In days gone by, I’d sometimes think: “if only I could have a pyjama day today”.

Now, as isolation rules, my Sunday bests gather dust and loungewear is the trend that’s trumping style.

Note to self; be careful what you wish for.

Yet in these days of hygiene obsession and distanced living, all this spare time offers the chance to stand still and observe…

There’s an even mix of good samaritans and closet satans.

Like the angel who noticed how hard my days had been this week and “paid it forward” with an unexpected wine delivery – in contrast, there was the near-satanic jogger along my morning walk screaming the so-called road rules at me on her stride past.

All types surface in trying times!

Now more than ever, I’m supporting local. 

And I’ll go out of my way to do it. Buying from the grocer and butcher, swapping a Friday home-cooked meal for a take-out – be it Asian, Indian, or the new wood-fired pizza restaurant (just the thing for that aforementioned wine delivery) – and often swiping a fiver for a coffee and a sneaky finger bun at our once-bustling cafes who are doing it tough.

Social distancing versus physical distancing. There’s a difference.  

Isolation gives us permission to be mindful and present, yet when we’re seeking company, our Samsungs and iPhones are permanently attached and it’s the online channels we head for – people feeds that keep us sane and socially engaged.

And it’s how we catch-up and check-in with our closest who are now suddenly distant, our colleagues – the ones we’re used to chatting with over the water cooler – and those living alone in real isolation, to see how they’re doing.

Yes, you can exercise in a four-foot-wide apartment.

It’s not quite THAT confined, but with a balcony and a pretty spectacular view for a backyard, it’s big enough to “Zoom” a Pilates class.  When the weather behaves, it’s outdoors at the park with a small group, a yoga mat, and a faceful of sunshine.

Complacency is a bitch.

This pause also highlights how important it is for businesses to adapt. My writing niche in the real estate world has taken a hit but copywriting and content marketing overall is big business, and as long as the online world keeps turning, so can I.

Tweaking resumes, food blogging, travel writing, even dipping a creative toe into fiction – who knows where I’ll land that’s a little bit “uncomfortable”.

The key is not to get comfortable – instead, I’ll welcome all sorts of new.

It goes to show just how privileged we are in this global pandemic.

I had to read that again, too.

In no other era has a disease wreaked such havoc yet enabled the world to stay in touch, to eat well, (probably too well), shop online, train, educate, work from home, bond with your kids, shine a light on some unintentional heroes – AKA our medicos and nurses – and in our lucky island nation, even get a financial leg-up from the government.

What a world.

Some say they’d love to unplug 2020 and start over, but if you sit back and look at it like sport, the first quarter doesn’t determine the final score.

There’s still time to catch up, lead, and eventually win. Let’s play on.

Coronavirus. Who the hell invited you?

The world’s freedom is impaired. We can’t socialize, eat out, entertain, shop, or do business; office team meetings mean spruiking from a laptop meeting app.

It’s not business as usual. It’s virtual business. Life, as we know it, has changed, and online is king.

We’re threatening to get fitter – or fatter – depending on our level of determination or depression through all of this. Staring at our four walls, detaching from our families, and obeying group sizing rules.

Working from home, homeschooling, rationing toilet rolls, and washing hands incessantly – if not for at least 20 seconds, we’re doing it wrong.

Flights cancelled. Borders closed. Schools shut. No ANZAC Day, no Royal Adelaide Show, no AFL Season. Uncharted territory indeed.

“Breaking News” on media streams has lost its impact because bulletins are on repeat; Another casualty. Another cluster discovered. Another cruise ship case.

Testing. Isolating. Tracing. Tracking progress. Tallying deaths.

ScoMo’s held more press conferences than he’s had hot dinners – his hand-signers virtually arthritic as we hang on his every word.

Social distancing is what we’ll remember about 2020. Those crosses plastered on every shop or cafe floor measuring a metre and a half between you and me. A measure we don’t want to but have to take, yet on the Worldometer, Australia’s recovery is encouraging.

Businesses are adapting to a new normal.  Will we get any old normal back? Do we want it?

Life goes on, the economy is falling apart but the planet is flourishing. Is this the reset the world had to have?

The Pearl of the Orient or Paris of the East – whatever your slant on it, this is an unblemished and beautiful city on the east coast of China where the Yangtze River meets the East China Sea.

From the impressive Pudong skyline of The Bund (barely 30 years young) to the Lover’s Wall shielding the Huangpu River, a museum of international architecture and never ending high rises, Shanghai flexes it’s densely populated muscles with construction piercing the congested blue skies for days, dwarfing any other mega city the western world dare compare it to…

But as it turns out, we were here to watch a football match. So, scarves down a sec – first, we explore!

