So, I found a post today on LifeHacker about blogging tools that make the process less painful. Even though I’ve never found blogging painful, I know inserting links and pictures can be frustrating at times, so I read through it. In the comments, there were a million and one people praising Windows Live Writer.

I should first of all say - in my defence - I am a naturally curious person. I like trying new things, and if there is a popular computer program that I haven’t tried, I will download it and see what the fuss is all about. Because generally, popular computer programs are awesome computer programs, yes?

I tell you this so you understand how I came to be writing this post on Windows Live Writer, a Microsoft creation. At the risk of sounding like a corporate drone, I really like this program. It shows me how my paragraphs will look on my blog, and I LIKE even paragraphs; I’m a little pedantic about them being the same length.

Using the default Wordpress editor is great, don’t get me wrong. Often though, I would type up a post and my beautifully crafted paragraphs (don’t laugh!) would be uneven. The horrors, seriously. And at first, I would go and try to edit them, with varying levels of success. After a while though, I couldn’t be bothered.

At the back of my mind, it always annoyed me, though. Like having an absolutely gorgeous dress, that makes you look and feel beautiful, but there’s that one part about it that you don’t quite like. A seam, or maybe the straps aren’t quite as thin as you’d like. Or maybe the hem doesn’t flow as well as you’d like.

Or maybe I’m just a little anal about things like paragraph length. Entirely possible.

I was travelling to Journalism last night, when I saw a woman board the train. She was tiny; standing, she would have been under shoulder height on me. At first, I thought she looked quite ordinary; fine brown hair, petite features, lovely hands (I don’t know why I notice these things, but I do), just an ordinary woman. Then, one of the men sitting in a seat usually reserved for disabled people stood up and offered it to her.

I thought he was just being polite at first. She refused it, and turned around, those tiny hands (seriously, why do I notice things like that) gripping the railing as the train began moving. And then I noticed, you see. She had a humpback. She couldn’t sit down, was physically unable to, in fact. It made me feel so selfish for bitching about the things that go wrong in my life.

Really, having to resubmit an assignment is NOTHING compared to what that woman’s everyday life would be like. I can only imagine the struggles and challenges she would face while trying to do small things that I - along with most people, I’m sure - take for granted. Things like sitting down on the train, or getting clothes that fit. I filled a page with writing, just observing her and theorising about her condition.

I suppose I felt sorry for her in a way, also. Because I thought she was missing out, or not living a ‘normal’ life. But you know, when she got off at Flinders Street Station, a group of women were waiting for her. They surrounded her, smiling and laughing - her friends, obviously - and they all walked off together. I’m glad that I was wrong about her being a lonely spinster with seven cats.

It made me wonder, seeing that woman, about how we measure how badly things are going in our lives. I know that I generally don’t sit here thinking, ‘Oh, sure. Things in my life are bad, but at least I’m not <insert really bad thing>.’ I think most people remind themselves - or are reminded by others - that there are people who are worse off in the world, but mostly I think the gloom in our lives is relative to the good.

For someone like that woman I saw on the train, maybe things like getting caught in the rain or failing an assignment aren’t a big deal. For me, though - a reasonably healthy, quite normal, average young woman - stubbing my toe in the morning can set my mood right to TALK TO ME AND I KILL YOU for the rest of the day. Perhaps it can for her, too; I don’t mean to imply that she’s a freak.

I suppose I would just like to think that Life takes it a little easier on her, day to day.

Onwards to Editing, today. We had our Grammar Test, and also received our marked Editorial Reports back. I don’t think I failed the test, but I’m not holding out for a fantastic score. Melanie is not only a hard marker, but I missed heaps of the classes leading up to it, so a lot of the information I had was self-taught. Fingers crossed. I passed the Editorial Report, in fact got one grade above it.

A credit isn’t wonderful, but I’m okay with it. The further into this course I get, the more I realise that at the end of it, a potential employer isn’t going to look at my application and say, “Oh, she only got a CR in Journalism? Horrible!” They’re going to look at the overall qualification, and although I like getting great marks, the important thing is that I learn. As long as I’m doing that, I’m happy.

After the test, we were allowed to leave, which is WONDERFUL. I was fried afterwards, really. I was almost falling asleep on the train, surrounded by obnoxious school kids. No doubt if I had fallen asleep, I would have stumbled across video footage on YouTube, of me drooling in my lap; there were some rather talented young boys on the train trying to get upskirt video of the girls, heh.

I was wishing them luck, secretly.

