Tag: hope

Go the under-Doggies!

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness
bulldogs

This blog piece is football-inspired, since this city is going crazy over football at the moment. Even non-football fans like me are interested in this year’s AFL grand final, because it’s going to bring barracking for the underdog to a whole new level. Facing up against the Sydney Swans tomorrow are the Western Bulldogs – ‘Doggies’ by name and ‘under-Doggies’ by nature. Their one and only premiership win was in 1954, and they haven’t played in a grand final since 1961. Their fans have endured heartbreak after heartbreak, with the team getting oh-so-close to a grand final many times over the years, but not close enough. Until now!

Somewhere in this city, there’s a man called Steve, and I just know that tomorrow he’ll be watching the game and cheering for the Bulldogs, and hoping and wishing and praying for a win with everything that he has.

I encountered Steve when I was travelling home from work a couple of months ago. I got onto the train and found a spare seat, and was surprised when I noticed that the middle-aged man opposite was staring straight at me.

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Death of the Hope Fairy

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness

Sometimes, I reckon that being a writer really sucks. This is a story about one of those times.

For years, I’d been scribbling away on a fiction manuscript, giving it all the TLC I’d give one of my babies. I’d coaxed it along, cooed to it, and suffered through the sleepless nights it caused. I never gave up on it, even when it was stubborn and horrible and spat words back in my face like clumps of mashed pumpkin. Sometimes, I wondered why I persevered, but mainly I just loved it. I loved watching it grow and I marvelled at what it taught me. Finally, my baby took shape and grew up, and it was time to send it out into the world.

Now, as a writer, I know a few undeniable truths. I know the chances of a publisher snatching up a submission from an unknown author like me are teensy-weensy. Apparently, there’s a higher probability I’ll be mauled to death by a rabbit. Even so, when my manuscript came of age I still lovingly dressed it up, brushed its hair with a neat side part, and sent it off for its great adventure.

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Raindrops keep falling … in my house

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness

We’ve been living in this house for months, now. Finally, I feel like it’s starting to come together after our many settling in ‘issues’.

One issue became apparent during this winter’s first thunderstorm, when I had just sat down on the couch, and was thinking how good it was that I’d finished unpacking and could finally relax. The rain was pelting down. “Gee, that rain’s loud,” I thought.  “Like … really loud. Oh – that would be because it’s raining in HERE!!”

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Welcome to Quirkville

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness
New home 1

Ah yes, the new house. I did say it would have its quirks, didn’t I? Well, that sure was an understatement. I’ve moved right into the middle of Quirkville.

This new home of ours is taking a little getting used to. The ‘rustic’ kitchen is distinctly barnlike, except for the bench, which is more minimalist in style. As in, there’s barely any of it. An old chimney in the kitchen expels drafts of freezing musty air. I’m sleeping in the dining room. The shower’s in a cave (makes a change from a cupboard), and what was extravagantly called the third bedroom is a cold draughty room about the size of a large wardrobe. The heating duct in that room produces as much heat as your average birthday candle, and the roof leaks. A lot. Over the last week or so, I’ve spent a goodly amount of time either up a ladder or on my hands and knees (and not in a fun way). I’ve been high on Nifti for days on end.

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Bee bubble wrap

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness
Lo2013 010A

On my moving house ‘To Do’ list is an item that says ‘Remove bee bubble wrap’.

That’s because here, in this house I have rented for six-and-a-half years, the bees come to visit every November. They check the house out, buzz around a lot and live in the walls for a while. The more intrepid explorers come inside through the old-fashioned vents in the ceiling. I don’t mind a few bees, but one day there were so many flying around my courtyard the air was thick with them – like a noisy, fuzzy fog – and I was too scared to go out the back door. I called the Bee Man that time, but by the time he turned up there wasn’t one to be found. Pesky things! The bee man said they were most likely scout bees, who wouldn’t ever set up a permanent home here. They just like to visit. I realised I could stuff bubble wrap in the old vents to stop the bees getting in, and I learned to live with their appearance quite happily.

The annual bee visit is one of the quirks of this house. So is the racket of the trains whizzing past, the cold seeping up through the floorboards from the basement, the regular cacophony from the neighbours’ cats (Oh, WHY do they congregate under my bedroom window for their love-fests?) and the fact that the shower is in a cupboard.

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