Cate Ellink's Blog, page 21

Phallic Friday - transgender

I keep running across TV shows and articles about transgender lately, so it's on my mind. So often it's men transitioning to become women, and I wondered if there were women who wanted to become men, and then I saw this article here. It's about an upcoming documentary, It's Not Just Me, following the transgender process of four women, transitioning to become men.

When I was a kid, I always said I should have been a male. Being a female had no interest because I couldn't do the things I wanted to do - play sport, be an altar boy (although this may have been a godsend in hindsight), get dirty, be allowed freedom, wear shorts and trousers, play rough, pee easily in the outdoors. I had no brothers, so I didn't know what being a man was, I just saw being a woman wasn't my thing. I was as tomboy as I could be within the confines of my life - I don't think that's changed.

I can't imagine the difficulties people face when they want to change their gender. It horrifies me to think of the constant barrage of rejection and question and negativity they have to face.

As a young teen, I remember Dad working in a position where he had a transgender employee. I was a kid with big ears, so I doubt he told me the problems, but I have no doubt about overhearing his conversations with others and embellishing these with my imagination. In thirty odd years, society's views haven't changed much about gender reassignment and identity.

I think the most difficult issue Dad faced was over toilet use. As a kid, this seemed ludicrous to me - at home we all used the same loo, what was the difference?

I can see now that there is much behind the bathroom issue and it's not as simple as a bathroom issue. It has a lot of fear and misunderstanding behind it. Fear, because so often unwanted/seedy sexual encounters happen in bathrooms/toilet blocks. As a kid I was warned never to use the toilets at a park or public place on my own. Never go to the bathroom alone is drummed into women, with the inference being that 'bad things' happen to those who disobey. It's like monsters under the bed - except worse. So these fears are carried over when a transgender person wants use of a bathroom that they 'shouldn't' be in. And then the misunderstanding of who transgender people are and want to be, adds to these fears.

Society seems to view anyone as different, as dangerous.

I keep coming back to this, but openness and education is, I think, the way to change these perceptions and biases and fears.

If only we could talk about these issues, openly and freely.

If only we didn't want to box people into confined squares and stick labels on them.

If only we could allow people to live their life, accept their choices (especially when they pose no harm to others).

I think this sums it up beautifully. It comes from Simon, and is a quote from the article:

"At the end of the day people have their own opinions and religions and beliefs and whatever else and that's absolutely fine.

"But I'm not upsetting anyone by being who I am, it doesn't matter, I'm just being me, and I think everybody in the world should have that freedom to be who they want to be — we're all human."

Sunday Story - Rugby League vs Rugby Union

I've been noticing, but it came to a head this week, that I'm extremely passionate about making the distinction between Rugby Union and Rugby League. This simplest reason for this is that I'm a sports nut, and they are two different games.

But there are a heck of a lot deeper reasons for my reactions, which has taken me a while to dig deeply into, and be willing to share. Here's what I've found:

I grew up in Sydney in the 1970s and 1980s. It wasn't like it is now. Football was a suburban game, and although allegiances weren't quite as parochial as in Melbourne with Aussie Rules, there were 'unwritten' allegiances that I didn't really understand - from years before when Sydney was less like it was then. I didn't know that but I became conscious of it as I grew up, or maybe upon reflection.

Rugby Union was on TV on Saturday afternoons, Rugby League on Sundays. I watched both. I admired both. Rugby Union had some unbelievable tactics that weren't available/used in League - like the fullbacks' kicking duels, pushing scrums to gain advantage or to score, and twisting scrums for penalties or field position. League seemed rougher, coarser, tougher. Union was played with an intellect that I didn't quite understand, and I had no idea how to explain/question the differences I saw. I read books and books on both sports trying to understand the differences. It was fascinating trying to fathom this.

In my late teens I babysat neighbours' kids. Somehow I scored a job babysitting for a guy who was huge in Rugby Union. A tough forward. A great intellect of the game. Maybe even a commentator (I can't quite remember). I was stoked. I was going to meet a hero. When I arrived, he opened the door for me. He didn't look at me or greet me. I stuck my hand out saying that I was very pleased to meet him (which I was, but I was trying not to fangirl). He gave me a limp fish handshake and turned away. His wife gave me the rundown. They left. He had no interaction with his children that I saw, or his wife. I babysat. I never asked for an autograph as had been my plan. He shattered my image, of him, but now I look back, I think it may have been the beginning of the shattering of my love for rugby union.

