS: Here's an example of my short fiction (with a twist) that's available for free at:
http://freequickreads.blogspot.com.au/

The Other One
by Christina Larmer

My sister has always been more beautiful than me and I don't understand why. We're identical twins. We're supposed to look the same. But for some reason, men are more attracted to Kara. Hell, everyone's more attracted to her: old women, little kids, even the dog next door gallops across, tail wagging a million miles a minute when Kara comes around. He offers me not so much as a sniff, and it bugs me. Or, at least it did until last week, when Kara turned up dead.

They say a handsome young man found her body. Of course. He alerted the police, they called in the fire brigade who in turn called in the search and rescue squad. She was hard to get to, stuck in a tree, halfway down a cliff. Just dangling there, like a dead pig in a butcher's window. For all to see.

The irony of it hit me. Kara was always eager to be seen and death did not let her down. Of course if you spent as much time on yourself as Kara did, you'd probably be noticed, too. She always knew what to wear, how to do her hair. Subtle make-up, sexy shoes. I gather she spent all she earned at that glamorous PR job on her shoes. I've got them all now, of course, but they aren't taking me where I thought they would.

I'm thrifty. A mad saver, really. And not at all into fashion or lipstick or highlights in the hair. The 'plain one', I hear them say, sympathy edging out the disdain. They don't compare themselves to her, of course. Just me. Her other half.

I'm an accountant. Wealthier, wiser, lonelier. Had a boyfriend once. Until he met her. Of course Kara would not be tempted by someone so dull, but she might as well have. He was as good as gone after that; sex occasionally, the fire extinguished from his eyes. Unless he was thinking of her. I knew when that was because he was excited, animated, fervent. Alive. That's when I would slip off midway and leave him there, dangling.

Dangling. It's a funny word, isn't it? Ugly. Humiliating. Out of control.

Kara was never normally out of the control. She spoke well, she made friends easily, she drank just enough, never put on weight. She was School Captain and University President. She had been in love, but she never fell there like the rest of us. She sauntered up instead, opening the door to it, offering it a seat. And she always left them, a few expected tears, and happiness again.

"I love being single," she told me once. "I love being on my own." I'd noticed. Apart from our nine months wedged together early in the piece, we'd never been close. I laugh at the thought of poor, beautiful Kara stuck in the slimy environs of my mother's womb, her limbs entangled with mine, unable to get away.

Last week she got away from me. For good. She was pushed from a cliff. Then she really was all alone. And now in death as she lies rotting beneath the soil, she rests all alone. Except for the constant visitors of course. Mum can't bring herself to leave Kara's grave. Has practically set up a camp site. Old boyfriends have driven miles to pay their last respects, weeping over her marble plaque, leaving perfectly healthy roses to wilt without water and die. And I watch this all from a distance, disbelieving and distraught. I'm still here, guys! The other one. Give me a second of your time, hand the flowers to me.

One man has started paying me attention, though. A policeman by the name of Jones. Talks to me a lot, asks all sorts of questions, mostly about me. He discovers that I did it. He locks me up for life and throws away the key.

It's not so lonely in here. I have a room-mate called Sharon, and she's not going anywhere.

ends:
Read my latest short story at: http://freequickreads.blogspot.com

The end of your career

How's your career going? Soaring ahead, plodding along or stalled like an old bomb with a overheated radiator? Sadly, mine is the latter, and I have no one but myself to blame.

It's hard to keep working away when your heart is simply not in it. It's even harder for others to give you work when they can sense that very despondency, and you can't blame them. Not really. I've been a journalist for 24 years. I've edited magazines and run international bureaus. I've interviewed A-list celebrities and clueless psychologists. I've struggled through a move up north and the birth of two children, a time when keeping employers interested has been almost as challenging as the births themselves. You sort of drop off the planet when you have a baby, and often through no fault of your own. Employers (editors) just assume you're not available. Perhaps they're being kind, giving you some time out to bond with bub, but you want the work. Hell, you need the work if you're going to pay the mortgage and keep the bub in nappies. So you end up having to work even harder to get back on their books.

But you do. You crawl back in, you dazzle them with your ideas—menus and menus of tantalising feature story ideas— and the work pours in again. All is right with the world. But deep down you are bored, and you are not happy.

And so, slowly, almost without you even knowing, you start to falter. You've been doing this gig for so long, you have simply lost your spark. And with that loss of spark comes a loss of passion and of brilliance. You start sending mediocre story ideas, not because you can't think of any great ones, but because you actually don't want to write them. You don't want any work. You tell yourself you do. You know very well that you need it. But you are over it. And so your ideas and your performance reflect that. And editors see that. And so they give you what your subconscious wants—less work.

Eventually it turns into a trickle and then a drought. You get a wake-up call - usually after perusing your bank statements— and you snap yourself out of it. You find that spark, send in some better story ideas, get a little work again.

