Published

DIGITAL MEDIA SAID YES

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Once again I am reaching out after a period of long silence, and once again I can only plead sheer exhaustion and lack of available time as my excuse. My ten day working week has continued, sometimes stretching out to a fourteen day working week, and once (and only once as I learnt it was a very bad idea) into a twenty-one day working week.

But, ladies and gentleman, I am now an engaged man, and have a wedding to pay for.

That is correct, since we spoke (or since last I wrote and you read) I have procured myself a fiancé. I dropped to one knee, offered up a ring, and she deemed my offering acceptable and agreed to sticking around for the rest of my life. I am now a very happy man.

But that is a whole other blog. Or, in reality, a whole other novel. Despite neglecting this blog and you dear readers like kids now neglect the fidget-spinners they desperately needed six months ago, I have not been idle. In fact, I wrote a book. It was with this (along with said ring) that secured me a future wife.

The book detailed the rather exotic and epic journey my relationship with Alex has been on over the past four and a half years, beginning in Vietnam, over to Austria, interweaving through various European countries, to Australia and the hoard of family and friends Alex met, and finishing up in Greece, where I read Alex the last page of the story, finishing with the line, “Alexandra, will you marry me?” whereupon she said yes.

She didn’t really have a choice, I’d written her a book after all. (Note to any prospective proposers: Trap your partner with an act so kind they’d look terrible to refuse. Guaranteed future happiness).

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(Book Cover: Designed by yours truly)

In addition to that book, I’ve also written a novella, which has gone through its alpha reader, Damian, and beta readers, Holly, Matt, and Alex, and is now almost ready for the public. I’m hoping to submit it to a publisher in the long-term, but more on that when it eventuates.

Because now we’ve reached the crux of this blog, and the reason I have revived, yet again, this faithful dog of a blog: I’ve also written another article. I metaphorically got down on one knee to the American Journal of Nursing and offering up a ring of my words, and they said yes. The article was published yesterday, not in their physical magazine as with my previous articles, but on their blog, which can be found here for your reading pleasure: https://ajnoffthecharts.com/unusual-privilege-patients-memorable-grace/

Thanks to all for reading, for also accepting my ring of words, you’re all fiancés to me. But just so we’re all clear, Alex is the actual fiance. That could have gotten messy.

More (hopefully) soon.

ALIVE AND WRITING, I SWEAR

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Readers of this blog (if there are any left post my period of neglect) would have noted my long absence. This is not because London has swallowed me whole and I am lost wandering the tunnels of the Underground. Nor is it because I have given up writing and all modern forms of communication, and am now blogging solely through the art of cave drawings. (Although if I was lost in the tunnels of the Underground, this would be a great way to pass the time).

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(Proof I am alive and petting random wild animals)

Life has been busy. After an inexplicable pay decrease (thank you England, and the way you look after your nurses), I decided to increase my work hours to compensate. London is a greedy bitch and rent isn’t cheap, nor is flying to Vienna each fortnight, and so, given I was only clinging on financially by my fingernails, I needed to increase my income.

Luckily for me, working as an agency nurse, this option exists for me. I pick and choose the days I work, and previously I had used this to my advantage to have four-day weeks and long weekends. But it also goes the other way, and so my working weeks suddenly got a lot longer as I commenced working ten-day stretches, then heading to Vienna for four days. Technically, this is simply full-time work, ten days in a fortnight with my two weekends bunched at the end. But let me tell you, working all days back-to-back, it feels like a lot more.

Added to this is that I started a new line of work where I act as a sort-of community emergency nurse. Patients are recognised as deteriorating by their GPs and we are called in to do a full assessment and commence a plethora of interventions and tests to try and improve their worsening condition and avoid a hospital admission. This work is interesting and satisfying as you can see almost immediately the effect you have on a patient. The only downside (or upside given my desire to get some of that sweet, sweet green) is that the shifts are twelve hours long. My working week just got that little bit longer.

In the last ten-day stretch I managed to work one hundred hours. This is coupled with hour long bus rides at either end of my shift to get to and from work, and the sheer physical toll of walking through the streets of London, and I have little time or energy left for blog entry writing.

The brief time I do have left I spend with my beautiful girlfriend, recuperating under her administrations in Vienna, or trying to cram the German language into my head. Mein Deutsch wird immer besser, aber es gibt immer mehr zu lernen.

But, as stated, this does not mean I have stopped writing, which brings me to the reason for resurrecting this platform and reaching out to you, dear reader.

Just this month a reflective article of mine was published in the most recent edition of the American Journal of Nursing. It details the experience I had of verifying the death of a patient, and what actually goes into this process.

 

You can find it here and download a pdf version for free: Verification.36

Or if you’re super keen and want to part with some of your own sweet, sweet green, you can buy the whole journal here: http://journals.lww.com/ajnonline/Pages/currenttoc.aspx

 

Thanks for reading, and sticking with me through the long silences and random german sentences. That is true friendship.

P-DAY II

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Years ago I wrote a post titled “P-Day” celebrating the face that I had been published for the first time (The P stands for published. Clever, right?). A short story of mine had been published in an Australian science-fiction and fantasy magazine, and I was pretty ecstatic about it. Someone had given me money just for writing some words down. And I like writing words down, it’s something I do even when I’m not getting paid for it.

At the time, the story was literally the first one I had ever submitted to a magazine. I had typed away during my off hours working as a nurse in my graduate year, and once it was done, I decided to try to get it published. First story sent off, and three months later they got back to me saying that they wanted to publish it. I thought this was pretty fantastic, that getting published wasn’t all that hard, and so after writing my cleverly titled post, I already anticipated the joy of writing the next post sharing with the world that another piece of writing had been published.