I moved to country towns then. I had no idea that I had to choose between union and league but I was soon told by the union supporters that there was no way on earth I could support both. Maybe they were joking, but when a few of them all had the same reaction and they didn't know each other and weren't with each other at the time, I had to conclude that the sentiment was real and not a jest. I still went to games. I knew a couple of guys from my touch footy team who played for various teams and codes. I lived near a union ground so my dogs and I would often spend a sunny arvo watching a game.

Then there came more comments. What was I doing at the union when I wasn't a property owner (ie large landowner, farmer from the right side of town)? Surely I didn't imagine I could mix with the union players (or the women who followed the game) when I was new to town? Girls had waited their turn to date XX, didn't I realise I couldn't be here drinking with them? I was a work colleague, and hadn't imagined I was dating or trying to date the guy. I was watching a game of footy and drinking with them after the game.

It took an old bloke at the pub telling me that rugby union was for those with money, and I'd be better off sticking to league. Yep. Apparently football had a socio-economic barrier that hindered fans...or maybe it was only female fans. It was never quite clear.

I didn't stick around watching either game. I went back to watching on TV. But Rugby Union had lost its joy. I'd been hurt, badly, by the judgement of people involved in that sport. I didn't want to have anything to do with it.

I do still watch the Wallabies. I still admire some of the technical differences between the two games. But my love of the game was ruined by a limpfish handshake, and a class distinction that I wasn't even aware existed in Australia.

That's why I write Rugby League stories, and why I'm passionate about the distinction.

If you're not a sports nut, there's no difference. In my mind, there's a world of difference.

Phallic Friday - coarse language

Yesterday there were some tweets that prompted this post - great tweets that made me think.

My publisher wanted an excerpt from Team Player to go on the blog. I'm not fond of picking excerpts because there's 80 000+ words, which ones do I pick?!? What do I want to convey? How far into the story should I pick? It's a nightmare. Anyway, I picked one - you can read it here.

Kate Cuthbert is my esteemed publisher, and she tweeted it with a NSFW (Not Safe For Work) warning, but made it fun by saying how those words were safe in her work.

They are in mine too (funny that!).

Kate's follow on reply to a comment, said she had a running tally of how many uni students she could offend with her "cunt is a feminist word" lecture.

I laughed when I read that, but then I got to seriously thinking. We don't have a lot of words to describe the female body. I refuse to use 'pussy' because it's a cat and I can't use it for a female body part, sorry. I can use scientific/technical terms like labia, vulva, vagina, clitoris, but you can only use them so many times. And in this extract, I wanted something that described the whole part, because Hannah was wearing jeans, so technically, Charlie couldn't be touching any of the individual parts. I run into a missing part of our language. What word can I use to describe this?

I can say - He shoved/placed/held his hand between her legs, or thighs - but it's not technically correct either. There are words to describe every other body bit. The equivalent area for men we have cock, dick, penis, manhood, balls, scrotum, sacs, junk, and however many others you'd like to use.

Please don't tell me to use 'lady parts' - I feel like I'm five.

I want a word to use. Quim is okay - but I'm not writing an historical.

I use 'cunt'. I use it proudly. I'm using it as a word to describe a body part. I'm not using it to swear, or using it in a derogatory manner. I wouldn't mind having another word so I could mix it up a bit...but I don't really have one.

I want to be mature about sex, so 'lady parts' or 'wet bits' or 'squishy softness' or whatever description like that really doesn't get the tone I'm after.

I'm not deliberately trying to provoke. I'm trying to use language I'm comfortable with, given my limited choice of correct words.

And I use swearing in my stories too. I could leave it out, but if I'm using cunt and people get upset, I may as well use the language many people use in casual conversation, like fuck and shit and damn and bloody. I'm writing contemporary erotic stories.

