How do you like me so far?

With my bag all packed for the Problogger Training Event, I thought now was a brilliant time to show you my new headshot. Actually, it's also a great time simply because I got it today and couldn't wait another minute to show you the wonderful work of Sophie Turner at Kisschasey Photography.

Extended Fam. Fibro - meaning Mum and Dad, sisters B and C, brother TICH, and the various other halves and offspring (19 of us in all) - recently submitted to enjoyed a family photo session in honour of A Big Birthday. It was surprisingly painless - even fun, I must admit - and the results were so amazingly lovely that we are all just thrilled.

Before the shoot, I said to Sister B, "She makes people look really good." To which she replied: "Maybe they looked good in the first place, did you think of that? She hasn't met us yet..."

Well, she has met us now and she made us look good. And to make my life even more complete, we even managed to wedge in a little headshot, allowing me to update the one I've been using for years. As I said to my Mum, "I don't want to be one of those writerly types who uses the soft focus pic that's 10 years out of date." To which she replied: "Nobody starts out that way. Let's talk again in 10 years."

So, if I'm still using this one in 10 years, feel free to call me on it.

And yes, I confess to asking for a little bit of 'work' around the eyes. Just so I was happy with the fact that my crowies couldn't be seen from the other side of the room. At least I'm honest, right?

If we meet at Problogger this week, squint a little and I'll look just like this. Promise.

As an addendum to this post, I will point you in the direction of this lovely piece by the extremely well-named Allison Slater Tate. If you are never in family photos, you need to read it. I wish I'd thought of it first.

Read it and book yourselves a family photo shoot. It's worth it.

Have you ever had a professional family photo shoot? How did it turn out?

Disclaimer: This is not a sponsored post. The family photo shoot was fully funded by Fam Fibro. I'm just so pleased by the results (and I'm NEVER pleased with photos of myself as a general rule) that I'm more than willing to spread the word. Visit Kisschasey Photography for examples of Sophie's excellent work.

Writing tips: How to write a better blog

I've got writing on my mind this week. I'm doing one last read-over of the new, revised and fabulous manuscript for my novel. I've been reading Marian Keyes, who always makes my writing heart quicken a little. And I have the new book by Monica McInerney sitting pristine in a Dymocks bag, awaiting my attention - I love a good story.

But I'm also thinking about blogging. This Thursday I fly to Melbourne for the Problogger Training Event, where I'll be speaking on a panel with the awe-inspiring Valerie Khoo and the amazing Kerri Sackville, all about how to use your blog to create paid writing opportunities. I. Cannot. Wait.

While I'm in this writing/blogging frame of mind, however, I thought I'd take the time to put together some writing tips for bloggers. Not what to write, but how to write it. These are things that I've learnt over the (nearly) three years that I've been here at the Fibro, and I hope they'll be of use to you.

•Get closer. I've written about this before, but intimacy is the key to good blogging. I'm not talking about revealing every detail of your life (though feel free to do this if you so desire). More to strip back your writing 'voice' to its bare basics. The easiest way to do this, I find, is to try stream-of-consciousness blogging. Write it all down exactly as it first appears in your mind. Every word. Don't try to edit it as you go - you can do that later. Don't try to make it sound 'writerly'. What you're looking for is the essence of you. Blog the way you talk. It's that simple.

•Go closer again. The biggest mistake that many bloggers make, from my perspective, is trying to tell the whole story. Nobody needs the whole story. What they need is the one moment that tells the whole story. The angle is important. If you find that your posts are rambling (and, really, short is usually better on a blog), hone in on the best bits. Just tell those.

•Think about your audience. While most bloggers say they blog for themselves, the truth is that there is a contract in place in a blog - you write, someone (hopefully) reads. If that weren't the case, you'd be writing in a diary with a combination lock on the front. With that in mind, you need to allow room for those readers. Leave some space in your posts to allow your readers to find the universal heart of what you're writing and to share their experiences.

•Proofread your work. I know the temptation is strong to simply put the full stop on that last sentence and hit Publish. But try to resist. Check the spelling. Make sure the last sentence has a full stop. Ensure you have no extraneous words (as I often do) where you've changed your mind halfway through a sentence and haven't quite deleted the earlier version. A good blog is a clean blog. It really does matter.