Staying at the Portman Ritz Carlton on West Nanjing Road was something like the Champs Elysees of Shanghai. It’s elegance, affluence and pristine footpaths lead a divine path to every designer boutique under the sun. And while some 24 million people live in this sparkling city, we never felt crowded…

Perhaps because 12 million of them were traversing underground via the intricate subway system, and the other 12 million rode electric motorbikes scaling curbs and rewriting the Chinese road rules.

Where our neighbour for the week was the Jing’an Temple, standing in gilded and intricate contrast to the flashy downtown landscape. So, throw a coin into the urn and make a wish we did…

And further afield on foot to the Old Town, somewhat a mini Venice of alleys and boutiques to the exceptional Shanghai Tower (over 113 floors high) and then below ground to some heated bargaining for a “Breitling” (if you get my drift).

And game day brought a new level of excitement. Not just because we bumped into the hierarchy of Port Adelaide executives, players and parents in the foyer of The Portman, or being witness to the grand unveiling of Gav’s artwork, or the ride in the elevator with Trav on the morning of, but because history was being made.

Black, white and teal flooded the subway to Jiangwan Stadium – hard to believe but we stood out – en route to a derelict driving range come footy field some 40 minutes from the centre of the city.

Aussie crowds flocked, the Chinese were just curious – but it was worth a snap on WeChat anyway. The national anthem played (also known as the PAFC club song for a split second) and I guarantee not a dry Aussie eye in the place.

The game was played out as PAFC dreamed it would – and the dream shall continue for 5 years, they say.

Will we be back? You bet.

Xie xie (pronounced shi shi, or thankyou) Shanghai!

Bring on Beijing…

Hong Kong. Translated, it means “Fragrant Harbour.” In many ways, it was… I never thought it’d be my cup of tea.

Gloomy grey skies and towering skyscrapers by day transformed into a light extravaganza by night at the hands of the vibrant Victoria Harbour skyline. The glowing red of the junk boat sails against the shimmering modern city was mesmerizing.

And we had front row seats for four days – our Kowloon hotel blessing us with a nose bleed room with harbour views wider than my smile (and a dressing room to match).

Which prompted us to shop. It wasn’t hard. Nathan Road, Canton Road, Harbour City and nigh on every subway station, plaza or high rise offered designer labels to have you quickly calculating exchange rates and reaching for the Amex.

Where street vendors poked us at every corner to buy watches. Good quality they said. Or handbags and suits. It was obvious we didn’t need a beacon to tag us as tourists.

But this was certainly a timepiece kind of city, with watchmakers everywhere.

We walked streets and streets, picked up a few Cantonese words along the way (with sketchy pronunciation that humoured the locals) and enjoyed every kind of market known to mankind; from flowers, birds, meat, and fish, each offering their own distinctive scents.

As if watching your step wasn’t enough – Rafferty’s road rules, wayward pedestrians, bicycles, buses, and trams – water droplets falling from air conditioner units above kept us guessing about what just hit us on the head.

We ferried across the harbour to Wan Chai in 15 minutes (at a cost of 50 cents) to you guessed it – more shopping. Causeway Bay, Central Plaza, Times Square – a feast of fashion with no end.

Back on Kowloon, we fed our bellies which was just as much fun. Spoilt for choice we sniffed out restaurants and rooftop bars, enjoying traditional Sichuan at Qi Nine Dragons on Peking Road, dining on dumplings from dodgy side streets of Mong Kok and quaffing $50 glasses of French champagne atop the Ozone Bar at the Ritz Carlton.

Going places, we sussed out the subway and it became our friend. We punched out Metro tickets like pros and explored every train line in search of our next adventure.

And come sundown, with aching feet, crumpled maps and empty wallets we fell into the infinity rooftop pool at our very decadent home away from home.

Next stop, Shanghai…

You’re on task. Laptop ready. In peace and quiet or whatever mode gets you in the moment, you’re poised to write and excited to get started.

Nothing.

Ok, then. Now what?

Breathe and berate your barren mind. Here are some ideas to help you wrestle with the wedge and start your stories flowing again.

 1. Stick with what you know first.

Topic and notes in hand, you have 500 words to find. It feels larger than the Northern Hemisphere to fill. Don’t sweat it. Flick your feeling barometer on, forget the research factor (for a while anyway) and get your thoughts down. You’ll soon swing into a rhythm, and when it’s time to research you’ll fill in the blanks beautifully.

