And the winner is...

Thanks to everyone who entered my rather unusual giveaway. The entries have been read, the short list created, the votes tallied... etcetera etcetera. And Valerie Khoo, the powerhouse behind the Sydney Writers' Centre has put on her sorting hat and judged the worthy winner.

Now, if this were the Academy Awards or something, I'd be cracking jokes here in an effort to build tension. I would have announced the short list, who would be sitting in the auditorium wearing their friendly, self-deprecating, oh-no-it-won't-be-me (please-let-it-be-me) faces. The cameras would be closing in, hoping to catch a tiny glimpse of 'Good God NO! It can't be her' as the winner is announced.

But we're on a blog, in the Fibro. So I'll just get on with it, shall I?

The winner is Candice. Her winning entry read like this:

“We’re looking for Spark.”
“Really? Again?”
“Yeah. We last saw him walking along the fence”.
“In which direction?”
“Um, towards your house.”
“Okay kids. Let me just finish writing this article, then we’ll go look for Sparky together”.

Hi Allison,
I'd love to talk to you about developing my feature writing for magazines career. I'm about to move interstate with my husband, and this is the perfect opportunity to try and go full time with my writing. I've completed the SWC feature writing course, and I've had one article published in Good Reading Magazine and another about to be published in a local magazine.

I'd love (!!!!) to discuss the business of freelancing and talk to you about staying passionate about a topic weeks after pitching the original idea.

Thank you for this great competition and congrats with your 500th post!

You're an inspiration.

Regards, Candice 

Note the creative use of 'spark' (which is what we were, after all, searching for), a little CV to show us that she's serious, clever insertion of past SWC experience (use everything you've got people) and a splendid-but-not-overdone bit of sucking up compliment at the end.

Perfect.

Can't wait to chat, Candice. Drop me an email via the contact me thingy on my Blogger profile and we'll get started!

Thanks to everyone who entered. If Candice gives me a good reference, I'll look at doing it again in a few months' time when I hit the big two years on the blog. In the meantime, look out for my first Facebook chat over the next few weeks. I've even got a few guest stars lined up! Pop over and join the Fibro's Facebook community for updates.

[image: prettylittlelies via weheartit]

Boo humbug: Not my party

I struggle with Halloween. I didn't realise quite how much until I had a chance conversation with a friend at a kids' party today. She asked me if I was planning to take my boys trick or treating. No, I said, I was not. And then proceeded to outline, in detail, for five minutes, exactly why not.

Everyone has their 'event' gripe. For some it's the commercialism of Christmas and how the true meaning is lost. For others, it's Valentine's Day and overpriced red roses. My 'event' gripe is Halloween. Specifically, Halloween in Australia. In the US, Halloween makes perfect sense. There's tradition involved. It has a place.

In Australia, Halloween didn't really exist until, as best I can figure, about 2005, when retailers decided it was the perfect occasion to boost sales in the lead up to boosting sales over Christmas. When I was a kid, Halloween was something I read about in books. I wish in my heart of hearts that it had stayed there.

I've watched Halloween creep, pumpkin by pumpkin, ghost by ghost, into the Australian child's consciousness over the past few years. This year, however, it has really reached a tipping point. Hence the reason for my conversation this morning. My friend was struggling against her seven-year-old daughter's begging and pleading to go trick or treating. Part of my friend's struggle was internal. She likes the idea of taking her children out into the neighbourhood at night. To walk under the dark sky and see their world in a different way.

"Fine," I said. "Dress them up and take them for a walk. But don't go knocking on doors."

My boys know that we don't do Halloween in the Fibro. When they asked me why, I simply explained that it was another country's tradition, not ours, and we wouldn't be taking it up. So last year when a young family knocked on our door - at 8pm - I had no qualms about telling them sorry, we don't do Halloween. I was polite, I was cheerful, I was firm. The mother was not happy with me. But I am not about to start handing out lollies to other kids who knock on our door, when I've told my children that it's not something we do. What kind of hypocrite would that make me?

My elderly neighbours (and the Fibro has many) hate Halloween. It's not part of their world at all. They hate anyone knocking on their door at any time, let alone after dark. It may be anti-social, but it's also about security. Not all trick or treaters are friendly six year olds, out with their Mums.

I know this makes me very Bah Humbug (or Boo Humbug, the Halloween equivalent), but I don't think I care. Halloween is not my party.

Join the Weekend Rewind

The Weekend Rewind, world's easiest linky, is on again at And Then There Were Four. Join Multiple Mum, me and scores of other fabulous Rewinders as we make our merry way through the month of March 2011. That's right. Old post.

