I gave a presentation on self-publishing today, and I ROCKED it. People were engaged, they were interested, they asked questions. Melanie came to see me in the library afterwards, and told me that it was fantastic, that I don’t have to worry about my grade. Since the presentation counts for 20% of our mark, it’s an understatement to say I was thrilled.

We received our major editing projects back, along with plenty of comments. I got a DI; not the HD I was hoping for, but much better than the CR I was expecting. Apparently, it does help to set the bar low. I did the proofreading exam, too; not saying how I went on that until the results are in front of me. Regardless, I will pass Editing, and that’s good enough for me. Next year is when the marks really count.

I still have a bit of homework to finish, but it’s rapidly diminishing. I’m surprised, to be honest, by how easy it has been to ignore the internet and get my work done; the internet ban must have worked. Next year will be completely different in terms of organisation, though. I’ve learnt so many little tricks this year, especially about how to organise and motivate myself to do school work.

This weekend is all SQ (Samhain Festival FTW!) and homework, but as of next Tuesday? I’ll be back at WB with a VENGEANCE. I’ll also be revealing a new website design, and adding at least one new page to SQ’s manual everyday. I’m excited about the time off, but as much as I joke about sleeping and lazing around doing nothing, I’m actually looking forward to doing what I want to do.

Right now, though, it’s back to cleaning, homework, and Universal Soldier.

I win at multi-tasking.

I had Journalism this afternoon. The trip to Melbourne Central took two and a half hours. The trip home took two hours. Ouch. The pain, however, was lessened by the Connex staff who were on duty. Did I just type something positive about Connex? Unlikely, highly unusual, but… that would be a big, resounding YES.

I got on the train at 4:00pm. It left ten minutes later, and when we pulled up at Lalor station, the driver made an announcement: “There has been a lightning strike at Clifton Hill station, and we’re expecting some delays. This train may be terminating at Bell station, where replacement bus services are being provided, but we’re hoping to push it through. Please make yourself comfortable.”

And then the all-important addendum: “We apologise for any inconvenience.”

Great, I thought to myself. Connex handles bus services more poorly than trains, if that’s even possible. The canned ‘update’ wasn’t promising, either. I figured I’d spend about three hours on the train, with maybe one or two announcements, and I’d miss my class entirely. I considered getting off the train and going home, but then the train pulled into Keon Park station (finally), and the driver made another announcement.

Less canned, more information. The signals were out, that’s why it was taking so long. Clifton Hill is where two train lines merge into one, and without signals it was a dangerous area. He thanked us for being patient, again. Warned us that we may as well get comfortable, since it was going to be a while. I stuck around. By the time we were at Reservoir, it was 4.45pm and I should have been at Flinders Street station.

Wonderful. The rest of the trip was a long, slow crawl. At Rushall, the driver stopped and said, over the loudspeaker: “If you’re a smoker, feel free to get off the train and have a cigarette - we’re going to be here for a while.” The smokers took his advice, and the train felt lighter, somehow. We weren’t being kept in the dark this time, we were being informed. It made a big difference.

We reached Clifton Hill, finally, at 5:20pm. They had the crossing blocked off with cop cars, news crews filming everything, and people in uniforms running around, trying to look official. Chaos, basically, as the cops tried to keep all of the traffic moving through safely. Just up the street from all the commotion, a kid was knelt at a garage door, spraypaint can in hand. Good old Clifton Hill.

The ride home was just as slow, since they had to stop and get written permission to move after each signal. I think the stopping and starting was particularly hard on three guys in my carriage. Two were laying on the floor, one was standing, bent over a rail. They were drunk, I think; two of them threw up, one couldn’t stop laughing, another kept groaning as if in pain. They stumbled off at Lalor.

Once again, though, the drivers kept us informed during the trip, explaining what was happening and - perhaps more importantly - why. I think it made people were more patient, and less tense. Well done, Connex: you got it right. And to the driver of the 4.11pm Flinders Street train from Epping? You were amazing. Thank you for making those two and a half hours bearable.

Total travel: Four and a half hours. The things I do for classes, seriously.

P.S - to the driver of the 6.31pm Epping train from Flinders Street: please don’t ever tell us that you’re going to try and ’sneak through’ an area without signals ‘as best as you can’. It isn’t reassuring.

I had a really awesome time at class today, despite the weather that kept my entire face numb every time I stepped outside. I met up with James at the station – he’s in two or three of my classes – and we spoke about the short story classes. I was surprised by his view of it; I think he’s the only person in the class who would be happy for the classes to go on unchanged.