2. Don’t edit until the end.

Your eyes are wandering back up the page. We all do it – particularly those perfectionist types – stop!  At least until you’re well into your content with the basics down pat. Fresh eyes are an editor’s best friend, so keep going and squint your editor eye over it later.

3. Turn off the grammar gremlin.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m a grammar and spell check lover. But sometimes those squiggly lines make you stop mid-sentence. Nothing quashes typing speed records faster than a glaring typo dutifully underlined by the PC police. Turn it off – for now – relax and just write! Come back and correct with a clear head.

4. Write first – perfect later.

Same but different to Points 2 and 3. Get the words down and let it flow. Don’t worry about spacing, spelling or the thesaurus. If you are word count restricted, find a previous example that fits the same word count and matches the paragraph or page limit. Then you can retrace your steps, remove redundant or repetitive words and phrases (great copy killers) and fine tune your piece to perfection.

5. Switch roles – swap tasks.

Mind fog. Pen paralysis. Call it what you like. It happens, and it sucks. Your workload is building, and your mind wanders to the clock; how are you going to produce amazing work when time’s ticking and you’re taxing?

Stop what you’re doing (or apparently, not doing!) and start a new project. Sure, it may have a later deadline, but a new topic can often trigger new ideas and start the words flowing again. Soon, you’ll be moving back to your original piece with renewed vigour!

6. Set the stopwatch.

On your marks… Never underestimate the fun of a personal challenge. Whether it’s five minutes while the eggs boil or three hours until school pick up, upturn the hourglass and start. Stretch your boundaries.

7. Pick your moment to write.

We all have our windows of productivity. I have two; between 6:00 am and 9:00 am (with a coffee or a green tea) where I often smash out creative content, and again after 1:00 pm until 6:00 pm when I’m just as centered.

Whatever works for your body clock, make the most of it. Two hours of foggy screen stare can be trumped by one hour of conscious thought and fast fingers – simply work out your own sweet timeslot and capitalise…

KS x

I refuse to write on Australia Day.

Not because I don’t want to, but because it would be very un-Australian to work on our sunburnt country’s rostered day off.

January 26^th is the day where carefully assembled pavlovas melt in the soaring Aussie sun and diets go down the drain along with the badly poured beer without a head on it.

Competitive spirits awaken by a kick of the Sherrin, a swing of the Wilson racquet or a beach volleyball bump pass, converting couch potatoes into sporting sensations with a swig of beer and a selfie stick.

Odd sofa settees slovenly grace front lawns as slang words dribble from our tongues and Mental as Anything MUST blare loudly and repeatedly.

You can smell sizzling snags from breakfast until sunset in any suburban street and everyone has a barbecue to go to. After all, what else will you do with an esky full of grog, a cricket set and the servo’s last bag of ice in your car boot?

Australian flags fly full mast, draped, hung, stapled or painted to any visible vantage point in a patriotic symbol of love for our wide brown land.

We celebrate hard and we jam pack the day tighter than a pair of jeans after a packet of Tim Tams. Alas, once the day is done, our great southern land – the one with her far horizons and jewel seas – is still the one for me.

KS x

Writing is hard.

Why is it that the best word flow only happens when no pad, pen or Notebook PC are handy?

How many nights do you lie awake as brilliant ensembles drift across your mind’s sky, only to be lost forever?

Not flawless ensembles…but ones worthy of jotting down.

The old bedside table trick. It’s usually too late by that time. You’ve woken up, discovered where you are, told yourself you should be asleep, fumbled around (dropped your phone) woke the dog, and the evening edition’s perfect copy has vanished beneath the memory foam.

For me, it happens at the hairdresser, in the supermarket aisles – Pulitzer prize winners storm me like asteroids. (OK, slight exaggeration.)

The great thing is that words create words. You just need that first slippery one pressed into your paper, a theme to string you along, some kind of crazy metaphor to give your theme credibility, and you are on your way.

I love that.

Then, once you’ve extracted all available brain matter down to the pith, threaded together the highlights of your vast vocab into a spectacle of informative, educational or humorous prose, it’s time to sit back and take stock of your creation.

“Wow! I’ve nailed my first draft perfectly.”

Said no one ever.

You’ve only just planted the seed; the foundations are there, your story has a being, now it needs a compelling intro, an ending, and smack bang in the middle it needs personality, substance, life, and drama.

Ok, back to work.