But a few months down the track the pattern resumes and the work dries up again.

Eventually those confused editors don't even bother responding to your emails. And why would they? You're unpredictable. They're not even sure you're keen. And so you have finally achieved what you really want. An end to your career.

And so the empty bank balance glares at you. How on earth will you fill it now?

Have you got the stomach for it?

(A story about Chi Nei Tsang)

If, like me, you're not big on stomach massages, that may mean you're the perfect candidate for Chi Nei Tsang, a Thai abdominal massage. Here's what happened when I tried one out, courtesy of a luxury Thai resort and the generous sisters at Double Edge PR who got me there.

Like most people (dogs, cats...) I love a good massage, especially on the feet, but I have a slight problem when it comes to my stomach. You come anywhere near my tummy with those oily hands, and I chop them off! So I was a little bemused during a recent holiday at a health spa in Thailand, when a therapist suggested that it was actually my stomach that needed a good pummeling.

“You have problem with tummy,” said the Chiva-Som masseuse after she’d finished giving me a blissful body massage (which involved three seconds on the stomach before she got the evil eye). “You need Chi Nei Tsang—stomach massage. Good for you.”

“Oh, no thanks,” I laughed nervously, making a beeline for the spa. As I bubbled away, I began to reconsider. Perhaps the reason I dislike tummy massages so much is the very reason I need one. I’ve had pelvic problems since my first pregnancy and, lately, an occasional nagging ache on one side of my abdomen which neither a GP nor a physiotherapist have managed to explain. What did I have to lose? The next day, I found myself lying flat on my back, my stomach exposed, and a Chi Nei Tsang master bearing towards me, her hands poised for attack. What had I let myself in for?

Believed to have been developed by Chinese Taoist monks, Chi Nei Tsang literally means “working the energy of the internal organs”. It’s all about using deep, gentle touches to retrain the internal organs (stomach, intestines, liver, gallbladder...) to work more efficiently. Therapists say that tension and negative emotions build up in these organs causing congestion and blocking the body’s energy. This eventually weakens these organs, particularly the digestive system, causing problems like irritable bowel syndrome, constipation, bloating and gas. By gently massaging this region, my internal organs should be re-energised and my negative emotions magically released. Well, they certainly had their hands full with me!

My session was held in a dimly lit therapy room with ambient music and the sweet scent of lemongrass all around. I was covered up, except for the tummy, and massaged quite determinedly around the entire abdomen. At first it was hard to relax and I found myself tensing up, but eventually, as my therapist’s soothing hands persisted, my stomach muscles held up the white flag. And it’s just as well because this treatment is useless if you don’t relax. I found that I enjoyed part of the therapy and was slightly irritable during other parts—particularly when the therapist hit those trouble spots. “You have a small tear in your large intestine,” she said, much to my surprise. “Do you get bloating, a little bit blocked?”

“Well, maybe a little,” I replied, embarrassed. She suggested I drink warm water more often, then noted that I don’t breathe nearly deeply enough. “Breathe deeper, you’ll feel better and have much more energy.” I liked the sound of that.

By the end of the 45 minutes, I was feeling incredibly relaxed and, yes, even a little more positive about life. While she never picked up on my pelvic problem, the therapist did manage to make my nagging ache disappear, and it still feels fine some two weeks later. While this may all be the result of the holiday itself, I have come away a stomach massage convert.

It’s clear to me now that relaxation is not just about the outer muscles. If you neglect those all-important inner organs, they might just come back to bite you on the... well, you know.

More information:
Chi Nei Tsang is a signature treatment at Chiva-Som and is also available in Australia at some health spas, yoga studios, naturopathic clinics and osteopaths. Treatments range from $80 to $150 for an hour session, and most therapists recommend three sessions for maximum effect. It is not recommended during pregnancy or menstruation and for those with abdominal cancer or vascular abnormalities. For a practitioner in your area: www.naturaltherapypages.com.au.

My family & other animals: Travel tips (FYI)

About to set sail with your family or head off on a road trip?
Here are some travel survival tips for holidaying with extended family (from someone who's done a lot of it!)

• Choose a holiday you all agree on
• Share responsibilities such as organising the trip, booking restaurants, babysitting…
• Leave personal views about parenting, drinking and diet at home
• Book enough accommodation for each family to really spread out and relax
• Adjoining rooms are good for babysitting and catching up
• Set basic rules first, such as how often you get together and where
• If someone wants to do their own thing, don’t take it personally
• Get the formal group photo out of the way early
• Take your own happy snaps and share photos at the end
• Share things like snorkelling gear, books and toys
• Move around at mealtimes so you catch up with everyone
• Take kids’ books and toys to dinner so you get some adult conversation in
• Invite single family members to join you in activities and mealtimes, and offer to babysit if they have kids
• Don’t expect Grandma to keep the kids entertained. It’s her holiday, too!
• Enjoy!