Aimee Said's Blog, page 4
February 14, 2012
A belated valentine
Last year I was lucky enough to be invited to contribute to Dear Teen Me. After mining my seemingly endless memories of things that sucked about being a teenager, I settled on the Worst Thing That Ever Happened to Me. And then I realised that they probably wouldn't want to run a Valentine's Day story in July and wrote this instead.
In the interests of sustainable blogging (which is better than no blogging at all, right?), here it is.
Dear 15-year-old Aimee
It's 14 February 1989. Even though you go toan all-girls school (or perhaps because of it), Valentine's Day is a big deal. Atschool, the Loved wear their gifts like medals – a rose received from a boy atthe train station this morning is dragged from class to class to be admired; ateddy bear declaring 'I wuv you' sits proudly on its new owner's desk. In otheryears you've done a good job of pretending that you don't care for this annualdisplay of crass commercialism, but this year is different. This year you havea boyfriend.
When you woke up this morning, your hopeswere high. Not that you expected some grand romantic gesture (after all, youand Rowan have only been together for four weeks and three days, and he's alwaysbroke) but you figured there'd be something– a card, a poem, one perfect flower. I suppose you did get poetry, in away. Only it was delivered over the phone, and written by someone other thanyour boyfriend.
'It's hard to describe how I feel about you,'Rowan had started the conversation, having avoided you all afternoon. 'It'slike that REM song: "This One Goes Out to the One I Love".'
'Uhuh,' you said, barely able to speakbecause your brain was screaming he'sgoingtotellyouhelovesyou!
'Yeah. You know how he sings, "This one goesout to the one I love/This one goes out to the one I've left behind/A simpleprop to occupy my time"? I guess that pretty much sums it up.' And then he saidhe hoped you'd still be friends and that he'd see you around.
So here you are, Aimee, sitting at home aloneon Valentine's Day. As usual. Curled up on the couch, empty from crying andwaiting for your parents to return from their annual romantic dinner. Believeme, I know exactly how you feel, andalso that you're going to feel that way for a while yet. (For longer, in fact,than the entire relationship lasted.) I can't keep you from being hurt, but I wouldlike to offer a few observations made with the benefit of hindsight that mayhelp you put things in perspective:
A mutual attraction to Morrissey from The Smiths is not enough to base a relationship on.Asking if you'd like to share a pot of tea and only revealing he has no money when it's time to pay isn't 'part of being a couple' (the only time you'll ever hear him use the c-word), it's using you.Borrowing your books/clothes/jewellery without asking does not mean that he wants to keep part of you with him day and night. (See 2) Dumping you by quoting Michael Stipe is not sensitive and deep, no matter what he claims when he tells his friends the next day. This would still have happened if you were thinner/prettier/less opinionated. Seriously.The bad news is that this is not the firsttime you'll be dumped, and it won't be any easier the next time it happens. But,like Saturday mornings spent in detention, Mum going ballistic when she found outwhere you hide your cigarettes and your penchant for mismatched fluorescentsocks, this too shall pass.
You will be loved one day, I promise. Fortoday, just try to love yourself.
xxx aimee
In the interests of sustainable blogging (which is better than no blogging at all, right?), here it is.
Dear 15-year-old Aimee
It's 14 February 1989. Even though you go toan all-girls school (or perhaps because of it), Valentine's Day is a big deal. Atschool, the Loved wear their gifts like medals – a rose received from a boy atthe train station this morning is dragged from class to class to be admired; ateddy bear declaring 'I wuv you' sits proudly on its new owner's desk. In otheryears you've done a good job of pretending that you don't care for this annualdisplay of crass commercialism, but this year is different. This year you havea boyfriend.
When you woke up this morning, your hopeswere high. Not that you expected some grand romantic gesture (after all, youand Rowan have only been together for four weeks and three days, and he's alwaysbroke) but you figured there'd be something– a card, a poem, one perfect flower. I suppose you did get poetry, in away. Only it was delivered over the phone, and written by someone other thanyour boyfriend.
'It's hard to describe how I feel about you,'Rowan had started the conversation, having avoided you all afternoon. 'It'slike that REM song: "This One Goes Out to the One I Love".'
'Uhuh,' you said, barely able to speakbecause your brain was screaming he'sgoingtotellyouhelovesyou!
'Yeah. You know how he sings, "This one goesout to the one I love/This one goes out to the one I've left behind/A simpleprop to occupy my time"? I guess that pretty much sums it up.' And then he saidhe hoped you'd still be friends and that he'd see you around.