Editing. Proofreading. More editing. And on it goes. Hone in on your topic, rewrite your rewrite. Backspace, new paragraphs. Move paragraphs so they flow – remove redundant words – chop, carve up and slice your prose to pieces. Long sentences, short sentences. Hold no hostages; only the worthy words shall survive.

Listen out loud to the rhythm of your work, swap words to make them sing louder than the last to resonate that message you sincerely want to get across. After all, that’s what you’re here for.

At the end of the day, your story needs to be clear and authentic. Whether it takes three edits or a full rewrite – writing efficiently is great, but not at the expense of quality or accuracy.

If all else fails, take heed from one of the greats:

“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.” Ernest Hemingway.

KS x

It’s the time of year that can rile us to breaking-point. The hype sends us crazy.

Even the kindest souls can turn into swooping seagulls at the mere mention of “free gift-wrapping.”

The crescendo builds towards one day in the calendar year where we max out our credit cards to shower gifts on our loved ones, gifts we want (and sometimes don’t want) and often don’t need.

Emotions hit tear-jerker highs at Christmas. The big day drives me into pitiful perfectionist territory. I succumb to sleepless nights and long lists scribbling down everything from three-course menus, excessive shopping lists right down to how many toilet paper rolls should stand at the ready. Tick. Got it. Oh yes, must do that. Tick.

Watch out anyone within an arm’s length if I reach the Glad Wrap end-of-roll without back-up…

Sad but true. There is no saving me.

Tears and tantrums aside, this year Christmas Day went off without a hitch. Strategically hitting the shops well before the crazed consumer frenzy and whipping up feasts for the masses; peeling prawns, stuffing turkey and baking ham like a woman possessed. I julienned vegetables, honey roasted pumpkin, macerated fruit for a booze-filled Christmas cake and whisked up home-made everything that added inches to hips after minutes on the lips.

I morphed into Nigella (without the bosom or seductive pout) feeling every bit the queen of cuisine with my partner in crime carving up his carnivorous storm.

With champagne flowing and family seated ready to feast, our own version of  “The 12 Days of Christmas” was met with resounding applause and squirms of embarrassment. Presents exchanged, bellies were fed and all on a scorching Adelaide summer’s day where we were blissfully oblivious to the record heat outside.

We drank. We ate. We gave. So how do we feel?

Blessed.

With the rush over quicker than you can say “Michael Buble,” it’s onward and upward for 2017.

What will it hold? Where will we go? It’s exciting to think about.

Right now, we’re enjoying the festive afterglow; the excitement, the exhaustion, and the expense. The temperature has dropped (along with my heart rate), relaxation has set in and all that remain are the memories and the copious leftovers.

So, who’s up for New Years?

KS x

“You’re just super sensitive.”

“Stop overthinking everything.”

“You’re not strong enough emotionally.”

Positive and negative thoughts fight for my attention, and no doubt yours too! Sometimes loudly, and sometimes they whisper just softly enough to let me know they are there.

Damn them.

Feelings of insecurity weigh me down and like everyone I must find ways to deal with them. The life of a writer means lots of alone time, and I need to be at peace with my thoughts. And of course, get out more…lots of catch-ups with the cool people. One proven solution is to cut ties with those that agitate any uneasiness and welcome in the encouragers, the fun crowd, the living!

Maybe my insecurity isn’t all my own fault? Perpetrators can come from all around – a toxic workplace, an anally retentive neighbour, or a random passer-by determined to release some pent-up anger onto me, their actions and words pelting like a wrecking ball to crush my ego, time and again.

Life is too short to entertain the cynics, naysayers and oxygen thieves – there are so many amazing people that without them even knowing it, raise my self-worth and sense of well-being. The insecurity devil perched on my shoulder is ready to take a tumble…

And with a headspace spring clean well underway the hazy fog of gloom lifts and I can see the forest for the trees.  The war is over – guns down, retreat and surrender.

Anyone who is ready to burst my bubble is misguiding their energy. You are wearing the wrong boots – boots that won’t fit you, my friend. My dreams are not yours and your dreams are not mine.  What may seem impossible to you, might just actually work for me…

To keep myself positive, I take positive action; opening doors for the elderly (or anyone really), picking up that $20 dollar note that falls from a bystander’s pocket and handing it back to them – letting a driver into the traffic ahead of me. Promoting good in the world hopefully, means good will come back to me!

Yes, I know the wrecking ball will still swing but with renewed resistance and flexibility, I’ll be better prepared to right myself.

KS x

Have you got your KSediting Christmas Specials all wrapped up?