Most people seem to want more substance and less random talking. Ania is very quick to ramble, and although I find her charming – and often hilarious – the classes would be much improved if we focused on the mechanics of short story writing occasionally. I’m still hopeful about that happening this semester, and Ania certainly seems to be warming up to the idea.

In Editing, later on, Ian gave a presentation about j t leroy. I hadn’t heard much about the whole fiasco, but I do plan on doing some research later on. There has been much discussion about ‘editing scandals’ in class, and I’m always interested in hearing how people have reacted. Generally, most people feel that misrepresenting a book is terrible, and that authors who do it should be punished.

Expect a long, ranty post on this in the future. Gosh, I love the word* ‘ranty’.

After Ian’s speech, Melanie handed us about a ton of paper. I’m fairly certain that RMIT’s editing classes destroy entire forests each lesson. I have more notes from that class than from all my other classes combined. This semester, we’re looking at actual editing, rather than the grammar behind it. We learn the editing marks, different house styles, and we start marking up actual text.

It sounds dreadfully dull to most people, but I am SO excited.

I mentioned yesterday, briefly, that Thursday’s class didn’t happen. I’m still not sure why, since (once again) RMIT isn’t allowing me to send e-mails to staff members. Last semester, I couldn’t contact Arthur due to a faulty e-mail address, and none of Melanie’s mail was going through. Now, it seems that David’s e-mail isn’t functioning correctly. Anyway.

A cancelled class isn’t that big a deal, I know. However, David has never been late for a class, let alone just not shown up. That is exactly what happened on Thursday. We – about six or seven class members – waited for an hour, and he never showed. Claire, the course coordinator, had no idea where he was. She advised us to go home, but we waited for another twenty minutes before giving up.

Needless to say, we were worried. That’s why we sat outside in the fading light and bitter wind for over an hour, waiting. I’m even more worried now, since I haven’t received an e-mail from David or RMIT, telling us why Thursday’s class never happened. All I’ve learned from his personal site is that he left for Sydney on Wednesday, some time. Why would he leave for Sydney the day before class?

Curious, no? I might e-mail Claire and enquire about the issue.

* I am well aware that ranty is not, in fact, a word. It should be.

I have spent a large part of the last two days playing The Sims 2, I will admit that readily. I have also been trying to emulate a magazine article for my Journalism class. The particular style that I’m trying to emulate is Cleo, and let me tell you. They may not have a great deal of content, but style is one thing they know.

The magazine is filled mostly with advertising, or pages on fashion, which are really the same thing. Why did I choose to emulate a magazine that focuses so strongly on fashion, when clearly, I know absolutely nothing about it? To be honest, I thought it would be fun. Problem: it is, in fact, NOT fun. Painful, yes. Fun, not so much.

Thankfully, only the draft is due in tomorrow. I’m going to try and get David to look at it and tell me whether I’m on the right track or not. Plus, you know. Workshopping. Because that was oh-so-helpful when it came to my reviewing piece. *coughs* Not. Still, I have to show my work to everyone and hear their opinions.

Tiffany won a $15 McDonalds voucher for her recent performance in the school talent show. The school that just today, sent her home with a booklet on healthy eating… and a voucher for McDonalds. They’re obviously trying to combat obesity by making all the skinny kids fat; that way obesity is the new thin!

Or something, anyway. I don’t know.

I had a short story class tonight. We were looking at science fiction, or more specifically, the work of Arthur C. Clarke. Science fiction is something that I haven’t read very often, if at all, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Judging from Clare’s views on it, I was expecting really geeky stuff, like Star Trek.

Deidre: *a bit confused* “He said it would be the end of the world, but then the monk said it was nothing as trivial as that.”
Clare: *serious* “No, he said it would be the end of the universe, and if you’re a science fiction fan, that’s VERY different.”

Perhaps it was, I don’t know, but I really enjoyed the two stories that we read tonight. Afterwards, Ania decided we should review two more stories written by class members. Clare and James volunteered to have them read aloud; very brave of them, I thought. Although the class isn’t highly critical, silence can be telling.

Both Clare and James were open to suggestions and criticism, and neither of them were too ‘precious’ with their work. They didn’t mind if we pointed out things that might need tidying, or made suggestions to improve readability or accuracy. It was the most enjoyable reviewing class that I’ve had so far.

Before we all left class, Ania reminded us that next Monday is a public holiday. She also said that next semester we get to have ‘tutorials’ with her, where she basically chats to each of us one-on-one about our work, for a half hour. I think they will be a lot more critical than the public comments she leaves on our work. I hope so.

Tomorrow, I get to sleep in. Can I get a, “wOOt, wOOt!”?

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.

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!”