So here you are, Aimee, sitting at home aloneon Valentine's Day. As usual. Curled up on the couch, empty from crying andwaiting for your parents to return from their annual romantic dinner. Believeme, I know exactly how you feel, andalso that you're going to feel that way for a while yet. (For longer, in fact,than the entire relationship lasted.) I can't keep you from being hurt, but I wouldlike to offer a few observations made with the benefit of hindsight that mayhelp you put things in perspective:
A mutual attraction to Morrissey from The Smiths is not enough to base a relationship on.Asking if you'd like to share a pot of tea and only revealing he has no money when it's time to pay isn't 'part of being a couple' (the only time you'll ever hear him use the c-word), it's using you.Borrowing your books/clothes/jewellery without asking does not mean that he wants to keep part of you with him day and night. (See 2) Dumping you by quoting Michael Stipe is not sensitive and deep, no matter what he claims when he tells his friends the next day. This would still have happened if you were thinner/prettier/less opinionated. Seriously.The bad news is that this is not the firsttime you'll be dumped, and it won't be any easier the next time it happens. But,like Saturday mornings spent in detention, Mum going ballistic when she found outwhere you hide your cigarettes and your penchant for mismatched fluorescentsocks, this too shall pass.
You will be loved one day, I promise. Fortoday, just try to love yourself.
xxx aimee
January 28, 2012
Another reason to love Amanda Palmer
Not only does Amanda Palmer have a fine appreciation of Duran Duran, but she also wrote this fantabulous tribute to Judy Blume. I may have shed a tear in the chorus...
January 23, 2012
How I talked my way out of writer's block
Writer's block is not new to me, but Little Sister brought with it the worst case I've ever had. For almost two months I was pretty much paralysed. Every morning I'd turn on my laptop, read the pitiful amount I'd managed to write the day before, delete it and stare once again into the void.
I knew that I'd come to a standstill because there was something wrong with the direction the story was going in, but no matter how many times I re-read what I'd already written, I couldn't see what it was. I read every blog post I could find about plotting and story structure and ways to break through writer's block but - aside from legitimising my procrastination - they didn't help. Not that they weren't full of useful information, they just couldn't tell me where I'd gone wrong.
Today I guest blogged on Dee White's blog about the frank conversation that finally broke my block.
I knew that I'd come to a standstill because there was something wrong with the direction the story was going in, but no matter how many times I re-read what I'd already written, I couldn't see what it was. I read every blog post I could find about plotting and story structure and ways to break through writer's block but - aside from legitimising my procrastination - they didn't help. Not that they weren't full of useful information, they just couldn't tell me where I'd gone wrong.
Today I guest blogged on Dee White's blog about the frank conversation that finally broke my block.
January 16, 2012
Ah, so that's what it's about
I finally found out what the author-reviewer brouhaha that's got the Goodreads/YA community in a tizz was about, thanks to an article in the Guardian by Julie Bertagna. As Bertagna concludes, "Whose book is it anyway? The hardest thing a writer has to learn is that once you publish a book, it's no longer truly yours – even though it's got your name on the front and it lives inside you. It belongs to the readers now. All you can do is steel yourself as you push it out into the world, stay gracious, and get busy with the next one."
Wise words.
Wise words.
January 9, 2012
How to respond to a negative review: just don't
This is a post that's been on my mind for a year or so but for one reason (laziness) or another (laziness) I haven't gotten around to writing until now. Although the actual incident/s have passed without my noticing, rumblings in the Twitterverse suggest that in the last couple of weeks there have been more reader-reviewer/author run-ins online, and I can only assume it's becausean author has taken offense at a negative review and responded by leaving a (probably vitriolic) comment of their own. Whatever happened, it's had the effect ofmaking a number of people whose blogs or Goodreads reviews I follow say thatthey are considering giving up reviewing, which makes me Very Sad Indeed.
As a reader who suffers constantly fromtoo-many-books-not-enough-time and has a book-buying budget of one book permonth,* following reviews from people whose taste is close to mine has helped meto find books and authors I absolutely adore that I probably wouldn't have comeacross on my own. I also search Goodreads for books I've heard mixed reviews for, to helpme make up my mind whether to track down a copy and decide for myself. Ifsomeone has given the book a rave or a panning I'll often look at the rest oftheir blog/Goodreads shelves to see what they've enjoyed in the past and decidefrom that whether our taste is likely to be similar. It's not a failsafetechnique but so far I've had more hits than misses. (This is also an excellentprocrastination technique – I can attest that the hours positively fly by whenyou'restickybeaking comparing bookshelves.)