My clean other half writes without these words, and also without sex, so I know it's possible. However, I make a conscious choice to use these words. I make a conscious choice to write without censorship. I make a conscious choice to write about sex, to write it explicitly, and to keep it fun. I have no problem if you choose not to read it. 

After much thought, I agree with Kate that 'cunt' is a feminist word. It's a word we need to reclaim from derogatory connotations, because it's one of the few we have to uniquely describe our full genitalia. I'll keep on using it, proudly. Let's get it away from being 'crude'.

Sunday Story - covers

Here are my two B&W covers side by side. Both are footy stories but they're otherwise not linked.

What do you think?

Phallic Friday - Love

I'm quite a bit wild today, as last night the blues (NSW rugby league team) fell back into old habits and lost the frigging game. I'm going to behave and not have a huge rant, except for this comment. At the end of the game, after Joey (commentator; former player) ranted about the stupidity of NSW in the second half, Freddie (commentator; former player) asked Laurie (coach; former player) if he'd been sending messages for them to target JT who was playing without full use of one arm. Laurie looks dopey at the best of times but he gave a dopier look and said, "No. There's no point. You hassle JT and they just move him out to the wing and protect him." WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!?! Moving their defense around is KEY to the game. It's how you get past them and score. Why did NSW lose? Why did they play stupidly? I think there might be an answer in that comment. Having said that, there's still 13 blokes (plus reserves) playing the game who could have easily done what had to be done, except they were too stupid to(o).

But LOVE. Love stopped me being wild. Love even stopped me being a one-eyes Blues fan.

Let me get off the game of football and look at the families at the end of the game. Guys bring their kids onto the paddock these days after the game. It's just what they do. Sometimes it's a bit old; not last night. Billy Slater was back in Origin after a horror run of shoulder injuries, surgeries, and rehab. And he was awesome.

I used to not be a Billy fan. I thought he was dirty, especially when he went feet first into tackles. It made me wild. But he was penalised, copped many serves about it, and changed the way he plays...which forced me to change my mind about him. Recently, he scored his first try back from injury at the Storm vs Dragons game when I was there watching (I may have even cheered loudly in the middle of all those Dragons' fans).

Anyway, end of the game last night and they're interviewing Billy, when his daughter comes sneaking up to curl against his leg. My heart started to melt. When he finished speaking, he swoops down to hug her, and is swamped not just with his kids but Cameron Smith's (his Storm teammate) as well. Lots of hugs all around. Then he picks his daughter up and more melting on my couch.

Next time we see Billy, he's heading for the stand and his wife, and there's no deviation; he's on a mission. She's beaming and reaching for him. They kiss, then swamp each other in a hug. In that hug, there's so much love but also signs of all the sacrifice, cooperation, determination, and support.

I stalk her on Instagram. I started because I saw a timelapse video of her painting lorikeets. I can't paint to save my life; my artistic skills are stunted at about an 8 year old's level. She went from a few fine lines to this amazingly, bright, gorgeous painting with just a few sweeps of a paint brush (I exaggerate a bit!). It was beautiful to watch. Her art work is amazing (@NicoleRoseArt) but while admiring her art, I've come to admire her love of family.

Their world is not all about football. There's also kids, pets, horses, farms, friends, and love.

I know it may just be the rosy-coloured glasses of social media and TV, but I hope not. I hope this kind of love exists.

I tried to create some of this is in Team Player. I wanted the Glebe Gannets to have an atmosphere where family was important, where kids and wives mattered, where player welfare was a concern. I didn't want to write a story about the negative side of life or football. I wanted to write a story that made you smile. A story that picked up the good in life and football, and expand on that. There's enough shit in the world. Enough bad press for football. Enough stupid players (although there is one in Team Player - but I have a plan to reform him!).

I wanted Team Player to celebrate life and love. Like the Slaters did last night.

Do you believe in love?

Wildlife Wednesday - tailor

The last few weeks I've been talking about fish, after a fishing day with Dad. Today we're looking at the Tailor. The Australian Museum even calls it by the same name I do - bonus! You can find info here.