All you do is link up your favourite post from March 2011 and then visit some of the other Rewind posts. Comments make the Weekend Rewind go round. That's right. Comment love.

My post this week is about the one thing I would change about myself above all others. I know. Such a difficult choice when I have SO many options.

What have you got for us? Link up and Rewind!

A stationery conversation

Oh, hello. It's you.

I'm so sorry, I can't talk to you right now. I'm very busy.

Very, very busy.

Doing what, you ask? Er, research. Yes, that's it, research. Very busy with reserach.

Oh, you want to know what I'm researching? Always with the questions. Sigh. Well, if you must know, I'm investigating stationery. Yes, stationery. Stationery needs investigating.

What's that? Well, yes, I did do that feature a couple of years ago about how we crave beautiful stationery even though nobody seems to hand write anything anymore. What of it? Didn't you read to the end of that story. Don't you remember how important that small piece of tactile luxury is in a world that's increasingly online and untouchable?

Of course you do. Which is why I know you won't mind if I just leave you right here and go back to salivating over beautiful paper products. If you'd like to join me, you can start here:

Upon A Fold

or here: Little Branch

or here: Paddock Press

And if you are a fellow stationery addict, please share your favourite online shopping haunts.  I'm in the mood for paper.

[image: Christmas cards from LeafJournals/Etsy]

The things you do (as a Mum)

I spent some time this afternoon attempting to hit my four year old with a broom handle. Not exactly where I pictured myself when I fondly imagined my mothering years. Before you call DOCS, let me hasten to assure you that he asked me to undertake this exercise. Asked for it, I tell you.

Mr4 has taken up Little Ninjas. Following in the footsteps of, and standing alongside his big brother, in blue pyjamas. He was very keen on the whole thing, practising his sparring stance and his back-break falls with enthusiasm - until they brought out the stick.

We have reached the 'self-defence' module of this term's lessons, and part of this involves learning to dodge a large, red (admittedly well-padded) stick. Mr4 took one look at said stick and ran screaming for his mother - which strikes me as a sensible thing to do, but what would I know?

Apparently, he must learn to dodge the stick. To go one way when it goes the other. Or some such. I say he graduates with honours - he has learned to dodge the stick by running at breakneck speed in the opposite direction. However, it turns out that he will not get the 'stripe' on his belt for this particular module unless he faces the stick. Or 'The Stick' as it has become known in the Fibro. Like 'The Blob' or 'The Thing', only much thinner.

On the way home, after a serious discussion about how the correct response to the question 'what do you do when a stranger tries to drag you into a car?' is not, as Mr4 tried in class, 'get in the car' (accompanied by big smile), we talked about the importance of facing fears. About how fears only got bigger if you didn't turn around and look at them. How they grew in your mind while you had your eyes closed. Mr4 took that on board and then asked me to help him face down The Stick.

So, being the candidate for Mother of the Year that we know me to be, I spent some time practising with him this afternoon. I even thwacked the handle on the ground as it whistled past his ears (okay, came down somewhere in the vicinity of his body), so that he would not be frightened of any sound effects The Stick might emit. Even so, I'm not sure that I'm doing it right. When I come at him with a broom handle, he giggles. I clearly need to get a tougher expression as the wielder of The Stick.

We have until Monday to build up his courage enough to dodge The Stick on his own. Mr7 sits behind me, giving helpful big-brotherly advice like 'don't let it hit you'. Right. With a team like this on his side, how can Mr4 fail?

I also managed to slip some 'wrist escape' practice into the mix. This is the move you use when someone has you by the arm and is attempting to drag you into a car. It involves pulling up in the opposite direction from the person's grip. Or something. Mr4 was perturbed that I was trying to drag him into a pot plant, not a car, but I assured him the method was the same.

And I will sleep easier tonight knowing that if he learned nothing else today, he knows that the correct response if someone tries to drag you into a car is to run screaming to Mum.

Have you found yourself in an unusual situation as a Mum? And how did you have the 'stranger danger' talk without freaking out your child?

[image: WallDecalsAndQuotes/etsy]

Words can haunt you

I got an email from a friend today. She lives on the other side of the world. We chit-chat about books and writing, friends and family. We've never actually met. But I'm always glad to hear from her.

Attached to the bottom of her email was the last email I sent her. Idly, I read through it, wondering what I'd waffled about (it had been a while between emails).

There was a lot of waffle. Then, about halfway down, these words:

"Don't give up. Persistence is the key to this whole mess."

I can't tell you how much I needed to read my own words of advice today.

[image: via weheartit.com]