Once upon a time... a story about starting a good story!

'Once upon a time', there was a really bad idea.

It probably began with a noble idea and got lost somewhere after the words, 'Once upon a time...'

Timelines. Chronologies. I am sure they work really well in some forms of learning and tuition. But they kill effective communication.

Starting your words with an emphasis on origins is the worst way to communicate a message. It puts a big emphasis on something other than the point of your story or message.

The thing we need to say is usually the first thing we need to say... not a preparatory context that details the 'diarised' recounting of an event. Backgrounding should stay out of the frame when it comes to the start of effective communication.

As a journalist, I was always taught to get to the point. The 'how' and the 'lead-up' should follow the headline and vital points of the introduction. It is a principle that works so well in all types of communication, especially emails and phone calls.

PS: Once upon a time, there was a story that was way too boring to continue. The end.

Light FM interview

Subscribers to my blog get a chance to actually hear my voice this week. No, it's not the start of 'Rated PG' blogcasts (yet). Actually, it's a radio interview on Melbourne Christian station Light FM. Interviewer Clayton Bjelan will bring the chat to Melbourne airwaves during the coming week. For my international subscribers or non-Victorian readers, check it out online via the live stream. I'll post an update when I know the planned interview time.

Six digits, followed by a number

I am convinced we all have a new enemy, worse than any we might have imagined.

The threat we face is universal and impossible to control.

There is no defence. In fact, we have already permitted this offensive creature into our lives. Heck, we've even embraced it in all its deceptive and chameleon guises.

The enemy is our passwords! Call it a PIN, or an online nickname. Whatever. It's got us all by the 'user names' and we can't get out.

It controls our access to Hotmail accounts. It locks us out of tipping competitions when we fail to spell it correctly. It even chews up our Mastercard when we're busy having a conversation with a beloved at the Automatic Teller Monster and not paying enough attention to the square buttons of financial bliss.

These passwords have got to be stopped!

I alone am planning to wage a one-user campaign against these offensive multilingual legalists. And I have a plan...

Are you ready? The way to eliminate this pest is simple. All you have to do is --

BLOG INTERRUPTED: Enter Password _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Tick tock, I'm getting old!

My watch is killing me... seriously.
While the second hand plays table tennis with my head, the hour hand is clutching my throat.

(Yeah, okay, I am exaggerating. But just allow me a little metaphor for the sake of a blog, please!)

The thing is, every time I look at my watch, I realise I am getting older. The grey hairs in the mirror are also a dead giveaway (poor choice of word, 'dead' -- another sign of getting closer to oxygen retirement!).

Another clear sign of being old... my children are serving as a surrogate conscience to most of my Dad-isms. It's not unusual, for example, for my 9 year-old daughter to come out with a comment like, 'Dad, that was sooo inappropriate!' What's worse is she is absolutely correct! Most of the jokes I make nowadays are lame and secondhand. And when I do say something hilarious, it's liable to have crossed the thin grey line of appropriateness.

Which brings me back to the wristwatch. I blame that piece of technology for all my troubles! If only I hadn't taken such an interest in the arrival of digital watches back in my Sydney high school. If only I hadn't accumulated an excessive array of time pieces in my life so far. If only the end of Daylight Saving time last month didn't remind me how quickly time flies.

If only... I was less conscious of my diminishing youthfulness.

Well, with the imminent removal of my wristwatch, I will have two excuses for the onset of forgetfulness -- one will be the absence of a timepiece... the other will be... ummm, oh, that's right, memory loss from early senility. Now where did I put those teeth...

'I've been meaning to tell you...'

There is nothing more frightening than to hear someone make the following statement:

'I've been meaning to tell you... '

Of course, such confrontational language is almost as intimidating as:

'I am not sure how to say this nicely, but... '

How about another torturesome introduction to a 'friend's' comments:

'I don't think there's any better way to say this... '

And coming in fourth place on the list of worst antecedents of all time is another chilling comment:

'I wasn't going to say it, but... '

I think the best course of action, when confronted with such language, is to run. Fast and far. Get away before the speaker can 'share a little home truth'. Of course, the fact that I have encountered such phrases might tell you something about me, or at least about my 'friends'. It may actually suggest that I have honest and caring friends who are willing to instruct me and guide me through the less-refined elements of my character. Either that, or I surround myself with honest people.

The truth is, no-one uses those phrases around me very much at all. But it doesn't stop me fearing them.

If anything, such fear makes me a little cautious about my language -- the ways I approach others with comments and opinions. It makes me question my approaches, my introductions, my communication.

It makes me think before I speak.

I'm an Apple locked in a PC body...

While all the world embraces the new Vista of improved desktop interfaces, I remain squarely within the confines of a tasty Apple!