Social media does my head in

I found it ironic that the particpants of last Friday's social media workshop run by the Media Entertainment & Arts Alliance (MEAA) were asked to bring along a pen and notepad.


Twenty-six pages of jottings later, I know why. There is just too much to digest on social media, with most of the day's activities focusing on Facebook and Twitter. This is why you'll see my newly established Twitter account on my blog. Arrrgh! What do I do next?


I feel that to keep up with the rest of the mob, I've got to be there in the thick of it. I have a Facebook account, but I don't go there often. It's a time-sucker.


As you can see from my blog, I don't take advantage of all the bells and whistles that can be attached to snazz it up. My Facebook is the same. 's all too complicated.


And as for Twitter, I can't understand why anyone would care about me having a coffee at a local cafe with the mum of one of my daughter's friends.


Unless you've got something interesting to tweet, don't bother. Which is why I haven't yet activated it on my phone. I am following six people and have three followers (Hi Tam!).


By the way, Julie Posetti, who ran the workshop, really knows her stuff. Despite this knowledge, she is in strife with The Australian newspaper's Editor in Chief Chris Mitchell who is threatening litigation over a tweet Posetti sent at a conference last week. If you have Twitter, you can follow the story from Julie and her huge band of supporters' POV at #twitdef. Or you can read all about it on Julie's blog at http://www.j-scribe.com/2010/11/twitdef.html

How funny is this: Oprah wants a sleepover at a typical Australian home

As I sit in my cramped office that was once my stepson's bedroom, I wonder if it would suit Oprah Winfrey if she came to our house for a sleepover.

I'd need to tidy up the spare bed because Spanner's Dad slept in it last week when he was up from Melbourne and I haven't had time to change the sheets. No one likes old-man smell. Definitely a must-change.

The reason I'm considering this far-fetched idea is that the undisputed Queen of the USA is visiting Australia in mid-December and has expressed an interest in staying at a "typical Australian home".

This got me thinking, what is the 'typical' Australian home?

And does mine fall into that category?

Here's a typical day in my life in my typical Australian home:

5.30am alarm. Spanner goes downstairs and makes coffee.

6am. After showering and dressing I join Spanner, unpack dishwasher, feed dog, do a load of washing, hang out washing, make lunch for Miss Hissy and myself - VEGEMITE SANDWICHES. Spanner leaves and says goodbye to dog.

7.30am. I head off to work, but before I leave I attempt to wake Miss Hissy and Precious Princess.

8.30am. At work, I send Wake-Up text messages to both Miss Hiss and PP. Miss Hissy has a fit and abuses me for not waking her before I left. PP sleeps through text.

4pm or thereabouts. I catch the bus home. Miss Hissy greets me with homework that has to be proofread. She is having a panic attack. I change and walk dog. Spanner arrives and makes coffee. I feed dog, take the clothes off the line, make dinner - BANGERS AND MASH WITH THREE VEGE - and proofread homework. Miss Hissy complains that I have changed her work so it is no longer her work. I pack dishwasher. Dog goes berserk because there are POSSUMS scuttling around IN THE ROOF. Spanner watches arthouse-cinema DVD (tonight it was Spanish). Afterwards, Spanner says goodnight to dog and goes to bed.

11pm. Precious Princess arrives home - with boyfriend. Asks, can he sleep over? I face a dilemma and offer him the bed that might be Oprah's. I don't tell him about Spanner's Dad.

Typical?

Bad sex in fiction award loses out on romance

The sex/love scene in a romance novel is of the utmost importance. It's what most readers wait for - that magic moment when the hero and heroine decide to do IT.

And the author has to make it memorable. She has an obligation to her readers to ensure they leave the book/bedroom feeling as satisfied as the two lovers.  

I know it's genre dependent, but usually the sex has to be meaningful because the hero and heroine have been fighting their attraction to each other for however-many chapters. The sex can't be over in 30 seconds. Even if it's frantic, it's got to be jam-packed with emotion and a vibrant energy that lifts everyone to a climax - if you know what I mean.  

Romance writers labour over the scenes in which the hero and heroine consummate their relationship. The challenge is to keep the writing fresh and avoid cliches, which takes a lot of work. Mop my beaded brow, Hugh!  

But in the literary world it seems this is not the case. For the past 18 years, a British publication has highlighted usually prominent authors' godawful sex scenes. 

The Literary Review's Bad Sex in Fiction Award for 2010 is being announced tomorrow (November 29) but I thought you might like a sample of two of the nominees' work. The prize rewards "poorly written, redundant or crude passages of a sexual nature" in literary works.  

Australian author Christos Tsiolkas' Booker-longlisted novel The Slap made it onto the bad sex shortlist. The Sydney Morning Herald's Susan Wyndham wrote of the nomination:

'The judges cited a passage in which two characters ''f---ed for ages'' in the family home of one, ''standing up, her skirt bunched around her ankles, his jeans pulled down to his knees, moaning into each other, the drug keeping him hard and allowing him to forestall climaxing''.

'Jonathan Beckman, the assistant editor of The Literary Review, which gives the annual award, said the sheer quantity of sex also weighed heavily in the judges' choice. ''It's very repetitive,'' he said. ''The sheer laziness of saying 'they f---ed for ages' is just one example of slack writing.'''

Good luck with it, Christos. 

American writer Jonathan Franzen topped the list with scenes from his latest novel, Freedom: 

Here's what The Guardian had to say:

'The judges were unmoved by the hype surrounding this autumn's standout fiction title, Jonathan Franzen's Freedom, citing the bestselling account of the disintegration of an American family for a description of a "phone sex" encounter where words make "their own world. One afternoon, as Connie described it, her excited clitoris grew to be eight inches long, a protruding pencil of tenderness with which she gently parted the lips of his penis and drove herself down to the base of its shaft. Another day, at her urging, Joey described to her the sleek warm neatness of her turds as they slid from her anus and fell into his open mouth, where, since these were only words, they tasted like excellent dark chocolate."'

A pencil will never look the same. 

My condolences to everyone in New Zealand

My grandparents on my dad's side were New Zealanders. But that has nothing to do with this post.

Australia and NZ are neighbours and friends. Tonight I feel a great weight for your loss. This should never have happened.