What do you think is the secret to great blog writing? Which blogs do it best as far as you're concerned? 

PS: You'll find more tips on writing a better blog, from the Problogger himself, here.

About that Pinterest thing...

Being the late adopter that I am, I have recently joined Pinterest. I know. Only two years behind the Cool Kids who have now moved on to some other new thing that I've never heard of and will probably laugh derisively about when it's explained to me. Like I did with Pinterest.

I confess I still don't really get Pinterest. I think you can tell that merely by looking at the names of some of my 'boards':

•Things I Love But Will Never Do

•People Who Don't Have Red Hair Don't Know What Trouble Is

•Actually Useful If Not All That Pretty

•Food I Would Like To Make One Day

You see what I'm saying here? I think I'm missing the Pinterest vibe.

Having said that, I found myself in there on Friday night gleefully pinning photos of bathrooms. Mostly because Fam Fibro fell prey to a virulent vomiting virus, which took care of most of last week, and I wanted soothing pictures of bathrooms in which people never puke.

I'm not sure if this is the intended purpose of Pinterest, but yes, it did help, thank you for asking.

If you would like to share my images of bathrooms, or in fact those actually useful things, feel free to come on over and say hi. I'm here. I'll be waiting. Gaily pinning pictures of bunting while I wait.

Are you on Pinterest? Can you explain it to me?

[image: from here via Pinterest, of course]

When goats fly

Always one for the big questions, Mr5 unleashed another tonight... adding another special challenge to my parenting pantheon. We had managed to make it unscathed through 'World's Most Dangerous' animals, where the sole subject tonight seemed to be about male elephants looking for female elephants and how they got very aggressive when 'must' came over them.

He turned to me, questions filling his eyes, and came out with "What's a male, Mum?" Given that I was standing by with hurried explanations about 'mating' and 'must' at the ready, I was thrilled with this one, eagerly explaining that it simply meant you were a boy.

No further questions at that time.

He waited until later to really test my game. When I was distracted by the washing up. After an intense discussion about Christmas lists.

"Can goats really fly, Mum?"

It took me a moment, but I was proud of myself for grasping the gist of this relatively quickly.

"You mean reindeer?"

"Yes," he said. "Those. Goats. The ones that take Santa around."

"Well," I said, thinking on my feet and in the suds. "Reindeer would have to fly to get him all over the world, right?"

Pause.

"I guess. But I can't see how they can really fly. Planes and gliders can fly. Not goats."

"Reindeer," I corrected again, brain churning wildly. Was this going to be the big Santa talk? Already? I was hoping to get one more Christmas in with Mr8 who, being the eldest and the most earnest, still clings to the belief that his parents tell the truth at all times. I hadn't even considered the idea that I'd be dealing with Mr5 first. But then, I shouldn't be surprised. Mr5 is an altogether different cup of tea.

"Well, lots of people believe they can fly," I prevaricated, rattling dishes.

He thought about it a moment. "I can't see it Mum," he said. "People can't fly without planes and gliders, why should goats?"

Why indeed. I forestalled further conversation by hurriedly switching the subject to Power Rangers, but I can see the writing on the wall for Santa and the gang. If not this year, then maybe next.

It's a funny thing, this whole business. I think I get as much out of Santa as the kids do - maybe even more, now that I think about it. There's a magic in it that sums up childhood for me. But there are times when I wonder why we do it - to them and to ourselves. Because at some stage, for all of us, the reindeer become goats and we realise who's really drinking Santa's Christmas beer.

In the meantime, however, Mr5 and I will spend Christmas Eve this year scanning the skies for Santa and his flying goats.

It should be quite a moment.

Does Santa still visit your house?

[Image from here]

10 things I learnt this week

As the end of the week approaches and I prepare to take myself to the Big Smoke for lunch tomorrow, I thought it a good time to reflect on the lessons learnt this week. It's been a busy week in The Old Girl, with lots of decisions to be made - decisions about paint colours, decisions about shoes, decisions about the 13 pages of edits on my novel.

Exhausting.