All books have their share of fans and detractors, this is auniversal truth. For every person who loves Pride and Prejudice there issomeone whose loathing for it cannot be expressed vehemently enough (i.e. me).Likewise, I have had to accept that not everyone loves My Family and OtherAnimals as passionately as I do (but they should, dammit!). The beauty of a communitylike Goodreads is that these views can sit side by side; we can all have oursay and everyone's opinion is equal. The beauty of having a book blog is thatit's your own space to express yourself. But some authors seem to think that this is precisely thedownside to online reviews and are unable to resist arguing withless-than-glowing reader responses, a reaction that, frankly, befuddles me.
Asa writer one of the things you have to get used to is accepting criticism (constructiveor otherwise) and choosing whether to take it on board or let it go. For mostof us it's obvious whose opinions we should pay attention to (our critiquegroups/beta readers/agents/editors/others with the goal of helping us toproduce the highest quality book we are capable of writing) and whose to acceptas their right to an opinion but not take to heart. If you can't differentiate between the two, you shouldn't evenmake your writing available for public consumption, let alone hang around Goodreads(or Amazon or any other consumer review site) or Google your reviews.
(And ifyou choose to take things personally, for pity's sake don't vent your hurtfeelings online! Seriously, have we learnt nothing??)
Got hurt feelings? Tell a friend, not the interwebs.
ETA: Just as I was about to hit the Publish button I read Veronica Roth's post on the author/reviewer relationship on YA Highway - a very balanced and sensible discussion of the issues, with some insightful comments from bloggers.
As a reader who suffers constantly fromtoo-many-books-not-enough-time and has a book-buying budget of one book permonth,* following reviews from people whose taste is close to mine has helped meto find books and authors I absolutely adore that I probably wouldn't have comeacross on my own. I also search Goodreads for books I've heard mixed reviews for, to helpme make up my mind whether to track down a copy and decide for myself. Ifsomeone has given the book a rave or a panning I'll often look at the rest oftheir blog/Goodreads shelves to see what they've enjoyed in the past and decidefrom that whether our taste is likely to be similar. It's not a failsafetechnique but so far I've had more hits than misses. (This is also an excellentprocrastination technique – I can attest that the hours positively fly by whenyou're
All books have their share of fans and detractors, this is auniversal truth. For every person who loves Pride and Prejudice there issomeone whose loathing for it cannot be expressed vehemently enough (i.e. me).Likewise, I have had to accept that not everyone loves My Family and OtherAnimals as passionately as I do (but they should, dammit!). The beauty of a communitylike Goodreads is that these views can sit side by side; we can all have oursay and everyone's opinion is equal. The beauty of having a book blog is thatit's your own space to express yourself. But some authors seem to think that this is precisely thedownside to online reviews and are unable to resist arguing withless-than-glowing reader responses, a reaction that, frankly, befuddles me.
Asa writer one of the things you have to get used to is accepting criticism (constructiveor otherwise) and choosing whether to take it on board or let it go. For mostof us it's obvious whose opinions we should pay attention to (our critiquegroups/beta readers/agents/editors/others with the goal of helping us toproduce the highest quality book we are capable of writing) and whose to acceptas their right to an opinion but not take to heart. If you can't differentiate between the two, you shouldn't evenmake your writing available for public consumption, let alone hang around Goodreads(or Amazon or any other consumer review site) or Google your reviews.
(And ifyou choose to take things personally, for pity's sake don't vent your hurtfeelings online! Seriously, have we learnt nothing??)
Got hurt feelings? Tell a friend, not the interwebs. ETA: Just as I was about to hit the Publish button I read Veronica Roth's post on the author/reviewer relationship on YA Highway - a very balanced and sensible discussion of the issues, with some insightful comments from bloggers.
January 8, 2012
Resolution, singular
After thinking on it some more I decided to only make oneresolution for 2012: I signed up for the Australian Women Writers Challenge,pledging to read at least 12 books and review at least four of them. The reading will be the easy part, especially since some ofmy favourite authors have new releases coming out this year (including CathCrowley, Fiona Wood, Gerry Bobsien and Leanne Hall – it's a bumper year for Aussie YA!).Reviewing is not my strong point, as I learned in Nanoremo 2010, but I shall domy best.