Some of you may have noticed that I didn’t update yesterday. Yeah, about that. Since I missed that day of updating when I was sick, I began looking back at all of my daily posts. A lot of them are rubbish, to be honest. Some of them are just filler, so that I can say ‘I’ve posted’ and others are memes, and overall I’m not happy with the record that I’m leaving.

I began this blog to write about my life, about things that were happening and how I felt about them. Since I started trying to blog once everyday for a whole year, I’ve lost sight of that. More and more often, I find myself turning to the memes, or rushing to get something - anything - posted before midnight. I stopped taking note of things and writing about my day; it became about the competition.

A little competition never hurt anyone, but from now on, I’m not actively trying to post everyday. I may not be attempting to win literary awards with my small corner of the internet, but I would like to post meaningful observations, thoughts and events from my day to day life. The competition is over, and I think I’ve taken what I can from it; the habit of writing everyday.

The ‘Daily’ category is gone! Forever!

I wonder how many poor, unsuspecting souls will be lured in by my cannily crafted title! We shall see. However, it is not entirely incorrect. I want to discuss with you all how to write a successful short story for my class. You see, being a talented writer isn’t all it takes. To succeed in my class, you must do something highly original and a little cryptic, with a touch of humour thrown in for good measure!

Failing that, throw in a reference that the female members of the class will relate to, and you’re good to go.

I know, I know. You’re tired of hearing about how horrible the critiquing - or lack thereof - is in my short story class. Guess what? I’m not done talking about it, particularly after tonight’s lesson. We looked at two stories by people in the class, who I will refer to as V and D. One story was set in the future (titled AG) and was highly tech-oriented; the other was set in the present (title TV) and dealt with an abusive relationship.

Guess which one got the best response? Ordinarily, if you guessed ‘the well-written one’, you would be correct. Unfortunately, in this case? Dead wrong. The abusive relationship story got the reviews and the glory, despite the fact that - in my opinion - it wasn’t as skilfully crafted as the other. So, what did I think of them, you ask? They were both flawed, this is true; yet one was enjoyable despite the errors.

AG was well-written, although there were far too many instances of words being repeated close together. Occasionally, I noticed that the sentences became more like lists, and there were quite a few spelling errors. Aside from that, the ideas were original, the information was presented logically without overwhelming the reader, and it had a lovely finish. It also brought up many issues about the future and sparked discussion.

TV on the other hand, repeated whole phrases throughout the story. The beginning paragraphs jumped between different generations, and I found it difficult to suspend my disbelief and follow the plot based on what information was given. Similes abounded, and not in a cute way like baby deer. The ending wasn’t spectacular, and I certainly wasn’t interested in the main character or what she was going through.

Of course, this is only my opinion. Perhaps I’m not even qualified to comment; after all, I didn’t volunteer that my story be read out to the class. I just would have liked it if D had received the credit I felt he was due. V’s story wasn’t spectacular in my opinion, and I feel as though it outshone AG because of the content, and not because of the writing. It touched a chord, so to speak.

See, we only have four or five men in our short story class. So, roughly a quarter of the class is male. TV was about a woman who can’t resist a man - apparently because of his blue, blue eyes - and leaves her family for him, only to discover that she’s addicted to his love. That’s what we were told, anyway. The main character’s behaviour didn’t really reflect that, and there’s another gripe; most of the story wasn’t ’shown’.

Because AG was quite technologically heavy and most of the class is struggling with basic computer skills, I think people had trouble relating to it. So, when TV was read out and the women realised that it was about a woman’s struggles in an abusive relationship, they allowed their emotions - effectively their heartstrings - to be played with like a puppet. The actual writing was of no consequence to them once that was revealed.

I sound bitter, don’t I? Soon I’ll be shaking my walking stick and muttering. “Back in my day, we had to write on bits of bark, with a leaky pen and ink that stained our fingers! Uphill both ways!”

Today my youngest brother turned fifteen. I can’t believe it, to be honest. He doesn’t act, look or think like a fifteen year old yet, but there you go. We had a fairly low-key celebration with mostly family, and Stephen got to see his Dad, as well. I had already given him my gift - on Friday, which will make sense in a second - so no one else got to see what I gave him, or his reaction.

Mind you, that’s probably a good thing, given that he screamed like a five year old girl when I handed him his copy of Nightfall; I doubt that his girlfriend would have found it very attractive. I gave it to him on Friday, in case you haven’t figured it out already, so that he could play it over the weekend. Otherwise he would have been facing a whole week of having the game but not having the time to play it.

