When I was a child, I had my own planet, named Jobnye. In several brown-paper-covered notebooks, I chronicled the features of Jobnye: its monetary system (complete with samples of its coins, tin foil wrapped over cardboard circles), its political system (complete with samples of Vote 1 posters), and photographs of its princes (my two cats, Socksey and Stripey. Guess what they looked like?!), as well regularly mentioning its sister planet, Nobnye, belonging to my best friend Nobblinees. There were lyrics to its top ten (parodies of our choir songs, largely) and a few abortive novel beginnnings, starring Noblinees, myself and my cats. The notebooks featured the very latest stationery accoutrements (glitter glue) and copyright notices. I even created a version of the queenly domain in my Jobnye palace in my room at Dad’s place (except I didn’t tell him what it was, and he dismantled it on one of the weekends I wasn’t there). I seem to remember it featured hanging skulls covered in vaseline (why? I can’t remember), amongst other treasures.
I’ve been on holidays for the past month. I intended to write for most of it, but mostly I’ve been thinking about writing more than sitting at the computer. Normally I would decry such a state of affairs, but it’s been necessary. I’ve been in the midst of all sorts of flux for the past year or so, and my thinking has been less than clear and/or satisfying about a number of areas. (And watching the floods drench the east coast of Australia has been a salutary reminder of how quickly any of our lives can be up-ended when you least expect it). I’ve come to the conclusion, with writing at least, that I need to occupy my own planet again. Less Twitter-lurking and Facebooking and more time staring out the window at my humble dominions. More connection to the pleasures of forging my own coin. And mostly, just making it up as I go along.