The best part of this resolution is not its (almost)guaranteed success, or even supporting and promoting other Australian womenauthors, it's the fact that I'm actually looking forward to it. (Something Ican't say about flossing.) Roll on 2012!
January 3, 2012
Hello 2012
It's the start of another shiny new year and I'm such a procrastinator that I still haven't decided whether to even make any resolutions in 2012, let alone what they might be. Part of what's holding me back is that I failed most of last year's rather modest resolutions spectacularly.
In 2011, I didn't learn how to draft my own sewing patterns; there were months when I couldn't do my back exercises because of the pain in my right arm that made it virtually unusable for 10 months; I did floss more, but not every day. My most embarrassing fail was my reading resolution: read more non-YA. Even with some great reading recommendations from people whose book taste I trust, my YA to adult fiction reading ratio was about 80:20.*
Looking back over my list of resolutions makes me feel like 2011 was one big timesuck of failure, but then I remembered some stuff that I did do during the year that could be seen as small achievements:
I had a novel and two picture books published (okay, that's a moderately big achievement, but all the hard work on them was done in 2010)I went to my first YA conference - the most excellent Reading Matters - and met some ace librarians and bloggers and a few of my fave authorsI had a most excellent time teaching writing workshops and doing the occasional school visitI discovered that, for me, having the time to write all day every day will not make the words come any faster,** andon a related note, got a part-time job that uses my web content skills while indulging my interest in/adoration for libraries (and as a bonus I get to work with a superace team)I found out that my application for a May Gibbs Creative Time Fellowship in 2012 was successful I learned how to meditate (sort of, I'm still learning how to make my brain shut up, but meditation is a journey and all that).*** So the question is, do I bother making resolutions and then deal with the shame of probably not keeping them, or do I puddle along all year without any concrete goals and hope that I'll manage to inadvertently achieve a few things along the way? Decisions, decisions...
* To be fair, this is not entirely my fault: if my local library didn't insist on putting the YA section at the front of the building I might occasionally make greater inroads into the adult section. As it is, by the time I get to the grown up books at the back my book bag is full.
** A painful lesson but better to learn it after a few months than a few years, I suppose.
** If you're at all interested in learning to meditate I can heartily recommend the free guided meditation podcasts from Meditation Oasis - not too much woo woo new ageism and the host regularly offers the reassurance that "if your mind has wandered, it doesn't matter".
In 2011, I didn't learn how to draft my own sewing patterns; there were months when I couldn't do my back exercises because of the pain in my right arm that made it virtually unusable for 10 months; I did floss more, but not every day. My most embarrassing fail was my reading resolution: read more non-YA. Even with some great reading recommendations from people whose book taste I trust, my YA to adult fiction reading ratio was about 80:20.*
Looking back over my list of resolutions makes me feel like 2011 was one big timesuck of failure, but then I remembered some stuff that I did do during the year that could be seen as small achievements:
I had a novel and two picture books published (okay, that's a moderately big achievement, but all the hard work on them was done in 2010)I went to my first YA conference - the most excellent Reading Matters - and met some ace librarians and bloggers and a few of my fave authorsI had a most excellent time teaching writing workshops and doing the occasional school visitI discovered that, for me, having the time to write all day every day will not make the words come any faster,** andon a related note, got a part-time job that uses my web content skills while indulging my interest in/adoration for libraries (and as a bonus I get to work with a superace team)I found out that my application for a May Gibbs Creative Time Fellowship in 2012 was successful I learned how to meditate (sort of, I'm still learning how to make my brain shut up, but meditation is a journey and all that).*** So the question is, do I bother making resolutions and then deal with the shame of probably not keeping them, or do I puddle along all year without any concrete goals and hope that I'll manage to inadvertently achieve a few things along the way? Decisions, decisions...
* To be fair, this is not entirely my fault: if my local library didn't insist on putting the YA section at the front of the building I might occasionally make greater inroads into the adult section. As it is, by the time I get to the grown up books at the back my book bag is full.
** A painful lesson but better to learn it after a few months than a few years, I suppose.
** If you're at all interested in learning to meditate I can heartily recommend the free guided meditation podcasts from Meditation Oasis - not too much woo woo new ageism and the host regularly offers the reassurance that "if your mind has wandered, it doesn't matter".