It really was bad luck that Stephen’s birthday and my own are so close together. If Mum hadn’t had to put on my twenty-first a few weeks ago, she would have been able to give him a real party; had friends over, or gone to the movies, or something like that. I know that Stephen understood, and I’m sure he has big plans for his sixteenth next year, but it would have been nice for him to do that this year.

Despite his oddities, and the fact that he drives me completely up the wall most days, I do love him. I hope that this birthday - although small - was a good one, and I wish him many, many more. I have high hopes of him reaching adulthood and maturing into a man that I respect and like. If he can manage to curb THAT. BLOODY. SINGING. I’m sure he’ll make it to his next birthday without being throttled.

I’m creating my own meme, because I really can’t be bothered looking one up, and I also cannot be bothered writing about today. At. All. Not that I’ve had a really stressful or busy day; I haven’t, but that isn’t the point. I feel as though I’ve slept too much this weekend, and it’s left me a little spaced out. So, without further ado, I present my Saturday Seven: Things I Regret, listed in no particular order.

1. Not telling my stepfather that I loved him before it was too late. The guilt of his passing without knowing that I thought I was wrong about him, about the argument, about Darwin - about everything, really - has never left me. He is on my mind several times throughout the day, usually, and I miss him always.

2. Not jumping off the pier at Phillip Island when I was there on a holiday with my best friend at the time. I had a whole range of excuses for this one: too cold, what about sharks, too deep, too dangerous, too many people, too cold - but they were all crap. I wish I had jumped, simply for the experience.

3. Not sticking up for myself in high school. I think if I had been able to weather the bullying that I went through during high school, things would have turned out very differently for me. I do think that eventually things would have calmed down, but even if they hadn’t, I wish I had stuck up for myself.

4. Moving out of home when I still had a personal loan. I DON”T regret moving out of home, but financially speaking, moving out with a personal loan hanging over your head isn’t the smartest thing to do. It set me back a long way, financially, and cost me thousands of dollars in interest, too.

5. Not keeping in contact with my friends more regularly. This is a rather odd regret, not because I think it’s unique, but because I actually don’t like spending all that much time face-to-face with any of my friends. Or with anyone, for that matter. Still, I really do wish I could remember to call and e-mail them more often.

6. Quitting my job at the video store. Yep, I still miss it. The people, the work, the customers. Despite my social anxieties, I really do love working in retail. Leaving the video store was hard for a variety of reasons, but above all I really do miss the work - I had a lot of fun there.

So, there you have it. Six things I regret. Normal posting will resume again tomorrow, hopefully, and then you get to hear all about my enthralling day of HOMEWORK! I just know you’re all as excited as I am.

I did an interview in my last Journalism class as part of our Soundbite component. The interviewee was Angela - a lady in my class - and the topic was ‘Gen Y’. I had never heard of the term before, so I did some research before doing the interview. Did you know that I am actually part of this Generation Y? I had no idea, and in fact, I’ve never heard the term before. Apparently it refers to people born between 1982/83 - 1997.

The Wikipedia entry describes Generation Y as ‘digital residents’, as they have grown up immersed in digital technology. I agree with that; my life has been saturated in digital forms of entertainment. Beginning with the Nintendo and progressing now to my Nintendo DS, there isn’t much I do to relax or have fun that doesn’t involve some sort of digital media.

Even homework is becoming digitalised, and casual researching is most often done on the internet. In fact, I believe the internet has been the biggest cultural difference between earlier generations and ‘Gen Y’. Wikipedia notes that Generation Y as a whole tends to seek instant gratification; where better to find that than the ‘net?

Google is now a verb, everyone and their dog has a MySpace, and anything you need to find - literally, anything - is available within seconds on the web.

Wikipedia also notes that ‘Gen Y’ can be ‘demanding, impatient and bad at communicating’. I think it can be assumed that the need for instant gratification ties into that; instant messaging, online shopping and the 24/7 nature of the internet itself have influenced and perpetuated the impatience of ‘Gen Y’. Not to mention text messaging and leet-speak; is it any wonder most of ‘Gen Y’ have issues communicating effectively?

Angela brought up an interesting point during the interview; most of Generation Y does things to promote their own individuality. Although she used some sort of fancy language about it, the main gist of the situation is simple. ‘Gen Y’ is selfish. They’re not volunteering because they care, they’re volunteering to make themselves stand out from their friends, for the experience rather than the cause.

Imagine what Generation Z is going to be like.