I started writing when I was two years old. I’d concoct stories while my mother wrote them down for me, not even blinking an eye when I killed off the mother-dinosaur in my fictional dinosaur family, sending the baby dinosaurs off to live with their dinosaur grandparents. So, due to my mother’s lack of censorship every time I made up something borderline controversial, I’ve grown into an adult that mostly just writes borderline controversial things.
And that, my friends, is how you shift blame.
I live in Brisbane, Australia, with my Husband and our first-born son. He’s a dog, and he wasn’t born so much as bought, but he’s still our heir. We also have a couch, this one really nice lamp, and a few potted plants: Wally, Salvador, and Pinky. There was another, Alexander the Great, but he’s dead now. My writing process consists of a cycle of skipping. I skip sleep so that I can write, I skip meals so that I can write, I skip shopping so that I can write, and then I skip meals again because I didn’t go shopping. In the end, I skip writing because I’ve made myself sick.
It’s not a process I recommend.
Update: Pinky is now also dead. Turns out, I’m really bad at keeping plants alive. So I bought three more: Cedric the Registered Sex Offender, Dostoyevsky, and Tula.
Update#2: Pink was resurrected. Her new name is Pinky Reloaded Uncensored 2.0.
Update#3: Pinky is dead again. I’ve overcompensated with three more: Django Unchained, King, and Steve.
Update#4: I have an actual garden now. Cedric the Registered Sex Offender and Wally are the reigning monarchs. All the rest are in a daily struggle to survive.
Wally was Jane’s very first plant. Ever. He found himself picked up for six dollars at a hardware store Christmas sale. Nobody knows why, because Christmas had already passed several months before, and there was nothing festive about this succulent. His owner only broke his pot once, so he fared better than his brothers and sisters. At some point, little Wally got hooked on protein powders, steroids and greenhouse benchpressing. He’s now big Wally. He joined the Scorpion Gang of Badass Cacti, and will probably die with cocaine dusted all over his leaves and a gang of strippers crying in the corner.
Pinky was initially a tulip, but after a fateful tragedy in which Jane accidentally went through a phase of never watering her plants, Pinky died. When Pinky was resurrected again, she was a random purple flower. She died a few more times, with her flowers getting smaller every time. Now her random purple flowers are the size of a thumb-tack. They almost look like a weed. Jane is going to enter Pinky into a cross-pollination contest whereby she has managed to make the magnificent tulip flower resemble a weed.
El Salvadore is the only indoor plant that Jane has ever attempted to cultivate. It suffered through several instances of unintentional abuse, beginning with a fertilizer that not only smelt like poo, but actually seemed to morph INTO poo, and ending with some kind of degenerative plant disease. Most likely, it got cancer from Jane’s cellphone. So, ‘El Salvadore was conveniently uprooted one day, and replaced with a plant that was advertised as “thrives on neglect!” The new ‘El Salvadore is doing great.
Alexander the Great had no character, so I can’t write anything interesting about him. He was a little prick and he won’t be missed. Also, just in case any ancestors of the Macedonian King happen to be playing around in my website… I’m talking about a plant. That guy up there. I’m talking about him.