December 22, 2011
December 15, 2011
Star picks: the late, late edition
I'm not even going to try to make excuses for why I haven't posted in a month, but here's what's been keeping me amused lately:
The Ramones, only much smaller (via Hello Giggles) - I'm not sure these kindy kids from South Korea's parents would approve of their teacher leading them in a rousing version of 'Judy is a Punk', but in addition to their English vocab they're learning some valuable pogo-ing techniques...Lisa Hanawalt's guide to what dogs really want (The Hairpin) Geeky family portraits (Mental Floss) - makes me a) grateful that my parents had no obsessions that could be expressed in pictorial form, b) slightly wistful, because on the whole these families look like they're having an ace time together, and c) wonder what life was like in the Ghostbusters' house...Keith Hopkin's beautiful video portrait of dogs in cars (The snoots sniffing the breeze! The ears flapping! The doggy smiles!!)Forgotten Bookmarks
And now I'm off to follow Neil Gaiman's advice.
The Ramones, only much smaller (via Hello Giggles) - I'm not sure these kindy kids from South Korea's parents would approve of their teacher leading them in a rousing version of 'Judy is a Punk', but in addition to their English vocab they're learning some valuable pogo-ing techniques...Lisa Hanawalt's guide to what dogs really want (The Hairpin) Geeky family portraits (Mental Floss) - makes me a) grateful that my parents had no obsessions that could be expressed in pictorial form, b) slightly wistful, because on the whole these families look like they're having an ace time together, and c) wonder what life was like in the Ghostbusters' house...Keith Hopkin's beautiful video portrait of dogs in cars (The snoots sniffing the breeze! The ears flapping! The doggy smiles!!)Forgotten Bookmarks
And now I'm off to follow Neil Gaiman's advice.
November 12, 2011
Farewell big orange cat
*** Warning: cat-related rant follows ***
It's been a sad week chez Fantapants. On Wednesday we had to say goodbye to our beloved big orange cat, aka Morris (aka Maurice when he was naughty), who had reached the end stages of chronic renal failure* and was officially Not Enjoying Himself At All. His lovely vet came to our house and put Morris to sleep on the dining room table, after which Mr Fantapants dug a hole in his favourite sun-snoozing spot under the rose bush and we buried him wrapped in his favourite cardigan.**
Morris (full name: Morris Watersports, on account of his love of paddling) was 12, which is fairly young by moggie standards. I thought we'd have him for at least a few more years, but CRF is pretty much untreatable and when we got the diagnosis we decided we'd rather show him a good time (i.e. feed him prawns and steak and fancy little tins of cat food every day) than try to prolong his life (with absolutely no guarantee of success) with a blander-than-bland diet and subcutaneous fluids.
So now there is no one wedged between me and Mr F on the sofa at night. No one batting things off my bedside table to wake me up at dawn. No one brushing their whiskers against my cheek while I sleep to get me to lift the blankets so that they can snuggle up to my belly. No one demanding to be fed at all hours. There is a ginger-sized hole in my heart, and nothing can fill it.
* translation: his kidneys had gone bung
** which my mum had given me the week Morris arrived, and which he promptly claimed as his own kneading-and-nuzzling security blanket
It's been a sad week chez Fantapants. On Wednesday we had to say goodbye to our beloved big orange cat, aka Morris (aka Maurice when he was naughty), who had reached the end stages of chronic renal failure* and was officially Not Enjoying Himself At All. His lovely vet came to our house and put Morris to sleep on the dining room table, after which Mr Fantapants dug a hole in his favourite sun-snoozing spot under the rose bush and we buried him wrapped in his favourite cardigan.**
Morris (full name: Morris Watersports, on account of his love of paddling) was 12, which is fairly young by moggie standards. I thought we'd have him for at least a few more years, but CRF is pretty much untreatable and when we got the diagnosis we decided we'd rather show him a good time (i.e. feed him prawns and steak and fancy little tins of cat food every day) than try to prolong his life (with absolutely no guarantee of success) with a blander-than-bland diet and subcutaneous fluids.
So now there is no one wedged between me and Mr F on the sofa at night. No one batting things off my bedside table to wake me up at dawn. No one brushing their whiskers against my cheek while I sleep to get me to lift the blankets so that they can snuggle up to my belly. No one demanding to be fed at all hours. There is a ginger-sized hole in my heart, and nothing can fill it.
* translation: his kidneys had gone bung
** which my mum had given me the week Morris arrived, and which he promptly claimed as his own kneading-and-nuzzling security blanket