That day is today.

My first story was published four years ago.

In the intervening years I have submitted a plethora of stories to a plethora of magazines, and now have a plethora of rejection letters (I read through them when I’m in need of a good cry). It turns out that first one had been a fluke, and my presumption that published stories would come thick and fast was entirely incorrect.

Recently, I wrote a piece about the protection needed to work in the medical field, the process I had undergone in order to still function in an environment where you deal with sickness, disappointment, depression, and death. I thought it might be relevant enough to other nurses, and to really anyone who deals with stress in their job, and so submitted it to the American Journal of Nursing.

Four months ago they told me they wanted to publish it. A week ago they did just that.

If you’re interesting in reading it, you can find a link to the website here.

As the writer, I received a physical copy for free (swish), and am luxuriating in the first printed version of something I wrote (the first publication was an e-magazine, and so I never had the tactile pleasure of holding it in my hands. Or holding it tightly to my chest while I sleep. Leave me alone, I’m excited).

It took four years, and a lot of rejection, and even more persistence, but I am glad to finally share this post with you.

Thanks for sticking with me.

TWENTY-TWELVE

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The ending of a year and the commencement of a new one always struck me as a strange event. A non-event. Humans determined how long it takes the earth to fully circle the sun, gave this orbit a starting point, then decided to celebrate the anniversary of this fictitious starting point. And for a long time I couldn’t figure out why we gave such an obviously invented holiday any weight.

I remember as a kid sitting on the beach and feeling an electricity as the count down began. The tension increased until the final digit fell away and everyone along the sand exploded with a tremendous “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Bracing hugs were shared, kisses given, and fireworks would launch into the air. But as those coloured lights faded quickly from the night sky and normal conversation resumed among the adults, I remember thinking, Is that it? I don’t feel any different. Why is everyone making such a big deal? And by all outward appearances nothing had changed. The new year looked and felt suspiciously like the last year.

The anti-climax of new years turned me off the event. It seemed to me a desperate excuse to party, to drink, and generally do stuff you wouldn’t normally do. Creating an excuse to celebrate is no bad thing, but new years always came away as shallow because so much hung on it. We were closing the door to the problems of last year. We were resolving to be different and better people come the new year. But those pesky problems always seemed to find their way into the new year regardless of the closed door, and the new people we were meant to be had a lot of the flaws of the old.

There was too much pressure on this invented holiday that it ultimately failed to live up to the hype.

But as I’ve moved into adulthood and garnered adult pressures and responsibilities, the value of new years has started to emerge.

The first value: An excuse to party.

This didn’t carry much weight for a child who came home and read books and watched television, and whose major concern was a three-hour shift behind a supermarket register. The excuse to party was every weekend, and the chance to unwind wasn’t essential. I was pretty unwound to begin with.

But as an adult the chance to gather with friends, to turn off the train of thoughts linked to job, career, and finances, is like an oasis in a storm. And in that oasis you feel like resolutions are a good thing, and are accomplishable. Which leads us to…

The second value: Resolve.

New years is traditionally a time to make resolutions. An opportunity to improve. As a child I found this pointless; why wait for a made up date on a made up calendar? If you want to change, change. And why there is some truth to this, there’s also truth to the fact that after working a stressful eight and a half hour shift without a lunch break, the resolution of not eating junk and exercising is almost laughable. High fat foods and doing nothing when you get home are compulsory.

New years gives you an opportunity to reflect away from the exhaustion of work on what it is you really want to be achieving. Because while financial stability is an accomplishment, it’s not always satisfying. It’s not all you want to be doing. The fugue of endless work days makes this hard to remember, but new years is a marked point in time to stop, think, and resolve yourself to the person you really want to be. It doesn’t matter if you don’t stick to the goals word for word, only that you remember what you’re doing and why, and bit by bit, work towards them. This action is usually accompanied by reflection. Which leads us to…

The third value: Reflect.

The idea that the problems of last year will magically evaporate in the face of a new year is still a stupid one. Young me got that one right. But what new years does offer is the opportunity to reflect on those problems, to weigh them against the successes of a year, and realise that you may have done better than you thought you did. It’s a moment to summarise what’s not working, to appreciate what you accomplished, and to take those wins and losses and decide what you’ll do with them from that point onwards. And there is definitely value in this.

For me, 2012 was a big one. A year may only be a fictitious span of man-made time, but mine was an eventful fictitious span of man-made time. 2012 saw my first published work, my first purchased home, my first published illustrations, my first promotion, and my first hospitalisation. Phew. And I only really appreciated this list when I stopped to reflect, calculate, and appreciate what I had accomplished in a year.

Here’s hoping it only gets better.

Happy new year everyone, and all the best for 2013.

P-DAY

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Well, the day has come: I have been published. Please wait a moment while I repress the urge to give a gushy acceptance speech…that should do it.

My short story, Remembering The Mimi, has been published in Aurealis #50. If my previous posts have whet your appetite and left your stomach gurgling for more, you can purchase the magazine here. The publication includes multiple reviews and short stories for a very reasonable price, that, in Australia, won’t even cause you to break a note.

This being the first time my fiction has been published, I can tell you, it feels good to see my name in print. Given that it’s an e-publication, I’m tempted to frame my laptop. It’s not very practical but helps the ego.

If you give the story a read, let me know what you think. Here’s hoping it sates your growling literary gut.