Since I was a kid, the Tailor has always earned my respect. It's a clever little bugger, with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth that it uses incredibly well. If you're losing fishing tackle, you can bet you've got tailor around. And the Museum website says this is how they earned their name - their ability to cut fishing nets. It says they can grow to 1.2 m in length - but we've only ever caught small ones. This one is about 15 cm or so.

Dad and I were losing gear. I lost hook, swivel and sinker pulling in a fish, There one minute, gone the next. I was ashamed to have lost the fish, and it brought back awful childhood memories of losing many many fish for not pulling them in correctly, or whatever other silly thing I did. But I thought I was doing this okay. Anyway, I rerigged my line.

Dad had a baitless hook in the water while he sorted out a tangle (I know I shouldn't gloat about this, but I was so damn glad he had the tangle and not me, I was almost grinning from ear to ear as he detangled! As kids, my sisters and I had so many tangles and he got so frustrated at us. But having taken my niece and nephew fishing recently, I do understand why he was frustrated, I just didn't when I was the source of that frustration!). Anyway, when he pulled in his line, there was nothing at the end of it.

"I think there's Tailor," Dad says.

Over the day, I think we lost 3 or 4 hooks, a couple of swivels and sinkers to phantom attacks, plus a couple when pulling in lines. And Dad happened to catch one of the culprits. Again, I played with the photo to get the mean looking teeth shot, but the fish is quite elegant and attractive. It gives a good darting fight. And they taste great, but we didn't eat this one. I used to eat them as a kid. They have lots of bones but are sweet, well, that's what I remember anyway! Phew. My memory isn't wrong. The Get Fishing website says they're great eating fresh, but if you freeze them, they go soggy. I would have eaten them fresh on holidays after catching them.

Do you have a favourite fish for eating?

Team Player - Cover Reveal

My latest book, Team Player, is coming on 4 August. This is the MMF story I've rabbited on about for some time.

Let me show you my glorious cover! Do you like?

Wildlife Wednesday - bream

Following on from the last two Wednesday fishing posts (Flathead and Giant Toadfish), is today's catch from the same trip - a Silver Bream.

Before you get too excited, can I just say that I was a little creative with my photography with this fish. It's actually smaller than my hand, so it was nothing to be excited about! I just took the photo up close to give the impression of a much larger fish. If you don't know bream, you might be overly excited for my catch.

And what do you know...I call this fish the wrong name! In reality, it's a Yellowfin Bream. The trusty Australian Museum has corrected me again. You can find the bream webpage here for more information. Gosh, you'd think I'd know something I've been catching since I was a kid, wouldn't you!?!?! It seems not.

Anyway, let me tell you what I do know. These guys are fun to catch. Bream are kind of shy feeders. So they almost 'peck' at the bait. If you're holding the fishing line, it's like little grabs at it. But when they get hooked, these guys fight like billyo. You're pulling them in, and they're constantly swimming away, or trying to, fighting you with every molecule of their being. It's the size of my hand, or smaller, yet it's been the best fun pulling it in. It's not the pisss-zing of the line racing through your hands like when a big fish takes off. It's not the dead weight of an octopus or a crab. It's not the darting runs of a flathead. It's constant fighting against you, even though there's no way of the fish winning. As a kid, that was so reassuring. You could wrestle with this fish and feel a sense of accomplishment at not losing it in the struggle to land it. You might be able to tell that I've lost my fair share of fishes!

Silver Yellowfin Bream and Reddies (Red Bream, which are baby Snapper, or at least I think they are!) were my favourite fish to catch as a kid and I don't think it's changed. They have that row of dorsal spines you can see in the sunlight in the photo, but other than that, they're pretty harmless. You can easily hold them to unhook them without being spiked (unlike the flathead). And they're polite - once you hold them, they usually lie still and don't thrash around. This is important for a kid wrestling with a fish and a hook, trying not to drop the fish and get the line tangled, and have your dad yelling at you. NOTE: I'm wrong again, the Museum website says that there is a strong spine in the pelvic and anal fins (the ones underneath the body; anal being closest to the tail) - but the fish usually lies these down (like in the photo) and I've never had a problem with them (polite fish, see :) ) The fin that lies just behind the gills is the pectoral fin and it's non-spiny.