So here's what I learnt this week:

1. I am terrible at making decisions. When there are too many decisions to be made, I make the decision to go to bed. Unfortunately, this decision cannot be followed by the appropriate action most of the time, so I am left dangling about the place.

2. My children delight me more than I ever expected. They are also a greater source of anxiety than I ever imagined. There's a balance in there somewhere, and sometimes we actually find it. This week the wins were big, and losses niggling and troublesome. But the school holidays are upon us and we're all more than ready for a break.

3.  It is possible to love a pair of red sneakers.

4. The days of the week are named after Norse gods. Thursday, for instance, is Thor's Day. I could also take you through the finer points of the Runic alphabet, but I suspect it takes a great deal of love to weather that particular storm and I will not subject you to it. Suffice to say that Mr8 can write his name in Runic. Which is bound to come in handy one day.

5. Reading the end of a book first is not always a good idea.

6. It is difficult to know exactly when to pull the flannelette sheets off the bed. I nearly peaked last week after one sultry night of 12 degrees Celsius, only to be very happy that I'd been feeling lazy that day when the temp topped out at 3 degrees Celsius the following night. Seriously. Is there a handy guide for this kind of stuff?

7. There are very few rooms that cannot be brightened significantly by the addition of a little bunting.

8. There is a very good chance that I do not need every single one of the 4444 items currently languishing in my email inbox.

9. I tend to overuse the word 'very'. I will take Mark Twain's advice and insert the word 'damn' instead. So point 7 now reads 'There are damn few rooms...' and point 8 reads 'There is a damn good chance...'. I think it makes me sound racier. What do you think?

10. Clearing space in one's head often comes down to clearing space in one's schedule. By saying no to several things this week I was able to stave off the whelm and make some good inroads into my novel edits. I am feeling much relieved. Thank you all for the good advice and support.

I have just one more thing to learn this week, and it's this:

Do you still have flannelette sheets on your bed?

[image: from here]

50 Shades of Beige

The living room walls of The Old Girl look like a patchwork quilt. Crazed squares of grey, white with a hint of green, yellow, grey-green, dark beige, light beige, antique white, half white... Yes, The Builder and I are redecorating. Again.

I'm pretty sure that the last time we went through this, I decided, somewhere between choosing the kitchen benchtop and choosing the laundry wall colour, that we were never doing this again. Ever. And yet, here we are, not 12 months later, doing it all again.

This is our third house together and, somehow, the most difficult. The Old Girl is just so terribly old. She's sorted. She knows her style. She's restored to her former glory and it's pretty glorious in a simple, old-school kind of way. There's only one room that needs our help for now. And the pressure of getting it right is getting to me.

The Fibro needed a complete overhaul. Head to toe, top to bottom. When you're changing everything, you just get in there and go for it. It needed bringing into the 21st century and into the 21st century it came, albeit kicking and screaming.

The Old Girl is more your 19th century kind of girl. Genteel. Hitting the right note between that and 'I don't want to live in a museum' is not easy. I wanted to paint the room white. But the white paint chart was more daunting than the coloured paint charts. Who knew there could be so many? And, yes, we considered Hog Bristle, like every other household in the country. But we can't go there. The Fibro was Hog Bristle (half) on the walls and Hog Bristle (quarter) on the timberwork. We can't press repeat.

We'll get there. Of that I have no doubt. In the meantime, the man at the paint shop and I are becoming very friendly. "Are you sick of the sight of me yet?" I asked the other day, popping in for our 11th sample pot.

"Oh, you're not my best customer yet," he said, popping a splodge of yellow into the Haynes Beige (half) he was mixing up for me.

"I'm not?" I said, somewhat put out by this. I thought we had something special.

"Nope," he said, dolloping in some black. "That spot is reserved for the lady who took 25 sample pots to decide on a colour."

We were both silent a moment, me contemplating the horror, him no doubt dreaming of another customer who'd spend over $100 in sample colours (at least I'm only halfway there...).

"What colour did she end up choosing?" I asked.

He laughed. "The second one she took home."

Tonight I sit here and contemplate my patchwork walls as I write this.

We're pretty sure we've chosen a colour.

The first one we considered, only knocked back to half strength.

There's a lesson in here somewhere.

What colour are your living room walls?

[image: from here]