As an adult, I still enjoyed catching these guys. I enjoy that I can pop them back in the water, without contemplating anything else, and hopefully they'll live to see a long life. They grow up to 65 cm in length, so this baby has a way to go!

Do you have a favourite fish to catch while fishing?

Sunday Story - writing rambles

I've been editing Team Player this week, and I know I have quite a different writing style to most people, and I know when I'm lost in my story the world could vanish, and I know I love Lyle and Charlie so very much...but I've had a weird experience with reading. I'm not sure that it's related to my editing brain being on, but it could be. I'm going to talk it through.

Two of my favourite romance writers had new books out this week. I waited until I finished edits to read one (last night), but the other one somehow got opened a couple of nights ago (oops! I have no self control).

The first one I began reading...lost me. Early on in the story, I had no clue about details. They seemed to be missing. I had to read and read to find out what the hell was actually happening. Most scenes were like this - about half way into the scene, it started to come clear what the activity was they were doing. I didn't find it added to the suspense - this wasn't a suspense. It read like a first draft. And if I was new to this author, I wouldn't have kept going. I would have stopped reading because it was bloody annoying. And the book was through a publisher, a big publisher, and had editors mentioned, so presumably had been edited. I have to assume the editor understood what was happening, because it hadn't been changed. So it was just me. Which concerned me. I don't think I'm a bad reader. So I went to Goodreads to see what early reviewers said, and that was even more confusing. Early reviewers commented that the story was confusing and the initial pages left them thinking something was missing, yet they kept reading and it got good stars. So I'm none the wiser. And I don't know how you ask a friend "what happened here?" when maybe nothing happened and it's just me who's a picky pedantic bitch.

Then last night, my reward book for finishing edits. OMG. Hated it. My reward book that I was ever so keen to read...and it's no reward. What the heck is happening to me?!?!?! The guy is a girl, for sure. There are hardly any masculine traits in him. I can't believe him at all.

Nooooooo.

Why?

What's happened to me?

And more importantly, how the heck do I get out of this reading slump? I suppose there are a few (snort - a billion) books on my TBR pile, so I'll just have to keep reading until something grabs me.

What do you do if you hate a book by a favourite author?

Phallic Friday - Margaret Court's comments

Have you heard about the tennis legend, Margaret Court's views on marriage? It's been in Australian media and there's an article
She wrote an open letter to express her views on gay marriage. As a pastor of a Church, and a conservative older Australian, I'm not entirely shocked by her views - they are ones many in my family hold and espouse. If she wasn't a tennis legend, and didn't have a sporting arena named in her honour, I imagine it would have gone unnoticed.

I'm surprised that someone of her standing in sport, would take such a public stance on a topic that surely she knew would cause issue. Although, maybe that's exactly why she wrote the letter. Maybe she wanted to use her name to back her views.

It's natural that we pick up the views of those we associate with and think they're the views of the majority. For us, they are the views of the majority, even if that's not reflected in the wider community. Often we don't know the views of the wider community because of our isolation, or insular living. This seems to be exacerbated when you become older, more established, and mix less widely. It's also exacerbated by social media where you friend like-minded souls and don't branch out.

I've always liked differences. I like to see other's views. I like to think about options someone might present to me. I like to be exposed to new things, to try them out, to think about them. That's my personality.

I remember as a kid saying, "But everyone will do that, I want something different." Mum used to roll her eyes, and sometimes try to rein me in a little, but mostly my parents let me be different - for which I'm very grateful.

I hope as I get older that I keep trying to be open to differences and not close up.

I often speak without thinking, and sometimes reflect views that I later, after thought, regret.

We are each entitled to an opinion. We live in a democracy where opinion is valued. Sometimes opinions can open a can of worms, and often the opinion-maker was unaware of that before speaking.

I hope Margaret Court was aware of what she was saying and the ramifications of her views. I hope she realised that the world is a changing place, and as an older citizen she may no longer represent the majority.

Opening a can of worms, without knowing, is my biggest fear every time I have an opinion because I hate confrontation.

How are you with voicing your views?